Category Archives: fear

This is not funny, but it almost kinda is

I got a forwarded email from an acquaintance today. The content of which was this (and I’m just going to issue one big [SIC] for the whole thing):

This is from the County Sheriffs  Department, please read this message very

This message is  for any lady who goes to work, college or school or even
driving or walking the  streets alone.  If you find a young person crying on
the road showing you  their address and is asking you to take them to that
address… take that child  to the POLICE STATION!!  No matter what you do,
DON’T go to that  address.  This is a new way for gang members (MS13) to
rape women.   Please forward this message to all ladies & guys so that they
can inform  their sisters & friends and family.  Please don’t feel shy to
forward  this message. Our 1 message may save a life.  Published by CNN &
FOX  NEWS (Please circulate).. **Please DO NOT IGNORE!  Thank you  !

First, I find it hard to trust anything that has no semblance of proper grammar. Second, I’m not really concerned because as you know, I’m not one to help anyone in any kind of altruistic way. Especially children.

And here is my freebie message to all the gangbangers out there: Make meth, not rape.

I wish my spirit guide was a space coyote…

Like this one...

I think I need to go on a vision quest. Or do drugs in a national park, but I think that amounts to the same thing.
I need some sort of meerkat spiritual guide to slap me with its little hand-shaped paw and say, “Idiot! This is what you’re supposed to be doing! What you’re doing now is just wasting valuable time!”

Thanks, little meerkat. I’m working on it.

Problem is, my generation (and the adjacent ones, I’m sure) is soft. We’re like putty. Our parents told us that we can “be anything we want to be.” Awww, does my widdle pwecious snowfwake want to be an astronaut doctor cowboy? Well, baby, if you wish it, you can be it.

False, y’all.

Now there are a bunch of twenty-somethings (okay, me), who change their career paths every twenty minutes. Ad exec? No, wait: lawyer! I lied, I’m totally going to be a writer. Wait, no, speech pathologist. I LIED AGAIN: ASTRONAUT DOCTOR COWBOY!

Sometimes I wish we could revert to some kind of caste or feudal system. Can you imagine the freedom of not having existential crises every twenty goddamn minutes? You could just work on being the best serf you could be. And any time you had delusions of having a different life, someone would beat the thoughts out of you. Ahhh, bliss.

So, I guess what I’m getting at is: does anyone want to go to Joshua Tree with me?

Fear…blah blah blah…Dark Side pt. 2

As a continuation of what I am now going to call my “neurotic fear series,” this is my list of my more abstract fears:

1. Heights. I think this one came more with age, because in my head, I still like heights. Roller coasters are, like, totally wicked awesome and I have this idea in the back of my mind that I will one day bungee jump or scale a rock wall (and to anyone who was with me this past weekend as I had a freakout on a rock: my bad. That was weird even for me.). But I think being a tall klutz has ruined heights more me. I fall a lot. In my volleyball days, I would jump up to hit the ball, but my legs would get really excited about the whole jumping process that they would forget how to land properly. It’s a long way to the ground. And I’m tired of spraining and bruising things.That, and I once read this article about a lady who went skydiving and her parachute didn’t open. So she plummets to the earth (as one might expect) and dies (again, as one might expect). But she landed on a red ant hill and they bit her and the shock of all that venom (or insert actual scientific explanation here) BROUGHT HER BACK TO LIFE. CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING IMAGINE!

So yeah, when I’m riding that horrific gondola at the San Diego zoo or on a shaky ski lift, I’m partly scared that I’ll die, but I’m also scared that I’ll live.

2. Feet. I really don’t feel like I should have to explain myself with this one, since I have met other people with a similar distaste for this body part. But feet are just the worst. If there was some sort of intelligent design when creating the human body, someone got really lazy when it came to feet.

They’re almost kinda sorta like hands, but they marinade in shoes all day. Every day. Marinading in foot juices. And you stomp around on them. Even the words associated with feet are horrifying: bunyons, corns, plantar fascitis. I’m going to write a horror movie and call it “Bunyon” or “The Attack of the Giant Corns” or even just “Foot.”

3. Falling asleep near me at inappropriate times. This one drives my family batshit bananas because if we’re watching a movie in the living room at night and they start to nod off, I’ll start interrupting with inane questions to try to keep them from sleeping.

“Oh hey, um, is that the bad guy? What’s he, like, doing?”
“Lisa, shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to go to sleep, your bed is just at the top of the stairs.”

My mom is pretty convinced that it’s a manifestation of some sort of fear of abandonment, but honestlyI just think it’s rude. Especially if you know that you make noises. Or your mouth is going to hang open weird.

It makes long-distance travel kind of tough too. Sitting on a plane next to a stranger. What if he falls asleep? Fine, I can deal. But what if he falls asleep and his head starts to loll and it lands on my shoulder? What if he snores? I CAN’T HANDLE IT.

Similarly, I’m afraid to have other people see me sleep. I assume they find it just as distasteful as I do. My body doesn’t allow itself to fall asleep on plane rides. It just doesn’t.

I’m so tired, guys.

Fear…blah blah blah…Dark Side pt. 1

I have always been made fun of for my phobias. I will eventually get into the more character-revealing ones, but for now, let’s delve into the standard fare–rodents and birds. At least I think they’re standard, anyway.

Yeah, even YOU

Like many fears, I’m pretty sure that my rodent-induced terror stems from a few incidents in my childhood, including:

  1. At one point, a family of squirrels nested in our chimney. Occasionally, one would get drunk and fall down the chimney. Totally psyched to be alive, it would then wander freely about our house. Sometimes when I was home alone. I would also sometimes mistake it for our cat before realizing that we don’t have a cat.
  2. I once jumped off a swing and landed in a dead mouse.
  3. I watched my friend (accidentally) brutally murder her gerbil. I mean BRUTALLY. This is actually a pretty good story, and I might tell it at another time. IF YOU’RE LUCKY.

So now I’m terrified of everything rodent, from the noble rat king (for the love of the flying spaghetti monster, don’t google that term) to the cute widdle bunny. Give me a plague of locusts and frogs–just don’t let a mouse ANYWHERE NEAR ME. Also, your friendly little pet hamster qualifies as a mouse. This fear controls me: I’m afraid of my hair moving near the corner of my eye, in case that brown blur is actually a mouse. I’m afraid of looking at anything other than the television in a dark room…in case they’re LURKING.

Of course, this naturally means that mice (plural, people, PLURAL. There’s NEVER just one) have found ways into our home throughout the years. Once we found a mouse in our house and I spent days–DAYS–hiding upstairs, only occasionally running downstairs to grab a box of cereal or Cheeze-Its (I was unemployed and living at home at the time–go figure).

My family, who are a bunch of normal people in that they don’t ENJOY vermin, but they also don’t allow it to dictate their lives, thought my behavior was a little out there.

“Lisa,” my dad reasoned, “They’re not going to bother you. Especially during the day…and I think I got them all.”

No matter. All I could do was imagine the little creatures with their weird little feet and twitchy, watery noses crawling all over me.

So whenever I DID come downstairs, my entrance was accompanied by me whooping like a mental patient–you know, to scare them into hiding. This crazy-person mouse-repellent method served me well; I could occasionally go downstairs and leave the house to buy more sustenance. This method has–more or less–served me well throughout the years.

I don’t really have much to say on birds, except I distrust their reptilian heads (even though I like reptiles). And their little feet. Also, how they poop from the air. And many of them seem to be losing their fear of humans. I fear the pecking order (heh) is changing for the worse.

I barely ever have dreams that I remember, but I do remember one that I had in college. There was no narrative to it; it was just me trapped in my apartment with a pigeon flying around. I woke up with one of the cinematic gasps and dripping in a cold sweat. I probably then laid in the fetal position for a while. I dont know; I don’t remember that part.

I think the bird one is genetic though. My sister came to visit me in Los Angeles and we were walking along Venice Beach. We eventually came across a flock of baby seagulls running in and out of the water–perhaps a cute sight to a normal person. We stopped dead in our tracks.

Picture my sister took of the horror

“Lisa, are those seagulls?”

“Baby ones, yeah.”


And I never felt closer to her.