That One Rap Song On Your Recently Added Playlist

Lately I’ve been in this kind of dreary, February funk that essentially demands me to frown at all times.  I don’t know if it’s just because it’s cold, or because that whole “It’s the New Semester and I have New School Supplies and This is a Fresh Start” thing has finally worn off, or if it’s because I now go to fucking COMMUNITY COLLEGE in SOUTH FUCKING JERSEY, but I think it’s relatively safe to say that I’m in a shit mood.

This is what my mood looks like.

This isn’t even your run of the mill shit mood either.  Anyone who knows me in “real” life has probably come to realize and accept that I am not the shiniest little penny that was ever minted.  I’ve been called a pessimist, a “Debbie Downer”, and a cunt on multiple occasions.  Instead of letting these criticisms affect me in a negative way, however, I’ve largely internalized and come to own them – I’m a fucking bitch, and I don’t really give a shit.  This mood I’m in, then, shouldn’t shock me – it actually seems to fit in with my natural disposition, so why is it that I feel so off-put by the low my attitude has reached recently?  I’m not really certain.  All I know is that this bad mood hasn’t gone and shows no signs of going away.  It’s like a long-lasting fog of apathy – it’s the relatives that come for the holidays and overstay their welcome, the War and Peace length disgust with the general populace that coats my day in a foul dust of snarky remarks and a complete lack of humor.  A small child smiled at me today in Starbucks and I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from giving her the middle finger.  It’s like I’m PMS-ing, but all of the time.  (For the record, that little girl was STARING.  Staring.  You don't stare, I don't care if you're five years old and wearing a little pink outfit and you're all blonde and miniature.  Don't fucking look at me when I'm doing my work in Starbucks, you little fuck.)

Here are a few photos of me being a bitch:

Here I am not giving a single fuck about the Guy Behind Me That Is Trying Too Hard.

And here I am blatantly judging the shit out of someone not pictured because I most likely hate them.

Even as a young child, I couldn't have given a shit less about happiness.  You want a special memory of your 5 year old daughter in summertime of 1995?  Well I suggest you have another fucking daughter, because I'm not smiling for your benefit, mom.

You see, being a bitch just works for me.  My bad attitude is who I am, it's funny, and people seem to enjoy it (Editor's Note: This judgment is based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever.  In all likelihood, no one likes being around me.) This bad mood, though - this is not me.

Usually, whenever I’m in one of my wrathful, flesh-eating kind of moods, I turn to music to help me work out my frustrations (that, and screaming in my car or crying into a pack of Oreos), and I think we can all agree that there’s just something about listening to depressing, “slit-your-wrists” music that makes you feel a little bit better when you're down in the dumpz.  We all have our go-to, embarrassing favorites: “Jesus Christ” - Brand New, “Home is Where You Hang Yourself” - Her Space Holiday, and of course the classic “Adam’s Song” by Blink 182 (REMEMBER THE TIME I SPILLED THE CUP OF APPLE JUICE IN THE HALL, PLEASE TELL MOM THIS IS NOT HER FAULT).  My iPod is literally DJ Buzzkill when it comes to music, and I’ve even taken the liberty of making you all a depressing playlist if you find yourself feeling shitty, but you'll have to download the music yourselves because I don't really care enough to post links and shit (see below the end of this post).

ANYWAY, getting to the fucking point, which is always my goddamn problem, I’m in this horribly offensive mood and so I was looking to download a few new songs to my iPod last night so I could weep silently on my commute to school today.  I really only had that one song “Holocene” off Bon Iver’s new album (can we talk about how he won Best New Artist . . . even though his first album came out like, four years ago? Not now?  Yeah, okay.) and so I downloaded the whole thing (which is actually amazing).  I also threw some random Manchester Orchestra on there, and a select few slow jams by Sufjan Stevens, and what I wound up with was a veritable Soundtrack of Auschwitz – it’s THAT fucking depressing.

Now, like any normal person who downloads a bunch of new music to their FlyPod and doesn’t have some weird obsession with making playlists (i.e. you’re BUSY), I usually just select “Recently Added” and play the new songs off of that when I get into my car.  It’s a win because everything is together and your iPod automatically does it for you and I’m a fan of things you don’t have to think about.  HOWFUCKINGEVER, I seemed to have developed selective amnesia and forgot that I downloaded “Dance (A$$)” by Big Sean a couple of days ago for reasons I don’t care to disclose at this juncture in my life, and while I’m serenely cruising along on my way to school, a single tear rolling gently down my cheek as I screech along to “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division, I am both unexpectedly and brutally assaulted by a sudden, soul-jilting shift into Big Sean’s disturbing tribute to giant asses.

Like I said, I don’t remember how or why it got onto my iPod (I remember both how and why), but there it was, blaring over my speakers, tearing down the fragile construction of a semi-presentable mood that listening to my new soothing music had helped create.  And the thing is, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me – we must never forget the Great Gucci Mane Interruption of 2010, nor the Unexpected Lil Wayne Attack that occurred back in 2008.  In fact, there always seems to be one rap song on my Recently Added that creeps out of nowhere and destroys the entire fucking playlist, and I can’t be so narcissistic as to think I am the only one that this happens to.  It’s not just Recently Added either; the On-the-Go Feature plays a huge role in this asshattery too – you try to make a playlist that you plan on banging your boyfriend to and everything is going just fine until Sean Kingston starts his fat boy pop-rapping all through your speakers because your finger accidentally slipped and touched “Letting Go (Dutty Love)” instead of  “Lust” by the Raveonettes.  Everyone knows that Sexy Time is strictly boner-inducing dubstep or else smooth instrumentals like Ratatat.  I mean, honestly, does anything remind you more of that one accidental guy you banged in college like pop-rap?  What are guys thinking when they make these playlists – “Oh yeah dude, chicks go CRAZY for T.I.’s “Whatever You Like”, put that on the Boning Songs playlist.”  In fact, if you’re a guy and you’re making a playlist to bang girls to in the first place, AND it’s not for your girlfriend as an attempt at romance, then you’re probably trying way too fucking hard.  We can sense that sort of thing, and it’s not attractive.

Getting back to the point I’m exhaustively trying to make here, there always seems to be at least one song that doesn’t fit on every playlist, and it always ruins your time.  I’m not discriminating against rap entirely – my Big Sean experience today has really made me prejudice – but it could honestly be anything.  The sad truth of it is, however, that we really only have ourselves to blame.  We’re the ones who are downloading these terrible, guilty pleasure songs, and we’re the ones who are mistakenly putting them onto playlists where they totally don’t fit.  The soundtrack to our lives is being royally fucked over, and we’re the one’s doing the fucking.  I guess, if I'm going to be honest with myself, it's really not that one rap song on my Recently Added playlist, but me who is slowly ruining my life.

PLAYLIST TO OVERDOSE TO*

1. I Can Feel A Hot One - Manchester Orchestra

2. For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti - Sufjan Stevens

3. Lua - Bright Eyes

4. Love Will Tear Us Apart (Cover) - Broken Social Scene

5. Cherry - Ratatat

6. Possibility - Lykke Li

7. Cowboy Dan - Modest Mouse

8. Talk Show Host - Radiohead

9. Baby - Warpaint

10. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

11. Skinny Love - Bon Iver

12. Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In (Positive/Negative) - Modest Mouse

13. The Trapeze Swinger - Iron and Wine

14. Sweet Disposition (Live) - Ellie Goulding

15. On Your Porch - The Format

16. (Part V) The Sun's Gone Dim and the Sky's Turned Black - Johann Johannson

17. No Name No. 1 - Elliott Smith

*Please do not overdose to this playlist.  I do not have a lawyer.  Also, is this in bad taste because of Whitney Houston?**

**I don't know that I should be concerned about making jokes in bad taste when all I do is talk about the Holocaust and abortions.

SPOTLIGHT: Secret Girl Struggles - That Clump of Hair You Find in Your Asshole After a Shower

I’ve decided that since I’m a girl (?), I know more about girl problems than the average person (a boy), and therefore that gives me a Ph. D in Girl Science and I am super qualified to write about the female gender (race?) and all of their problems.  The line of logic in that sentence might be questionable, but not as questionable as this Secret Girl Struggle: The Clump of Hair You Find in Your Asshole After A Shower.

Ew.

Human hair in places it’s not supposed to be is already the most disgusting thing I can think of.  Like, nothing skeeves me out more than when, after straightening my hair, there is a veritable carpet of lost strands of hair surrounding my feet on the floor that I could collect, if I felt so inclined, and mold into a hair doll.  And the longer your hair is, the worse it gets – have you ever clogged your shower drain because you’ve lost so much hair?  I think Locks of Love should join up with a Drain Cleaning Service, because I’m pretty sure I lose a full wig’s worth of hair every time I shower.  The bottom line is that hair should be on your HEAD and nowhere else, and if it does venture off your cranium to explore lands unknown, things get really gross, really fast.

I could make one of these with the hair I shave off my legs alone.

Most girls I know do not like to admit that they leave the shower and have to pull between 4-20 pieces of hair out of their asscracks, but if they tell you they don’t, they are fucking lying.  It happens.  To every girl*.  And up until this point, only my close friends and I have admitted to each other that yes, there is random hair from our heads in our ass cracks when we get out of the shower, and that yes, this is a problem.

A lot of the aspects of being a girl are fucking disgusting.  I’m saving the details of processes such as “Getting Ready” and “Body Hair Removal” for another post (I’m not even going to crack open the can of awfulness that is “Getting Your Period” because everyone will hate me more than they already do and because I am still in denial that that happens), but the general summary of these topics is that girls have to do a lot of degrading shit to themselves in order to look like the flawless creatures of heaven that we are.  

How random is this photo someone took of me walking to class the other day? My hair is messed up lol.

 Look at showering in general – this is something that is (should be) common to everyone in the human race**, and I think we all have our own little ritual order that we follow in the shower.  For example, I like to wash my face, then my hair, then condition my hair while I Dove bar the fuck out of my body, and then rinse the conditioner.  There is nothing special in this process, but if I vary it even the slightest, like wash my hair then my face, I am pretty sure the world will cease to exist and that my parents with die in a fire and someone will steal my iPod.  It’s Shower OCD.  Things just HAVE to be done that way.

Now, my lady friends, I have spent years trying to come up with concrete answers to the following questions:

-At what stage of showering does the hair from my head migrate down to my asscrack?

-How am I not bald from the amount of hair I lose in the shower?

-Did Jesus/Buddha intend for my butt to be a hair catcher? (It’s positioning HAS to be more than coincidental)

-What is the most secretive way that I can get the post-shower hairball out of my asshole?

I don’t have the answers to all of these questions, you guys.  BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I DIDN’T TRY.

Question One: At what stage of showering does the hair migrate from my head down to my asscrack?

I previously thought it must happen during the shampoo stage – that’s when almost all of your hair falls out initially.  But upon further review (I don’t want to talk about the specifics of the “research” I did), it seems that the real culprit is the conditioning stage.  Conditioner rinses out from your hair and down your back, making it all slippery and “condtionery” (scientific term).  This makes a kind of slide for all of your hair to zip right down and collect itself in and around your asshole.  Here is a diagram I have drawn using Paint:

Here I am in the shower about the condition my hair.  I don't believe in full-frontal nudity on the internet, so I've censored myself with a red American Apparel dress that cost me 90 dollars even though I could have made it myself.  I also look like Jesus.

As you can see, the area marked in yellow is the Conditioner Hot Zone - the rinse off from your hair that creates a Hair Highway for the loose strands to travel down.  Editor's note: I do not have an ass like that.

The Conditioner Hot Zone, when met with the correct environmental conditions (i.e. WATER PHYSICS) causes loose hairs to travel at a speed undetectable to the human eye.  The hair travels down the back and settles in your asshole.

Question 2: How am I not bald from the amount of hair I lose in the shower?

I have no fucking idea.

Question 3: Did Jesus/Buddha intend for my butt to be a stray hair catcher?

I don't want to get into the discussion of intelligent design because frankly, this isn't the time or the place, and also, I'm lazy, but I will quote a well know passage in the Bible as a response to this question:

"And the Lord said, Let all women struggle with their body hair, particularly when that hair falls out of their head and travels via the Conditioner Hot Zone to land restfully in their anus.  Amen." 

-Genesis 4:24

Question 4: What is the most secretive way that I can get the post-shower hairball out of my asshole?

Obviously if you are showering alone, this is literally of no concern to you.  You just bend over and scoop that shit out.  However, in the off chance that you are showering with a buddy (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN), the scoop method is a surefire way to never hear from them again.  This leaves us in an awkward predicament - How do we come off as sexually appealing while still removing the uncomfortable hairball from our assholes? WELL MY FRIENDS! I have developed some strategies that I think will really help.

The "I'll Just Be A Minute": I think it's safe to say that if you're showering with someone, you're pretty close to them, but even if you're not, this still works well.  Everyone knows that after banging someone in the shower, you usually bang them again sans shower, but there is a three minute window of time that you have where you can prepare yourself for what's ahead - simply dry yourself off WAY slower than them, then, as they go to leave the shower, say "Oh I'll just be a minute".  As soon as that door closes, immediately excavate the hairball.

The Sly Dog:  This does not involve animals, nor do I condone wrapping your dog up in the cloak of shame that comes with having a hair doll in your asshole. This maneuver requires precision timing and slight movements - You've gotta get in there, get the hair, and get out of there faster than Kim Kardashian's marriage. If you are clumsy, or don't know where your asshole is, I suggest you stick to the first strategy.

The "LOL Look At This": WARNING - this is only for girls who have no shame and are completely unembarrassed by anything their body does.  It also only works if you're showering with a boyfriend that you've had for over a year who has proved that he loves you unconditionally and thinks that you're perfect (i.e. you've gotten your period in his bed and he was just like "whatever." and not grossed out at all).  This strategy requires that you say something along the lines of "Hey wanna see something gross?" and then reach back and get the hair and then show him.  It makes me cringe to think of doing this, but hey, they always say honesty is the best policy, right?

I think he's getting the hair out for her.

I don't know if boys know about this girl problem, and if you didn't, I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you.  I'm starting to feel sick from talking about this so I'm going to go upstairs and eat some Cheerio's.  If you have any suggestions for Secret Girl Struggles that you think are good (and that you don't think I'll butcher) comment them on this post because I'd love to hear them.

*Except those with butchy haircuts.

**Except that one really gross kid you ‘knew’ in high school that had black stringy hair and was always dirty and smelly and was probably on the cusp on bringing a gun to class one day and killing everyone.  Shame on you for making fun of him.

Watching Sex Scenes in Movies With Your Parents

This is a problem that I thought would gradually go away as I got older and my relationship with my parents turned more from “parent-daughter” to “friends!”, but as it turns out, nothing will ever lessen the amount of tangible awkwardness found in the room when the movie you’re watching with your parents turns into a soft-core porno for five minutes.

The first person to acknowledge the raging boner on the screen loses!

I think the first time I noticed that this situation fucking sucks was probably somewhere around 1998 when my mom had bought the two VHS tape set of Titanic, which came out the year before. 

TECHNOLOGY.

A key background note in this example is the fact that from the ages of 8 to 13, I harbored an absolutely ridiculous crush on Leonardo DiCaprio.  In my mind, Leo (I’m on a first-name basis with him, of course) and I were not only madly in love, but also engaged to be married and were one day going to have babies together that would be beautiful little replicas of him that I could stare at until he came home from work at night.  Every year on my birthday, my mom would make me a giant poster board of pictures of him, which would ultimately culminate in me staring at Leo’s picture late at night and having Sexy Time thoughts in my head (which, during those fragile years of 8 to 13, got so raunchy as to imagining us KISSING with TONGUES.  How dirty.)  All of this would be kind of embarrassing to admit if I:  1. Gave a fuck, and   2. Was the only girl to be that obsessed with Leo.  But I don’t, and most importantly, I wasn’t – nearly every girl I knew was jacking off to Leo before they even knew what jacking off was.  On an even further aside, I’m pretty sure that the reason every girl I know is now a giant raging bitch (myself included) is because of a direct linkage with the Downfall of Leo – in a grotesque spreading effect, his face has lost its boyish charm entirely, and he has become a flabby mass of creepy, “I-only-date-models-half-my-age” flesh in more recent years.  We’re all just really disappointed.

You look like my Chinese step-sister.

Anyway.

So my mother buys this Titanic movie, and needless to say, I’m fucking PUMPED.  I have never been more ready in my life to sit down and watch a movie – I even prepared by wrapping myself up in multiple scarves so I could pretend to be Rose to Leo’s Jack, and made myself a special mixtape that had only one song on it: ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine “I’m Canadian” Dion.  So my mom and brother and sister and I all sit down and we pop the VHS in and for the first hour and fifteen minutes, everything is going smoothly (and by smoothly I mean I’m silently weeping into my scarves every time they pan the shot to Leo).  My entire fucking family is entranced by this movie right now, when all of a sudden Kate Winslet’s weird-ass nipples appear on the screen.

Kate Winslet, now starring in "How I Ruined Family Movie Night with my Pale Whale Body".

A feeling of sheer horror and dread had cracked at the tip of my spine and was slowly oozing its way down to my feet.  I glanced over at my sister, who, at four years old, looked both bewildered and ashamed, unsure of how the dynamics in the room had just shifted.  The silence was penetrating, and I could feel sweat beginning to form on my upper lip as my first real bout with anxiety reached its peak.  No one was moving or speaking, and my mother had become a tight-lipped mannequin who was slowly flushing with color.  It really didn’t help that this scene goes on for a solid three to four minutes of time, which felt like an eternity in our living room as we slowly became aware that all of us were looking at Kate Winslet’s 1900’s equivalent of sexting pics.  By the time Jack finished his (sub-par) drawing, I had been reduced to an almost fetal position, unable to cope with the horrible awkwardness that had just rained down upon my Family Movie time.

Of course, it only got worse – Jack and Rose bang in the car and then Rose does that awful hand thing in the steamed car window that I tried to recreate almost every time I took a shower in my mom’s bathroom (she had one of those glass stand up showers . . . it was perfect).  But still, nothing matched the dark feeling that grew deep in the pit of my stomach when we all were unexpectedly ambushed by Kate’s rack during that initial scene.  And even more disturbing was the fact that no one acknowledged what had happened after the movie had ended - there was no breaking of the layer of ice that coated our souls as the four of us watched that scene, and every time I’ve had to endure watching a movie with my parents and a sex scene comes on, that layer of ice just gets thicker and thicker (much like the iceberg that killed Jack and my dreams of fucking him).

You've all tried to recreate it too, so shut up.

I don’t know what it is about sex scenes in movies that make people so uncomfortable.  I mean, when I’m watching a movie alone, and a sex scene comes on, I’m like, “AWWWW YEAH BITCHES LET’S GET BUCK NAST-AAAY UP IN THIS SHIZZZ” (I’m white.)  But as soon as you throw the added element in of your parents, it becomes this tension-filled moment that makes you want to scrape your eyeballs out with a fist full of barbed wire.  I’m not saying that I think we should all get over that uncomfortable awkwardness and embrace watching sex scenes with our parents – that would be even fucking weirder.  I’m just thinking that if everyone could come together as a society and talk about this issue, maybe we might be able to come up with some safety plans or something.  Like, if we all agree that, on Nana’s 90^th birthday screening of “Black Swan”, there could be some sort of secret cue – a phrase or something – that would remind us all to brace ourselves or go refill the soda pitcher and restock the chips and dip, I think that would work out better than the system we have going for us.

Actually, Nana might be able to handle the lesbian action in "Black Swan" better than all of us.

Let’s be open to ideas, that’s all I’m saying.  Otherwise, Kate Winslet’s skin-colored nipples are going to keep slowly ruining our lives.

That Fact About Eating Spiders in Your Sleep

You know how in middle school, you’d have indoor recess when it rained outside?  And you’d be minding your own business – sitting at your little desk, organizing your eraser collection (which had grown massive and now needed to be relocated from its original home in a soft purple bag to a larger, hard top pencil box that your mom had written your name on in Sharpie because damn those fourth grade thieves from your predominantly upper-class white suburban home town and fuck, how stressful is it to be nine years old, if that even is how old you are in the fourth grade?) and then all of a sudden, all six of the popular boys would appear out of nowhere and stare at you until you acknowledged their presence.  So you’d sigh and look up at them, already crying on the inside, and say “Hi Bobby” to the most popular one.  And he’d be all “Vick guess what?” and so you’d say “What, Bobby?” (because by then you’d learned that people can tell when you’re annoyed with them if you keep repeating their name).  And the fires of Hell would flame up in his eyes and he’d lick his lips, and all the boys in his little group of future Frat freaks would be leaning in closer to you, touching all the shit that you had JUST fucking organized on your desk in an attempt to weaken your already fragile emotional state, and he’d go “Did you know that when you’re asleep, spiders crawl into your mouth and you eat them?”  And they’d all stare at you while you tried to maintain your composure until you start blushing from the stress and then they’d laugh and run off, most likely to go and suck Bobby’s dick because Christ he was just that popular.

And remember how then you would try to go to bed that night and lay flat on your back with your hands over your mouth, but you couldn’t fall asleep because all you could picture in your mind was Bobby’s face on the body of a dancing spider, and the image was just floating around in circles in your head until you started crying and had to sleep in your mom’s bed with her?

I’m SO glad I never had to go through something that soul-crushing for the entirety of my middle school experience . . .

All I wanted to do was just organize my erasers by height, weight, and genre.

Flashing forward to present day, Bobby and his band of asshats may have grown up to become mediocre-looking, overcompensating Bros about the graduate from college and live out the rest of their boring fucking lives in a landscape of beer-bellies and premature balding, but regardless of their karmic fate, that disgusting fact about eating spiders in your sleep is still sitting in the back of your mind.  It’s just rotting there, resurfacing every couple of weeks, and on a scale of one to Sarah McLachlin’s “In the Arms of An Angel” Abused Animal Ads, it’s topping off at about a seven in terms of ruining your entire fucking day.

"You know why I look so happy? Because I'm about to shit on your chest with these images of one-eyed puppies."

Where did this fact even come from in the first place?  Is it just based on probability, or were actual studies conducted where a person was observed day and night for his entire life, and researchers just watched as spiders would crawl into his mouth while he slept?  Aren’t there Good Samaritan laws that state you have to protect your fellow human beings from obvious harms, such as but not limited to eating a fucking SPIDER in your SLEEP?

And this one fact isn’t even the worst of them.  Here are a few more that will make your skin crawl (Editor's Note: You're better off just skipping this portion of the text.):

• One pound of peanut butter typically contains five rodent hairs and 150 bug fragments.  (I’M SORRY BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS A FUCKING BUG FRAGMENT.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME.)

• Cockroaches sometimes lay eggs in the adhesive on envelopes.  If you’re licking an envelope and you get a cut on your tongue, the eggs can go in there and then baby cockroaches will be born in your mouth.

• An average person who consumes fast food regularly will ingest about 12 pubic hairs per year.  (I’m not really buying into this one because who has pubes these days?  Honestly.)

• The tips of bananas are where spiders lay their eggs.  (This is false, I just found out.  But even just knowing that its a possibility is enough for me to quit eating bananas all together.)

I guess I’m just not entirely sure why it is that we all need to know this stuff.  I mean, this isn’t hidden information by any means – all you have to do is Google “gross facts” and you’ll be overwhelmed with a plethora of nauseating tidbits.  And sure, maybe some of these little facts are simply false, made up by some sick fuck who just wanted to plant mental Heebie-Jeebie grenades in people’s minds for his own sociopathic pleasure.  I hope for all of our sakes that they aren’t true at all.  But if they are, if you were the person who discovered that yes, we all eat pubes and cockroaches will get born in our mouths if we lick envelopes and whatever, if you found out that information – why, WHY couldn’t you have just kept it to yourself?  Why did you have to be THAT guy, and surround all of our desks with your creepy friends and lick your lips so you could tell us that there are bug fragments in the peanut butter sandwiches our mom’s made us for lunch (with love)?

BUG FRAGMENTS IN MY MOUTH.

Halfway into college, I was repeating the sleep-eating-spider fact to some friend, and they brought up an interesting point – that specific fact could just be a general conclusion for the entire world, based off data gathered (but how is it fucking gathered) in Africa and India and all those other countries where it seems more plausible that a spider would crawl into your mouth while you slept.  This friend assured me I had nothing to really worry about because I live in a country where our houses don’t just have spiders crawling all over them, waiting to get into our mouths the moment we fall asleep.  I was put at ease.

Then I went home for Thanksgiving break, and I found a cricket in my bed.  And it's unwanted coincidences like this, coupled with disgusting facts like eating spiders in your sleep, that are slowly ruining my life.