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You know what fucking sucks for an arachnophobe? Waking up with an ass covered in spider bites. I can understand the temptation to sink your teeth into my ass, but come on. I mean, really.

And how come the non-arachnophobe in the bed did not get one single bite?

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The rumours are true! Eric and I are having a garage sale on Saturday, starting at around 9 am. If you know where he lives, please feel free to drop by and say hello. If you would like to come and rifle through our stuff and listen to a record while you're at it, please do email me for the address.

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And upcoming: I'm taking a trip. If I had written about it like I had promised you, you would remember that last September, I was part of a smell experiment. Not the experiment where I wore a t-shirt to bed with pads sewn into the armpits for seven nights, whereupon I sent the shirt off to the Montreal Neurological Institute for my sister to smell. No, it was an experiment where I was blindfolded, had a piece of latex tweezed up my nose and then was given vials of smell to smell. One of them was pleasant enough, in a scented candle kind of way. The other was a vial of vile. It smelled awful. When it was all done, the man who had been tweezing and waving and sitting between my legs with his knees practically pressed up against my vulva took my blindfold off and said "You didn't like that one smell much, did you?"

"Jesus, it was awful. What was that? Gawd."
"It was, uh, male pheromones."

Oops.

So I passed the test and was invited back. I'm going to do a PET scan and then an MRI. In between, I'm going to get screened for another study.

The MRI apparently creates a pretty strong metallic field, so I'm not allowed to have any metal on me. Or in me. I haven't had my septum piercing out for years and am feeling really weird about taking it out. Will people know it's me?

But you'll have a long report to look forward to come next week. Unless, of course, I do like I did last time, and completely forget to write about it at all.