Entirely Irrational but REAL Fears of Mine

The older I get, the more I realize that I am basically a total freaking coward.

No, really; it’s a little ridiculous.


Laughable social phobias aside (you can read more about those is basically EVERY other post), I have a cornucopia of other completely nonsensical and illogical fears in my arsenal of awkwardness. And lucky you, you get to hear about them all.

FIRST, I think it is only fair to identify the LOGICAL sources of my illogical phobias. So, here is a reasonably short list of practical things that I am afraid of:


Rational Fears


#1: Open/Deep Water that I can’t see the Bottom of :

This isn’t all that uncommon. Lots of people don’t like open water because they are afraid of drowning. This isn’t the case for me, though. I don’t like it, because I can’t control it. I can’t run away from it because I can’t run in it. It is bigger and more powerful than me – two major red flags, and there are things living in it (like JAWS himself), that most definitely want to eat me for lunch.


#2: Freaking Hospitals :

I’m not a germaphobe, nor am I really that afraid of being sick. I just don’t like that the people who work there know more about my own body than I do. I don’t like that I don’t know what exactly is in that IV that is going exactly into my veins (also, ow, thanks for the endless needle-sticks, Nurse Lady). I also hate the very aspect of hospital gowns and the unavoidable awkwardness that comes from being forced to wear them. This show ain’t free folks, but nice try.

#3: Paralysis or Physical Restraints of Any Kind:

I don’t like knowing that I can’t remove myself form some sort of potentially painful, uncomfortable, dangerous. or, more likely, awkward situation. Crowed rooms are the enemy, so are traffic jams, lines at amusement parks, packed elevators and any other spaces that are overly “people-fied.”



Now for the fun part. As reasonable(ish) as the above “Root Fears” are, I have absolutely no justification for ANY of the following in this list. I am afraid of these things for no reason, I know, psychologists, I know. But rationalizing the fact that I am off my nut over and over again hasn’t gotten rid of any of them, so just leave me to my nonsense and go fix someone else’s brain. Thanks.



  IrRaTiOnAl FeArS


#1: Having any part of my body, but most specifically my feet, hanging off of the end of the bed while I sleep:

I’m not sure how this particular breed of useless fear wiggled it’s way into my subconscious, but it is there every night waiting to make my life just a little more challenging.

I sleep in a twin-sized bed, because my room is small. Very small. Microscopic. I don’t mind it, really. Small spaces are easier to clean, and I am encouraged not to buy a bunch of stupid stuff due to the lack of stupid space to put the stupid stuff. I don’t mind the small bed either, because it discourages outsiders from attempting to invade my sleep space. BUT, this particular mattress poses a major problem because it is precisely one inch shorter than I am when I stretch out completely.

I know what you’re thinking, (I think):

“Who cares? It is one freaking inch, you big, awkward whiner baby. Get over it.”

NO, JUDGEMENTAL ITALIC VOICE, I WON’T GET OVER IT. Because when you see a measly inch of overhang space, I see this:


The Abyss of Possible DEATH

Yeah. Not so silly now, is it?

Of all the possible causes of death that inevitably live in The Abyss, the following have the most frequent flyer miles in my foolish mind.

A Blood-thirsty FOOT SHARK


That’s right, a freaking shark. I picture a freaking shark, lurking beneath the floor boards of my tiny room on the third story of my land-based apartment, just waiting for me to dangle a few tasty toes in front of him for a late-night snack. I’ve tried forcing myself to leave my foot off the end of the bed. I’ve tried to make the whole, terrifying ordeal a joke to coax myself out of this delusion. It didn’t work. If I put my foot off the end of the bed, a shark WILL eat it. Trust me.


Spontaneous Flames


Ironically, I have no fears whatsoever about the apartment catching on fire in the middle of the night, which, is actually a realistic threat seeing as it is almost entirely made of wood and my room mates and I have a habit of forgetting to blow out candles and leaving the oven on. But nope, it’s only the spontaneous flames I’m ridiculously afraid of. Those sneaky little bastards could pop up out of nowhere to engulf my foot in flames…jerks.


A Spooky Ghost Hand


I’ll admit, this one is just stupid. Also I think it may have something to do with the pathetically high amount of influence that scary movies/video games/etc. had on my childhood brain. Nevertheless, If the shark or the flames don’t get to me first, GHOST HAND will. Not a whole ghost, just his hand. He’ll grab my foot and drag me off of my bed and into ghost land where, well, ghostly things will happen whether I like it or not. We don’t have real-life ghost busters. Bill Murray really let me down there. Who am I going to call? No one, I guess. I just get to die at the hands of some malicious, ecto-plasmic being. Jinkies…



#2: Killing Bugs, because they are all in cahoots and will one day gang up on me:

YES, I know this is not a thing. I know that bugs don’t give two flips about other bugs. I know that even if they were plotting against me, or all of humanity for that matter, a few cans of OFF would solve all of my problems. Or a couple birds, or BEETLEGIEUSE, should he happen to be in the neighborhood. Even so, I always hesitate to squish that spider in my shower or swat at that mosquito, because, what if the Bug-iverse only allows humans so many kills before they retaliate. What if that spider is the last tally on my list? WHAT IF?!?! A Bug-apolypse. That’s what. Bugaggedon. BugZilla. I can keep going. The irrational possibilities are endless.





#3: Closing My Eyes in the Shower because something is watching me, or a Shark, probably a Shark:

It might be the water, it might be the momentary darkness, it may be the fact that I am currently stark naked and utterly defenseless, who knows? Not me, but it doesn’t matter. The second I close my eyes in the shower, something or someone is going to get me. It doesn’t matter that blinking only takes a second. It doesn’t matter that there was nothing there two seconds ago when I double-quadruple checked for the 166th time. It’s there now, I can feel it. Getting soap in my eyes only burns for the rest of the night, but if something gets me, I’ll be got forever. FOREVER. Bring on the red-eye and the shame at my pathetic-ness please. You’re not getting me today, scary thing, or probable shark.  Nope. Not today.





#4: Furbies:

The worst toy in the History of all Toys. When we were little, my brother and I had one. It looked like a little Owl-Cow, and we loved it for precisely five minutes. Then the tongue got stuck down, and it repetitively made the default “MMMMM” or “YUMMMM” noise whenever we so much as blinked in it’s general direction. I hid it in my closet so that it wouldn’t “see” us anymore – and it still went off at random. Usually in the middle of the night. Conclusion? All Furbies are possessed and want to eat me. They are creepy and they should all be accidentally destroyed maliciously or thrown into the Abyss where the Foot Sharks, Spontaneous Flames and Ghost Hands can end their miserably, animatronic lives. The End.

evil furby


This concludes the List of Irrational Fears. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself. If you need me, I’ll be in the fetal position in the middle of my bed, ignoring that freaking spider in the corner of the ceiling and rubbing my soap-burned eyes.


May Your Lives be Forever Furbie-Less, and as always, I am Awkwardly Yours,






Thrown Back Against Your Will (almost) Thursday…

Hey friends,

Can I call you friends? Too bad. Already did.

This is probably the part where I should give you an explanation as to why there is, once again, such a significant time lapse between this post and my last. But I don’t wanna, so I’m not gunna. =D

In all honesty finding time to sit down and write has been about as easy as finding a positive comment about Justin Bieber on the internet, so it hasn’t happened in a while. But today, I simply couldn’t resist. That’s because today, “inspiration” to write about my Awkward existence hit me like  a dodgeball to the face (yes, that’s happened, more times than I’d like to admit, and most of the time I wasn’t even playing).

One of the funny things about friends, is that they are the only people on earth that are allowed to mock you incessantly without penalty. If some stranger came up to me on the street and made some jab about how unfortunate looking I was when I was a child, I’d deck them (no really, I’m pretty tough. I totally deck people all the time. DECK). However, one of my friends essentially did this very thing today when she posted THIS to my FaceBook wall, and decking her never even crossed my mind. So either I’ve lost my edge, or she is just really lucky I love her.


If you’re wondering who the little twerp with the Harry Potter glasses and the Darth Vader haircut is, wonder no longer.

Apparently, when you’re three, the only size glasses come in are “Half of Your Entire Face”…who knew? Even though I suffer from a general lack of coordination, my disease was much worse when I was a toddler. After watching me walk into walls (and basically everything else…) for the first two and a half years of my life, they took me into the eye doctor and determined that one of my eyes didn’t work. At all. No vision. So my clumsiness was (and still is) only partially my fault. The rest of the blame goes to my scumbag right eye, who served as a freeloader in my face for two years while I tirelessly tripped over everything and anything in my path. It works now, thanks to my geek goggles, but still…

Had I had any say so in the matter, I would have opted for an eye patch. Pirates are pretty BA, and let’s face it, wand or no wand they could EASILY kick Harry Potter’s wizard butt.

Harry Potter vs Pirate 1

Pirate vs. harry Potter 2

Harry Potter vs Pirate 3

Harry Potter vs Pirate 4

To think, I could have been the Pirate…*sigh*…

In regards to the coconut/helmet hair-do, my Mom is, somewhat hilariously, still upset about it. She claims this was a MAJOR mistake; that she instructed the hairdresser to give me a chin-length cut, and a few tragic snips later, this was the result. But hey, chins and ears are pretty easy to mix up, right? Thank God our memories don’t really kick in until we hit 4 or 5, huh?

Sometimes I genuinely forget that this is the way I spent the first *mumbles an unfortunately high number* years of my life. No really, it’s like my brain took pity on me and let me blot this out of my mind once I made it past pre-teen-dom.


Brain: “Hey buddy, how ya’doing?”

Naïve Me: “Oh hey! I’m great, thanks! Life is good, friends and family are terrific, my childhood memories aren’t unfortunate in any way whatsoever and-”

Brain: *snickers*

Naïve Me: “Hey, what’s so funny?”

Brain: “Oh, nothing…”


Despite the ridiculous amount of effort I’ve devoted to accidentally destroying all evidence (pictures) of this dark chapter of my childhood maliciously, my “friends” and family members never fail to dig something like this up when I least expect it. It is clear that I will never completely erase these images from my mind (and now, consequently, yours).

It just goes to show, you can take the girl out of the awkward, or you can leave her there and mock her forever.