catching up

I am pleased to report that, save for the occasional and very tame, singular cough here and there, the evil funk is finally gone from my body. I'm no longer blowing my nose like it's my job, which, despite being easy work, isn't all that pleasant nor satisfying.

Okay, enough talk about gross bodily fluids. Let's get caught up on some other happenings, shall we?

On Friday, I met up with the ever-delightful Helon the Felon and we went to see Hot Fuzz. Dear God, I loved this movie. Never was the term "bolognese" used so successfully for comedic effect, if you ask moi. Go see it. You won't be disappointed. If you are disappointed... Pbbbbbbbblt! Jog on!

Saturday was pretty much a washout. My preliminary plans to go to Fire Island for the day were scrapped so I took advantage of the free time to get caught up on personal shit. And by getting caught up with personal shit, I mean "watching episodes of The Daily Show while eating Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch right out of the box." I was very successful in this venture, FYI.

I had planned to do household chores, some writing and other responsible tasks but well, I'm a lazy procrastinator. By the time I got a spark of motivation, the fuse box in my apartment building decided to up and die leaving the entire building without power for about four hours.

Most people would wish that they were not home to witness such an inconvenience. Me? I was glad I was aware of the power outage so that I could promptly clean out my fridge once the power was restored. Yes, I know if you keep the door closed, the cold will stay inside the unit for several hours but I'm an overly fussy freak, particularly about dairy products, and I promptly tossed out every product in my possession that originated in cow's udder. Because, ew.

But then, it got me to thinking about all the times I possibly lost power when I wasn't home and I unknowingly ate cheese or yogurt that wasn't consistently refrigerated. I'm not going to lie to you... I gagged a little bit at the mere thought because, well, I'm a lunatic who clearly has nothing better to worry about.

When not dry heaving over perceived exposure to improperly refrigerated dairy, I managed to pass the time reading by flash- and candlelight and watching clips of The Colbert Report on my brand new cell phone.

I wanted to treat myself to one of them there fancy Treo jobs but after careful consideration (translation: having to buy groceries with change found in my couch), I decided to scale back my plans and go for a more affordable model.

Despite the money saved, this phone I ended up with is no slouch, I must say. I can record movies on it, take decent pictures, watch video clips, check my email, use Instant Messenger and access the web. It's all fancy and highfalutin and shit. It's also quite complicated looking. Whenever I use it, I feel like I'm about to uplink with a satellite feed from CTU or whatever.

And, finally, I wrapped up the weekend in NJ attending my niece's christening yesterday. The baby smelled like clove cigarettes after the ceremony because she was anointed with chrism oil. Those of us who enjoy the occasional clove passed the baby around and inhaled the aroma emanating from her oily head. I also amused myself by crafting the wispy strands of her hair into a fauxhawk. Screw hair gel! Holy oil makes for a very effective and durable spiking agent. Pass it on.

Note: American Idol finishes up this week so I promise I'll be spending less time over on my other blog and more time here. And if for some reason I don't make good on this promise, I at least vow to feel very, very guilty about it. Isn't that nice of me?

Now if you'll excuse me, The Jesus and Mary Chain is now on David Letterman and I need to go squeal like a teenage girl.

all the small things, part 1

My thoughts this week are scattered and I'm having a hard time writing a post on one topic. So what better time than now to write up a numbered list that allows for -- and encourages -- deviation from a single subject? (FYI, I'm taking a cue from those 100 Things About Me lists I've seen on countless sites.) However, there's no way I have the attention span to compile such a list in one sitting or the patience to wait until 100 before publishing so I'm going to do it in chunks of 10.

Kindly nag my ass if weeks go by and numbers 11-100 have not been posted. However, please note that I'm making an effort to not rehash some of the quirks I've already divulged in other posts (here and here). In other words, allow me some time to uncover new hang-ups and observations. I'm a fussy neurotic type so I don't imagine it will take long.

And now in truly random order, here are the first 10 things you may or may not know about moi:

1. I'm tall. I can almost always reach things on the top shelf at stores without asking for help.

2. I can deftly sneak away from the pile of rubble that ensues when I really should have asked for help at the store but didn't. If broken glass is involved, I'll fess up.

3. I do a mean Linda Richman impersonation. The fact that I already say "cawfee" helps considerably.

4. I'm a cartoon-like Good Samaritan. I actually helped an old lady cross the street one time. On another occasion, I assisted an old lady in stepping over a puddle. However, I did not drape my jacket over the puddle so I lose some points there.

5. The term "active cultures" on food labels concerns me. As such, I have to force myself to eat yogurt. I'll eat only one kind though -- Dannon La Creme Vanilla. Any additional ingredients (i.e. sliced banana, raisins, wheat germ, etc.) must be added by me or another person in my presence. I find that Fruit on the Bottom shit to be absolutely repugnant.

6. Even though I'm Scottish, I've never seen Braveheart. Shut up, it's on my Netflix queue.

7. I was nominated for class president in the third grade and lost to the most popular boy in the class. I think my bid was unsuccessful because the text of my campaign speech was quite fiery and pro-woman while my delivery was decidedly NOT. Public speaking is not now nor has it ever been my forte.

8. I've never broken a bone. ::knock wood:: I did, however, fuck up my left knee sliding into home during a softball game. I was waved home to break the tie but the catcher charged as I was sliding and we got all tangled up and I ended up spraining my knee (and being tagged out). I had to have an MRI and everything. To this day, walking down stairs is painful. Upside? I can always tell when it's going to rain.

9. I dislike the taste and smell of wintergreen candy, toothpaste, mouthwash, what have you. I'm all about the peppermint. Spearmint comes in a distant second.

10. My first real crush was on a boy I met in the Catskills. We went to the same campground every summer. For years we were friends who played Marco Polo and Manhunt and had so much fun together. It was fabulous up until that summer when I started feeling funny about him. I was constantly daydreaming about him being my boyfriend... and then I saw it. He was slow-dancing with a girl at a party! OUCH. I got over it eventually but oh, how it hurt at the time!

Imagine my surprise years later when I turned on E! and discovered that he grew up to become Gorilla, the intern of limited intelligence on The Howard Stern Show. For the record, I have no regrets that this crush didn't pan out.

Numbers 11-20
Numbers 21-30
Numbers 31-40

batter up

Yours Truly: I'm supposed to have coffee with a colleague who's in town for the day. I'm dreading it because she makes me really uncomfortable.

Jess: Why's that?

YT: Two words: pancake makeup

Jess: Mon dieu!

YT: Yup.

Yes, it's true... I have issues with pancake makeup. Laugh all you want and poke fun but that shit really disturbs me. As stated before, I'm really weird about texture so, not surprisingly, when I see layers of schmutz on someone's face at close range... well, I want to die. (Notice I didn't say "shrivel up and die" because the word "shrivel" brings to mind wrinkles, creases and folds. As you can imagine, that is a most unholy mental alliance for someone like myself who's not down with the whole texture thing.)

I interned at CNBC when I was in college and whenever I encountered pancake-wearing on-air talent in the halls, I had a mini nervous breakdown. I was on the elevator with a female anchor one day and she insisted on engaging me in small talk. Under different circumstances, I would have welcomed that. For example, fill-in anchor Sheila Steinback and I had a lovely conversation about Melrose Place in the pantry one evening. She hadn't gone to makeup yet so I was more than happy to chat with her about Amanda's latest schemes and the funky scar on Kimberly's melon. It was all very pleasant. However, had Sheila taken the Elevator Anchor's lead and tried chatting me up with layers of thick beige shit and primary colors spackled to her face, well... I would have asked Sheila to kindly do me a solid and disengage.

I'm still traumatized by Elevator Anchor's made-up face. In the light of that elevator, she looked like she had been prepped by a mortician. Since I don't make a habit out of talking to stiffs, this was NOT a pleasant experience for me.

However, I'm pleased to report that there's a happy ending to this ridiculous tale... the aforementioned colleague got sucked into a bunch of meetings and had to cancel on me. Pity.

weirdo

I don't normally do the meme thang primarily because I just don't like that word. Meme. Not sure why but it bugs me. But I'll put aside my distaste because I found a rather fun one over at Sheila's. The task: Write down five of your own personal idiosyncrasies.

The hardest part of this was narrowing down my enormous list to just five. You see, I diligently foster and nurture my quirks much in the way others would dote on a ficus. Unlike the plants in my care, my hang-ups are lush and thriving. Case in point...

1. I despise the brown crunchy things in between layers of ice cream cake. I kinda don't care for ice cream cake all that much either. Well, if I'm being honest, ice cream in general doesn't really excite me... unless I'm in a bad mood. If that's the case, ice cream is the perfect remedy because you simply cannot lick an ice cream cone with a scowl on your face. Try it. You can't.

2. I have severe poop issues. Unless it's a DIRE emergency, I cannot poop at work or any place other than home. It's part of the reason I live alone. I found it to be very stressful when I had a roommate. I tried to time my poops after she went to bed or right before I went into the shower. Believe it or not, it worked about 90% of the time but there were a few occasions where I had to answer the call regardless of the roomie's whereabouts. It killed me to do it but I had no choice.

I think it's because I associate so much shame with my pooping that I also find poop and fart jokes riotously funny. I'm 31 years old yet I laugh like a 10-year-old boy at the first mention of poop. And I don't foresee me outgrowing this any time soon.

3. I'm a sucker for the one clap-two clap beat in a song. Even if I hate the song, I have to stop what I'm doing and clap once/clap twice/clap once in time with the music. It just has to be done.

4. My outer wardrobe is comprised of mostly dark solid colors -- brown, black, navy, maroon, that sort of thing. Despite my seemingly staid preferences, I have a rather outrageous underwear collection. The louder the colors and patterns the better. I haven't met a striped, polka-dotted, zig-zagged or leopard pattern I haven't liked. Cartoon characters are equally represented among my undies, namely Supergirl, Hello Kitty and Mickey Mouse.

5. Bumpy textures and folds FREAK me the fuck out. I'm positively horrified by close-ups of pock marks, cavities, crevices, fibers, etc. When I hear the term "nooks and crannies," I flinch. Stucco will never see the light of day in my home. Same goes for popcorn ceilings. Well, that's also because they're butt ugly. Furthermore, don't come near me with a cross-section of something unless your aim is to make me gag.

I once had a dream that my stomach looked like a moon crater and I tortured myself with the memory for months afterwards. I think I'm finally over the disgust. Actually, nope. Not true. If you'll excuse me, I need to go find me some ginger ale.

foul language

As you may already know, The Lovely Jess and I tend to IM like the wind on a daily basis. Today's discussion turned somehow to words and phrases that make our skin crawl.

Much fun was had as we giggled and grossed ourselves out by listing our most-hated phrases. For example, the term "slacks" makes me irate. Similarly, Jess cannot abide the use of the word "dungarees." In writing this, I also realized that I detest the the term "canoodling." Must every gossip page use this?! Stop it. Stop it now.

I'm also put off when people say "bucks" instead of "dollars." It's just so... so crass sounding (hmmm... this coming from a person who had to train Blogger's Spell Checker to recognize the words piss, shit, fuck, crappy and asshole to streamline the publishing process.)

Go check out the list and feel free to add to it. You'll find that unleashing your inner neurotic weirdo is both fun and cathartic.