Tis The Season For a Puppy!

I've had a shitty couple of weeks but I've been able to overlook them a little due to our new puppy.

Her name is Jezebel and she is a pure bred blue pit bull.

As you all know, my old man dog Taz passed away fairly recently. The day he did, I was out working with Karyn and her horses at Doug's house to help ease my mind. Doug's neighbor Patty was over visiting and she informed me that her gorgeous pair of blue pit bulls had just had a litter and that I should come over and get some dog therapy. So... I did. I can never resist a pit bull, a blue especially. Make it a puppy and you have a recipe for one happy Taryn.

As I entered the house, I was greeted by the parents, Debo and Lilly. These pits were big, muscular, and so very sweet. I sat down on the floor and proceeded to let Debo give me as much love as he wanted to... which was a LOT. And then I focused on the puppies. They were all equally adorable but one caught my attention in particular. She was the biggest out of the litter and she had a white collar marking around her neck, white socks, and a tiny little white tip on her tail. I jokingly said I should take her... and thats how I got into this mess.

After watching them grow for the next 8 weeks and debating damn near daily, I ended up with this baby blue. And thanks to my very very dear friend, I did not have to provide a single thing to get her or to care for her.

She is huge for 8 weeks old! Her lines of course are what makes that happen... she is razors edge and gotti if I'm not mistaken. And she is in the process of being papered to prove it all which surprisingly enough makes me really happy. Her chest is very broad, she already has the faint tracings of rippling little muscles and ohmygawd her feet are massive. She is also ridiculously smart. Its kinda scary. Her first night home, she barely made a peep unless she needed to go to the bathroom... and in three days, she has only piddled on the carpet twice. She has now adjusted to using her puppy pads or just whining a bit until we take her outside. She also will try like hell to go poop in her spot even if she doesn't have to just to hear us tell her she is a good girl.

She understands a firm "NO" already and adheres to it. She only chews on her own toys. She goes into her kennel willingly to lay down. Oh and she is a firm believer in making your lap her bed. She is so unbelievably lovable and pretty gentle with her teeth for the most part... I mean, they're needle sharp and she LOVES to play, but she tries not to hurt you. I gotta give her that. And she is not scared of anything! She is totally an alpha dog.

Her little bark is precious (and hysterical) and my heart melts when she comes hauling ass towards me. Her immediate devotion to Travis and I is amazing too. She is such a little goofball that I can't help but laugh at her antics even when I'm feeling down... and when I broke down and bawled my heart out last night, she came running across the room, got right into my lap and fretted over me until I stopped.

So, in short, we are completely blessed to have her. She fit right in like she has always been there and I can't wait to see how gorgeous and intelligent this little blue gets as she grows. <3

Being Pierced and Tattooed Does Not Make Me Trash.

I am a body piercer. Its is my career, my profession, my art, and my life. I love what I do and I love the perks that come with it. Some of these perks include being able to collect tattoos from artists who do INCREDIBLE things using skin as their canvas, collecting piercings from friends in the industry, and hanging out with a REALLY amazing bad-ass crowd of people. These artists come from all walks of life and are really human beings... just like anyone else.

Sadly however, we are not usually treated like we are humans with feelings by certain people in society. People think its ok to judge us based on our adornments that we choose to decorate our bodies with. We are viewed as hooligans, felons, criminals, punks, assholes etc. and its depressing and wrong. So very, very wrong. I happen to know someone who is highly tattooed who, with his wife, took in recovering drug addicts and helped them get back on their feet. They did it with their own time, money and home. Or what about a friend of mine who is tattooed from head to toe who did those famous 56 stars on that girls face? Remember that story on the news? I can't even begin to tell you how nice that artist is... but notice how quickly people jumped to conclusions about him when a stupid girl ran her mouth.

I know that the mass of society is judgmental as it is towards anyone in general, but some of the looks and comments I have received because of what I do to my own body have hurt my feelings and taken down how I feel about people in general... which has never been very high in the first place. It doesn't help that I live in one of the highest ranked retirement communities and I constantly interact with the elderly either. I know they come from a different time and are "old fashioned" but what the hell ever happened to "Live and Let Live"?

Its not just the elderly either. I have had lots of curious looks and questions from children. I am enchanted and happy to talk to them until their parent takes a look at me and runs in the other direction with their kid in tow. They are teaching them to be closed-minded just like they are. Its a vicious cycle and I could stand on my soap-box all day and scream until I'm blue in the face... but it will never change. We thrive on thinking we are better than others. We feel we are better than others so we judge them and feel no shame. We teach our children to shun others who are different because we are scared of what we don't understand. But just because I choose to be be a living breathing canvas for artists does not mean I am a bad person.

However, this would be a depressing post if I didn't touch base on some of the amazing people I've encountered right?

I played a "magic trick" with my septum ring on a 4 year old in Petsmart while talking to her very kind mother. Her entertainment with my ability to hide my septum ring was adorable. I had an elderly woman fall in love with my sleeve because the colors were so beautiful. I have had an insane amount of kind and polite questions on my dermal anchors and how they are done. I have had countless compliments on all of my art and it gives me a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling inside. I can see the change. I can see the acceptance starting to outshine the hate and misunderstanding... I guess I'm just impatient. I wish more people would see that this is not going away. This is part of our evolution. We can modify ourselves so we can appear outside how we feel inside... and there is nothing wrong with choosing to do so. There are police officers with ampallangs, teachers with nipple piercings, doctors with tattoos hidden low on their hips... body modification is slowly creeping up in this world and I am so happy to be a main part of the revolution.

I will hold the door open for you at the store, even if you look at me like I am a freak. I will respond to your questions about my work with kindness even if you tell me that they are ugly or I would be "so much prettier" without them. I will give random smiles to strangers and watch my sailor-mouth in front of their children because believe it or not, I have a profound sense of respect. I am NOT trash. I AM a human being with feelings and hopes and disappointments. I feel love, sadness, despair, happiness and pain. I have a voice. I am a human. Just like you.

2 Cell Phones In Six Years Makes For Vicious Phone Envy.

I got my first cell phone when I was 18. I was out on my own, I bought and paid for it myself, and I was elated. This was amazing! I could text my friends and take glorified pictures of myself and put them online! I could call anyone I wanted because the power of communication was MINE!!! I mean, it was only a little flippy-nugget phone, but I adored it. And I took excellent care of it. Such good care in fact that it lasted me three years.

And around that mark, I started to get antsy for a new phone. There were now cuter flip phones with better color options and graphics and dammit, I needed one. So I got my Katana 2. Much to my then-boyfriend-now-husband's dismay, this phone was pink as pink could be so he refused to use it ever. He finally caved and got his own phone but thats a whole 'nother story. Anyway, I now had this adorable pink thing that did everything my previous phone did only just a little better and I was happy.

And that brings us to now. In the last three years, phone technology has advanced so quickly that my poor little pink phone quickly became outdated and old... but I still hung on to it because I take damn good care of my electronics and it still did everything I needed it to. Plus I was quite broke and couldn't afford a new one. So I sat back and developed the most awful phone envy. Everyone I knew had this awesome phone that had apps and high MP cameras and FULL keyboards! FULL KEYBOARDS!!!

Finally, my cousin Nathan saved me. He works for Sprint (who has been my carrier for 6 years) and has this nifty option to add his family members to his account... which means I get to be whole-heartedly spoiled rotten! He worked his magic and a few days later, I was the over-joyed owner of a glorious HTC Evo 4G.

This phone is fucking amazing. It has two cameras. One is on the front and it is meant for self-portraits and video chat. The other camera is an 8MP double flash camera that takes some fan-freaking-tastic pictures.

It has apps. I have applications that use my camera to scan barcodes on products then search the web AND local areas for that product and its prices. I have a bank app... so I can be more financially responsible. (bwahahaha!) I have navigation apps so I never get lost ever again, horoscope apps, streaming radio stations that play music personalized to ME, soundboards from my favorite shows and movies, apps that show you every star in the sky when you point it upwards, apps that tell me what movies are playing in my local area and what time they are showing, a sound machine to fall asleep to... the possibilities are ENDLESS with this thing.

The games... omg. Have you ever played Angry Birds? If you have, you'll understand my excitement. What about Alchemy? Or how about a rousing round of scrabble with either your friends or some random person across the country that you can chat with? Hundreds of sudoku puzzles at my fingertips... word search, mahjjong, pinball, and hundreds of other crazy games to help you pass the time.

I am connected with everyone. I can check my facebook, my email, keep chat windows for each individual contact in my phone, AND talk to people on the phone WHILE I am doing other things on it.

How the hell did I ever live without this thing? My two phones before this were wonderful and may they rest in peace... but OHEMGEE I love this phone/life accessory.

Old Stinky Dog.

I'm going to write this now, because if I try tomorrow, it may very well be a jumbled mess of medicated words that make no sense whatsoever.

My mom, my sister and I have a dog named Taz. He is a cute mixture of pit bull and akita. He has pit build and face, but pointy akita ears and a curly tail. He is brindle and was dubbed "blender puppy" by my Aunt a long, long time ago.

When I say long, I mean long. Taz is going on 17 years old. His super dark sweet little face has gone white and his eyes have long since lost their clarity... and boy howdy does his breath STINK... but he is our old fart dog... Stinky... and he has always been the one man in our lives that has never hurt us. Now he is suffering and as his people, we are left with the choice that no one ever wants to make... when is the right time to let our little old man go? He is covered with bumps and lumps. His hips hurt him and give out frequently. He cannot make it outside most of the time... but he certainly tries to get to the door. (good boy.) He has lost the curl in his tail, looks confused, and is so obviously just... gone. So I guess its time...

I brought Taz home when I was in second grade. I'm pretty sure it was in January because I wanted a puppy for my birthday and he was born on Christmas. I crawled under a house to pull his fat little ass out and I carried him all the way home in my coat so he wouldn't get cold. He tore shit up. He chewed the noses off of our teddy bears. He made messes where ever he went. He was a litle terror... or at least to me he was because none of my stuffed animals were safe. I ended up moving to my Dad's shortly thereafter until I was 12, but Taz was always happy to see me when I came home to visit.

When I moved back in with my Mom, Taz was a little shit. Hell, he's always been a little shit. Just ask all of my friends who have had to chase after him as he was running down the street. He loved to run as soon as the door was opened enough for him squeeze through... and whoever let him out, had to chase him down. He also had a thing for the sock toys I would make him. Oh and shoes... while they were still attached to your feet. He would whip you right over on your ass if he was feeling playful enough. He frequently got into the garbage can, attacked the vacuum cleaner, took TEN YEARS to go to the bathroom while on walks, and would always steal your seat as soon as you got up to do something.

Taz was a real pain in the ass.

But he protected us. He is a very protective dog. I always felt safe with him around... and sometimes annoyed because he barks at everything. He is also a good companion. There are so many of our tears on that dog. Boy heartbreaks, fights with friends and family, or just a sad movie... didn't matter. Our dog was there. He shared suckers and popsicles and ate Mom's apple cores. He put up with "DANANANANA BATDOG!", scrunchies that pinched his ears together, and he let Chelsie and I wear his tail like a bracelet. He got sprayed by a skunk like THREE times!!!

God all of these memories are rolling around in my head faster than I can type. 17 years is such a long time for a dog... we are so blessed that he lived this long. But it hurts so badly to see him go. And I can't be there. Its not fair. I want to hold him and tell him it will be ok. I want to kiss his stinky face and pull on his pointy ears... but I know my Mom and my sister will be there. I know they will tell him how much I love him... funny thing is, I'm pretty sure he knows already.

I love you Taz. I am going to miss you so fucking much. Thank you for being the best dog in the world. Because you really are... and you always will be... the best dog in the world.

Self-Reflection Time. Oh Goody.

I am full of inspiration lately. I have had some awesome ideas just pouring out of my brain and one of them just happens to be about me.

Let's start with the obvious: I am a total spazoid. I find myself excited by the smallest things and I'm not ashamed to let anyone in my general vicinity know about it. Doesn't matter if you are the person behind me in the line at the grocery store and I found the most amazing bag of fresh mushrooms on sale or if you are one of my clients sitting on our piercing table thats actually a gyno table from the 60's, I will tell you all about it with gusto. I am what many would call a "happy person".

I am also quite tickled by large events in my life. Concerts are a major one. I will remind my friends and co-workers weeks ahead of time that there is a show coming up and I am VERY excited about it. If there is a trip coming up, I focus on nothing else... but I pack the night before I leave because I truly am just weird like that.

I am, however, easily frustrated. I definitely have some anger issues which confuses me greatly. How can such a happy person become such an angry person? My hair is one thing that brings out my inner monster. I can't ever do anything cool with it. I see all of these girls with curls and bumps and froofy shit going on on their heads and I CAN'T accomplish it. And if I try and fail (which 9 times out of 10 I do) then my whole day is completely ruined by my lack of hair style savvy.

Driving is another thing that instantly rubs me the wrong way. I live in Arizona. There are an amazing amount of retirement communities here and we get an astounding amount of snowbirds too. Some of them drive like a bat out of hell and others drive like snail shit. Its extremely frustrating as I have a 16 mile drive and it takes me 40 minutes to get there because I have to drive through a sea of idiot drivers. I frequently can be seen at stop lights screaming my fool head off at the bonehead in front of me... or to either side... or behind me. But I'm not biased here. I have had many a run in with young drivers and they are just a flippin' stupid as the old dude in front of them.

Arizona is FULL of stupid drivers.

But lets stay positive here. I am an optimist. I try really hard to just find the silver lining of any situation and be happy that its not worse. I hate dwelling on the past as its nothing I can change, I can only learn from it so thats what I choose to do. I have a past that I am not proud of... but I LEARNED from it and I have not repeated my mistakes. Thats the important part. And I am grateful for all of my friends and family who put up with my neurotic behavior. The hair color, the body mods, the random angry outbursts and hormonal cry-fests.... they take it all and somehow they still love me. I don't get it, but I've learned not to question it because that just gets me yelled at.

And I hate getting yelled at.

So there. I told you if you wanted to know more about me to just keep reading my blog. See? I am holding up my end of the bargain. I rock. ^_^

Your Duckface Sucks. Knock It Off.

In the last year or so, there has been an alarming increase of "duckface" pictures on the interwebz. You know the ones... where the person looks like they just sucked on a rank lemon wedge or got punched by Andre The Giant in their pooper? Mmhmm... those people are either blind or stupid.

I'm betting on the latter.

Are they really so fucking full of themselves that they think pursing their lips makes them "sexy"? YES! I'm going to paint the whole area around my eyes black, spray paint myself orange, throw some super shimmery white lipstick on my lips and pinch those babies up so they look like they belong on a 90 year old woman and BAM! I'm sexy as hell.

Ok, maybe they are blind.

This epidemic is spreading through the masses of males in our society as well. But why? Are men really starting to cross over into being women? Given the plague of skin tight, bright colored clothing items, eyeliner, and giant sparkly hoop earrings that they have started to wear, I'm thinking so. Making a duckface while you take a picture of yourself in your bathroom with your smartphone doesn't make you cool dude... it makes you look gay. Like literally homosexual. (Which I do NOT have any issue with... unless you are NOT gay but you LOOK gay... then you just look dumb on top of everything else).

Oh.My.GAWD. I just pulled that little gem of a picture off Google Images and honestly... I can't stop laughing. Good grief, give it 50 years and there will be no more gender identification.  Everyone will look the same with that god awful duckface and the only way you will be able to tell is by actually looking at their naked crotch. Of course, given the theory of evolution, I'm sure in the next hundred years or so, the penis will slowly begin to creep back up into the body, dragging the testicles with it... thus exterminating human life on this planet. So stop being so damn girlie boys... or you're going to kill off mankind. Do you want that kind of blood on your hands? I don't think you do.

I got a little off subject here. Duckface. Yes. Its disgusting. Its vile. It makes you look absolutely fucking RIDICULOUS.

STOP IT.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

STOP junking up our already junked-up internet with pictures of yourself that you think look sexy when really you just look like a surprised stroke victim.

And if you are one of my friends and you have a duckface picture (or more than one) you had better remove it. Because I will find it. And I will make fun of you for it. I will badger you until you remove it. And you will thank me for saving you. Consider yourself warned.

This is war people. Whose side are you on?

 (DAMMIT! KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!!!)

Dammit Dog, Shut Up!!!

I know you have all had that neighbor with the dog (or worse, DOGS) that barks incessantly right? I'm not the only one to experience this outright rude phenomenon right?

Right?

Yeah. Our neighbors have TWO dogs and if they are outside and a LEAF blows across the yard, they freak out. Doesn't matter the time of day or what the supposed disruption is in their tiny little lives, they have to tell the whole fucking world about it. Guess what dogs? I don't care. I don't care that the bird is eating your food. I don't care that a car drove by. I don't care that someone walked by either. I don't care that your other furry idiot dog-friend just took a shit...I DON'T CARE.

And this makes me wonder... are their owners deaf? I know damn well if I can hear them in our house, they can certainly hear them in theirs. Do they just turn up the tv? How on earth do they sleep through that shit? I mean honestly, do they ever stop to think about their poor neighbors who are subjected to listening to their schizophrenic pooches? I know it makes ME want to tear out my hair when all I hear for the better part of an hour is "YIP! YIP! BARK!! RUFF! YIPYIPYIP!"... so why, I ask, does it not do the same for them? I know DAMN well they hear their freaking dogs... but they do nothing about it. Thats just rude. Really, really, really rude.

Apparently, they make this birdhouse with a sonic thingy inside of it. You set it up close to your neighbors yard, and when the dog starts to bark, its sets off the sonic thing and shuts the dog up. I may have to invest in one of these because honestly, I'm ready to march into that yard and punt those obnoxious little canine twats all over their yard.

Or I'll just stand in our backyard at 3 am and start barking like a maniac every night until they get the hint. It will be cheaper... and possibly more effective. Hell, maybe my roommate's dog Sydney will join in too.

(EDIT: This morning that fucking dog started up at 6:00 am... and continued until who knows when. Thank god for ear plugs.)

I Drugged My Little Sister

Being an older sister is quite the adventure. Even more so when you have a single mom who works nights and you just so happen to be old enough to watch your kid sister while she is at work. Chaos ensued more often than not and made for some really interesting nights.

One such instance was when I was forced to drug my sister to get her to sleep. I had been trying for two hours, it was 10:30 at night, and my 15 year old mind was desperate. She was running all over the house like a tiny little blonde crack child. I noticed the bottle of Benadryl sitting on the bathroom counter and it hit me... those tiny pink pills make you tired. I know that I personally zonk out for a good four hours after I take one... so half would be fine for my sister.

But how to administer such a thing?

At 7 years old, there was no way she was just going to swallow a pill that I had given her. I mean, I tried. But she absolutely refused. She knew what I was trying to do and there was NO way she was going to miss out on torturing me and possibly getting me into trouble by "allowing" her to stay up late. I needed to be sneaky. I needed to be...

NINJA.

So, I took the half of the little pink pill and I crushed it to bits using the bottle. Then I pulled out a slice of the no-bake cheesecake that I had made earlier, cleverly scooped the strawberry topping off and sprinkled this "sleep powder" all over the cheese cake. I placed the strawberry topping back over the cheesecake and tempted my bouncing sister off the living room couch into the dining room to eat what would presumably knock her obnoxious little ass out.

"It tastes funny." she said... but, as any 7 year old will do, she inhaled the whole thing. And conked out 25 minutes later. Granted, it was now almost 11:30, but it accomplished what I couldn't. Gotta love those pills.

I was the master at revenge too. I have duct taped my sister up completely and left her there on the floor for 10 minutes while I stepped outside. She genuinely thought I had left her and was completely panicked when I came back in. I have dumped ice water all over her when she was being a complete brat. I fed her a vomit flavored jelly bean and told her it was tutti frutti. She fell for lots of food pranks.

I have also scared the hell out of her numerous times. My favorite time however was one night when she herself was 12. She had a friend over for the night and my mom was working a little late so she asked me to drive out and check on her and her little friend. We lived in a double wide (haha) out in the country on a few acres so it was dark and quiet and the perfect time to terrorize her.

I had some one with me (though I cannot remember who) and we decided on the way over that we were going to park a bit away from the drive way and sneak up to the house on foot to bang on the window. But as we were sneaking up, I realized that we could just bang on the walls and it would resonate through the whole house. So thats what we did. My friend went to the back and starting BEATING the walls with their fists... and when I joined in, it sounded downright terrifying. We stopped for a second and listened. My sister and her friend were screaming inside. Oh, they were scared. So we continued to beat on the walls, walking a full circle around the house until I finally decided that we needed to go in and make sure they hadn't keeled over and died.

My sister and her friend had barricaded themselves in her room and were both brandishing butcher knives in the air as I pushed open the door. I was laughing so hard I nearly peed myself.

I think I may have scarred her for life. ^_^

(P.S. please do not think I am evil. My little sister was a complete butthead and most things I did to her were for retaliation purposes only and not just to pick on her. That being said, I love you Snotrag) :)

Emo = FAIL

(Let me start by saying this is my own opinion. I happen to have a few select "emo" looking friends and this is not directed at them. And if you do not like my opinion, you do not have to read it. And if you are seriously emo and this bothers you... get over it. Or go listen to The Used and cry about it. Make sure you have a tissue to catch all of that eyeliner streaking down your cheeks.)

My generation was pretty standard.

We dressed semi-normal (not counting the sagging pants of course, but it appears those will never go away). We didn't have boys walking around in girls jeans and shirts and we didn't have girls looking like they spray painted a dead lap dog and put it on their head and called it a hair style. We had our small handful of goth kids but we didn't have an army of  "ohmygod I'm going to cut myself and drink my own tears because my parents won't let me go to the Hawthorne Heights concert" kids.

I was out the other day at a very popular sporting/shopping district called Westgate. LOTS of people hang out there, so naturally, there are a ton of these emo-tards everywhere... and I started to notice something. The boys were wearing girls earrings. Not just any earrings, but big fairy-sparkly hoop fucking earrings... on both ears. Combine that with the tight pants, the tight shirts, the eyeliner and the hair falling in their face and you have the next stars of RuPaul's Drag U. I'm not kidding... they were these HUGE hoop earrings! The final kick to my brain came when I saw this kid... he was quite chunky and he was in a pair of bright purple tight-as-hell jeans, a tight bright blue shirt with neon green and pink writing all over the front, and these giant diamond crusted hoop earrings. His muffin top alone made me want to die... but seriously. Where are these kids' fucking parents? WHO LETS THEIR SON WALK OUT THE DOOR LOOKING LIKE THAT?! Where, for one, do they keep their testicles? How uncomfortable... honestly. These kids are supposed to be "trend setters"... the ones who don't settle for how society wants them to look... but they fail, because they all look the same.

You look like a GIRL. A pretty girl. I am convinced you have a vagina.

How many innocent animals died so you could put them on your head and call it a hair style?

The woe-is-me attitude sucks too. These kids are wimps. Life is going to kick them square in the face because they can't handle things like homework, their girl/boyfriend of two weeks dumping them, being grounded by their parents, and not getting what they want when they want it. 

Get a grip kids. Life sucks. Whining and crying about it doesn't do any good... it just makes the rest of us point and laugh at you.

(I found the images on the internet. If I infringe on any copyrights or anything, just let me know and I'll take them down)

My Ridiculous Fear of Water.

Let me just start out by saying I can swim. I can actually swim rather well. My fear stems from what could be IN the water with me... and that, my friend, comes from all of the B-horror movies I watched while growing up. Jaws too, but Jaws is classic. And when you are in the ocean, you are allowed to have a fear of being nommed on by a shark. Thats a legitimate fear. 


Alas, my fears (in fresh water) are quite stupid and uncalled for. I remember when this first started to take over my sense of reality. I had seen a movie where some teenagers snuck into this indoor pool of sorts. They were getting all hot and heavy in the pool (cause you know, the piranha didn't attack as soon as they jumped in. They wanted to be cock-blockers right as things were getting really sexy) and out of nowhere, they start screaming and there is blood everywhere in the water yada yada yada. It was really corny and stupid but my young brain didn't process that. All it wanted to process was pool = danger. So... my parents got a pool built when I was 6. And it was awesome. Until I started swimming by myself. I would start thinking about that movie... and my anxiety would start building until finally, I would jump out of the pool and scan the entire thing, making sure nothing was lurking in the measly 5 feet deep water to eat me. My fears became irrational. I starting thinking someone was going to pass by our wall and toss an alligator in there, or WORSE... a shark. Yes. We had the salt water system so I was CERTAIN a shark could survive long enough to rip off my legs and eat them.


This fear then started to strike me when I was in natural bodies of water. And it got WORSE because I could never see the bottom so I never knew what could be swimming under me. When that realization hit me, all hell broke loose in my mind. I had an obsession with sharks when I was little so I knew damn well that bull sharks could survive in fresh water. My Step-mom actually had a baby alligator for a "pet" when she was younger so I also knew that people who could no longer care for them would dump them in rivers and whatnot (not that she did that. I don't recall what she did but I know she didn't do that.). And I also knew that people could keep piranha as pets and dump them in rivers too. What was stopping them? Nothing. And as that realization grew, so did my irrational fear. 


Then came Lake Placid. Lake Placid killed me. I knew I shouldn't have watched it. I knew what it was going to do to me, but I watched it anyway and sure enough, summertime trips to the local river turned into stomach-churning freak-out fests for me. My friends were splashing and screaming and I was frantically yelling in my mind "STOP!!! The splashing attracts flesh-eating creatures of the deep!!!". When the embarrassment overcame the fear and I got in, I would be ok for a few minutes. I would even start to have a little fun. Then I started remembering where I was... and what could be in there... and my life was possibly in danger. Ohmygawd. Something just brushed my foot!!!!


I would then frantically swim as fast as I could to the shore and jump out of the water, shaking like a leaf. 


This fear is still with me to this day. Pools don't bother me anymore, but if I am in water where I cannot see the bottom, I am intensely uncomfortable. If I let it take over (as I so often do) I get a major anxiety attack and I have to get out of the water immediately. I squelch it in front of my friends most of the time because they'll never let me live it down... but I die a little inside each time I have to jump in. We'll be on a boat and everyone will be jumping off into the water... and I want to so badly... but as soon as I hit the water I flip. And don't even try to get me to do a water sport. For one, I can't. I genuinely blow at kneeboarding, wakeboarding, skiing, etc. So when I eat shit and the boat keeps going, I am left in the middle of the fucking water ALONE. I just close my eyes and pray nothing eats me.

I think I like Blogger better...

So I am going to start posting here instead. Tumblr doesn't allow comments on my posts... or not that I see anyway. I am rather unobservant so maybe I just missed it? I dunno. Anyway, I want people who don't have accounts to be able to comment on what I write so... yeah. Here we are. I'm linking to the piddly 4 posts I have on Tumblr.

http://goddessofwicked.tumblr.com/

And we'll start fresh once I can think about something else to write about...