Canned Fruits Like White Elephants
Today is Tuesday, which means that it’s Time For Beaver Talk with Aunt Becky over at Toy With Me. Today, I’m talking about songs to hump to, which is surprisingly safe for work. Totally interested in seeing what gets other people in the mood, since all I could come up with was either pop music or O! Canada.
Click the smiling beaver below to be taken away:
But for those of you who prefer not to think about me having sex, which I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND, I’ve pulled yet another one from the vault to amuse you. Or annoy you.
1. It should come as no shock to anyone who has seen me dress myself that I am actually color blind. I’ll take a moment here to let those of you who have seen my fashion sense (or lack thereof) collect yourself from the gut-busting laughter. Try not to pull a muscle, mmkay?
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…
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Done, now?
Fuckers.
See, it’s actually pretty rare for women to be color blind as it’s an X-linked disorder (meaning both of my chromosomes must have it). I’ll avoid going into further details so that you are not forced to gnaw your arm off with boredom.
It has been the cause for many a (stupid) marital dispute over the shade of a particular color. In the end, I’ve learned to rely on Dave’s opinion (smart as that may not be) about certain shades.
My kids are going to have to get used to looking as though hobo’s have dressed them, eh?
2. I have an intense phobia of canned fruits, in spite of my unrequited love of fruits in general. There’s something about canned anything, floating happily in a goo sauce that completely freaks me out. Ditto for Jello molds.
This may be a throw back to the dissection craze of my 5th grade teacher, who, in all of her glory, decided to spend a large portion of the year showcasing the various creepy jars full of deceased animals suspended in Formalin (or the famous carcinogenic Formaldehyde, it was the 80’s, after all) to us. Now, I loves me my dissections (seriously), but seeing floating suspended baby chicks in glass jars was enough to give me nightmares.
I think this is where the phobia stems from (that, and my hippie mother would likely rather have eaten her own feces than served us something suspended in SUGAR.), but I can’t seem to shake it, EVEN IF I LIKE THE FRUIT IN QUESTION.
3. When I was in my first semester in college, I took an introductory biology class and one of the tasks that we were required to learn was all of the organ systems of the fetal pig (which are similar to the layout of a human).
While half of my class was left gagging into their Bunsen burners, I took to the task like a pig in, well, shit. The instructor insisted that we learn this inside and out (oh pun, pu-pun, pun, PUN), and suggested that we take ours home to study (due to limited laboratory time).
Well, I took it a step further and named mine. It’s the same name as my former heating pad boyfriend: Stu.
To maximize the shock value to my mother (and to ensure that the dogs did NOT have a tasty snack while I wasn’t looking), I decided to casually slip Stu into the meat drawer and then leave the house, knowing full well that she’d discover him in my absence.
She was underwhelmed.
4. Because in the academic realm, I am 110% An Annoying Overachiever, I became a TA for both Inorganic and Organic chemistry as well as a tutor for Anatomy and Physiology I and II.
It was only then that I developed a complete and total appreciation for teachers. Wow. Some of those students were not the brightest bulbs in the sconces.
5. Despite the fact that I blog like it’s going out of style (isn’t it?), I have never in my whole life written for fun. Ever. This includes journaling of any sort. Mainly because, what the fuck would I ever journal about?
In high school, I would occasionally try to write in a journal but it always ended up something like,
“I really like Shawn X. He sat next to me in Brit Lit and I swear he smiled at me. Oh, I don’t know WHAT I’ll do if he doesn’t ask me to Homecoming!”
And then I would look back on it and be embarrassed FOR myself.
6. One of the things I hate most about being a grown-up is that the older we get, the more PC we have to become. As someone who has never NOT laughed at a dick-n-fart joke, and whose all time favorite word is fuck (I actually gave it up for Lent one year DESPITE the fact that I am not Catholic. Maybe it’s better that I’m not Catholic, because I didn’t do a very good job of it.), I hate having to be all conscious of what I say in public and to other people.
I hate having to worry about offending people if I tell them what I think, and I hate offending people even when I’m not trying to. I use certain words to be humorous, not to be offensive (because I promise The Internet that if I am actively trying to offend someone, I will do so), and I hate having to censor myself in order to maintain the peace.
7. I genuinely believe that everything tastes better with bacon.
Now, here’s the catch: see, I’m supposed to tag a couple of people to do this meme, but I’m pretty sure everyone who has a blog has done it and is probably not as full of weird things to do it over and over again.
So I am tagging anyone (this means YOU! LURKER!) who reads this to give me a weird fact about themselves in the comments (use a fake name if you must). Because seriously, the comments are high-freaking-larious and might just help with poor, OH POOR Aunt Becky’s blinding headache.
Laughter IS the best medicine, after all (or so Reader’s Digest tells me, AND WHY WOULD THEY LIE TO ME?).
We’re super freakied out that Nate will be color blind b/c both his grandfathers are.
Disecting anything freaks me out. I have to psych myself up to prepare raw meat. I was so lucky that I had a valid excuse (pregnancy) for opting out of the whole fetal pig thing in college.
And, I think I was made for blogging, because all of my journal entries were written like a letter. As if I was talking to someone other than myself.
I have passed my 13 year old boy humor onto Nate: he laughs when he farts or burps, then tries to repeat the action (which is funnier that the original).
And, pigs taste good. No matter which part or how it’s cooked, pigs are yummy. Sorry, Wilbur.
So, is there a prize for the longest comment? I should totally get it.
shit, man, bobbi’s comment wasn’t up yet. I think her’s is longer. Can I get a prize for two comments on the same post? I at least deserve partial credit, right?
So Dirrty is where all those dancers learned those moves. And how embarrassed must Christina be of herself now?
Also, P!nk is incredibly sexy in Lady Marmalade! What a moment of weakness!
Random weird fact about me: My dream is to be able to safely hug a panda.
I did the fetal pig dissection in grade 11 biology. My lab partner decided it would be a good idea to cut open the eyelid first. Then I got to cut open a pig while it stared at me.
[…] See the rest here: Canned Fruits Like White Elephants […]
Just eating the fucking floating fruit already!
I don’t move furniture around – EVER. I figure out the best and most efficient furniture configuration for a room, and then there it stays. Forever. Because why would you mess with something that’s the best and most efficient. Just leave it be. In it’s perfect-ness. And when other’s (yes, you, Mom) move theirs around – it makes makes me mental. Please – just leave the furniture alone!
I just re-read some journals from college and was surprised to remember from reading it how many days in bed continuously I once spent with a former lover. Eating mostly doritoes and occasionally leaving for a meal in the dorm. Yikes!
I wonder if anyone has ever tried to make canned bacon…
I do that number counting thing too but it has to equal ten and it has to make a circle back on its self.
OK, your fetal pig story brought back memories. In high school I took an anatomy and physiology course knowing full well that, since I had flunked the same chemistry class with the same teacher for 2 years, I was going to have to pull in extra credit in the anatomy portion of the class. So when an opportunity to reassemble the skeleton of the teacher’s brother’s cat presented itself I jumped at it. Soaked it in ammonia to dissolve any meaty bits, soaked it in bleach to make it pearly white, and then had to protect it over a school vacation when the lab was being renovated or something. So, I swiped a tray from the cafeteria and put the cat on it and the whole thing in a big paper bag to get it home on the bus. It should be noted that the only part of the cat that wasn’t just bones and tendons was the tip of the tail which still had a little pompom of fur on it. Brought it home and hid it in the basement in a closet that my mother never went into. Except this time she did. And screeched. And swore. And made me “GET IT OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!!” I put it out in the shed and then that night put it under my bed. She never went intot he closet again until we’d all moved out. And I know this because I hid pot there and it was never found.
omg where do I f’n start???!!!!
I think one of the most odd facts about me is that I seem to be very excitable- but very little actually phases me. Most things that would render a normal human being speechless and red-faced from mortification have no effect on me….
FUCK! It seriously is The. Greatest. Word. EVAR! I use it in my regular every day conversation. If people are offended by that, fuck ’em. They don’t need to listen to what I’m not saying to them. Serves them right for eavesdropping, I say.
Bacon is more proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. If it weren’t for bacon, I think I could give up pork entirely. But I love me some bacon, so that is not going to happen.
And, finally, weird random fact about me. Um, no pressure, Aunt Becky. I kept a journal in school, which was high-lariously like the one you described. Unfortunately, I published part of mine in the school newspaper I was an editor of (anonymously, natch) under the “funnies” section. And, in the sixth grade, I owned an album called (and I kid you not, because why would I lie to you?) “The Simpsons Sing the Blues.” It was awesome. And, yes, I do mean the cartoon Simpsons from Springfield.
And, apparently, I like to start sentences with “And.” Is there a support group I can join for this affliction??
A weird fact about me, only one? Okay, I misread signs all. the. time. There was a place called Music Warehouse and everytime I went by it, I would read it as Music Whorehouse
fact:
I have the bottoms of my feet with a razor blade. No they are not hairy – but instead there is callous like I’ve never seen on another human being. Many times i’ve been told how awful the bottoms of my feet are – and not just a little calous – but its so thick that eventually if not scrapped off it will crack and bleed.
fact: on the other foot, I can pinch with my toes and make my hubby squeal in pain 😉
Weird fact: I am a thespian philatelist.
I’ve ALWAYS wanted to be one of those people that journals… my friend keeps a journal/sketchbook/scrapbook and it makes me so incredibly jealous. But when I try, I am embarassed 7 seconds after I wrote it.
Umm… something weird about me… I have a minor panic attack if I realize I must be somewhere for over 30 minutes that might not provide access to drinking water.
I feel oddly compelled to share a weird fact, as I am (gasp!) a lurker. (However, to be fair I stumbled across your site Saturday and have been thoroughly entertained since)
Ok. So I’m not sure this is a wierd fact, but rather kind of sad. One of my favorite movies is ‘The Mating Habits of the Earthbound Human’…ummm, yeah. Haven’t seen it? You should. It’s hilarious and it is definately worth the 3.99 movie bargain bin.
I should probably also say, that I have the same humor as a 13 year old boy…this comes in handy though, because I live with three boys.
But there is always hope that the next one will be a girl…ah hell, who am I kidding, she’ll probably end up with my sense of humor anyway.
I don’t know if this qualifies as weird or not…….but I buy things and then return them. Sometimes within an hour, sometimes the next day, sometimes months later. I buy things that I think I need (or want) and then mull it over some more. Comparison shop., Discuss with friends. I am afraid NOT to buy the item, because what if I can’t find it later ? What if it’s GONE???? I don’t do it to get something for nothing, and the items I bring back ? I don’t usually USE the them – I just have second thoughts, then third thoughts, and then eventually I just say “Aw fuck it” (I like that word too !) and bring it back.
I told my husband he should be happy that I return so many things that I buy. I told him this as we wiated in an hours long customer service line at, um, Ross, I think. And he looked at me tenderly and said “Actually honey, I’d be prouder if you just didn’t buy it at all.”
Oh, you’re going to love this one.
In highschool I kept a journal. Boring, right?
It was a journal of EXACTLY what I wore that day.
This way I wouldn’t repeat within a 2-week time period.
Annnnnd end of therapy session. Ahh, that was nice.
ok, I’m the lurker you told to come out of hiding. I LOVE your blog! It’s my guilty pleasure over my lunch break at work.
I took AP Biology in high school and had to disect a fetal pig, who was also named, I just can’t remember his name now. We had to share our pig with our lab partner and we didn’t get to take him home. One day we were working on the pig and he spit at us. So, from then on he was X, the spitting pig.
Something weird about me….there’s just too much to know where to start. Isn’t it enough that I named a fetal pig and he spit at me?
My girl crush only grows when you say things like, “everything’s better with bacon.” Because fuck me running, that’s my life mantra. I once dated a man on principle simply because his blog and twitter accounts were devoted to the salty porky goodness. Thankfully while he was weird as fuck, he was pretty good at the sexing and we could always eat bacon before or after (or both) (but never during). I applied for a job as the “Director of Pork Marketing” because, seriously, that’s a job? Hell. Fucking. Yeah.
Weird Fact from me…. hmmm, so many to choose from!
I count things all the time. Mostly letters/numbers. And they have to become equal. As in, take the word fucking.
Normally, each letter counts as one point. Any hole in the letter (the g, for example) gets an extra point. And the dots in i’s and j’s get a point. So fucking would be 13. But that’s not even. So I cheat and count the line through the f. And then add the numbers together and it goes on into infinity.
Seriously though, I am ALWAYS doing that. It’s hard to describe and probably doesn’t make sense to you at all, but there ya go.
Now, I’m going to go off in my little OCD corner now….or maybe go back to work. Nah, I’ll just sit.
Yes, I’ll call your lurker and raise you a weird fact:
My elbows pop every time I fully extend my arms (and it sounds painful, but it isn’t).
I cannot do Jello. I have texture issues.
But that’s not the weird fact I was going to share. I have an odd way of eating bags of M&Ms (the small bags, that is — with the big bags, it can be a free for all). I will group the M&Ms by color, such that I have one brown, one red, one orange, one yellow, one green, and one blue in one group. And I will continue making groups. But of course, eventually, this doesn’t work anymore. Then I make up groups as best as I can. Once I’ve got them arranged, THEN I eat them, starting with the “misfit” groups and then ending with the complete groups.
I have no idea why I do this (and I don’t do it all the time — but certainly most of the time). Or when it started.
Did I say I have texture issues? Maybe it’s just plain issues.
Technically I no longer count as a lurker, as I posted about my attack roses yesterday, but I’ll still tell you a random fact about me. My earliest memory is of brown and orange printed flowers – the sheet my mother hung around my crib as an infant (can you say 70’s!). I knw I shouldn’t be able to remember anything from when I was 2 months old, but I do. I just don’t remember anything that happened last week!
weird fact:
i am extremely superstitious, but not about cats or ladders. mainly about karma and doorways. i can’t touch the top of the doorway because then something bad will happen. if i do, by some sheer accident, touch the top of the doorway, i need to walk through it again, twice, so the total number of times i touched it is 3. it always has to end on an odd number.
I count stuff, not in any organized manner, I just count stuff. Especially when I am tired or when I need to go to sleep, I count down backwards from 100.
I didn’t cut up the frog in high school, I conned my lab partner into doing it.
M&M’s must be eaten one colour at a time, saving the brown ones for last. It is imperative.
I am tired right now, maybe I will go count something.
Something weird about me? I am a 28 year old (29 in Oct) Mom of 3, and I want another one.
*gasp*
I know, Ill wait while you go get some freah air…
(delurking long enough to air my neuroses)
Leanne, I hear you on sorting M&Ms by colour and then eating one candy at a time from each group so the #s stay even. *lol* I’ve done this since I was a child.
My quirk? When I’m hanging clothes out to dry, my clothes pegs must match. I get terribly uncomfortable when I get to the bottom of the basket and am running out of clothes pegs and will do anything to avoid hanging a shirt with two different coloured clothes pegs. I didn’t realize I did this until a friend noticed and pointed it out, and now she’s afflicted with the same issue.
(I know, I know, I should buy all matching pegs of the same colour, but the *good* clothes pegs don’t come that way.)
Oops, Leanne, my bad. My M&M colour sorting neurosis is slightly different. I sort my M&Ms by colour, so I have a red group, a brown group, an orange group and so on. Then I eat all the “extras” so that each colour has the same number of candies in it. Then, I eat one of each colour at a time, rotating through the piles so that each pile has 5, then 4, then 3 and so on.
Jujubes too, excpet I don’t eat the black ones.
Recent follower, first time poster 🙂 Aunt Becky, you’re just fucking fabulous.
Weird about me? Um… dick-n-fart jokes are the fucking bomb. I love the word ‘fuck.’ I’m OCD in some ways but not others: I have piles of stuff all over my house that I need to go through – those don’t bother me. Temperatures in the house, chairs around a table, volume on a radio or television, pictures on the wall, things on either side of my computer at work…all have to be even. Odd numbers freak me the fuck out. Dude, when Mr. Realist and I have a boy, he’s going to be the most well-behaved, dirty-mouthed little fucker in the neighborhood!
Becky, here’s something about me. No matter where I go, I usually run into someone I know. My reputation for this is legendary. And I’m just a little nobody. The only contributing factors to this weird happenstance is I live in a small town, so that ups my odds and I have a huge family, 7 siblings. And, yes, I am Catholic and I too, give up the word Fuck and all its profane brothers and sisters every year for Lent and every year I fail miserably.(We Catholics need Lent to keep us in line, since we’re the partiers of organized religions.)
I have run into people I know while on vacations in different states, on the streets of NY, (a long way from my home) in airports and definitely always in restaurants and grocery stores. But, my best one yet, happened one night when my husband and I were out with our best friends. After dinner and the men drinking a few too many, the drunken buffoons decided it would be “funny” to hop out of the car at the red light and disappear into the night. We were on the outskirts of the big city in a shady part of town. My girlfriend, who was not drinking and therefore did not find their stupidity funny, zoomed off to teach them a lesson. When we realized they left their cell phones in the car, we turned around to find them. After searching for awhile, we decided to check out the strip club in the seediest side of town. While we were in there, finding our way in the dark through the thumping music and the bachelor parties and the poles, I heard someone call out my name. It ended up being a gay makeup artist I know who did my daughters’ makeup for a Glamour Shot shoot. We were both curious as to why the other was in there. His explanation of doing the strippers’ makeup made a lot more sense than mine.
The husbands weren’t in the strip club.They were walking home. When they realized how long a walk it really was, they found a pay phone and called us. We made them walk home.
Sorry for the long comment. It’s a tough one to explain in a paragraph.
When i was in 2nd grade I had a teacher who loved snakes. Depsite the fact she loved snakes, she loved to cook and eat them too. And so we did, in our classroom. She brought in an electric skillet, had us watch her slaughter the snake, she then had some students cut it up and cook it. Some ate it too. I will never forget the smell….. I bet it could be a lawsuit now if they did that in school huh? She always wore a cowboy hat with a snakeskin band too, a real winner she was. (can you guess what part of the USA i grew up in?)
Hmmm…weird fact about me…I have an issue (sometimes good, sometimes bad) with people’s mouths. For example, I can’t watch Keira Knightley’s movies. Maybe if I punch her in the face her mouth with straighten out? I can’t watch Burn Notice on USA because of Jeffrey Donovan’s permanent frown, his mouth creeps me out. I can’t deal with Angelina Jolie’s giant lips. On the flip side though there’s Christian Bale, I love him for his lips and only his lips. I don’t watch tennis, but Andy Roddick and his lips are welcome at my place anytime. Oh, and Paul Rudd with his flirty grin, yea I’d take him too.
I don’t know that there are any random facts about me that you don’t already know, but my forearms are double jointed (is that even real?), and I can pop them back and forth with my hands on a flat surface. It looks weird.
Here’s my weird fact that ties into your weird facts: I have problems with 3D orientation. When I took anatomy/physiology in college, we dissected a cat that we could take home with us to study. So I did, on the bus, from UIC to near Midway airport. That was fun. Anyway, during the class, they gave us the bleached cat skull bones (Bobbi described the process) and we were supposed to be able to reassemble them. I could not do it for anything! I could rotate those parts all day long, and never figure out how they fit together. I do OK with 2D orientation, but 3D – forget it!
Also, I group my M&Ms by color and number just like Cessigirl.
We dissected monkeys and sharks in Biology 2 in high school. One each semester. They smelled like a rotting asses covered in vomit by the time we were done. Blech.
Ok, I really don’t know if this is weird but if my husband pisses me off, before I set the table I totally lick his silverware…. he’s a complete germaphobe and I think its pretty fucking funny. Of course he doesn’t know that I do this which to me makes it even MORE funny…. I mean its not like he hasn’t stuck his tongue down my throat right?? I really needed to tell someone, thanks for the opportunity!! Also… I had a complete guilt complex, but oddly enough not when it comes to that… I just eat dinner with a smirk! (I do love him, just so you know!)
I can contort my tongue into all kinds of shapes. A bowl tongue, a canoe tongue, a big fat parrot tongue, the flat tip tongue, the folded over tongue and the crab rangoon tongue.
I am often surprised that I even bother blogging because of how much I hate writing. There must be something about talking endless about ones-self that makes it so damn addicting. I never did the journal thing for the same reason.
And I don’t know if it is weird or just plain gross, but:
I cannot STAND having boogers in my nose – especially if I can feel them in there. I will mine like I am going after the motherfucking Hope diamond just to get them out. In the privacy of my own home, of course.
I’ll probably have to come back once I have some better material because trust me, I’m full of all kinds of weird ………..
When I was little my arm broke and I had a terrible doctor who didn’t set it correctly which caused the bones in my arm to die. Well after finding a new doctor, they were able to fix the radius (thumb side), but the ulna (pinkie side) never mended so there is no ulna in my arm. Well, mostly no ulna……you can stick your finger in that spot and press down and wiggle your finger a bit to feel the blunt edge of the bone.
Another strange fact….or maybe OCD? I started keeping a journal after my daughter was born. It’s quite embarrassing because I wrote down EVERY feeding, how much she had and at what time she had the feeding. Also, every wet diaper and every poopy diaper was written down in this journal too. I kept this going on for an ENTIRE YEAR! And the rare ocassion she took a nap was written down, along with any milestone like first tooth, new teeth, sitting up, extra fussy day, extra happy day…….
OMG you brought back memories. My senior year of high school I took biology 2, a class almost no one takes. I learned why when we dissected cats for 9 weeks. This class was right before lunch…best diet plan EVER. I actually did better with the dead cat than with the live frog whose neck I had to break with bone cutters so I could cut it open and watch it’s lungs and heart function before removing all organs to their own petri dish. And I totally agree with you about the canned stuff. Um..and WHY did your 5th grade teacher have an affinity for dead animals in jars? That’s a little much for 5th graders. That reminds me, the bio 2 teacher also hung his own colonoscopy pictures on the wall… ~Susan
Good grief, i can’t believe how many of your readers seem to have OCD. wow.
I am seriously having a difficult time thinking of anything weird or random about me. I am just boring. Hmm… I am a runner and I have “stomach issues” on any run over 10 miles. I have even had to poop in the bushes on the side of the road before. I now carry a little wet wipe on long runs. Not sure if that is a weird fact or just gross.
I love escargot but I’m totally creeped out by slugs…and, aren’t snails essentially slug with shells?
Weird fact about me. I cannot stand frozen pizza. It must be fresh made or I can’t eat it. No clue why but there it is. One other weird fact. I have hairy toes, and it’s long hair too. I have to shave my toes.
Weird random facts? I had to ask hubby, and think on it. That’s weird. Hubby says my “bathroom phobia” is weird to him…I don’t use public bathrooms except at a movie theatre, because frankly, I can’t hold it long enough to get home. I never ever poop in public bathrooms. EVER. So, it’s a bathroom/privacy issue to me. I’ve flown a million miles, but I’ve never used an airplane bathroom.
I overthink crazy shit. Like random facts…
I can’t spell gray/grey…I always wonder if it’s right or not.
I have random counting OCD too, nothing too elaborate like some people here, because I think my ADHD gets in the way…but I find myself counting stairs, railroad cars, flocks of geese…
Look! A squirrel!
Wait! There’s one, two….
I have every single scent of Febreeze Air Effects air freshener. I use them in different rooms for different times of the day and different times of the year. I have never bought a second bottle of any of the scents because I’m so anal about how much is used and when. When a new scent comes out, I honestly would wait in line for it.
I don’t like potatoes. At all.
I love that you are blogging on Toy With Me. I leave that page open on my computer all the time just to scare the hell out of my boyfriend. I’m sure he is expecting to come home tonight to Prince blaring from the speakers and vibrating bed sheets. Keep it up, the more Aunt Becky the better.
I love to floss my teeth. It’s a strange obsession….
I think this article made some interesting points, I read a textbook directly related to this topic, its called Organic Chemistry by Jonathan Clayden, Nick Greeves, Stuart Warren , I found my used copy for less than the bookstores at http://www.belabooks.com/books/9780198503460.htm
I had forgotten about all the dissection I had to do in college, the cat sent me over the edge.
My sister named her corpse in medical school, Mortimer.
I was just listening to Marvin Gaye, who would make Mortimer want to Get It On!!
Thank you for stopping by my blog and your comment.
My nipples get hard when I sneeze. Never fails.
oh and peaches skeeve me. The fur gives me the willies.
Random fact #1: I count stairs as I’m walking up them. Also, if I stop to think about it, I have to chew stuff the same amount of times on each side of my mouth (this doesn’t occur to me much now, but I did it all. the. time. in high school).
Random fact #2: I’ve never seen an episode of Gilligan’s Island or I Love Lucy.
Random fact #3: I can recite the entire film dialog of Stand By Me.
And I hate pudding because of the texture, but will eat Jello with no problems.
I have a speech impediment in sign language. The tendon between my left pinky and ring finger is too short, so I can’t fully extend my pinky if my ring finger is fully curled.
I am also face blind, which means I usually can’t recognize people by their faces alone. I use voice, body type, hair color and type, skin tone, gait, and many other clues to tell me who the people around me are. Sometimes I’m wrong.
I hate the feel of cardboard. Weird I know. As someone who worked in food sevice we always had to break down boxws and the feel creeps me out. Especially if my hands are dry. I used to wear gloves to break down the boxes and still didn’t like it.
And for some reason I can’t type for shit tonight.
This blog is a daily must-read. I never know what’s going to be posted but it’s always good!
I could write a book on the weird crap about myself but I’ll try to keep it short(ish) here…
If I bump or scratch one body part (leg, arm, hand) I have to immediately touch the corresponding spot on the opposite limb, or it will drive me crazy. If something bumps me, it’s fine; it’s only when I do it myself that it bugs me.
I can’t sleep with any light or music *in* the bedroom. A train rolling by outside the window won’t faze me though. And no green LEDs on the alarm clock, they have to be red, or I’ll stick plastic window tint cut into strips over the display until it’s dim enough.
I, too, group M&M’s (actually Skittles) by color and number. And I don’t like blue candy or, really, anything blue raspberry flavored. Bleh.
I have a form of narcolepsy that paralyzes me at times. I wake up unable to move anything but my eyes. Sometimes I can twitch my foot long enough to wake my body up, but after dealing with it for years, I’ve learned to just relax (used to panic when my body was still breathing in sleep-mode, felt like I was suffocating) and fall back asleep, and I’ll usually wake up fully a few moments later. (This affliction was described as “a demon on your chest” in old wives’ tales.)
I’ve posted comments under another name, so not technically a lurker, but I’m still new here. I hope I didn’t use up my allotment of words already…!
I know exactly what you mean about writing in a diary and looking back and being embarrased. Adds a whole level of irony to my blog.
And fruit should NEVER come from a can unless you are in prison.
my friends call me “the license plate stalker” because i always find and point out out-of-state license plates. in memphis, it’s normal to see arkansas and mississippi plates because we are a tri-state area. but i’ve also seen colorado plates, new mexico plates, new york plates, california plates, texas plates, florida plates, michigan plates, i’ve seen pretty much all of them. however, i think the coolest ones i’ve seen were license plates from canada and hawaii. who would pay to have their car shipped from hawaii to the mainland? why not just rent a freaking car?
I am addicted to panty liners. I wear one every day and have since my son was born almost 12 years ago. It comes from a fear that started after he was born – I had some “issues”, but then thought they were over…Didn’t wear a pad to the hospital (he was in the NICU for 6.5) and had a “gusher” and had to wear my husband’s coat that was longer than mine out of the hospital. Never again without a liner, baby.
I have so many of the same weird things as others, it’s ridiculous.
I eat skittles and m&m’s by color, after I group them. And I make sure I eat one piece from each color at a time so all the groups have the same amount.
I also count EVERYTHING. I just counted how many keys I pushed to type that sentence, including the backspaces and re-types when I screw up.
I blink while in a car (either as passenger or driver) between poles/trees/othercars/pedestrians/buildings. So, if I pass a stand of trees or light poles, I blink between each one. I don’t watch them go by, it’s all peripheral.
If I touch something with my right hand I have to touch it with my left or I feel imbalanced and the world will implode. (No, really!)
My crayfish in my 8th grade biology class was named Murray.
I have webbed toes (on each foot, my 2nd and 3rd toes are connected half way up).
I correct the bad spelling and grammar in every paperback book I read. I can’t stand to read hardcovers for the most part because I feel bad about marking them with my red pen. I have been named “Grammar Nazi” at several jobs without any prompting from me.
I can’t stand it when someone has their sleeves rolled up/flipped up differently from each other. The world WILL implode if they don’t fix it.
No, seriously, so fix your Fucking sleeves!
I am terrified of small spaces…flip my lid/gag/can’t go into a small space kinda scared…no body believes me because I’m such a joker.
I’m very organized-but totally on my terms
My father would agree with #7. Especially with keyboards, because that’s usually where he leaves his bacon.
My jaw pops when I chew and apparently my nose whistles as well.
It drives my family crazy but I just do not hear it, I think it drives the guy in the cubicle next to me crazy as well because every time I eat something he puts his headphones on.
Well. I know I’m seriously weird, but the only thing I can think of off-hand is that when I adjust the volume on the television, the numbers have to be… just right, I guess. Sometimes it’s an odd number, sometimes even, sometimes a multiple of 2, and sometimes a mulitiple of 5.. occasionally it might need to be a prime number, but I’ll keep going louder or back down a notch or two until the number is RIGHT. I think the weirdest thing about this is that I never know what number is going to right or why. I just have to get it “right”.
So now I’m weird and boring, too. Great.
If I drop something on the floor I’ll pick it up and then go wash my hands. It was on the floor people! The DIRTY floor. If I don’t do it I have this horrible greebed out feeling. I can feel the dirt on it. I can’t stand to touch my skin or I’ll further contaminate myself.
I also can’t touch a garbage can, recycle bin, and cooking… forget it I might as well leave the tap on I wash so many times.
and no… hand sanitizer is not good enough.
You made me come out of the lurking shadows, and then I had to think of something odd about me.
I’ve never dissected anything but a shark. No frogs, no cats, no fetal pigs. But not one, but two sharks. I took great joy in pushing on the shark’s snout to make the electrically conductive goo ooze out to the glands of Lorenzi… When we got down to the liver, that thing was huge (seriously, like half the shark’s innards were liver) I then decided that people who drink to excess do not “drink like a fish” but rather like a shark. Cause…wow. Liver.
Then I was thinking about my hips, and how I can pop them in and out of my sockets at will. This is both less painful and less useful than it sounds.
so… yeah. I’ve de-lurked. Hi!
O Canada???? Oh Becks, that headache is BAD honey!!!!! You need more bacon, and yes, EVERYTHING DOES go better with bacon. It may kill me, but I believe that dying happy is a good thing.
Weird fact about myself. So many, so little time. Ok, all my wardrobe is categorised in 1. purpose of item 2. colour of item 3. sleeve length of item.
Of course I need counselling. And more bacon…
I was an obsessive diarist from age 9 – age 20. Most of my volumes of prose consist of exactly what you wrote…minus the whole homecoming thing. Because even I knew I didn’t have a prayer of being asked to the dance. Furthermore, I did not begin to have the insight to be embarrassed for myself upon rereading the entries the next day. I thought they were brilliant. Just like my poetry. Did I mention I went to the prom with a grad student my dad paid…I mean asked on my behalf. Yeah. I totally did.
Technically, I’m not a lurker. Perhaps a semi-lurker. But must do what Aunt Becky commands…
I was struggling to think of weird things about me (which would surprise most people I know) but after reading the comments, I was reminded of a few.
Like an earlier commenter, I seem to be very excitable- but very little actually phases me. Most things that would throw a normal human into panic or a hissy fit or levitating with excitement do not bother me at all. Car accidents, finding out I was pregnant for the first time (and wanted to be), nasty cuts, Exorcist-like vomiting by children, caring for a terminally ill parent. Incredibly good or horrifyingly bad, I remain COMPLETELY CALM, while everyone around me freaks out and stares, google-eyed at me, saying, “WHY AREN’T YOU FREAKING OUT???” I dunno. I just don’t.
In high school AP biology, we had to dissect frogs every year. In senior year, my lab partner and I got a frog who had clearly had a mishap and one of his front legs was stuck with a right angle bend at the “elbow.” So when it came time to close up the incision at the end of class, we tucked that foot (paw?) under the skin flap, pinned it closed and named him Napoleon.
I am not afraid of spiders, snakes, highway driving – many of the things that many women fear. But do not put me in a plane. Or an MRI scanner. SHIT.WILL.BE.LOST.
I don’t think I’m double-jointed.. but I can reach up behind my back and easily touch my head. I can zip up zippers all the way only reaching from below with absolutely no problem. I never even knew this was weird until I was sitting in my high school calculus class, scratching my head, and the kid next to me started freakin’ out. “What?!”, says I. “Jesus fucking tits! [editor’s note: That’s my personal favorite expletive. I forget what they actually said] What.. How.. Your arm shouldn’t be able to do that!!”, they say.
Okay, a quick internet search actually has me pretty well convinced that I am indeed hella-double-jointed. Whatevs.
I got suspended in high school for telling the biology teacher to “fuck off” and slamming the door in his face when he tried to follow me out of the room after I refused to dissect a frog.
Then, I skipped the entire lab portion of my anatomy and physiology class in college. Labs smell and give me massive headaches, and I’m not dissecting anything unless it comes out of my kid or my dogs with some kind of worm in it that needs to be identified and killed by toxic drugs!!
Weird fact about me? Hmm… Haven’t I already spilled all of them? Oh, I know. Every time I work out, I get really horny. I’ve been working out every day lately, so I’ve been a very busy girl!!
Ok
Fetal pig dissection- I got in trouble for cutting off parts of the pig and throwing them around the class. My best friend (who I didn’t really know yet) cut the snout off and stuck it up the pigs butt. Thus we became BFF.
Fuck is clearly the best word ever.
Weird thing about me….I too am a counter.
Nicole: I have made specific trips to the bathroom just to mine the golddamn boogers out of my nose. I have extremely sensitive nasal tissue, and having any crusty bits in there bugs the shit out of me! And blowing doesn’t work for the crusty bits. You know I’m right.
Heather: Until I got pregnant the first time, I couldn’t shit in a public bathroom. Then intestinal issues set in with the first kid (and stuck around, wouldn’t you know), and I learned I either crapped when I needed to or I’d never go anywhere again. I quickly got over my phobia, though I still get horribly embarrassed.
M&Ms/Skittles people: My mother used to group them into their colors and eat each color at a time, with one specific color (I can’t remember which one) left for last. I inherited a skewed version of this, where I can actually taste the difference in the colors, and I must (MUST) eat red last. I will hunt in the bag for a red to eat when I’ve had enough. I’m not joking.
And to you, Aunt Becky, I say this: dissection. is. AWESOME. (As is the word “fuck” and the word “asshat.”) I remember dissecting various things in Advanced Sciences in jr. high, and I think this was the only time I was actually psyched to go to science class. When we moved on to geology, I was so bummed I actually told my teacher not to expect me in class the next day, as I would be home mourning the loss of the only interesting subject I’d ever come across in his class. He was amused enough that when I really didn’t show up the next day, he didn’t give me detention. (Rock on, Mr. Saunders.)
A weird fact about me? Not so weird anymore, considering how many other OCD people read your blog… I hate anything that cannot be counted by twos, fives, or tens. Odd numbers (with the exception of fives… don’t know why) really wig me out. Also, things must evenly divide in half. I cannot use fives then, because one will always be greater than the other. And this bugs me when I think about it, because fives themselves are perfectly acceptable. God, I’m screwed up.
Hah! Longest comment! I win!
We grew up with canned peaches for ‘dessert’ every single night. Never again.
Oh, and I totally puked in 8th grade biology dissecting the cricket. Not the frog or the pig, the cricket.
MLorraine: i’m double jointed too. people in middle school used to say they were double jointed and i was like “oh, yeah, well i can do you one better” and i’d bend my pinky finger all the way backwards or fold my hand in half or backwards and they’d all go “eww.” after a while, people began to ask me to do it and i got tired of it so i stopped telling people about it. i changed schools and i thought i had beaten it. but two years after i came to the new school, i was making a list by counting off my fingers and when i got to that pinky finger, i inadvertently bent it backward and everyone caught it and made me do it again. i couldn’t escape it.
in high school, however, i started to suffer from arthritis. and i had always had problems with my kneecaps dislocating, but i was told i just had weak knees and i just needed to exercise them. i’ve always bruised easily and have chronic fatigue but my doctor (who i think is an idiot) told me it’s just anemia (i have had BOTH kinds of anemia. yay. mono does that to you). but i have a myriad of other symptoms such as fainting when i stand up (orthostatic hypotension) [sidenote: i re-read that and it looked like i wrote farting when i stand up. hehe!], wounds that heal funny, *ahem* “bowel issues” (sugar and lactose are bad), low muscle tone in the hyper-flexible areas (my pinkies are pretty much useless. i had to quit piano because i couldn’t move them well enough. the joints would lock up too, which is frustrating. and i was born to play piano with my long slender fingers and i can even pop my thumb out so that i make my pinky and my thumb form a straight line—perfect for those long chords!) and velvety, stretchy skin. that last one i found out about just recently. i thought the way my skin stretched was normal because it wasn’t as bad as that one guy who had the freaky-stretchy skin, but my best friend recently told me that it WASN’T normal. so, the evidence is mounting that i have a type of ehlers-danlos syndrome.
if you have scary hyper-flexibility, you might want to google it and check your other symptoms because there is the risk that internal organs and blood vessels can be affected (i.e. DANGEROUS and you could die. but that’s really rare).
yeah. so hyperflexibility (or possibly just hypochondria) in addition to being the license plate stalker.
done with the PSA. and sorry for hijacking your comment section… and sorry if it rambles. i’m in the early stages of an ambien hallucination so i have something that looks like a giant mitten-ed hand sitting in the corner of my room and all these words don’t seem like words after i finish typing them. and i can see a beach behind these words. those little swirls are actually boats tied to a marina. i’m standing behind a fun looking boat named “we’re all mad here.” i hope they have a free bar. and a couch.
DON’T DO DRUGS KIDS.
the more you know.
I love gardening but I hate the feel of wet soil that has dried on my hands, and dirt under my fingernails. So I wear gloves. Good quality leather gloves. And after a while, I always seem to poke a hole in the top of the middle finger of my right hand. The rest of the glove is fine, but essentially the glove is useless. Which means, the pair is useless. I’m going to have to start reinforcing them when I purchase…
I can’t poo without reading or while being observed.
Why is there a top line on lined paper if we never use it?
I’ve got lots of weird facts, but the weirdest is probably this – and it is hard to explain.
Whenever I see a guy w/ a shiny bald head (like completely bald – no hair on the sides), I get this sensation that I’m going to slip and fall – like on ice. The ONLY thing I can think of is when I used to spend lots of time watching my high school boyfriend at swim meets – you know wet slippery surfaces and bald guys… Otherwise, I’ve got no logical explanation.
When I was seven years old, my mom found a tumor in my arm. It was the size of a fist and, thankfully, benign, but I had to have surgery to have it removed. I spent a few days in the hospital, and people gave me gifts–more toys than I’d ever received, even at Christmas. I have loved hospitals ever since. Plus I have a wicked scar.
Hmmm….random weird fact about me…I love the feel of cold things in between my fingers! If I am driving I will rest my fingers on the gear shift, or press them up against cold glass…or have cold coins in between them. I am a texture person and if it’s cold and has texture…I LOVE IT!
Random fact about me: I can lick my elbow. seriously. I was reading an instant oatmeal pack on which they printed fun facts and it said “Humans can’t lick their elbows” I was like really? so naturally I tried and lo and behold I can lick my elbow. so I was all “eh, stupid oatmeal trivia” I was recounting the story to some friends and they gently informed me that no, most humans cannot lick their elbow, and that I am indeed a freak. However, it makes an awesome party trick.
I love canned fruit especially with Ideal Milk [do you get that in the U.S? Basically it’s milk that been boiled under intense pressure for ages until it become thick and sickly sweet].
Sunday lunch in our household [South Africa in the 70’s]] was usually cold meats and salads, followed by fruit cocktail with either Ideal Milk or tinned cream. A particular highlight for me [being the grandchild] was to get given possibly the only cherry, or if I was extremely lucky, both cherries. Except it wasn’t actually a cherry it was some squishy, pink, anaemic looking round thing that had the consistency of a hamsters testicle.
With regards to everything tasting better with bacon, do you indulge in the lovely sandwich which is white bread, peanut butter and bacon. Or white bread, bacon and sliced banana? Marriage and heaven come to mind. Yummy!
My friends actually beg me to not to do the “words grown-ups don’t get to use enough” speech at some of the parties. It’s foul, really foul. I still sometimes do it anyways.
I hate having to become more PC as well. I am not doing a good job because when my 4-year old gets mad at me he calls me “Fat Ass”.
Weird fact(s) about me? Well I am very un-organized, but I know if someone has touched my pile and will go gangster on your ass if you are the perp. The absolute worst though, is if I see someone with a blackhead I have to talk myself down from going up and removing the offensive “eye” myself. Last year while sitting on the beach with my MIL my husband and I had a conversation like this “babe do you want me to tell her, or should I just go over and take care of it myself”, his reply “Stop Tiff”….”really honey, it’s looking at me…….”
Last, a Kit-Kat must be eaten by layer. Never all layers at once, you feeling me? Maybe not.
My high school BFF (Joanna where are you?) jumped rope with our fetal pig small intestine.
I used eyeliner to draw an eye on the palm of my hand and danced around to frighten a friends Baptist parents during a sleepover. They were weird, not me.
The smell of maple syrup makes me want to vomit. So do fish sticks.
I grind my teeth when I touch really soft things. Like fuzzy animals or plush blankets. I have no idea why.
Wow. I promise I really am not a freak.
Random Weird Fact about me…
I can NOT sleep unless the sheet underneath me is completely flat, no little wrinkles, it has to be totally stretched out and flat. Same thing with my pillow case. We also have a mattress pad on our bed, one of those fucking awesome memory foam pads that supposed to be just like the real fucking thing….. don’t believe it. Anyway back to the point. If the mattress pad isn’t in exactly the right place as well as the sheet being on correctly, I could pretty much go into a panic attack at any moment!
There are a few nights my husband could have murdered me, 10 minutes after he’s gone to bed and almost drifted off to sleep I wake him up to fix the bed lol 🙂
When I was in college, we had to dissect a shark, a pigeon and a rat. The first day we would get our animals, they would all be in a sink at the end of each row. I always hated to reach in there to get my animal, like they would all come alive or something. Twenty years later it still freaks me out.
I feel better now.
Ok. In retaliation of my totally Catholic mother sending me religions e-mail (to all THREE of my accounts, you know just in case I didnt get it at work, or when I logged into Google) ALL DAY LONG (her job is apparently boring). I sent her one that looked like a nice sweet e-mail with dancing fairies that instructs you to turn your speakers up. About a minuite into this nice e-mail it cuts to someone screaming YOU”RE WATCHING GAY PORN! and two guys going at it. She wasnt amused. My brothers just about died laughing (they work with her). She shut the computer off by using the off key instead of shutting down! A proud moment.
Anyway. What IS that shit that some families eat with fucking marshmallows in it on the holidays? The sight of it frankly scares me.
Also, as noted on BG’s site. I fart in elevators.
Just discovered your blog. After reading this post, I bookmarked you… brilliant. Can’t wait to sift through the old stuff and anticipate the new.
Oh, I thought of something else! (Because I’m not enough of a freak in your eyes, Aunt Becky and Friends.) I can’t stand to have cotton in my mouth. I go to the dentist, happy to have The Worst Root Canal In History — because they give you T3 and Vicodin… BOTH! — but I beg them not to pack my mouth. Because ewwww. The feeling and the taste. *shudder* It makes me want to grind my teeth and do the icky dance.
Oh weird things… I could name a lot… but I’ll restrain myself.
I am ADDICTED to lotion. What I call dry skin is what other people consider normal.
omg. i think i may have posted these facts before on my blog, but:
i hate celery
and socks
and long pants (seriously unless it’s snowing i wear capris or shorts)
i fear being too hot
i can NOT watch/listen to anyone brush their teeth, even on tv…it makes me want to barf.
also, i saw bacon flavored SALT advertised on facebook…hmmmmm! might be worth a try.
here’s another weird fact that happened to us when we were teenagers. my boyfriend (who was 23 and i was 16) and i were cruising around in our mustangs, and he had his cousin with him. his cousin started talking to this girl that walked by, and she ended up coming to my house with us while i changed for a party. my brother was home with like 3 friends, and my parents were gone. i looked out my bedroom window, and this chick was NAKED in our hottub with all of the 14 year old boys gathered around trying to talk to her! i ran downstairs and kicked her out of the house, and found out that she was a HOOKER! WTF? my brother and i always laugh about the time the hooker was in the hottub-hahaha!
In one of many ways we plan to screw up our son, we named his stuffed monkey, Monkey Stu. We plan to get our next child a cow and name it Pie. We are easily amused.
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OK, Aunt Becky, I have to say first that I so appreciate you asking for everyone to post weird facts about themselves. Because, see, now I feel ever so much better about my own particulars kinks and warps and OCDisms. Because, even though I’m odd, I’m not alone.
So, my own personal weird fact. Or facts. I fall in line with the M&M groupers, incidentally. My co-workers find it vastly amusing. One insists on rearranging the groups if she can just to watch me re-group them. However, since there are so many of us, that fact is no longer weird.
But I am also one of those “the food must not touch on the plate” people. You have no idea how incredibly excited I was when I first saw one of those compartment plates where you can keep things actually physically separated. Unfortunately, it takes multiple plates for Thanksgiving dinner, because you can’t put two things in a compartment, and there are only 3 on a plate. Once the plate is full, then you must eat just one thing at a time. You can’t move on to the green beans until you’ve finished the corn. The idea of alternating between the corn, the beans, the turkey and the mashed potatoes is absolutely unthinkable. The mashed potatoes and gravy are always last, incidentally.
The other weird thing? I type in my head. Like when people are talking to me, or the dialogue on TV. I can see the keyboard in my head, typing as the words are said. Well, it’s not really a keyboard, like a computer keyboard. It’s a typewriter keyboard. An IBM Selectric, actually. You remember, the one with the ball that jumps around when you type? I’ll even type the book in my head as I read it. Which is really kind of scary sometimes for a writer, because I start worrying sometimes when I’m typing something for real whether I really thought of it or whether it’s stuck in my head because I’ve been typing someone else’s words.
Humping music….come on, don’t we all LOVE Clarence Carter’s “Strokin'”????
OMG, I TYPE IN MY HEAD TOO! it calms me down.