This post is totally stolen from Laurie at Beauty and the Beer. Now, those of you who are in the know, understand that I have a long-standing love affair with Laurie. My goal in life is to move where she is and marry her. I don't just want her for the sex. No. I want to spend my life with this woman. Go to her page and you will understand why.
So, since I can't have her right now, I will do the next best thing, and steal her blog post. She wrote a post asking about fears. Not just your "Ooh, scary movie" kind of fears. Not just the "I don't like cats/dogs/birds" kind of fears. We are talking COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL fears.
Laurie has these fears about driving next to tractor trailers, drowning in waterbeds or getting her eyes pecked out by a bird. That got me thinking about my irrational fears. Like Laurie, I have a real issue with tractor trailers too. Could be cause my father was squashed like a grape by one. I also have an issue with guns. I grew up around them my whole life, BUT, I was held at gunpoint a few times and admittedly, it makes me break a sweat on my well-arched, perfectly tweezed brows.
BUT, and it's a big but...nothing makes me sweat like cockroaches. Nothing. I won't even post a few pics for effect because the last time I did that for a blog post, I nearly gave myself heart failure. I won't even read this post because I put a picture of a roach on it. I know which post it is, by heart, and avoid it like the plague. I have no issues with other bugs. If I did, I couldn't do THIS for a living. And, I definately wouldn't be able to tolerate situations like THIS one.
Got a minute? Let me explain, in detail, the way I did on Laurie's blog.
I was ass-raped, literally gang banged by a group of New York City roaches when I was 9 years old, living in Queens. I was a fat little kid and I used to heist food in the middle of the night and sneak eat in my bed. Well, one night, I guess I fell asleep, mid-scarf, and I left a cupcake wrapper and half eaten cupcake in my bed with me. Around 2am, I got itchy. I started scratching. Then, my poohnonny (read: va-jay-jay) started itching. My asshole was itching. My little baby girl boobies were itching. Everything was making me itch! I clicked on the light next to my bed and I was COVERED in a blanket of COCKROACHES...each one dancing around in my nightgown, getting out all the crumbs that fell between the fat girl folds. Yes, they were feasting on my cooch because of all the crumbs in my lap.
Little cockroaches with their blue and red bandanas..."Yo! Gringo! You gots some more of dose frosteed vaneela cupcakes? Dose were dee BOMB, Baby!"
I started to scream and smack the fuck out of myself, getting dead roach goo all over me. My mother came running in while I was flailing about looking like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. My mother, in a panic, picked up a shoe and started beating me, to get the roaches off of me. Thank God I only wore Pro-Keds at the time! If I was in my Jimmy Choo/Manolo Blahnik phase, I would have been skewered by my own mother!
Anyway, since that day/night, I have had a completely irrational fear of roaches.
Now, my biggest fear?
Showering...and finding one of those large palmetto fuckers in the shower with me, while my fat naked ass flails about, trying to find an escape route. One time, not too long ago, my husband dashed into the shower from me letting out a blood curdling scream. It was the outline of a big mother fuckin' roach, the size of GUAM, on my shower curtain...the opposite side of it than I was on, but WAY too close for comfort. I screamed like I was getting it up the ass like a virgin on prom night without lube, alright?
I cannot be in the room with a roach. If you ever put me on one of those "Maury" shows, where he tries to help people get over their fears, I would probably gnaw through my own leg just to get out of the room. My blood pressure goes up, I cry hysterically, I scream and worst of all, I develop a case of Tourette's unlike any you have ever heard before in your life.
My bastard of a 10 year old put a plastic roach on my computer chair one time, "as a joke", he said, shortly before I strangled him. I nearly beat him right into the foster care system, a'aight? Beat the little fucker until his NAME swelled.
Okay. So no, I didn't. But I REALLY wanted to. Does that count?
Anyway, what are your completely irrational fears? What are the crazy things that you think about during the course of your day that you KNOW won't happen...but the thought that they COULD possibly happen freaks you the hell out?
Shhh. Come. Lay your head on big mama's breast. There, there. Tell mama, Bubbala. We promise not to laugh.
At least, not in front of you.