I'm afraid I'm funny.

The other night I was at the bar and this large Jamaican fellow was trying to hit on me and kept trying to get my number from my friends. Then he went on to tell everyone that he was allergic to water. Mistake.

"Hold the phone," I said, "you're allergic to water?"

Who the hell is allergic to water? He kept on and on trying to convince a bunch of us that this was an actual diagnosis and he was afraid of dying so he didn't drink anything but purified water and "aren't you allergic to anything, Brynnan?"

"No."

"What, and you're not afraid of anything either?"

"No."

Then I really started to think about this idea. Of being afraid of shit. One of my friends suggested I might be afraid of dying. Nope. Bring it on. Spiders? That's what flip-flops are for. Snakes? They're darling.

I have had fears of things before, but they usually kind of expire. Or I outgrow them. For a second there I was afraid of the end of the world. It was right when my niece was born and I started getting real scared of a meteor shower or complete and utter natural destruction. But, for like ten days straight, I had these End of the World Dreams, every one of which I survived. So that kind of quelled that.

Then, for a hot minute I was afraid of my car going into a river. With me in it. Then I had this really rad dream about Old Blue (God rest her soul) soaring right into Hamilton's favorite source of giant catfish slash place to dump old couches, The Leon River. And what do you know if I didn't survive that with flying colors as well. I hauled ass out of that river with my red HHS Cheerleading bag and called my Dad on the river and told him what happened and he said, "Well! Get home!" So I did.

Lately, I have this fear that a tree nearby has just been struck by lightning and fallen on a wire that is tied to a clock and my sports car can't get up to 88 miles per hour and I can't get out of 1985.

I do not know what to do about this fear. Hopefully, some dream sequence will take care of it soon because I can't stand wearing red down-feather vests and dealing with overgrown morons named Biff.

Now I just have to do something about the fear of The Beastie Boys putting out yet another album.