With a Sense of Fear and Irrationalitaaaay

I got my hair cut last week. Considering the obscene amount of hair I have and the fact that my desire to be pretty is consistently beaten out by my desire to stay in my comforter cocoon for-ev-ver, I ask for lots of layers so the lion's mane essentially styles itself. To do this, stylists use a razor comb, which thins out the ends of your hair as they brush it through. An effective tool? Yes. Source of debilitating fear? Oh. My God.

Sadists.

Paranoid seems like such a dirty term; I prefer "cautiously attentive." When the perfectly capable and steady-handed Irena brought the razor comb towards my precious head, all I could imagine was her slipping on a stray squirt of mousse and skinning me like a prize buck (is that the correct simile? I don't hunt). There is so much that could go wrong there. I held my breath for the better part of the experience and obsessively stroked the back of my head when she was done to see if I could feel any strategic cover-ups of a now-bare scalp. Irena spared me. This time.

I realize that this is completely ridiculous and a huge waste of energy, but I can't help it; there are some things out there that will always terrify me for no reason. Actually, there are lots of them. I should be committed.

Whoa, you win.

Getting a pedicure, the nail technician will rip my big toe off - Nearly fifteen years of dance left me with manly calves and disgusting feet. Bunions, calluses, weird toenails -- I gave up my dream of being a flip-flop model many years ago. Does that mean I'll stop forcing a sweet, innocent lady to tend to my toes with a pumice stone and a prayer? Nevaaa. I have a lot of weird habits that arise when I get my toes done (giggle fits, restless leg syndrome, etc.), but as soon as I see the technician break out the toe separators I completely freak out. One of these days, she will definitely shove that thing in there too hard and completely crack my bunion in half, alleviating the need for the surgery my mother so desperately wants me to get but also guaranteeing that I'll chop both of my feet off to prevent this from ever happening again.

Water fountain backwash - When I was in third grade, someone told me that when you turned on a water fountain, the leftover water from the previous user was saved up and was the first bit of water that came out on the next use. So basically, if you didn't let the water fountain run for a few seconds before you started drinking, you just drank water from the mouth of Frank Farter. Between my youthful gullibility and the fact that a kid could rightfully earn himself the nickname Frank Farter, I hardly ever use water fountains these days. 

Stranger hiding in the house - I really shouldn't live in a multi-level house. I can't handle the possibilities. When I was little (...and also to this day...), I was convinced that a family lived in the crawlspace in our basement. They didn't do anything bad, per se, but they were there and probably judged harshly when I broke something on the computer that caused it to function improperly for the next 10 years (Hey family! Five year secret!). This delusion was amplified when I saw an episode of CSI where the killer hid out in his victims' attics and drove them crazy to the point of committing suicide. CSI is real, so you can imagine how this affected me. No matter where I am, if there is an air vent above me I am 99% positive there is a psycho staring right back at me, plotting his next move. And now you are too.

Burning off my eyebrows - I don't smoke, so that alone has cut my need to own and/or know how to operate a BIC lighter in half. The other half has been taken care of thanks to, of all things, America's Funniest Home Videos. Clip upon clip is shown of people lighting candles on a cake, with the audience howling with laughter when the lighter all of a sudden flares up and poor little Suzie gets a Barbie and a lack of expression for her birthday. People are always losing their eyebrows! Why is no one else worried about this?! I can usually keep my cool in these situations, but you'll notice I'm usually standing at least eight feet away from the fire starter with brow corrector in hand.

Getting T-boned at an intersection - First of all, this has actually happened to me, so maybe it's not so irrational after all. In that incident, the car was totalled but the driver and I weren't seriously injured slash dead so in my mind it was just a practice run by God. Any time I pass through an intersection, with a bright green light and everyone else using blinkers and abiding by every driving law in the book, I still tense up to prepare for impact. I'm just convinced that someone's brake will spontaneously combust and they'll come flying straight at me. Most of the time, when approaching the intersection, I'll instruct the drivers around me (aka scream), "STAY THERE. EVERYONE BE COOL. MAKE GOOD DECISIONS," until I've safely made it through. Long story short my friends don't ask me to drive anymore.

From this list, you can infer that I've never seen any of the Final Destination movies, because I would never leave my house for the rest of my life. I swear I'm normal in most other aspects, but you can never be too careful. Or on too much Xanax.

 

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