I’m totally stuck on this riddle.
yei h nwrt h is ide
tp ntease otefrtrdl
that’s all it says. No instruction.

Of course, I’m not seeing it until Sunday. But I’m still excited. It’s getting really good reviews, too. A darker and moodier film. Oooooo….
Louise, Anastasia and I were standing around talking about things that scared us as kids, things that still scare us. For me, I have an irrational fear of sharks. I mean, really irrational. I was, as a kid, absolutely convinced they could come up through the drain of a pool. And consequently, I did not like being alone in swimming pools. I guess I was safe if someone else is there. Any body of water, and a shark could potentially show up. This fear is sooo deep seated in my psyche, I still don’t really like being alone in swimming pools. I refuse to give into it, of course. But there is just something there, that sort of nagging feeling. It’s dumb, I know. Blame Steven Speilberg.
I was the kind of kid who learned what to fear quickly. I loved dogs, then one day I was standing at the bus stop, waiting for a school bus, and the dog I was petting just turned and attacked. I was only six, I didn’t know you were supposed to stand your ground and yell at them. So I ran up my street screaming. The absolute wrong thing to do. Then they think it’s a game! The dog ran right along with me, biting me as we went. From then on, I was terrified of strange dogs. It’s as easy as that. They simply were not to be trusted. Dogs I knew were ok. But I was always wary when my bike through strange neighborhoods. It took a long time to get over that. I’m not completely over it. I am still wary of strange dogs. But not terrified.
Horses, same thing. I liked horses, didn’t love them, but they were ok. Imaginary horses played a strong part in the games of make believe I played with my friends. [mine was all grey, with a really long mane and tail, named Stormy]. But one day, I think I was about 7, we were out on Moür Moür’s ranch, visiting Lady, her horse. A horse I’d ridden many times. I thought of her as a family pet. I don’t know what her deal was, but she freaked out. She started kicking and bucking, damn near kicked Mike the ranch hand’s head off. Then she turned around and bit my stepdad. Took a huge hunk of flesh off his back. Well, there you go. Horses are big, mean, scary, untrustworthy animals. I still don’t like them. That is to say, I can appreciate their beauty from afar, but you won’t see me on the same side of a fence as one. I keep thinking that it would be a very empowering step, to take horse back riding lessons. To conquer that fear. But then I think… nyah… horses are smelly.
Some fears don’t even occur to you until you’ve grown up. And that, for me, is the fear of being buried alive. I’m somewhat claustrophobic now, I wasn’t when I was a kid. I don’t like being closed in. I don’t like sitting in the window seat on airplanes. And it’s taken years to finally get over my need to sit on the aisle at movie. Although, I still like to sit on the aisle because then I can jump up and run to the bathroom, wiki wiki, without bothering anyone. But probably the scariest thing I can think of, is waking up in a coffin, six feet under. Oh man… I panic just thinking about it. My entire family knows to burn me when I die. I don’t buy any of that embalming shit. No sir. Just not safe enough. I want half my ashes spread at the library, and the other half at Barnes and Noble.
Wow, this post makes me feel like a big sissy. Maybe later I will write about all the many brave things I’ve done. Chasing bank robbers…. confronting car thieves… moving to Oklahoma. All 100% true.