Thursday, September 23, 2010

Thursday Is Clearly the Most Bloggable Day

I like that word. Bloggable. I don't care is spell check hates it. Spell check hates donut too. But DONUTS, that's fine. Clearly, spell check is not happy with only one donut, and thus prefers the plural.

This Thursday I got to substitute teach. The first class I taught was 6-7 year old ballet. I have never actually assisted with this age group, but know that they are pretty much THE most talkative age group.
At first some of 'em were kinda like, "Hehehehe, sub knows nothing. We can get away with stuff."
They probably DID get away with more stuff. I'm not particularly stern. But not much. Because sub is not stupid. If class is not good, sub will mention that classes who don't pay attention and keep talking get less done. If less gets done....There's no time to watch part of a movie. :O
They were very good children after that.
I really had fun. They were sweet little girls, and they try hard. They just talk a lot, which is totally expected of that age group. They gleefully received Princess stickers afterward.

After that (yes, RIGHT after that) was Kidzhop. I was not worried about running out of stuff to do in Kidzhop. Because I am not so good at Hip-Hop I focused more on jazz. We did our regular warm-up. We did the Cha-Cha Slide, because we could practice our jazz squares that way. I did teach them a combination from a dance they're doing in the Christmas Stroll. But they don't know it's from that dance. I was going to do it with the actual Christmasy music, but I forgooot. Oops. Oh well. At least they sorta know it.
I had Laura there with me, which was very nice, I could ask her what she thought needed breaking down or going over again. And again.
In Kidzhop, we tend to use the same sort of hip-hop music for a lot of exercises. I decided to mix it up a bit by using some of my own music. :D Yes, I went through my library several times to ensure it was all kid-friendly. I ended up using some High School Musical 2 remixes, "Walkin' on Sunshine" (I assume it's kid-friendly. I don't know any of the lyrics except "I'm walking on sunshiiiiiine, WHOAH-OH! And don't it feel GOOD? HEY!!" But seriously, NO ONE can be offended by such a happy song.) , and even a little Relient K. Ms.Sue had given me a TON of music, so of course I used some of that, too. Who DOESN'T like "I Like To Move It"? Answer: Nobody. It's just that awesome.

I also taught them chasses (Sha-SAYZ for you non-dancin' types). In teaching them to do the chasses, I told them the ol' cat n' mouse story. "This foot is the mouse! This foot is the cat! The cat is going to chase the mouse, and he's going to catch it and kiss it!" Jonathan didn't look like he approved of this kissing thing. So I changed it a bit.
"The cat is going to catch the mouse and they are going to knuckle-touch."
Much cooler. :D
I managed to wear out the Kidzhop class. And here I thought that was scientifically impossible.
Yeah, it was fun. :)
Oh, and a little girl told me I looked hot. I don't think she meant hot. She meant hott. I thanked her.

After Kidzhop I managed to coordinate schedules with Evan, so I actually got to see him during the week. I see him Saturday, Sunday, and between classes on Monday. I start going through Evan Withdrawal by Wednesday. We went to Subway, because I only had an hour break and Subway was close. And delicious. It was nice, we got to tell each other all about work. I get to wear out children, he gets to...Google things. YES, he does other stuff. I'm sure it's important stuff.  It's just all technical, so when he tries to explain it to me, I go all, "Whaa? You do what? I'm sorry, it flew over my head. Did you hear it whistle when it flew over my head? You have very nice eyes by the way, did you know that?"
Yeah. I get some of it.  I just don't feel like explaining it to you.
I have decided that it is more fun to believe that he smuggles squid to Italians.
You'll just have to be satisfied with that.

I made it back in time for advanced jazz, which is great fun, and I did not die.
Laura and I tidied stuff up (Which is really more fun than it sounds) and leeeeaveded.
My mom picked me up, and guess what? We goin' straight to the market! No going home for yoooouuu!
So I put all my purse stuff in the laptop bag which contained my netbook (And no Ms.Sue I could not connect to your studio internetz. I also didn't try that hard.  I will bring my netbook on Monday, and we can MAKE EET HAVE INTERNETZ.) and got to carry that around HEB.
HEB is actually kinda fun. I didn't mind it (Except the netbook thing. The bag with all my electronics in it {Literally, ALL} is heavier than it seems like it should be. It probably weighs more than me. Which really doesn't take much I suppose....).
HEB is much more fun when you pretend you are Napoleon Dynamite. It is even more fun if your mom is the one who started it. So we Napoleon'd around HEB, which fortunately, was not crowded.
Though I doubt that would have stopped us.

And now, here I am, with my dear little netbook who has seen HEB.
My feet hurt.
I thought you'd like to know.
So now you have been educated. You know the ways of another Thursday.
YAY YOU! *clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap*

Now I have the Cha Cha Slide in mah haid.
"How low can ya go? Can ya go down low? All the way to the floor?"

Friday, September 17, 2010

Thursday: The Day That Never Ends (EVER)

First order of business on Thursday was to actually get out of bed. Which I did. It wasn't actually morning anymore, but I did indeed get up. I showered. I ate food. I made food to pack with me because I wasn't going to be getting home until after 8:30.

My little sister Kimberly had a playdate with her friends. RIGHT after the playdate she had Kidzhop, a class I assist in. So guess what? Spooky teenager all dressed in black (Albeit with neon Peanuts characters on my t-shirt) gets to tag along.
Once there, I am introduced to Computer. Computer has internet. Dial-up. I didn't know ANYBODY still had dial-up. It also has some freaky virus that attacks you ferociously whenever you try the internet. I offered to scan for the virus and try to get rid of it, but then I discovered they are actually paying for Norton. Norton clearly isn't doing his job. So I stayed offline and rooted through their game stash. The only mildly violent, rated-T, game I could find was a Robin Hood game from 2002.
The intro was hilariousssss.

If you are my Facebook friend, it is on my page. If you don't actually know me, and you're some random stranger..Sorry. You're outta luck. I have tried and tried to uplaod it to my blog, but it refuses to work, and if I link you to my Facebook page....YOO KIN STALK MEH. might not have anything better to do.

Yeahhhh. So I played that for a bit until I freed my Merry Men, who were about to be hanged for unspecified reasons. I freed my Merry Men and then realized they were essentially useless. The big dude kept standing around the corner WHISTLING. When he whistled, the soldier dues would be all like, "???" and come to investigate. Then they'd see a big crown of alleged criminals who were SUPPOSED to be being hanged right now, but weren't. So now there's a big crowd of soldiers beating up on my mostly DEFENSELESS Merry Men, and I'm off being Robin, wayyy on the other side of the map, trying to figure what the hell I'm supposed to be doing since I've already freed the bunch of gibbering idiots, which I THOUGHT was the point, but apparently it wasn't. So I have to ruuuunnnn over there to save them, and get caught by the sheriff, who is a big bald dude who just sort of wanders aimlessly about the town.

After this happened about three times, I gave up and just wrote in my journal.

Classes went well. Bunch of kids in Kidzhop, and one of them lost her tooth. I had noticed she had a weird look on her face, but I was afraid to ask in case that face she was making was actually NORMAL. I hadn't actually met her before, and you'd be surprised at what is actually "normal" sometimes.

After Kidzhop I got a dinner break. :D I waited a bit for my peanut butter and jelly to settle a bit, then decided to join Intermediate Jazz, which is the class that goes on during my dinner break. After that was tap, which was kinda special. My feet have only done an hour of hard tappin' this summer, so now they're all out of practice. After that was advanced jazz. Fortunately, Laura (Ze jazzz teacher) wasn't hard on us, it being the first lesson, and Leah (My fellow crazy person who is in a million classes) and I had already had over three hours of ballet this week.
After classes we cleaned up, locked up, and went home. Laura is so cute. She's always so full of joy and enthusiasm about EVERYTHING. Even dust mopping. Even vacuuming.

So I got home. You may think this is the end. Nope. It NEVER ends. Okay it DOES, but not here.

I spent about five minutes at home, then it was time to go to Wal*Mart for grocery shopping. I felt that, after such a long day, and it being the first week of classes and everything, I deserved french fries. I only had about four dollars, so why bother saving it? Iz jus' four dollarz. So I bought myself an Icee and asked for "whichever size is the dollar one. I can never remember."
The lady says I would have to wait for the fries. I was happy to wait, because that meant I would get fresh hot fries. YAY FRESHNESS! So I got myself an Icee (Mostly Coke flavor, but I mix a little cherry in, too). I loooooove Icees. Lovelovelove. When I finally got my fries, the lady told me she'd given me a medium fry for waiting. Seriously? I was happy to be waiting for hot fries. Now I get HOT FRIES WITH EXTRA FRIES. YAYYYYYYY! I walked off happily (It may have been that fun jazz walk with the half-skip). I wandered through the Halloween section. I love the Halloween section. All the stripey tights, and the candy bowls that try to grab your arm, and the feathery witch hats.

Eventually I rejoin Mom, and after a while Chris joins us.  He and I agree that looking at groceries isn't that fun, so we head off to electronics for a bit. When we rejoin Mom, I suddenly turn into Hammy the Squirrel. This randomly happens sometimes. The hyperness descends upon me, and I suddenly feel the need to skip around and sing, "Nom nom nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom nom nom nom...."

I head back over to the magazines and pick up a bridal magazine to look at, and a bag of Ruffles. Mom instructs her children to check out the donuts. If you tell a squirrel to go check out the donuts, said squirrel will probably get distracted shrimp, ugly cookies, and boxes of donuts that are sort of shaped like a tank. By the time mom comes back, I'm driving a tank-like box of cookies around the shelf. Don't judge me.

So donuts finally get picked out, and we head to checkout, where Chris and Mom unload the cart, and I stand off to the side reading Seventeen. I was doing them a favor. If I help, I get in the way. Especially if I am weirdly hyper and keep singing the nom song. I did actually put down the magazine and help when Chris realized he had forgotten to get his weekly stash of Starbucks mocha-y goodness, which is apparently the only thing that keeps him semi-sane, what with his weird 7am-4pm shift at Liquis (Side note- I believe this to be my fiance's fault. Okay, not really. Evan has to drive his dad to work, and since he and Chris work the same days, Chris had to get hours to match Evan's so they could carpool. I still think NOBODY should have to be at work by 7am. What has this world come to?).

So anyway, we get home, unload groceries, and then just chillax and surf the interwebz, and then I go to sleep.

I accidentally slept until noon. But considering my week, and especially my Thursday, I decided this was perfectly understandable, and definitely okay.

And then I blogged it. So the world could know. Because they really really need to.

Friday, September 10, 2010

A Battle of Epic Proportions (Maybe)

So, I'm just innocently sitting on my bed, netbook in my laptop, chatting with my BFF and my fiance on Gmail. (I like Gmail. My theme is High Score. Gmail's awesome. It kinda sucks on iGoogle though. It just...looks....weird.)
Anyway, I am just innocently chatting and watching Red vs. Blue on Youtube, when I hear a freaking loud buzzing sound on the other side of my room.

So I look over, and I see a junebug flying around.

Umm, yeah. GROSS.
And what the hell is it doing here?? It's September. NOT JUNE. GO AWAY UNTIL NEXT JUNE, BASTARD.
I am fully aware that junebugs do not bite, sting, or physically hurt you in any way. But they are freaking gross. They're huge, round, have creepy little BUG FEET, and you can't squish them.
Okay, technically you CAN, but it's pretty much the most disturbing thing ever. It's more disturbing than


So, every time I see a junebug pretty much, I will scream. In a very shrill and girly manner. If one is just sitting on the ground, on a wall, or on my fiance's shoulder, I can keep the scream down to a strangled squeal. But if it flies....Hell no, dude. I am going to scream BLOODY MURDER.
And I did.
We have eight cats. They love when bugs get in the house. One of MY cats, Bambi Sue, will usually relentlessly hunt bugs until they are dead. This is one reason I love her. So I wake her up from a very sound sleep and try to show her the bug.

Nope. Too sleepy. Bambi Sue stares blankly at Junebug, then goes RIGHT BACK TO SLEEP.


So Junebug flies behind the curtains and is silent for a while. I nervously resume chatting until I absolutely cannot take it anymore.
Junebug is just lying in wait...he probably would have stayed there until I turned out the lights and went to bed, then he'd creeep out and come crawling across my foot like his sick, twisted brothers before him.

So I tell my chatbuddies to excuse me for a moment and go out in search of my protector, friend, and stalker-buddy...Bunny.

Fearsome, isn't he?
So I fetch him, and show him Junebug. Bunny is ecstatic. He just KNOWS that if he kills this horrible monster for me, he will win my favor, and I will leave Fiance and come back to him.
Bunny delightedly picks Junebug up, and gives Junebug a stern lecture. When Bunny talks, he seriously sounds like Beaker from the Muppets. He's all like, "Meep! Meemeemeep! MEEP!"

I'm sure it got the point across to Junebug that molesting Bunny's lover was NOT COOL.
After much horrific torture from which I will spare you the details, (Though I WILL tell you that basically anytime Junebug was flying or in Bunny's mouth- I SCREAMED.) Junebug was no more.

Dear God, Thank you for cats. They're awesome. Now really, what good are Junebugs? Please reconsider them. Amen.

After bringing in the groceries, the cats discovered ANOTHER junebug. This one didn't last as long as the first, as this time, Bunny gathered all his kitty comrades to aid him in his conquest.
They were successful. :D

I'm still wondering though...where did these junebugs come from?
Why are they here?
And most importantly....are there MORE??

I don't think I'll sleep much tonight.
But that's normal, so it's okay.

Note to Bunny: I love that you kill bug for me and all that, but I quite frankly, I think that chest hair is weird, so I think I'll be sticking with Evan. Plus, you get excited when I take a shower and try to jump all over me and sometimes rip little holes in the shower curtain. That's weird, too. As far as I know, Evan probably will never do this. I hope we can still be friends.

Monday, September 06, 2010

Things Named Fred

Over the years, there have been a lot of things named Fred. For lack of a better subject, I will tell you all about Fred.

Fred the Parakeet

Fred is my godmother's parakeet. He refuses to bathe. So my godmother has to dampen a bunch of parsley leaves, and he runs around in the parsley leaves. I think Fred is bored with suburban life, and longs to be an adventurer in the rainforest. So when he bathes in his awesome jungle of damp parsley leaves, he can pretend to be an incredibly cool explorer, like Indiana Jones, or Alex Rover, or Dora.
I suppose he could also imagine he were an environmentalist, frolicking amidst all the trees he had saved from  being turned into coffee tables, or toothpicks, or toilet paper, or somebody's front door.

Fred the Goldfish

Back when me and my sister were into fish, we bought a cool little 1 gallon aquarium and some cute little goldfish. We loved to watch the goldfish swim around and play with each, and try to eat their own crap, as fish are prone to do.
As is the way with goldfish, they died fairly quickly. Shaggy and Daphne I were flushed away to that great big fishbowl in the sky. But not Fred. Poor Fred was alone for a few days, until we could get to the store and buy him some new little goldfish buddies. He was a little depressed for those few days, trying to keep himself entertained by chillin' with the shark picture on the back wall of the tank, but he cheered right up when we introduced him to his new friends, Daphne II and Velma. Daphne II lived a while, but Velma croaked and was replaced with Scooby-Doo. Fred wasn't too upset by that, as he didn't go friendless.
But after cycling through two full sets of friends, Fred started to go a little cuckoo.

Whenever he was alone, he'd just swim back and forth rapidly, occasionally jumping out of the water and smacking his head against the roof of his tank. We would hear his little fishy head repeatedly going- *THUNK-THUNK-THUNK* -all night. As soon as we got him new friends, Fred would settle down and act like a normal goldfish. But when  one friend died, he'd start the nervous swimming, and when the other died, the repeated suicidal headbanging would commence.
After another set of friends passed on, it didn't matter if Fred had friends. The frantic swimming and headbanging continued nearly all the time, except when he took the occasional break to eat.
Needless to say, Fred freaked us out, and I no longer believe goldfish have a memory of only three seconds. If they can't remember anything for more than three seconds, they can't go insane when their friends repeatedly die.
Fred did finally go belly-up, and was sent down the Great Big Porcelain Portal to Fishy Heaven to be reunited with all his fishy friends.
After that, we just bought guppies.

Fred the Smiley

Fred the Smiley is the ridiculously happy smiley that never stops smiling. 
Fred loves life. He loves to party. He also loves pie. Fred tends to just be happy about everything. 
However, Fred disapproves of the state America is in today. Not enough pie, not enough parties. So Fred is running for president.
I think he will be excellent at this. He'll give everybody free pie. He'll invite you to his parties. He'll do away with Thursday entirely, and then everybody can go straight to Friday.  Is it Thursday? Thanks to Fred, it will never be Thursday AGAIN!
Vote for Fred. TGIF! Plus, he has an awesome top hat.

Sunday, September 05, 2010

Vicious Sardines, Lost Shoes, and Criminal Football-Haters

Sports are bad. Sports are evil. Sports hurt you. I had to endure various forms of indoor and outdoor sports as part of my homeschool group's Phys. Ed.

Soccer: Usually played in some cloudy damp season. In professional soccer, the people generally have their own roles in the team and all work together to kick a cute little black-and-white ball into a great big net guarded by whoever wants to run around the least yet doesn't mind getting hit in the face repeatedly.

In little-kid soccer, all of the kids just cram around the ball in some weird huddle-thing. They're like pack of vicious sardines. They're all just...kicking the ball. It does not go anywhere. It doesn't have anywhere TO go. It makes it about two feet and then gets kicked by a sardine right back to where it came from. Eventually some lucky sardine will kick it out of the mob. The ball then rolls off slowly towards one of the goals (Not necessarily the correct one, but a goal nonetheless.) the sardines chase after it, shouting unintelligibly at each other. The ball gets kicked off into one of the goals right over the goalies' head and the goalie doesn't notice because the goalie saw a bug and is on the ground studying it.

Sometimes the ball would just get kicked out into the center of the field, where me, and a few other kids  who really didn't want to be there would be hanging out, talking. Would we kick the ball towards the nearest goal? HELL NO. If WE have the ball, it means that the vicious sardines are going to rush over and maul us. So we'd just kick the ball back to the sardines, and they'd continue doing whatever it is they do. Occasionally, just to pretend I was actually almost-involved in the game, I'd sort of run after the sardines. But then- whoops!- I'd "lose my shoe" and have to go back and get it.  Once I ran a little without my shoe, looking so into the game that I simply hadn't noticed it was gone.

"Oh, wow, this game is so exciting! Wait..something doesn't feel right. Oh. My shoe's gone. Gee, where could it be? Ahaa, right there, where I purposefully lost it, riiiight. Guess I'd better go back...and get it....Golly this velcro is hard to fasten. Gotta be perfect. If it's not perfect, I might not be able to lose it again later. There, all better. Now where are the sardines? Hey! Water break! Sweet."

And that was soccer.

Basketball was different, but not much better. Most of it wasn't even actual gameplay. The coaches were trying to get us to understand the rules (Most of us never did. To this day, I have no idea how basketball is played. And I don't care.) and making us suffer through endless drills. Passing drills were terrible. You always got paired up with some kid who was either A) Three feet taller than you, B) Threw the ball really really really hard, or C) Was as apathetic as you, and thus neither of you benefited.
When a ball is thrown at you, people seem to think that instinct is to catch it. This is not true. Instinct is to duck and squeal. I was never actually hit with a basketball. I was too busy ducking and screaming, especially after my brother was hit in the stomach, and my sister sprained her finger during these drills.

If ever we go to play an actual game, I could never remember who my teammates were. I wasn't sure which hoop was okay to toss the ball in. I was too freaking short for that ANYWAY. I am currently 5'0". I have not grown since I was fifteen. When I was in basketball, I was like, nine. So yeah, I was really really short. A lot of the kids in my homeschool group are really, really tall. Now, several of them are well over 6 feet.
I handled basketball very much like I handled soccer, only more running around. Ball bounces near me, I PASS IT. Quickly. I don't think I even bothered to dribble, I just tossed that thing like a can of soda with a bee in it.

Volleyball was almost okay. It was reasonably civilized, for a sport. The ball didn't usually almost kill you, and I could actually hit it over the net occasionally.
Then some kid walked under the net, cut his scalp on something, bled profusely all over the gym floor, and got taken away in an ambulance. The game was adjourned, and we got sent out to the playground. I fainted. None of the adults noticed.
Volleyball was less okay, but still better than the other sports because I could participate without fearing Vicious Sardines or Giant Crazy Basketball-Lovers.

Kickball wasn't too bad either. I could handle a little kickball. I had no idea what the rules were, but I'd kick it around and run where they told me. That's all I remember. So I was not well prepared when my Sunday School class decided to go outside and play kickball. I hadn't been there long, so nobody knew me that well.  I knew I'd get picked last, and actually did not care. I was kinda hoping there'd be an odd number or something and I could sneak off and watch. I hung out at the back of the line, hoping the game would end before I got a turn. No such luck. Dammit. I kicked the ball a couple of times. It wasn't awesome enough for me to get to run anywhere, but apparently some other people got to run around or something, and the man said that was a good thing. Whatever, man. I'm just glad I didn't die.

I never experienced baseball or softball. I don't even know the DIFFERENCE between baseball and softball. I assume in softball, the ball is softer. But not actually soft. Who'd wanna play a sport with an actual SOFT BALL? Nobody would get HURT that way, and that's no fun at all. Only pansies would play with a soft ball.

I never played football either. I don't watch football. Apparently, in Texas, this is a criminal act. I have friends and future in-laws who are absolutely rabid football fans. They watch every game. They actually know the names of some of the players. They seem to know what's going on. I watched a leetle teeny bit of a football game once. I didn't know what was going on, but some guy had the ball, and he was running....but then he didn't have the ball, and he was sitting on the ground, pouting like a freaking four-year-old. This made me laugh. Like, hysterically. I think the football fans thought I was a little bit weird. Sorry football fans, but that was the whole entertaining moment of this game. The rest of the time, the players run, tackle, throw, run, tackle, kick, pout, run, tackle, dog-pile, run, tackle, get taken away in an ambulance.
People ask me if I am a Longhorn or an Aggie. I tell them I basically don't give a damn. They look at me as though I have just drop-kicked a puppy. I am sorry, people. I don't mind if YOU watch sports. If that's your thang, go right ahead.
I'll be over here, making shadow puppets. Because that is quality entertainment.

The last sport I tried was bowling. I liked bowling. The ball goes AWAY from you. It does not usually fly up and hit people in the face (But never say never). You can go, throw your big ol' heavy ball at a bunch of cute little white pins who never did anything to deserve this, and if you knock a few down, you get to jump around and clap and dance with your friends. In between turns, there is time for social interaction. Nobody is particularly competitive, and you even get to add a handicap to your scores so you can pretend you're as awesome as Norm Duke, which is the only professional bowler whom I can remember the name of. And the only reason I remember Norm Duke is because it's kind of a weird name, and he's a really really short dude with a big nose.
Sorry, Norm.
I bowled on the Varsity league for five years. I didn't care enough to actually IMPROVE during that time, but I did it, I had a lot of fun with all those crazy bowling people, and I got a letter. It's the letter G. It has shiny pins and stuff on it. I have my own bowling ball with name on it because half the league has the exact same ball style that I have. I have my own shoes that give me foot cramps. I have too many towels, and a cute little chalk bag with chili peppers all over it, even though I don't like chili peppers.

I have various shiny trophies around my room that make me look cool, like I won stuff or something.
Several of them are just because everybody got trophies, so that nobody would be all sad. But a couple of them are for actually winning something, or at least coming in second place.

Plus, the big trophy is really handy for hanging my blue wig on.

I love my blue wig.
It needs a name. I just realized my wig is NAMELESS. This is horrible. I'll come up with something, never fear, Blue Wig!

Friday, September 03, 2010

The Only Thing to Fear is Fear Itself...And a bunch of other stuff, too.

Some people scare more easily than others.
Some people are just afraid of everything, and if they think too much, they'll never ever leave their house again. But then they start thinking about how many horrible things can happen right at home. So then they hide under their bed. But what if the bed collapses? What if there's an earthquake and big chunks of ceiling falls down around my bed and I'M TRAPPED HERE FOREVER? 
 There is no hope for such people.

Some people are not afraid of anything. These "brave souls" march through life, trying to show the world how awesomely brave they are, and prove it by doing stupid things like sword-swallowing or bungee jumping or bison-taming.

What is to be done with such people?

I don't think I fit into either of those categories. I'm not afraid of everything....I like to leave my house occasionally. But I do have a great big fear of sharp things. Particularly needles and knives.

I went sixteen years without ever getting a shot. All those years, I was absolutely terrified of needles. I would start to hyperventilate if I thought too hard about needles. You can imagine my horror when the strap came off of my ballet shoes. Have you ever tried to sew an elastic strap to a leather shoe? Don't. It's bad. I stabbed myself in the thumb. For a while I tried to convince myself it wasn't so bad. Just a little prick. It didn't even bleed that much. Then I decided I'd better disinfect it. I made it to the bathroom, disinfected my thumb, and started feelin' a little dizzy. I sat down, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the floor with a freakin' headache. When I pass out, I tend to think of something really weird as soon as I gain consciousness. This time, it was "Ooh! I wonder what I look like right after I've passed out??" So I immediately get up and look in the mirror. I'm a pretty pale person normally, so right after I've fainted, I'm like literally as white as Snoopy.

But then, when  actually had to go and get the DTaP booster shot, I actually didn't faint. I didn't even hyperventilate. I was very confused the whole time, though. After all that freaking out I had expected a full-on panic attack AT LEAST. It was weird.

Now as for knives, those are just downright scary. They're all sharp, and creepy, and chop stuff up into little bitty pieces. One of my official chores is to do the dishes. I always hate seeing a great big pointy knife lying there in the midst of my dishes. What if I pick up a dish and the knife slides over to my hand and hurts me? What if I pick the knife up to rinse it off and it's all wet and greasy and it slips and I drop it and it lands on something important? Like one of my fingers? I need those.
Thus I always end up getting the knives over with first thing. Very, very carefully.
And so far I haven't actually been impaled during my dish duties. There was the one time I felt something cut my finger and I freaked out when I saw a knife there. But then it turned out I had cut myself on a very sharp cake crumb, so that was okay. I'm not sure what the difference is between hurting yourself with a knife and hurting yourself with a cake crumb, but it's there. Cake crumbs are just not scary, even if they hurt you.
Knives are scary no matter what.