• Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 63 other followers

  • Share TheBayAreaBrit blog

    Bookmark and Share
  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 63 other followers

Am I Paranoid Or Just Phobic?

I have been told by some of my friends and past and present loves that I can at times be…….paranoid. However, in the words of either Jesus or Kurt Cobain (I forget which) “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

And so, Mr Bay Area Brit, how does this paranoia manifest itself?

I’ll tell you.

Well one: There is the fear that I’m not getting the attention I crave. While some worry that people are talking about them behind their back. I worry that they’re NOT talking about me behind my back.

My paranoid fears are not unrealistic. I don’t worry about aliens taking over the Earth, as much as I don’t fear werewolves attacking me as I walk home by the park late at night. I don’t fear going to Hell because I don’t believe in God. My worries are everyday things like: If I leave the dishwasher running while I quickly go and check the mail will I come home to find it has broken and waterlogged the apartment?

When I’m waiting for a package to be delivered, I fear that the driver will not stop at my building unless he sees me staring out the window at the street waiting for him.

The reason I haven’t had Lasik eye surgery, is primarily due to my concern that my appointment would be at the exact same time a massive earthquake strikes the Bay Area as I wait in the doctor’s chair with Goldfinger’s death ray laser pointed at my eye socket.

I come from the school of thought that if something can go wrong, it will go wrong, and I will be the one to suffer more greatly than any of you.

I also have phobias, and not the usual ones that normal people have. For example, take “arachnophobia.” The fear of spiders.

Much like Robert Smith, my version of arachnophobia isn’t just a general fear of spiders; it’s specific. My phobia is that a pregnant female spider is going to crawl into my ear as I sleep and hatch a hundred little spiders that don’t know where the exit is, and so they burrow their way through my ear drum, which is of course the gateway to my brain. By morning I will be dead. My head literally eaten away from the inside out. Now that is a phobia you can sink your teeth into; it is also why I sleep with earplugs in my earholes and nuzzle up to a can of Raid at night…..just in case.

There are phobias for everything. Here are some illustrated ones for your viewing pleasure.


Feel free to leave a comment because that’s the only way I’m going to know that you’re watching my every move. And you are….aren’t you?

The Cheshire Cat Goes To Vegas

         The Bay Area Brit here. I just woke up inside a hotel suite at the MGM Grand wearing my trousers as a turban and my hands cuffed together inside an open microwave holding a small box of dog biscuits. I’m not sure what went on last night, but as I understand, whatever happened here is staying here, which frankly I am happy about because it smells like Don Rickles beef jerky farts in this room. I peeled off the Sunday Comics section from my waist. It had been converted into a makeshift grass skirt. I wriggled free from the cuffs and reached inside my mouth; one of my back teeth was loose.
I remember going to a special Las Vegas screening of the new “Alice In Wonderland” film.

          I was supposed to be on a flight back to the Bay Area to write my Monday blog, but I wasn’t ready for travel yet. I switched on the televison as I showered and heard what sounded like the ESPN Boxing Night theme music playing.

            “Good morning fight fans and welcome to Las Vegas. This sleepy desert town has awoken after the weekend with a case of morning breath strong enough to knock the suck out of a vacuum cleaner. Vegas prepares to host one of the strangest heavyweight fights in decades. This collosal clash of the kitty cats is brought to you by:
Friskies–what got into that cat? Friskies.

          The challenger is a spry, agile feline from across the pond weighing in at 11 lbs and 7 ounces in the pink and purple stripes. We head to the ring for the introductions.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, in the red corner: all the way from England, your challenger for this bout, THE CHESSHIIIIIIIRRE CAAAAAT!!!!’
His opponent today in this fast-and-furry feline fisticuffs is a genuine southpaw, all the way from your Sunday Funnies grass skirt, with a record of 22-1 from Muncie, Indiana. He weighed in at 16 lbs 9 ounces.
‘Ladies and gentlemen in the blue corner: You know him; you love him, the current world champion, wearing all orange with black stripes. He’s the atomic tabby with one-two punches of sarcasm and disdain… GAAAAAAAAARRRRFIIIELD!!!!’

Folks, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a champion look so unconditioned before a fight. Bookmakers had him at 7/4 favorite but that was before the weigh-in, and before the fight was rescheduled to a Monday morning. And as you know, Garfield is allergic to Mondays.
Garfield’s pre-fight diet of lasagna and apathy may not bode well. Let’s just hope those quips and sarcastic jibes still come in thick and fast from the champion, and he doesn’t lose his breath too quickly, or we could be looking at a British World Champion, that is if he can remember what happened in his Vegas suite last night.

          The Cheshire Cat is warming up with a few quick shimmies, jabs, and paw gestures.
This Brit can talk the talk but let’s see what happens in this battle of wits. Remember this fight is for the whole kit and kaboodle with the winner taking home, not only the diamond collar, but an estimated prize worth two million bags of premium kibble. No doubt about The Cheshire Cat’s potential; look at the confident grin he’s aiming at the champ in this pre-fight psyche-out. Talk about a toothpaste sponsorship deal waiting to happen. The ref calls the contestants to the middle of the ring.
‘Okay, cats, I want a good clean fight, no scratching, no hissing, no handcuffs, and definitely lots of hitting below the belt.’

Ding! Ding! And there’s the bell!

I hopped out of the shower disbelieving my ears and eyes.

             I watched in amazement while dripping precious desert water on the carpet. I called the hotel lobby to see if the fight was being held nearby, so that I might rush there and catch some of the spectacle.
“Nearby?” the desk clerk said. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well where then?” I asked, becoming impatient.
“It’s inside your television you stupid, British twit.”
“Well I know that…but…” I suddenly stopped talking and realized what was going on. I was in a Wonderland and I was The Cheshire Cat taking on “Garfield.”

             Garfield: the multi-billion dollar humor factory that establishes the benchmarks for cartoon and merchandising success. I felt like a fool. How could I, The Cheshire Cat win? For one thing Garfield had home litterbox advantage. I watched the end of the fight knowing the outcome full well.

                   “Well, fight fans, the bout is over and now we send it over to ringside with the results from the judges.”

I switched off the television, packed my suitcase, and headed to the airport realizing that if I planned on conquering this country, I’d better write that Monday morning blog.

© Matty Stone, Jim Davis, and Lewis Carroll 2010