I’m a bit of an an odd duck. Yes, I am a fully functional member of society. I have a healthy social life, a (part-time) job, and a family that supports me. But, as long as I can remember, I’ve been a bit quirky. As a child, I was OBSESSED with Alcatraz to the point where I had a poster of it in my bedroom. In fact, now that I think of it, I also had a signed portrait of Ralph Nader when I was ten. I spent my 12th birthday at a graveyard. I was a super happy kid, I was just kinda weird.
Over the years, my eccentricities have developed into a number of odd phobias, none of which I can remember the origin of. I fear that an animal will touch my feet, and especially, my toes without my permission. I can’t think about ranch dressing for an extended period of time without gagging. And above all, I fear chickens. I don’t know if it’s their beaks or feet or their eyes, but I’ve already developed a plan of attack in case a chicken starts chasing after me, which is:
1. Run as fast as I can away from it and find a safe shelter to lock myself in.
2. If no safe shelter is available, kick the beast like those dudes in football do to get it over the goal thingy.
Along with my fears, somewhere along the way, I developed an intense hatred for seemingly innocuous things. Camping? Hate it. Watching the Sci-Fi Channel? Yuck. Hippy drum circle? I might catch herpes. The list goes on and on, and I’m so stubborn to the point where I won’t give anything within my list of hates a chance.
My fears and hates merge together to form the enemy of my life essence. MAYONNAISE.
Mayonnaise, out of everything I hate, is the #1 thing that inflicts pain on my life. Any time I order a sandwich, I have to double check to make sure no white goop is on it. Yea, I know what you are thinking, my life sucks.
I’ve decided it’s about time that I push myself. Over the course of the next few months, I will be facing my fears/hatreds and embracing them. I will hold a chicken and feed it. I will go camping where there is no plumbing. I will (sigh) do some fire dancing with hippy degenerates. I will be blogging, taking pictures and making videos of my journey. Maybe one day, I will be a normal member of society, who can go to the deli without special ordering half the order.
Til that day, I will be forced to live with my defective phobias.


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Liz, the chickens wont eat if you’re holding them, they’re usually too freaked out by you, but considering they’re 1/20th your size at least they have a reason.
Dear Liz, first of all hahahah. Second, I support this!
I would like to be involved. Can I make you a mayo california roll with fake real crabmeat?
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