- See unidentified thing on floor.
- Look at it.
- Look at it.
- What IS it? Look harder at it.
- Look at it while tilting head.
- WHAT IS IT?
- Bend over to look at it.
- Look at it lookatitLOOKATIT
- Poke it.
- Poke it again.
- Pick it up.
- Drop it.
- Look for it.
- Look for it lookforitLOOKFORIT
- WHERE IS IT???
- IS IT ON ME???
- Flail uncontrollably.
- See second unidentifiable thing on floor.
- Repeat from Step 2.
Tag Archives: OCD for You and Me
Well, shit, no ‘Pocolypse, no zombies, no reason for this machete. Wait, there’s ALWAYS a reason for a machete… such as tomorrow’s planned excursion to visit with the Concubine’s Insane Yankee Family.
Apparently this trip has been quote-unquote- “planned” for some time, but at T-minus 24 hours before takeoff, no one seems to know exactly what that plan IS. I feel safe in saying we’re SUPPOSED to be going into The City to meet up with some family to eat something, and we may possibly be going up to Connecticut to see Stepbrother Luke.
BUT… and there’s always a but (unlike my own family, where there’s always a butt, and it’s usually either me or Dear Sweet Mama). No one seems to know what/where/when/IF this City-Eating is actually going to take place, which makes Hoody ultra-agitato — we all know I like to have my meals planned in advance! Although this is not a major problem, because even if The Fam can’t figure out what/where/when to eat, there sure as byGAWD ain’t no “if” in the Jedi Way of Hoody: I’ll be over at the falafel cart if y’all need me, there is no try.
BUT ALSO… no one has heard from Stepbrother Luke as to whether or not he is amenable to this happy holiday visit. Now, y’all know when it comes to folks just “dropping in” — Hoody don’t play dat. But Luke makes me look downright hospitable, y’all… and we may be descending upon him without his permission.
I hope his fucking Christmas present gets here today… either that or my Kevlar.
Thanks so much for all the love, support, and offers of ass-kickin’ assistance yesterday, now let’s get to the good part:
The lovely and talented and utterly-unafraid-of-getting-her-ass-kicked-for-taking-pictures-of-weirdos-in-the-street Misty passed along “Tag! You’re It!” to myself and several other wonderful blog artistes. That means I have to answer some questions… ’cause she’s a lawyer and she scares me. ; )
1. Book or movie and why?
Book. Number one, I read pretty much CONSTANTLY (yes, even on the toilet), and number two, I often find my own imagination is better than the screenwriter/director/whatever’s. Not to say I WON’T see the movie, but I generally like to have read the book first. And if I find out I’m watching a movie that’s based on a book and I didn’t know it, I will immediately go out and find that book and read it. Because I’m a nerd and a film major, and that’s how we roll.
2. Real book or e-book?
Real. Can’t beat the smell of the paper, the feel of turning the pages with my actual fingers. I’m like Admiral Kirk in that way. Plus, I think the whole Kindle thing is a trick.
3. Funniest thing you’ve done in the last 5 years?
I’m assuming this means funny to others, because I amuse the fuck out of myself pretty much all the time. And I really don’t know for sure… but it probably involved me doing something stupid and proceeding to injure myself. I’m good at that. Oh, and there’s also this.
4. Do you put yourself in the books you read/movies you watch?
Not… really. I empathize with the characters, of course, but mostly I’m just along for the ride. There HAVE been some very fucked up dreams, though.
5. How would your best friend describe you?
Well, it’s you guys, so I hope it’s “one funny motherfucker.”
6. Favorite kind of car and why?
One that runs. That is all.
7. Would your choice of party be a catered meal or a barbecue out back?
As long as I’m not RESPONSIBLE for the party, either is good. If I’m in charge, catered meal: Hoody can’t take that kind of pressure!
8. What’s your favorite season and why?
Hmmm… I really love fall, the way the air smells and the changing leaves. But I also hate it a little because I know it means winter’s coming.
9. What important lessons have you learned? Spiritual, educational, and occupational?
Spiritual: There is no one “right” way. You gotta do what feels best for you.
Educational: Virtually everything I learned in college is now obsolete, but I still think everyone should have to go for the mind-broadening.
Occupational: The people I work with/for are fucking rock stars. I would not have made it through all the drama I’ve dealt with without their understanding and support (or y’all’s, either!).
10. Besides writing, what’s your favorite thing to do when you get some extra time?
I don’t know what this “extra time” thing is, I feel like all I do is work and sleep! I really need to spend MORE time writing, but there’s that whole “sleeping” problem… I do like to dick around on the internet and read, but I’m usually doing those things while doing something else at the same time.
11. What’s one place you can be found at least one time every week?
*sigh*… Walmart. I grocery shop once a week and that’s where I do most of it. They carry my basic staples: catfood, Sprite, booze and refried beans.
Whew, that’s done. Now I’m supposed to pass this on to 11 other people, but Hoody don’t do rules. So I’m passing it along to ALL the members of the Royal Court. That’s right, bitches. YOU’RE “it.”
Ha! Gots me some new bitch-don’t-be-crazy drugs and in doing so, I have discovered…
TO MAKE ME CRAZIER.
Seriously, I dropped off the prescription for the extended-release Xanax (which is very cool, by the way, I no longer have ups-and-downs with the anxiety and everything seems slightly… fuzzy). So I go back to get it and the little clerk gal says… wait for it…
“There’s no way you could be pregnant, right?”
I believe my answer was somewhere along the lines of “Christ, no,” but really? REALLY? This is what you ask the person picking up her crazy pills? The same kind of pills I’d already been taking, btw, just a different formula. Oh, yeah, I’m calm now!
But wait… there’s more…
Then a little later, the actual pharmacist gal asks me “Are you still taking the Prozac?” Fuck yeah, I’m still taking the Prozac, do you see me on a clock tower? But when I asked why, she says, “Oh, I just wanted to make sure your doctor knew you were taking these together.”
They were prescribed by the same doctor… to be taken together…
Am I gonna die?
Then Dear Sweet Mama chimes in with, “This is getting weird. You better make sure they gave you the right pills.” NOT HELPING!
Anyhoo, the pills are working, I’m much better now, and I really hope those were the right ones, ’cause I likeses them. A LOT.
See y’all Monday with a rundown of the Completely-Shitfaced-Leg-of-Lamb I’ll be making for Saint Patrick’s Day (to compete with Laura’s Drunk-Ass-Pig)… Slainte!
Well, I’ll be damned.
That there is another fabulous award from the amazing Leauxra of Does This Make My Blog Look Fat?. The rules for this one are pretty straightforward: As the badge would indicate, I’m supposed to award it to 3 bloggers who I’d like to know more about… then reveal 3 things about me you may not know.
First things first, though. Let’s all take a look at the lovely things Leauxra had to say about moi:
“Hoodyhoo of… hoodyhoo. Of course you read Ms. Hoo. Who doesn’t read her? I heard a rumor that she’s back around after kicking the shit out of some of her internal organs. Yay!”
“Who doesn’t read her???” Check’s in the mail, Leauxra, just don’t cash it for awhile! : )
Now onto the nominees:
- Frequent commenter and (gasp!) male person, Brett Minor of Transformed Nonconformist. Brett gets the nod for his unique solution to avoiding post-apocolypse stress: “I will be dead.”
- Dana the Biped is up next from Five Legs Between Us. Anyone who will give a gun to a possum is someone we need to get to know better!
- My latest protege, Cinema Sugar. In my continuing effort to force others to blog, I thought this might give CS the impetus to “write something, dammit!” I reserve the right to label anything she may say about me as a foul and baseless lie… unless it’s flattering, of course!
Now, onto the second part. I’m not known for my lack of disclosure, but I’ll try to find some new dirt about me…
- I once hucked a (full) beer can at a then-boyfriend to stop him from peeing in the yard at a party (hey, the cops mighta seen!). I meant to hit NEAR him to startle him and make him pee himself… instead, I knocked his ass unconscious.
- At the ripe old age of 35, I still practice the “school clothes” method of wardrobe maintenance. That means I take off my “good clothes” the minute I come in the door and sit around in a t-shirt and underpants. If you’re lucky, I’ll put on shorts.
- I have been known to sleep in the bathtub the whole night ON PURPOSE. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes my knees feel better, and I DO use a (soon-to-be-soaking-wet) towel as a blanket. Waking up sucks, though.
Alright, Hooligans! The nominees HAVE to do it, but the rest of y’all are welcome to share as well!
Poor Ol’ Dad came over yesterday to bemoan the terrible decrepitness of my poor car. Now, I know my car is getting on in years (it’s a 2002) but it’s A) still running and B) not as bad as Pearl’s! And I’m what you might call “hard on cars” — I drove my previous (14-year-old) car until the Blue Book value went up and down depending on how much gas was in it! Like, I go to pay my property tax and THEY LAUGH AT ME because it’s like $12.
So, my point is, I KNOW the car is not long for this world, but you know what? I can’t fix that. All I can do is start socking a little money away for the inevitable car payments to come in my future. So why worry?
This is the basis for what I’m trying to make my new personal motto: “Can’t Fix It? Fuck It.” What I’m trying to do is not wig out about things over which I have no control, because you know what that gets you? An 11-day stay in Club Hospital Bed. I’m not saying I won’t PREPARE for things (have we met?), I’m just not going to sit and worry myself into a frazzle over shit I can really do nothing about.
My very dear therapist says part of my problem is that I act like someone with PTSD except I don’t have any TS to be Post of. So that constant vigilance is what’s making me nuts. My early New Year’s Resolution, therefore, is to LET. SHIT. GO. Be ready, not crazy. We’ll see how she flies.
Dear Sweet Mama and the Concubine are going through some trouble up in Joisey (which I’ll go into later when it’s all resolved), which prompted a conversation between me and the Weasel that has left me SIMPLY STUNNED.
That boy… does not believe… in the ‘Pocolypse.
Like, not as a serious, shit-might-be-goin’-down and we should probably be ready kind of thing. Which is why he has me, I guess, but it’s becoming clear he MAY actually think I’M the crazy one! The which I am NOT.
I was just raised not to take things for granted, whereas he was raised not to lock your front door (yes, we DID grow up less than 30 miles from each other). But he… and this is just so hard to say… HE TRUSTS PEOPLE.
Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t try to stop my stockpiling and preparations, he just honestly doesn’t think we’re gonna need ’em! Where can you BUY that kind of optimism? I guess it goes along with his I’m-so-nice-I’ll-give-a-triflin’-ho-a-ride-to-her-apartment thing, which I keep trying (and failing) to break him of… but seriously? There is absolutely no way this whole “civilization” thing is gonna stay on the rails for much longer!
Part of me wishes I could be like that… but the other (much larger) part is busy building a fort out of crates of powdered milk.
Well, we’ve already established (several times) that I am obviously NOT afraid of going to Hell… but that does NOT mean I am completely fearless! (Stop crying, Tazer.) Fortunately, my fears tend toward the… completely ridiculous…
1. Nutcrackers, dolls with teeth and (I’M SORRY!) midgets
This ridiculous fear started with the terror that is nutcrackers (which I inherited from Dear Sweet Mama), then metamorphosed into any doll whose teeth you can see after I saw the movie “Barbarella” where the evil little girls try to get their dolls to eat Jane Fonda (another reason little white girls should never be trusted!), which logically leads into a fear of midgets. Sorry, “little people.” But I figure if I’m fucked up enough to be afraid of an entire group of people, political correctness is the LEAST of my worries! It’s like having a phobia of Frenchmen or something. I feel TERRIBLE about it.
2. The theme music from “Tales from the Darkside”
Toldja they were ridiculous. I honestly CANNOT hear that music without getting freaked the fuck out and having nightmares (thank Goddess for DVR and fast-forward, back when we had to watch things “live” DSM had to make sure I left the room before it came on!) Looking at the creepy photo-negative image they use is not good either, but I can handle that as long as I don’t hear THAT MUSIC!
3. Geese, ducks, any large-ish bird
This one has good reason behind it — a Canada goose once blacked both my eyes when I tried to feed it a barbecue sandwich (maybe he was a Muslim goose and he didn’t eat pork?). Fuckers are STRONG, yo.
4. Locusts/cicadas/whatever the fuck you call those devil bugs
Some of you may already know this story, but when I was a wee tiny Hoody, my elementary school class went on a trip up into the scenic mountains of Wes’BYGAWD Virginny during what (unbeknownst to me) turned out to be one of those 7-year locust outbreaks. Fuckers were EVERYWHERE. And then, as me and my little friend were walking along the trail… a locust landed on my shirt — THUD! And hung on with its horrible feet, and I looked down into its evil red eyes, started screaming, and ran off. Yes, ran away from something that was STILL ON MY SHIRT. And I almost ran off a cliff. So locusts tried to kill me… and they wanted it to look like an ACCIDENT…
5. Disheveled shelves in stores
Like at Christmas or if there’s a blizzard warning or something? And you go in and the bread and shit is all flung to hell and back and you actually have to step OVER items to get around? Yeah, I can’t take that. This is why I stay home on Black Friday and never, EVER go to places like Gabriel Brothers.
AND BONUS, just to freak all y’all out, too:
Those little microscopic bugs that always live on our skin, no matter how much you wash. You’re welcome.
I came home from work yesterday to find the most amazing thing…
And my dishes were BAAAAD, y’all. I had let them get to the science project stage during the deep dark depression, and they had become my nemesis! The whole rest of the house is clean (except Petey’s Room, gimme a break), but those dishes were the hill I could not climb (almost literally). I couldn’t believe Chuckweasel would do such a nasty chore without ANY prompting — I was struck speechless for a minute!
I mean, Chuckweasel’s chores are usually outside-related chores — like, take out the trash, carry in the groceries, etc. If we had a yard, he would have to mow it, if we had a dog, he would have to pick up its poops. But dishes are INSIDE, and so under my domain… but he did it anyway, bless him!
And he did them WELL, too! Number one, he didn’t even use the dishwasher (he claims he doesn’t know how, which proves I’m not getting rid of this chore for good!), and number two, THE DISHES WERE ACTUALLY CLEAN. This is utterly shocking to me — I am EXTREMELY OCD about clean dishes, and if there’s so much as a SPECK of food or what-not left on a plate, that whole load’s getting washed again. I once had a boyfriend who I SWEAR would deliberately fuck up chores so he wouldn’t have to do them anymore — needless to say, he did the dishes exactly once.
So, let’s line up, Sister Wives… it may be time to give Chuckweasel a however-many-of-us-there-are-some… a “menage’ a us”, if you will. All you boy-types are excused… you can do more chores while we’re busy!
Today is Chuckweasel’s birthday (happy birthday, you old bastard!), so what better way to celebrate than to thoroughly insult and disparage “his” Walmart?
To begin, let it be understood that Chuckweasel’s Walmart (also known as “this fucking Walmart!”) is the one that is closer to his apartment, whereas “my” Walmart is closer to my apartment. Yes, in WBGV, we have Walmarts about every 10 miles or so to make sure you’re never without access to crap. Now here’s the thing — BOTH the Walmarts in question were built back before Walmarts sold groceries (a dank and dismal time WHICH I HAD TO LIVE THROUGH, thankyouverymuch!), but here’s the thing: MY Walmart chose to remodel and expand to accomodate groceries, whereas Chuckweasel’s Walmart…. did not. So they’ve just got shit jammed in any ol’ where, and it makes not a damn bit of sense!
For example, in MY Walmart, pet food, cleaning supplies and paper towels and such are all at the back (where you’re supposed to start, but I’ll cover that later), right before you get into the serious grocery section. Therefore, you can get all your stuff that is relatively LARGE (cat litter, toilet paper, etc.) before you buy small things like eggs and capers. Then you move through soft drinks, bottled, water, and liquor… see the size progression? This makes SENSE.
In Chuckweasel’s Walmart, pet food is in the center aisles near the front, right behind birthday cards (WTF? “Happy Birthday Grandma! Here’s some Friskies!”). You then go through some of what can only be called “weird shit aisles” before reaching paper goods and THEN cleaning supplies… but the cleaning supplies are arranged in some kind of psychotic order having nothing to do with the way they are used. Then you are finally at the back of the store to begin filling your cart with cases of Coke and flats of water, but you CAN’T, ’cause YOU’VE ALREADY HAD TO PASS EGGS AND MILK and they’ll get mooshed in the cart! This DOES NOT make sense.
Of course, the reason this upsets me so is that I HATE to backtrack in the store. I make my grocery list in order of the way “my” store is arranged, and making me go to the fucked-up Walmart fucks up my EN-tire list! Dear Sweet Mama trained me from birth to start at the back of the store (Cokes, etc.) and move forward, only backtracking to pick up meat (which you get LAST, right after frozen food — duh).
CHUCKWEASEL DOES NOT KNOW HOW YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SHOP.
So he’s all willy-nilly all over the place, backtracking to and fro and coming back to meet me — because he knows where I’ll be BECAUSE I FOLLOW THE SYSTEM. Swear to GAWD, that boy ain’t right. Maybe he’ll get wiser with age?
Anyhoo, happy birthday, you crazy fuck! You know we love you! : )
PS — Yesterday was Poor Ol’ Dad’s birthday, but I can’t say anything bad about him. Number 1, he goes to MY Walmart, Number 2, he found me a good therapist, and Number 3, he has a gun. But happy birthday, Poor Ol’ Dad!