Certain things are just routines, and by routines I of course mean obsessive-compulsive. For example, whenever I open the coffee beans, I always have to stick my nose in there and inhale. If I don’t do it, I feel cheated somehow. I know what coffee smells like! Yet I must stick my nose in the bean can and take a deep whiff. Maybe it’s not OCD, maybe it’s just the simple joys of life.
- Kicking my underwear into the air with the remaining foot and catching it, whenever I take my underwear off.
- Smelling every bottle of shampoo that I think about purchasing
- Smelling the first warm towel that comes out of the dryer or the first crisp sheet off the line.
- Am I obsessed with smells? Maybe.
- When I tear something up (like a document, since I don’t have a shredder at work) (I do at home), I tear it vertically, and inside my head (or aloud, if my friend who hates this is nearby) I say: Vertical tears destroy information!
25 years ago they spoke out and they broke out of recession and oppression and together they toked, and they folked out with guitars around the bonfire just singing and clapping – Man, what the hell happened?
Oh, and put away the crack, before the crack puts you away.
When I walk down the hall at school, I sometimes become aware of my ass. Have you ever become aware of your own ass? I just feel my cheeks doing this little semi-circular kneading motion as I walk briskly to my next class. Inside my head I am thinking, Donk! Gadonk! Gadonk! Gadonk! And I wonder whether everyone else thinks it too.
Have you ever become aware of your own tongue? Try it next time you are talking. It feels like a giant slimy slug, just flopping around in your mouth. It’s creepy.
Speaking of asses, the other day I had a huge wedgie as I was carrying things to my classroom, and I didn’t have the hands to pull it outta there, nor did I want to do that in front of a hallway full of 8th graders. So I just left it, hoping the black pants didn’t make it as obvious.
I never wear tan pants anymore. Ever since I learned about camel toes, and saw a colleague with tan pant camel toes, I never wanted to be that person. Not that it happens often, but it could! And I don’t want to be remembered as the teacher who had camel-colored camel toes.
When people don’t follow right-of-way protocol, it pisses me off. The other day the driver of an oncoming car stopped to let me make a left turn in front of him, even though he clearly had the right of way. There were no cars behind him; I could have waited. I didn’t take it as courtesy, I took it as idiocy. I didn’t quite flip him off, but I did make the exasperated what the hell? hand movement. You know the one; it looks like you are really quickly spreading your fingers to shove them into the fingers of a glove. Then I waved -- thank you, idiot!
When I saw that TV evangelist get punched in the face, I felt vindicated, somehow.
When I was little, I had a fantasy of having a giant male lion as a pet. I would walk him on the streets and everyone would be in awe. Years later I saw a tiger in the back of a pickup truck in Toronto, and realized that big cats weren’t meant to be kept as pets. I guess I would have to mesmerize people on my own.
I can’t believe all the pretentious assholes in line in front of me at Starbucks. With their talls and their half soys and their double shot skims and their no whips. I just want to get my venti vanilla extra chai extra hot chai latte and be on my way, dammit!
Last week at Starbucks I dropped my wallet and a guy just stood there and watched me pick up all my change. He didn’t even pretend to make a move to help me. I found it profoundly depressing.
But then, on my way out of the post office, a 9-year-old boy ran to open the door for me, and I decided there was hope after all.