Friday, August 22, 2014

There's no need to call me 'sir', professor.

We've all got weird habits and phobias and strange pet peeves and weird issues in general. And an obsessive compulsive brain can really take some of those weird fears and habits to an extreme.

I feel like I've spent most of my life trying to hide some of my stranger paranoias. Mostly I can keep them hidden.

Mostly.

I used to have an extreme fear of peeing myself in public. Like I would need to use the loo every 20 minutes if I was not at home. I still always carry a huge supply of tissues in my purse, just in case I have a bathroom emergency in a place with no bathrooms. It got so bad at one point that even though I was really into outdoor things like hiking, I would ONLY go hiking where there were bathrooms or port-a-potties.

Another phobia has actually gotten me to quit smoking cigarettes in the car, because I have this intense fear of accidentally setting my car on fire. I get paranoid about getting flat tires as well, and never trusted the little gauge on my dashboard that's supposed to tell you if you have a flat tire. I have this portable tire inflator that I keep in my car just in case I get a flat tire. If I'm stressed out, I'll pull over and check the air pressure in all my tires pretty much every time I hit even a minor pothole. And I'll pull over in the sketchiest, most secluded areas when I do this because I'm really self conscious about my weird paranoias, and thus must make sure no one sees me in action.

(Last time I did that back in winter{April}, I discovered afterwards that I was trespassing on US Army property...)

The worst paranoia? Intestinal parasites. A number of times in my life, I have become totally convinced that I have worms. And when your biggest fear in life is worms, this is a major problem.

I think maybe I have tummy parasites.

I don't know why. I just woke up this morning with that notion in my head, and of course immediately began manifesting all of the symptoms of intestinal parasites. And you know how intense panic can make you really really need the bathroom? Well on top of the intense panic I am terrified to use the bathroom, in case I see worms. (That's gross, I know, I'm sorry.)

When the I-totally-have-parasites-panic reaches this level, I have two options: take dog de-wormers, or go to the doctor.

I've taken dog de-wormers before and survived, but they made me very very ill and I am well aware that they are really not good for humans. So after an hour and a half of sitting at my desk in a state of mental anguish, I finally gave in and called the doctor. But it's not the doctor who already knows about my madness in the parasite department, because he's too far away from work.


So now I can dread the trip to the doc, because (trust me) this is one of the most awkward conversations anyone could ever have with a doctor. It usually goes something like this:








More than once, following this scenario, I have walked out of the doctor's office with a prescription for worm killing meds, a prescription for xanax, and a suggestion that I go see a therapist.


Monday, August 18, 2014

Any officer who goes into action without his sword is improperly dressed.


Some things that have happened:

I have officially moved out of the apartment. Half my stuff got thrown out. I left the furniture and a ton of other things in the apartment for my landlord to deal with. Everything else went into a storage container (one of those pod things they deliver to your driveway), which was bombed for fleas.

(This was a dramatic event in itself, wherein Stepmom did a number of sneaky subtle things to ensure my father and brothers were nowhere to be seen when I really needed them, particularly on the day I actually had to move everything into the storage pod thing. Right before I had a full on psychotic episode, Ruthie{the pastor's wife} showed up with four guys from church to help load everything.)

I have spent the last week and a half placating my mother, who has the emotional maturity of a spoiled six-year-old and needed someone to hold her hand and guide her through the process of packing and moving out of her house.

(At 65 years old, this was the first time EVER that she has had to physically pack her belongings to move. Before now, everything has always been done for her. Y'all can probably imagine how fun my life has been the last week and a half.)


Some inspirational quotes from Mich:

"For feck's sake, it's putting things into boxes, not bloody rocket science. Stop whingeing and get off your arse and just DO IT."

"What happened to the woman who raised me to believe fretting over things was weakness!? Get your ass upstairs and pack your shit like a fucking Viking."


On the day of the actual move, the household turned into a circus. Mum locked herself in her bathroom and cried at approximately 8.30 AM. The movers arrived late, at about 9.00 AM. I was bitten by one of these arseholes:



and bled all over three of Mum's boxes of belongings.



(It wouldn't stop bleeding for like 2 days.)

Daisy the fat cat nearly escaped the house while we were trying to wrangle the cats into their carriers. But then instead of escaping out the open front doors, she ran past them and scurried into the wall in the basement. While Lil Sis just stood there and cried, I climbed into the insulation in the wall and got the cat out. Half of my body is now covered in an epic rash.

The realtor for the buyers showed up at around 10.30 AM and started bitching and being obnoxious in general because the movers weren't moving fast enough. Lady is a straight up psycho like for real. She had the crazy eyes. The movers eventually kicked her out of the house right before Mumsy called her mentally deficient to her face.

I kicked my boss out of his house so I could stay there overnight with the cats, since Mum wasn't allowed to move into the new condo until the day after we moved out of the old house. Daisy was not amused. Harleyquinn took it in stride, wandering about the house like she owned the place. 

Ivy was unsure how to react, as she usually relies upon Daisy's and Harley's reactions before she imitates them, but since they reacted to the moving situation with opposite attitudes, Ivy couldn't decide whether to hide under the bed with Daisy or hang out on the couch with Harley. Mostly she followed me around making her confused noise.

As of Friday, the condo is officially Mum's. I actually like it a lot more than I thought I would. 

Yesterday I met Rowdy Roddy Piper.

and he's like the nicest guy ever


And Josh Stewart and I are getting married any day now.



Monday, August 11, 2014

Robin Williams committed suicide.

I don't know why I'm so incredibly upset about this, but I am.

Just 2 posts ago, I quoted him from one of my fav movies.