Fear of Phobias

While trolling on the Internet, and we all know how accurate and reliable the Internet is, for interesting 'facts' I came across a fascinating variety of phobias I thought I'd share to save you readers out there the trouble of searching for them yourselves.

Abluthophobia - Fear of washing or bathing. See, mom, I wasn't just trying to get out of my Saturday bath.

Acousticophobia - Fear of noise. Or maybe just back rock music?

Aerophobia - Fear of drafts, air swallowing, or airbourne noxious substances. Was that why Michael Jackson wore a mask everywhere?

Aeroacrophobia - Fear of open high places. Think I'll stay away from these.

Agateophobia - Fear of insanity. How would you know?

Agoraphobia - Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places. There's no place like home.

Agrizoophobia - Fear of wild animals. Do my dogs count? They're pretty wild, or as wild as a Cocker Spaniel and Yorkie can be.

Agyrophobia - Fear of streets or crossing the street. That applies to just about everyone who lives in a big city.

Alektorophobia - Fear of chickens. Does that include eating them?

Alliumphobia - Fear of garlic. Thought that just applied to Dracula and vampires.

Allodoxaphobia - Fear of opinions. Now I know what's wrong with me.

Amathophobia - Fear of dust. Now I know what to tell my husband next time he nags me to dust the house.

Amaxophobia - Fear of riding in a car. Especially if the driver is a teenager.

Ambulophobia - Fear of walking. Don't let teens know about this one. They'd never walk again.

Amnesiphobia - Fear of amnesia. Again, how would you know?

Anablephobia - Fear of looking up. I thought only turkeys and politicians had this problem.

Ancraophobia - Fear of wind. Does this apply to constituents listening to politicians?

Androphobia - Fear of men. Really?

Angrophobia - Fear of anger or of becoming angry. Don't know too many people with this problem.

Ankylophobia - Fear of immobility of a joint. That could screw up my golf game.

Anthrophobia or Anthophobia  - Fear of flowers. Now this one really throws me.

Anthropophobia - Fear of people or society. I don't have this fear, more like a healthy dislike.

Anuptaphobia - Fear of staying single. A lot of unmarried females suffer from this.

Apiphobia - Fear of bees. That's normal.

Arachnephobia or Arachnophobia - Fear of spiders. Isn't everyone?

Arithmophobia - Fear of numbers. Good excuse to get out of math class.

Asymmetriphobia - Fear of asymmetrical things. That explains a lot.

Ataxiophobia - Fear of muscular incoordination. We called them klutzes.

Ataxophobia - Fear of disorder or untidiness. OCD anyone?

Athazagoraphobia - Fear of being forgotton or ignored or forgetting. That's me in a nutshell. Do you think there's a group for that?

Atychiphobia - Fear of failure. That's everyone, isn't it?

Aulophobia - Fear of flutes. Are you kidding me?

Aurophobia - Fear of gold. You've got to be kidding!

Autodysomophobia - Fear of one that has a vile odor. Does that mean yours or someone else's?

And that's just a few of the A's! Theres dozens more. You could kill a whole day looking up all these interesting little phobias. Some could come in handy next time you're trying to get out of work.

Have fun with this list unless you suffer from Cherophobia (fear of fun).

The Queen of Procrastination!

I've given my self a new name: The Queen of Procrastination.

How did I come by this auspicious title, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

I can spend more time getting less done than anyone I know. I can sit down at my computer, determined to get some writing done and next thing I know, I've played about a dozen hands of solitaire on my iPad.

After I've forced myself to put the iPad away and get some work done, I'll decide it's time for 'research.' This can take up the rest of my day while I troll the Internet for obscure facts and tidbits which have absolutely nothing to do with my task at hand.

Some of the little nuggets of knowledge I've acquired include:
 Starfish have eyes the same size as their stomachs. Maybe that's where the saying, 'His eyes are bigger than his stomach' came from.
  The English invented football (called soccer in the U.S.) while kicking around the heads of slaughtered Danish invaders. Gross!
  In the classic Alfred Hitchcock movie Psycho, chocolate syrup was used for blood, and the 45-second scene took a week to shoot. At least it tasted good.
  
  Zebras are black with white stripes; A shaved zebra is completely black. Who knew? And why would you want to shave a zebra? Lose a bar bet?

  Owl eyes are bigger than their brains. That would be a good insult.

  Women invented bulletproof vests, windshield wipers, and fire escapes. 'Nuff said.

  The 60s sci-fi series Lost in Space was set in the year 1997!

  The only bird that can fly backwards is the hummingbird. But why would they want to?

  Among those voted least likely to succeed by their high school classmates were Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss), Gene Hackman, Tom Cruise, and Robin Williams. Robin was voted Most Funny. Just goes to show you, 'The Geeks Shall Rule the World.'

  Squirrels can't remember where they hide half their nuts. Get your mind out of the gutter!

  Humphrey Bogart's character Rick never says, "Play it again, Sam" in the movie Casablanca. What he actually said was, "You played it for her, you can play it for me."

  A goldfish can live up to 40 years. Has anyone ever had one live longer than a few weeks before you were forced to hold a funeral in the porcelain mausoleum?

  Mel Blanc's tombstone reads, "That's all folk." Appropriate.

  The first two female FBI agents were hired in 1972. One was a former nun, the other a former U.S. Marine. That must have been one strict nun!

  Elephants are the only mammals that can't jump. Unless you count my 400 lb. cousin Marty.

  The original Oxford English Dictionary defined terrorism as, 'government by intimidation.' Speaks for itself.

  The voice telling AOL users "You've Got Mail" belongs to Elwood Edwards.

  The word 'mortgage' comes from the French meaning Pledge to the Death or Death Contract. That explains a lot.

  Some flavors of Jell-O that never caught on include cola, chocolate, celery, apple, and coffee. EEWWW.

  The first time a toilet was shown on American TV was in an episode of Leave it to Beaver entitled 'Captain Jack.' Actually, since censors would not allow a toilet to be shown, only the tank was allowed to be shot. Where are all the censors today?

  The first novel to be written on a typewriter was 'Tom Sawyer.' Wouldn't paper been better?

  When Pearl Harbor was bombed, the top Navy command was called CINCUS (rhymes with sink us). It stood for Commander-in-Chief, US Fleet. Guess they didn't think that one through.

  Half of all Americans end up within 50 miles of where they grew up. Do you believe that?

  The percentage of men who would marry the same woman all over again if given the chance - 80.

  The percentage of women who would marry the same man all over again if given the chance - 50.

  Guess that means 30 percent of the men are in BIG TROUBLE!

  Your ears and nose never stop growing. More bad news for Ross Perot.

  When two hippos are about to fight, they point their anuses at each other, wag their stubby little tails vigorously, and flick feces at each other. Is that where the saying 'fighting dirty' came from?

  When adult male giraffes fight, they bang their necks together, although neither is ever hurt. That ought to really impress the female giraffes.

  The largest denomination of legal tender ever used in the United States was the $100,000 bill. It had a picture of Woodrow Wilson on its face and was never circulated to the public for obvious reasons. Could you just see someone shopping in the big box superstore and trying to pay with a $100,000 bill? Don't think any of the cashiers would be able to figure out the change for that.

  Given her proportions, if Barbie were a real woman she would be 7'2" and her measurements would be 38-18-34. Va Va Voom!

  Every month that begins on a Sunday will have a Friday the 13th. Look out Triskaideikaphobics.

  The only job of male bees is to mate with the queen. Those who do die in the act. Think I'd rather be her gay best friend.

  Originally, Superman didn't have the ability to fly, but he could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Bet everyone hated to compete against him in the high jump.

  The first computer debugger was Ada Lovelace, who literally removed dead bugs from the mechanism of Charles Babbage's analytical engine, which was built using mechanical, not electronic, technology. Hope she had a vacuum.

  Humans and giraffes have the same number of neck bones, the giraffe's are just longer.
Good thing ours aren't as long; that'd make turtleneck sweaters look funny.

  The machine used in shoe stores to measure shoe size was named after the inventor,  Charles F. Brannock. The first prototype was patented in 1926. Learned something trivial didn't you?

  A U.S. spinning penny is actually slightly more likely to end up tails because slightly more material is used to make the heads side. I know y'all will pull out a penny now to see if this is true.

  If a group of wrasses (a type of fish) is all female, the largest female of the group will transform into a
male. What a mensch!

  Blue Jays often forget where they store their food for the winter. Maybe they need to get with the squirrels and form a co-op.

  Gadsby: A Story of Over 50,000 Words Without Using the Letter 'E' is a 1939 novel by Ernest
Vincent Wright. I can't even imagine being able to do that!

  Hippopotomonstrosequipedaliaphobia is the fear of long words, and no, I didn't make that up!

Should Spouseicide Be Legal?

    Does anyone know what it's called when a wife kills her husband? And no, I don't mean murder or homicide. According to my extensive research on the Internet, which we all know is a very accurate and reliable source of information, when one kills one's parents it's called patricide (father) or matricide (mother). Did you know there is a 'cide' for killing just about everyone or everything but a spouse? For instance, did you know that killing one's brother is fratricide; killing one's sister is sororicide or killing a Bishop is episcopicide? There are also 'cide' words for killing bugs, flowers and even whales! So, could killing one's spouse be called 'husbandicide' or spousicide, depending on the gender?

    Traveling in a car for miles and miles could very well be legal justification for killing a spouse or partner. No judge in the land (if the judge were female) would ever convict a wife for killing her husband after (or even during, if she can read a road map and find her way) a long road trip.

My husband and I made a quick overnight business trip (eight hours one way) to Houston. We stayed in a nice hotel, courtesy of his company, and our gas and his meals were paid for but the actual trip . . .OMG!

    I guess I can thank him for the fact that I don't need to actually work out anymore to keep my heart rate up. By the time we stop for a potty break my heartbeats per minute are usually up to about 1,000! Now I appreciate his consideration and concern for my health by helping out with my physical well-being but I'd like to keep my mind a little bit longer, thank you very much. I don't want my grandchildren coming over to visit during the Holidays and using me to hold the decorations at Christmas. I can just picture them draping garland around my neck and making a headband of lights for head. I wouldn't mind that so much but putting bulbs in my ears like oversized earrings might be a problem; those suckers get really hot.

    Now, I'll admit I'm a nervous passenger and tend to get a little overanxious (and sometimes borderline hysterical) any time he drives 80 mph in a 65 mph zone but my husband has managed to develop selective hearing over the years so I know he's purposely not listening to me holler about the semi-truck he's about to make our acquaintance with just so he can enjoy seeing the veins in my neck throb.

    I think he, like most men, are also latent Nascar drivers. They fantasize themselves at the Indy 500 dodging cars like (insert current favorite race car driver here). If it weren't for the occasional highway patrolman, every man with a driver's license (and even those without) would drive like he was low flying down the Autobahn.

    This is where the spousicide comes in. I'm a stickler for the speed limit. I never drive more than five miles an hour over the posted limit, not because I'm such a goody-goody, but mostly because I'm terrified at the thought of getting pulled over by the police. My husband, on the other hand, thinks of such postings as mere suggestions to be followed when the mood moves him, which is almost never (except in school zones when I'm hollering 'Slow Down, School Zone!' while stomping on an imaginary brake and hyperventilating into a paper bag).

    Why do men tend to think of any signs on the sides of the roads are recommendations to be ignored at will? Now to avoid being called sexist, I know that there are plenty of women out there that do the same thing, I'm just not one of them.

    My mother, on the other hand, had a condition that my sister and I referred to as 'lead-footitis', which, I believe, is a genetic condition that can be recognized by the pathological need to drive a minimum of 10 miles an hour over the speed limit. Those with extreme cases can be recognized as the drivers who also dart in and out of traffic, changing lanes willy-nilly while seemingly ignorant of that funny little stick on the side of the steering wheel that causes a light to blink when engaged. People with this infliction, you know who you are. LOL.

    Anyway, she would definitely drive like race car driver but at least she was a friendly one. She frequently used the one-finger salute to greet drivers in the other cars as she passed, sometimes accompanied by some helpful words on how they could improve their driving and lives in general. One can only hope the other drivers could not read lips at 80 miles an hour.

Can anyone familiar with blogs tell me why I have a couple of columns that appear different than the others and for the life of me I cannot figure out what's wrong. I entered them all the same way. I'm stumped. Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks
Debi

Please do not judge my work from the very first post you come to. (My Failed Audition)  The rest are, IMO, much better. Thanks. Debi

My Failed Audition

  Stepping outside of my comfort zone seemed like a good idea at the time.

  At the urging of a certain family member, who shall remain nameless but is no longer in my Will, I decided to try out for a play. Well, not the whole play,  just a small part. I figured the smaller the better right? Wrong!

  I even managed to memorize a few lines from the play, which in itself is a miracle. I have a memory worse than that of a goldfish, which I have learned is three seconds (according to my extensive research and by research I mean trolling on the Internet), which is probably two seconds longer than mine. A thought can pop into my head and before I can stand up to answer my brain POOF, it's gone. I spend a lot of time standing in the middle of rooms, scratching my head and trying to remember what I'm even doing there, which can be quite embarrassing, say at the mall. You try on a new outfit, saunter out to where the mirrors are mounted so everyone can see how bad you look (Although any other woman in the area will tell you how fabulous you look in whatever you're trying on, no matter how bad it actually looks. Men NEVER do this. They would never compliment a stranger on their choice of shirts.) and POOF, you forget why you're standing there. It's even more embarrassing when you walk out, your purse and clothes still in the dressing room, and head for the snack bar. The security guard did not have to tackle me and I'm not paying for the ripped blouse. Anyway, I digress (and made my point).

  I used to have a great memory back in school. That was before the advent of DVRs. I think the invention of the pause button has ruined me. I know I don't have to pay attention to what is actually going on as I know I can rewind, pause and record anytime, anywhere. Unfortunately, that doesn't apply in real life and I find myself outside the loop all the time.

  Wouldn't it be great if we could rewind our minds and know exactly what just happened? Well, maybe not, now that I think of it.

  Anyway, even though the play didn't really seem to be my 'cup of tea', I decided to give it a shot just for the experience.

  Bad idea. I've never seen such a room full of bad actors. In all fairness, I think they were all newbies like me.

  I could hear the frustration in the director's voice. I'm sure he got the part of director by losing at rock, paper, scissors. I managed to go last so I could observe all the other bad actors.

  I was the only one who showed up to try out for the part of the mother on this particular evening. Auditions were supposed to be held two nights but night one was cancelled on the promise of lots of snow, which never materialized. Too bad we didn't have a blizzard. That would have spared the director a lot of pain.

  So you'd think the part would be mine, right? A shoe-in. The lone ranger. NOPE.

  After everyone had read their parts once, the director started over to let them try again. The only part being read for besides the mother was that of the daughter. No one showed up to try out for the part of the father, son, the maid or the butler. Maybe I didn't get the memo about staying away from really bad plays.

  When everyone (but me) had read their parts twice, the director looked at me and said, "You suck." Okay, he didn't actually say that but it's what my wounded pride heard since I wasn't allowed to read my part again. I think the fact that only I and a handful of students from the local high school showed up should have been a clue as to the interest this particular play generated.

  Maybe I'll try again. Or maybe not. Hopefully with a new director and this time I won't actually suck (which I did, by the way).

  UPDATE: The play was cancelled due to lack of interest. Although it is a very old play by a renowned playwright, nobody wanted to be associated with this drek. It was touted as a comedy about a man who loses everything he owns in several horrible ways but manages to maintain his faith in God. How it could be considered funny was beyond me but it's a moot point now. It was replaced with 'Barefoot in the Park.' I never did receive my casting call. Do you think the director of the playhouse lost my phone number? Nah.

Battle of the Bulge

     Dieting was so much easier in the olden days. Well, not really easier. . . just simpler. We didn't have all the low fat, no fat, no sugar, no flavor, no taste foods we have to choose from today. Now when I want something to eat that won't pack on the pounds, I just reach for one of those frozen cardboard-flavored no fat, no sodium, no taste (unless you count cardboard as a gourmet flavor) dinners and sit back, smugly knowing that although I had no idea what I just ate, I was 'doing something good!'
  No, back in the good old days, we had to do it the hard way. Just imagine life before diet soda, diet cookies, diet anything. We just toughed it out and (I hate to say it even now) counted calories. Fat was something we saw on the old geezer couple who lived down the street. We also had never heard of cholesterol, much less knew how to spell it. To this day I still don't really know what it is, just that doctors tell us it's bad for us. Of course, doctors are always telling us that anything we can enjoy eating, wearing, sitting in or driving is bad for us.
  But I digress. Many years ago I undertook a major diet. And since we didn't have all those nifty home diet kits, I did what any respectable suburban housewife would do. I joined a diet company. You know the ones: They give you no fat, no flavor, no taste, pre-packaged meals. They weren't even frozen: How's that for primitive, kids? Also, they gave you scades of vitamins (At least I think they were vitamins. I can't be sure but they made me feel good.) and the public humiliation of weighing in each week in front of others and having your failure or success, depending on how your week went, publicly recorded.
  I also went the exercise video route. You know the ones. These are where perky little girls (They couldn't possibly be women. I mean, where were the droopy boobs, the waving arms, the stretch marks?) in cute, tight little leotards, bent like pretzels into contortions that no respectable housewife would be caught dead in. What if the washer repairman should show up just as you achieved a left leg over your right shoulder stretch? What would he think? Well, never mind what he would think. The point is, let's get real. How many women could even begin to raise their legs that high? Raise your hands. Liars! Not since high school, I'll bet. I probably haven't been able to achieve this little feat since grade school.
  Anyway, I faithfully turned on the video and tried my best. I really did. Here's a little tip for those of you who are contemplating undertaking just such an adventure. It goes better with cookies and a diet soda. The cookies are for moral support and the diet soda is for concession to your diet. Yes, stretched out in the old recliner, eating cookies and sipping diet soda sure makes the time go faster.
  Now Richard Simmons has gone and ruined it for us die-hard no-exercise fanatics. He's gone and made it fashionable for anyone to exercise and achieve their goals. He has actually managed to make exercise 'FUN!' Now to a dyed-in-the-wool couch potato like myself, this is an oxymoron. He has also taken all the martyrdom out of dieting. I mean, who can sympathize with a harried housewife on a diet with Richard Simmons telling us how much fun it is?
  It's time to slap in the old video and do my good deed for the day. Now, let's see if I have everything. Leotards, tights, towel, sweatband, hand weights, athletic shoes, recliner, diet soda, cookies; Yep, I'm ready. Richards Simmons, do your best!