Pic of the week: Pee Wee’s hipster horror house

Irrational fears seem to be a recurring theme here at StuCu, and this guy clearly knew how to jump right into my personal nightmares/psychoses…


Can I just say:

that's messed up

I can’t even address what’s happening on his shoulder just yet, because OMFG, so let’s start with the dude. Look, I know this guy. The bow tie, the shaggy cut, the facial hair, the twee little accessory. I’m guessing he also plays the banjo and worships Ira Glass.

ira glass

This is what I call a fancy hipster. Not to be confused with a dirty hipster, whose skinny jeans are covered in bike grease. A fancy hipster dresses in a jaunty fashion and has a fetish for inane, ironic objects. He might collect vintage badminton rackets. Or he might…

Now, birds I can actually handle, although neither of my co-bloggers can say the same (as previously noted, L and D’s bird phobias are no joke). You know what I can’t handle?

Creepy dolls. Look at that thing. If that doesn’t scream “I’m going to come to life in the middle of the night and kill you”, I don’t know what does. This phobia probably stems from the fact that my older cousin let me watch a movie called Dolls with him when I was around 7, and I’ve basically been sleeping with one eye open ever since. That also goes for puppets, mannequins, and anything that has the potential to reanimate and come after me. Also, this is not just any doll, it’s a fucking Pee Wee Herman doll. And I’m sorry, HOW TERRIFYING WAS PEE WEE’S PLAYHOUSE???

Seriously, that is some SINISTER. SHIT. I never watched that show as a kid, really because it was slightly before my time, and thank God for that. Luckily, I was born into a golden age of kid’s television instead:

Bottom line, fancy hipster: I’m already worried enough that my actual human dates are going to kill me without you adding a potential evil doll murderer into the mix. Also, fuck Pee Wee. Nickelodeon forever.

Celebrating our weird preoccupations: D’s Ornithophobia (also – pie)

Continuing our little mini-series on the important issues we flesh out early on with a potential match, today we delve into my world of irrational fears.

Despite the fact that I’m actually a fairly adventurous person, I harbor an inordinate amount of utterly absurd fears. Some examples: seaweed, fast food establishments that aren’t in their own freestanding building, gangrene, waterskiing, thunder, and death by coconut. That’s just a tiny scratch on the surface. Thus, my need-to-know question stems from one of my biggest fears and is a little less … intellectual than L’s.

You see, I have a debilitating fear of birds. At least this fear is fairly common, and even has a name (ornithophobia), unlike the majority of my other fears.

Time out. When I was looking up the name for a fear of birds, I found this charming little article: How to Overcome Fear of Birds. Fuck you and your condescending, hippy ways wikiHow. “Step 4: Realize that most of your fear is irrational. The chance of a mutant hawk attacking you from above is extremely low.” I read that, and am not comforted by the fact that the chance of that happening is “extremely low.” I read that and internally scream “BUT THERE IS A CHANCE!” And don’t even get me started on Step 6: Face Your Fear. “After a few days of being close to birds, you should overcome your fear.” That’s adorable. After a few days of being close to birds, the only thing I’d be is an inpatient in a psych ward.

Annnnnnywho. I always find a way to work in the topic of birds early on in the conversation with a potential beau. Because, as I explained to a guy recently:

2014-02-14 10.16.42

I have always been afraid of birds. And the universe loves to play on that fear. There is a particularly menacing duck that patrols the shore at my parents’ house. A family friend’s pet bird once bit me. The list goes on. But the most notable instance? December 4, 2012. The day I learned firsthand that you are NEVER safe, not even in your own home. And that magic is real. The day that a bird appeared in my apartment OUT OF THIN AIR. And before you ask, no, I was not dreaming or hallucinating. There is a witness. Because obviously I was incapable of handling the situation. A month later, New Girl mocked my pain with this dramatic, but eerily accurate, re-enactment:


I slithered off the couch and dropped to the floor in much the same fashion as Nick above, army crawled out of the apartment, and called one of my best friends who happened to also live in the building. She found me 2 minutes later lying in the hallway, crying. And she handled it. To this day it is a mystery how that bird got in. All the windows were closed. There was no chimney or ceiling vents in that apartment. Which means: it could happen again AT ANY MOMENT. But that beautiful, beautiful saint and I no longer live in the same building. Besides, I can’t rely on her to forever fix all of my problems, like she has so adeptly done for the past 10 years (actually I can – don’t ever leave me LM!). So I need a partner who can swoop into action (pun intended), neutralize the danger, and calm me the fuck down. Not one who will cower in the hallway right next to me.

The ability to “manage” my irrational fears is probably the single-most important quality I look for in a guy. I wish I was kidding.

And here’s a little long-weekend bonus for you. Once a guy has passed the bird test, I also ask “cake or pie?” The correct answer is PIE. Though technically wrong, I will also accept “love them both” or some variation of same. But if his answer is simply “cake” – BYE!

Oh I just realized - I hate you

c                                                                                            Source: Imagesbuddy