Friday Confessional: Raindrops on Roses...

Fun fact: as a child, I had something of a dream of being an actress when I grew up. I sang, I danced, I recited dramatic interpretations of monologues and might or might not have been in a really embarrassing ad campaign. This was, of course, before I had the good sense to become insecure about my looks, my weight, my deviated septum and the fact that I looked like the spitting image of Punky Brewster (though I still maintain that the latter was a blessing -- those mismatched socks were haute couture, damn it!).

Picture this, only 15 years younger...

As it happened, my mother was also into theater, and because of blatant nepotism our superb acting skillz, my sister and I were often cast in any role that required a kid. It is important to note here that I didn't say "girl"; because I was average-to-tall in height for my age, I routinely ended up playing roles meant for boys (I played a mean Tom Sawyer during a figure skating show, and bonding over the sequined knickers actually led to a great friendship with a fellow tall girl-who-played-boy in junior high!). While this could have lead to a lucrative career as a cross-dresser, I unfortunately stopped growing at age 16 at the perfectly average female height of 5'5, and there are already more than enough short, short men to fill that demographic.

It was during my second stint playing Kurt in The Sound of Music (huh... I wonder if Kurt from Glee got his name from that icon? Things to ponder...) that I realized that a certain scene made me... uncomfortable. Not the one where I box-stepped to a dog whistle (I'm Kurt. I'm incorrigible!), or even the one where I had to  dance with my fake older sister/good friend Liesl --- but the one where, despite my best efforts, I could never COMPLETELY pull off lying to the audience, no matter how hard I tried.

Because let's be honest here...

Ain't NO amount of whiskers on kittens or warm woolen mittens going to keep me from cringing, shrieking, covering my ears and convulsing during a thunderstorm.

No way.

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No how.

A lot of people assume I'm kidding when I put "thunderstorms and assorted other loud, startling noises" at the very top of my list of things of which I am petrified. At the very least, they think I'm exaggerating -- what 26 year old is terrified of balloons/fireworks/pyrotechnics/nature's greatest display of electricity?

This one, that's who.

If you want to take your life in your hands, I invite you to join my in a car that I'm driving at the first (or any, really) flash of lightning -- because I unconsciously get so tense that I accidentally jerk the wheel and close my eyes. I also BLAST the stereo because thunder scares the bejeesus out of me, and if I can't hear it, so much the better. Or perhaps you'd like to join me in my little apartment thunderstorm cave? I wish I was kidding (though sadly, I am not):

Yes, that's some tunes, a very bright light, a temperpedic ass cushion, sustenance, a book and booze. Because Lord help me, I can't be expected to endure some of the worst thunderstorms in MA history without a good, strong helping of liquid courage. You know what's NOT pictured? Windows. And you know why? Because even the flash of lightning gets to me and makes me all kinds of crazy. Spastic, like a dog hiding under the bed, crazy.

You can imagine what it's like to work with me on the top floor of a high-rise that is encased entirely in glass, can't you?

Stop laughing.

In all seriousness, I'm well aware of how stupid a fear this is. Believe me, I've tried everything from immersion therapy (hello, omni theater at the science museum), to books, to learning anything and everything about thunderstorms, lightning and odds (I got a 107% on my Elements of Weather final in college, thankyouverymuch).

None of it has helped. I've kind of accepted it, because as my shrink in college pointed out, though it's an irrational fear, it's a deep-seated one. I've been terrified of loud, startling noises since I was 2, when some little asshole at the zoo popped a balloon in my ear. My first memories of fireworks are of sitting on my Dad's shoulders with my fingers in my ears, and later of my sister sitting behind me and covering them for me. I spent many a boyband hip, cool concert being teased by my friends as I tried to duck and cover every time a pyro effect went off.

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Compound that with the time my sister and I watched out the window as our dad and brothers ran to the house from the car, only to have a bright flash, giant bang and HUGE hole blasted through our driveway a split-second later, along with the time lightning struck a tree that then fell on our car WITH ALL OF US INSIDE OF IT (and my head a mere 3 inches from the roof since, as the oldest, I got "trunk duty"), and it's no wonder I'm such a wuss when it comes to explosions of any kind.

I just feel bad for the people sitting next to me on the bus when lightning strikes. 

So... Can someone please reassure me that I'm not the only one with a ridiculous, shameful fear of something completely innocuous!?!?

(FTR, my other irrational phobia is arachnophobia, and yes, I would totally be that chick in the iPhone commercial who freaks out and causes the picture of the spider on the table to be smashed. I'm very proud of myself each and every time I manage to squish one without having to call Andrew in tears. Progress, I say!)