Of spam, maimed spiders and odd socks

Yes, I'm still alive. Sorry for the silence, for the four of you who noticed. New job brain-drain, bloggers' block, etc. Now Bloke has cleared out for the Dark Continent again, leaving me here with only Mr Furpants for company. Le sigh.

For some reason, spam is really starting to sap my will to live. My new gig has put me on some mean mailing lists. Combined with a spam filter set so low that you could catch your toe on it and trip, I'm getting 1000 emails a week. I don't think I'm a prude, but being asked 15 times a day whether I'd like a bigger cock is starting to depress me. I don't want a copy watch, you must be stupid if you think I believe I've won 3 million euros and I have enough software/drugs/friends. Leave me the fuck alone.

Then there's the little four-legged spider clinging to the bedroom wall by Bloke's bedside table. He's been there for three weeks now. I poke him on a Saturday morning when I'm stripping the bed to see if he's still alive and he waves some of his remaining legs at me. Somehow, I can't bring myself to kill him, even to put him out of his misery. He's not hurting anyone and who knows what thoughts are running through his spidery little mind? Something to the effect of, "I'm only half the spider I used to be," I imagine. Or, "Fuck, where did you think I'd have gone? Down the boozer to get a pint and some crisps? I'm a four-legged spider, for Chrissake. A moth tried to eat me the other day. A moth. Oh God, the humiliation." And yes, I'm aware that 'he' is probably a 'she'. But my eyes just aren't good enough to turn him upside down and find out one way or another. Plus, I don't really care. It's a spider, man. I'm sure gender issues don't really matter to it.

Odd socks are worrying me more than usual at the moment. At one stage, there were four mismatched socks hanging around the place like spare pricks. And, to mix metaphors, it was a bit like the abusive drunk woman at the party: I kept waiting for her partner to show up to remove her. But how long should I wait? Should I just keep that odd sock for a couple of washes and then give up, as the Democrats must surely have given up on this election? And where the hell have those lost socks gone? Has the tumble drier turned carnivorous? Or is it a tardis, whisking them off to battle Daleks and Cybermen?

The cream cheese in the fridge is also highly problematic. I opened a tub of that ultra-low fat Philly gear a good three months ago, but it refuses to go mouldy. I don't want to eat the stuff - it's a good six weeks past its use-by date - but now it's become a test of wills. Will the cheese give up and go mouldy and give me the pleasure of watching a blue-green velvet spread over its surface or will I get bored and throw it out? Not sure yet, but it does make me wonder exactly what is in that no fat stuff. Whatever it is, it bears precious little resemblance to actual cheese.

Three bean mix is another thing that's been bugging me. Well, the lack of three bean mix, really. Sometime last year, three bean mix suddenly started turning into four bean mix. Chick peas began infesting perfectly tasty cans of beans. Ever tried picking out all the chickpeas from a can of beans before you put said beans in a pot of minestrone? It's a thankless task, I can tell you. One by one, the brands fell to the lure of the chick pea until there were no humble suburban three bean mixes left. I was desolate. I'd stand in the canned veg aisle at Coles, listlessly picking through the cans in the hope that there was a hidden stash. Every now and again, a few cheap-arse home brand three bean mixes do turn up, but then they disappear again. If I wanted chickpeas, I'd buy the sodding things. After all, I imagine they might make rather good slingshot pellets. And that yappy little dog over the back has been pissing me off...

Oh, and I've got another charming head cold. I'm beginning to wonder whether I have even two white blood cells to rub together. Six, six, six, six, any advance on six colds for the year? Going once? Going twice! Going three times - and sold to the lady with the false pelican fascinator!