House Centipedes. Ugh. Blah.

Those who know me well know that I don't get all screechy and weird when there's a bug or small animal nearby.  I think nature is cool and I like to check it out.  I think spiders are neat and snakes are cute.

And then there is the House Centipede.

These creepy, freaky little things look like they came straight from hell.  When I see one, some strange alarm goes off in my head.  Sometimes it's "ABANDON SHIP" and I just run like hell from the area.  Other times it's "PANIC ROOM MODE" and I simply freeze solid, thinking that if I turn into concrete it won't want to touch me.  I seriously can't even kill them, because I can not bring myself to get that close.  It's Pan's Labyrinth in the flesh.  It's like in the Exorcist, when Linda Blair crawls down the stairs upside-down like a spider.

For real, this is what they look like in my mind.

I'm really having a hard time googling them to show you a picture of them, so I'll stick with Linda Blair. She is far less terrifying.

Okay, okay, HERE they are, but don't say you weren't warned.

Quick entomology lesson:  they are an arthropod with a pair of legs per segment: FIFTEEN OF THEM.  Fifteen pairs of legs with which to crawl onto your sleeping body and lay it's hell-spawn eggs in your sinuses.

They are attracted to warm, moist places (check), and they commonly appear after a warm, wet spring (check).  They are not harmful and don't bite, but they have venom on their forelegs that is used to paralyze its prey.  They are insectivores.  They rarely sting humans, because they would much rather run like the speed of the devil's fastest demon horses, i.e: away.

Once I made a feeble attempt to slay one from a distance by throwing a shoe. I failed, and it ran off to tell its fellow minions about my failed assassination attempt.  Another time, one was on the bathroom towel after I got out of the shower, and I proceeded to go into a fit of violent convulsions and run into the bedroom wrapped in the bathroom floor mat.  And then there was this morning.

This morning, after getting dressed and ready for work, I went to get a drink of water from the kitchen.  I have a water glass by the sink that I will reuse for a while (I hate doing dishes, okay?), and this week it's been the Rubber Soul Beatles pint glass.  Well, I filled it up about a quarter of the way, and chugged.

Then I felt something bump my lip.  I opened my eyes, and there it was, floating in the water a centimeter away from my face, wriggling madly as if to say, "I KILL YOU."  I spat water across the kitchen, and proceeded to do a convulsion dance similar to the one I had when I found it on my towel.  Chris is amazed at my restraint in not hurling the glass against the wall, but hey- it was the Rubber Soul glass.  Instead, I set it on the counter and twitch danced around the room like a marionette manned by someone on cocaine.  Chris flushed it down the toilet.  I didn't die from my ordeal, but I'm sure that the bastard's friends are waiting for me in the shadows somewhere...

Waiting to finish me.