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Highly Specific Things That Freak Me Out

Here are five things that really bother me. Please tell me I'm not the only weird one.

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Let's just start off with bees.

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They're crucial to our planet's survival, and I like honey, but I also like it when bees stay about twenty feet away from me. I don't like the buzz(feed, ha, see what I did there). I don't like them crawling on me. I don't like the concept of a lady (since workers are female) willing to die for her hive by plunging a painful butt plug into me. On the one hand, it's kind of metal, but on the other hand, NO THANKS. Also, anything Seinfeld devotes an animated feature to can't be trusted.

Moving onto wet clothing sticking to you.

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No one should be this happy in the rain. Don't you know that you're gonna be in a world of pain the second you step into air conditioning? Don't you know that your socks are going to feel that way approximately forever? That rainfall scene in The Notebook isn't sexy. It just stresses me out. Painfully hard nipples with no sign of toweled relief. WHY.

People sitting next to me on public transportation.

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Listen. I went to kindergarten. I learned to play nice among other people. But I'm a normal human being who hates sharing and wants her damn space. I don't think I've perfected my Madeline Kahn "flames -- on the -- flames on my face --" attitude yet, but it works about half the time. That little guy is my internal monologue every time a person talking really loudly about absolutely nothing plops down next to me on a bus where there are other empty seats not near me.

Jeans - or, rather, the quest for the perfect pair.

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I'm a short girl with a big butt/thighs, a small waist, and short legs. I love my body, but finding jeans that fit is a Herculean task. They're way too long and I look like a child! They fit in the waist but my thighs are like sausages! They fit in the thighs and butt, but my waist is swimming! And when I've found the perfect fit - thighs, legs, butt, waist - the jeans are like $70! Who has the money for that? And still, since I'm a ratty punk kid through and through, I will find that one pair of jeans and wear them until I can't anymore. My stubbornness wins. But it's still settling every time.

When people crack their knuckles.

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Man, this one.... This one is a doozy. It's only knuckle cracking I can't stand. I hate the sound. It makes me cringe and shudder, an involuntary noise of dread escaping my lips, much to the confusion of the seemingly innocent knuckle cracker. I think I just imagine bones breaking and cartilage snapping, some kind of harm coming to that person who is really just cracking air out of their knuckles like some kind of savage monster. Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you start that cycle? Save yourself the trouble, kids. Just do some stretches instead.

So there you have it. A peek into the mind of a lovable, if slightly neurotic, twenty-something. I hope I'm not alone, but if I am, that's fine by me. I'm alone again, naturally. (I also hate that song, but let's not get into that.)

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