things i hate «

Arachnophobia

13 04 2011

pho·bi·a

http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/d/g/speaker.swf [foh-bee-uh] Show IPA

–noun

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, orsituation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

This is the one in which I give up all pretenses and ideas of dignity. This is the one where I become an official blogger. This is the one where I talk about…poop.

I am very private about what goes on in my digestive track. It’s no secret that it hates me and punishes me for the slightest of transgressions. I don’t like to talk about it, and I’d be perfectly happy if the world assumed I never had to poo. So this is a big deal for me. I am admitting that this morning, I had a desperate need to go.

I had just finished working out, and I was HOT and my stomach was ANGRY. I thought about trying to make it home, because there was NO WAY I was going to go at the gym. I decide I’ll hit the bathroom in the lobby. Keep in mind, it’s 7:00 am and I have just spent the last 45 minutes working out and I’ve been up since 5:20 am. I’m already in a delicate mental situation of being sleepy and cranky.

Someone is in the bathroom. At 7:00 am. WHO GETS TO WORK THAT EARLY ON PURPOSE?! And why that bathroom? It’s nowhere near anything. If you think that I am about to go with someone else in there…well, you’re right. My tummy HURTS. So as my poo buddy is in the first stall, I walk down to the last one.

I walk in, turn and start to drop trou and I see it. A GIANT FUCKING SPIDER. I mean HUGE. I think it may have been a wolf spider, but I literally can’t deal with googling it to confirm. I freeze and start sweating. What the fuck do I do? I can’t sit there and do my business, WHAT IF IT STARTS MOVING?? I can’t scream or take off running because SOMEONE IS POOPING IN STALL #1.

I contemplate solving all my problems by just dropping dead right there. But then I’m afraid the spider will chew my face off. As calmly as I can I book it and run into a stall two doors down. I’m sure Stall #1 is probably confused, but I can’t think about that. All I can think about is being in the most vulnerable position an adult can be in with a GIANT FUCKING SPIDER mere feet away waiting to attack me.

Now, here’s the thing…I have had this nightmare. I have a severe case of arachnophobia. I don’t have a choice. Spiders make me sweat and my heart races and I lose the power of speech. I stare wild eyed at it and gesticulate for someone to kill it in some sort of crazy lady pantomime. I am TERRIFIED of the creepy bastards. And one of the things I do when I fixate is come up with worst possible scenarios.

The #1 WPS used to be a spider touching me. Then that happened. It was the worst possible thing I had ever thought of, regarding my phobia, and it happened. IN REAL LIFE. The week or two after, I had horrible PTSD and I fixated on it and came up with other awful things that could happen. Every time I would use the bathroom at work, even for a quick pee, I would imagine a spider crawling out from behind the toilet and killing me. I mean, what do you do?

When the pervie little fuckers get in my shower, I am out of there as fast as possible. Naked, soaped up, I stand there sobbing and yelling for someone to come get it. I mean, I’M NAKED. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SQUISH IT WITH?? Oh, and I can’t really squish them because WHAT IF IT GETS ON ME. Or become a zombie spider? (Did I tell you that story?) So in my head, the work bathroom scenario involves me pulling and Elvis and living in company history as being the dumb bitch that had a heart attack on the toilet. THIS CANNOT HAPPEN.

For weeks I would scan the bathroom before I’d even enter the stall. I let my guard down and this is what happens. Also, Poprocks posted a picture of a giant, panic inducing spider on his tumblr yesterday. This is somehow his fault.

Anyway, I am full of anxiety and everything I see out of the corner of my eye, every brush I feel on any part of my body, anything I imagine…PANIC ATTACK. Soap bubble slid down my leg in the shower and I nearly fell and cracked my head open due to me jumping out of my skin. I know it’s funny, and after the initial panic has subsided I can laugh about the events. Eventually. But living with this phobia is starting to ruin my life. It’s getting worse.

On my mom’s birthday, I made her dinner. I realized I was missing an ingredient, so I sent her to the store in the middle of cooking. I had her laptop open on the kitchen table with the recipe pulled up for consultation purposes. As I finished a step, I turn to walk over to the laptop to double check my work. There’s something on her screen…I get a little closer…BABY FUCKING TARANTULA.

There is a GIANT, HAIRY, BLACK, BABY TARANTULA ON HER LAPTOP.

I flip out. I call Savannah, as she is due to come over and beg her to come RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOOOOOOW!! I am reaching decibels and frequencies hard for the human ear to decipher. Her cube mate can hear me through the phone. She tries to calm me down and offers solutions.

“Close the laptop, idiot”.

“SPIDERGUTS IN THE KEEEEEEEEYS!!”

I finally decide to get the vacuum cleaner and suck that bastard straight into spider hell.

I CAN’T GET THE HOSE ATTACHED AND IT’S NOT SUCKING.

I have to squish it. It’s crawling all over the table, the stack of presents and the laptop. I am hysterically screaming at the spider. Fun fact? They’re deaf. So it can’t hear me shouting, “STAY WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!”

I grab a shoe, bravely inch towards the table and….THWACK!

VICTORY IS MINE! SUCK IT, SPIDER!!

I stare at it for a few minutes and then it’s legs start to uncurl and it starts to wiggle around. IT’S NOT DEAD. ZOMBIE SPIDER.

I then proceed to beat the everloving shit out of it and retreat to the living room and call Manfred, still hysterical, and start babbling about zombie spiders.

“Um, babe…I’m still at work”

“AND THEN IT CAME BACK TO LIFE AND I SWEAR IT WAS A BABY TARANTULA AND IT’S GOING TO KILL ME IN MY SLEEP.”

“Uh, ok…just, uh calm down and I’ll call you when I leave work”

At this point my mother, who originated my phobia with her own, comes home to find me rocking in a dark corner sobbing. Not an exaggeration.

Ruining my life. And unless I move to fucking Antarctica, they will continue to freak me the fuck out every opportunity they get.

I think it’s time for therapy.

Comments : 4 Comments »
Tags: arachnophobia, i'm a total spazz, only my life, spiders, that just happened, things i hate, things that scare me
Categories : Uncategorized

GTFO, Galbladder

4 02 2011

So I spent a romantic evening in the er tonight. Just me and my cranky ass galbladder. Ok, well Manfred was there too. Because I figured someone should probably drive me. The only reason I even went was because I was convinced if anything was wrong, it was my appendix. I felt like someone was stabbing me in the side all day. Usually I get referred pain with my galby, in my left shoulder.

I’m fine. It wasn’t a big deal, I was there maybe an hour and a half tops. I peed in a cup, they took blood, wrote some scripts and sent me home. The blood part was fun. Manfred is petrified of blood and I am terrified of needles/syringes. He can’t be in the room and I can’t be alone. It once took two nurses, my mom and my grandmother to take my blood. I freak the fuck out. Not in a violent way, nurse friends, but more a cry hysterically and refuse to let you near me kind of way. I have gotten much better. As the nurse was taking my blood, Manfred is facing the wall, eyes squeezed shut, and I am hanging onto, and possibly crushing, his hand with my eyes also squeezed tight. This is when the doctor walks in. He immediately starts cracking up. That totally made me feel better. I know it’s ridiculous, I’m damn near 29 years old and I am covered in tattoos and have my fair share of piercings…but when you start taking my blood…vom.

Anyway, the point is, I went to the hospital and now I’m home. I forgot to have them look at my knee and as punishment, it’s throbbing like a mofo. It’s too late to pop a vico, so we’ll see how well I sleep. Dr wrote me a script for phenergan and an anti-spasmodic. Tee hee. I hate phenergan, yeah…of course you don’t feel like puking anymore…YOU ARE KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT. Part of why I hate taking anything stronger than advil is because I hate being knocked out in a drug coma. I’m too much of a control freak.

So yeah. Galbladder still hates me and wants out like whoa. The PA told me that some people produce negative bloodwork and clean ultrasounds for years, but as soon as they get their galbladder removed…the symptoms stop. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to make out with him? Someone who actually listened to me and understood that I am not making this up? Seriously, smooches to you, guy.

I’m supposed to follow up with my regular doctor, but I kind of hate him. I mean, not him in general, he’s a nice dude…but the practice as a whole. And he doesn’t ever listen to me. I need a new doctor who will talk to me, not at me.

In the meantime, the saga of l&c versus the galbladder of doom continues. Oh happy day.

Comments : 4 Comments »
Tags: body issues, take my galbladder...please!, things i hate, what's up doc
Categories : Uncategorized

Why are bras so fucking evil?

6 01 2011

Seriously. It’s 2011 and we don’t have this figured out yet? My tas hurt. My ribs hurt. Don’t pull that Oprah statistic on me, asshole. I have been professionally measured and wear a fucking 38F. That is not a size you buy for the hell of it, or willingly, TRUST. I guess because I have a tiny rib cage, massive boobies and NO SHOULDERS WHATSOEVER, this is my curse. Of course, it’s nearly 10:30 and I have spent the evening lazing on the couch watching college basketball, so why haven’t I taken the stupid thing off yet?

Laziness. Gets me every time.

So. How are you?

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Tags: body issues, boobies, misery, things i hate, things that make me stabby
Categories : Uncategorized

Someday you will be loved

23 09 2010

I had a moment of indignant, self-righteous preachiness today. I try to avoid those, but sometimes…they need to happen.

This girl is not fat.

Disclaimer: not my ass

I follow her on tumblr. I absolutely adore her tattoo and she entertains me. Plus, I think she is adorable. Someone left her an anonymous question.

“Anonymous asked: If your tattoo wasn’t at the top of that pic I wouldn’t think it was you. You’re way bigger than that aren’t you? Is that recent? Have you lost weight?

No offense intended.”

Well clearly, as we all know, “no offense intended” is code for “I AM TRYING TO OFFEND YOU BUT AT THE SAME TIME NOT LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE! WHEEE!!”

Now, here’s the thing, the internet is basically a playground for adults, am I right? Of course I am. So we feel safe hiding behind our laptops and mocking people’s bad youtube videos, pictures of their ugly kids or the size of their asses. The thing is, this girl isn’t fat. At all. She looks amazing. I wish I was her size. So why is it ok to tell her she’s anything other than beautiful? Why are people so mean? I mean the obvious answer is insecurity blah, blah, blah.

But why is this ok?

As I have mentioned, I have a LOT of body image issues. A lot of people tell me every day how pretty I am. But there were a lot of people when I was a kid who made fun of me. And thanks to puberty, I had C-cup boobies by 8th grade. I have blonde hair, was a healthy kid with a little ski slope nose. I got called Miss Piggy all through grade school.

Once I developed hips, an ass and tits…forget it. College brought binge drinking and cheap food and I gained a lot of weight. So much that apparently my ex’s “friends” used to make fun of me to his face when I wasn’t around. So he cheated on me. With a skinny bitch. All of those years of torment and then the moment I realized I lost my boyfriend to someone who was skinny…it sucked. It sucked so bad. I never thought I would come out of it.

I started working out obsessively and stopped eating. I was depressed and I HATED myself and I HATED my body. I thought my nose was too wide and my eyes could use a lift. Was my chin prominent enough? Were my boobs starting to sag? This went on for months until my heart started to heal and I realized that it wasn’t because my ass had its own zip code that he left. He left because he left. He met someone else. That was that.

As I came to terms with the situation and I started to let happiness creep back into my life, I started gaining weight back. I dyed my blonde hair black because I figured maybe if I changed something I could control easily, I would be happier with my looks. Well, I faked it pretty well for awhile. I felt like a different person. But deep inside I knew I was still that awkward teenager with a little extra chunk.

I tried everything to mask my insecurity. I started covering every inch of my body that wasn’t visible with moderate clothing with ink. I pierced up my ears, my nose and gauged my lobes. I created a persona. I was too bad ass to care about what anyone thought. No one was going to call a girl with a half sleeve fat. She may kick their ass.

But still, insecurity and unhappiness lingered.

I went back to blonde. I started dressing differently. I tried to “hide” my “flaws”. I reconnected with Manfred. He told me I was gorgeous. STILL, it hasn’t been enough. I don’t want people to say it. I’m not looking for that and honestly, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. I want to FEEL it. I still won’t bare my legs. They are so white and fat and just gross. I hate my calves more than any other part of my body. So, I bought skinny jeans. They don’t make me look any fatter than my normal jeans, I told myself. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. I bought leggings. The lycra scourge. I still don’t know what to wear them with, besides under dresses this fall. If fall ever gets here. But those are small steps to accepting myself and trying to be happy with what I have.

I know there are many of you, and I know who you are, who will tell me if I just diet and exercise, etc, etc. Well, I’m not fat because of my eating habits. I am extremely lazy, this is true. I have a job that sucks my will to live out of me 40+ hours a week and let’s please not discuss the hot mess that is my personal life. By the time I make it through my day I’m exhausted. I do not physically have the energy it would take to do any sort of exercise program that would have any impact, honestly. Not to mention the fact that I am in a big financial mess too and I’m sorry, but I don’t have the money to blow on a gym membership or classes every month. Maybe next year, but right now it ain’t happening.

So I know that I could do things better or differently and maybe I would start to see changes and like myself more. But after years of self loathing, how do you undo that damage? How do you look in the mirror after 28 years of not liking what you see and say “yes, this is beautiful”?

I guess that is just going to have to be next year’s battle. 2010 has totally defeated me at this point. Maybe next year will be the year I learn to love myself, eye wrinkles, fat calves, wide nose and all.

Comments : 5 Comments »
Tags: body issues, it's my blog and i'll bitch if i want to, playground mean, self esteem, self-righteous preachy bitch, things i hate, things that make me sad
Categories : Uncategorized

The mean reds

14 07 2010

I should never have promised a recap today.

I am kind of a mess today. The Scotsman and I sort of had it out last night. We’ve bickered before, but this was a real argument. He made me MADDER THAN FISH GREASE! (10 points if you know the origin of that gem) I apparently pissed him off real good too. You know what? It happens. Things like this are what real people do. We were both wrong. The end. But it’s still hard. I tried to talk to him and explain WHY. WHY I was mad, WHY I did what I did, WHY. It’s like we both speak Greek or something. He was not getting anything I was saying and eventually I wore myself out and just let it go. Like I let everything go. It’s just not worth it. If he wants to be a stubborn asshole, then fine. I’m clearly not going to get through to him so I give up. I love him and that includes the parts that make me want to punch him right in the face. I just wish he listened to what I was saying sometimes.

Anyway, yeah…I’m fucking exhausted still and I miss Nola and NOLA and I have a ton of freelance tonight, his mom had another surgery today, I am still broke and I still hate my job. It’s a mean reds kind of day up in here.

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

It’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep and Tom Petty and DBT tomorrow night. But…unless I perk up tonight, you’re not hearing my NOLA stories. There are many to share, but I’m just too red to go there right now. Sorry ya’ll. Love you.