Friday, November 18, 2005

100 Things Wrong With Me (Part 7)

If you missed the first 6 parts to this series, good for you. But here's a short recap:

Lots of folks in Blogville have a 100 Things list, in which they detail 100 miscellaneous facts about themselves, usually along the lines of "I read my horoscope every day," and "Turtles scare me." Because I'm not a very interesting person, I knew simply stating harmless facts about myself would bore the pants off of you. And trust me, no one wants to see you pants-less. Therefore I give you my list of 100 Things Wrong With Me. I broke it up into parts, so that one of the Things Wrong With Me wouldn't be, "I create ridiculously long lists and post them whole, knowing full well that no one wants to sit in front of their computer for 78 hours straight reading them." Here's #61-70.

61. I'm killing my plants. It's sad, really, to see them sitting in their various locations throughout my house, dry and parched. Their leaves are crispy and brittle, the soil hard and sad. Really, these are more like corpses of plants than actual plants. I wish I had a green thumb, but apparently I have a black thumb. You'd think I would do myself and these skeletal plants a favor and just throw them out, but I'm stubborn, so I continue this sick little dance. I remember to water them only often enough to barely bring them back from the dry brink of death, where they hover for awhile til the grim reaper begins his approach once again. Then I give them a little water, and they cling tenuously to life for another day. Exhibits A-C:

62. I won't go to the bathroom in front of my husband. We have those silly little swinging saloon doors in our master bathroom, making the toilet semi-private from the rest of the bathroom. "Semi" is not enough privacy for me. Only in the last year or so have I agreed to occasionally let him be in the bathroom while I pee behind the goofy little saloon doors, which is a big step for me. But no way would I pee in front of him with no doors to partially obscure me. Oh, and we're only talking pee here. I would never, ever do anything more ambitious than that in front of him, nor give him the slightest hint that such an activity was even on the horizon. In fact, when we stay at hotels, I don't use the hotel room bathroom if I have to do anything more than pee. I make up an excuse to go to the front desk or the ice machine, and then I scurry off to the bathroom that's usually located near the front desk. He'll be shocked to read this, because I'm sure he has no idea I put this much thought and effort into this silliness. But what can I say in my own defense, except that I have no interest in my husband discovering that I'm human.

63. I hate Chihuahuas. I know I'm supposed to love them as I do all other animals, but God help me, I detest them. I think they're awful, wretched little yapping assholes who seem to hate everyone but their owners. After an ear-splitting 30 minute session of psychotically barking at you without pause, they then have the nerve--the NERVE! to beg from you the second they see you with food in your hand. Feed them if you want, but the very second you're finished with the food, the little attention whores will resume psychotically barking at you. Oh, and for some odd reason, 97% of Chihuahua owners let these horrendous beasts get away with their atrocious behavior, to include barking, biting, jumping on people, snapping at people, scaring children, taking over the furniture, begging for food and just acting like assholes in general. The owners never seem interested in training them or reprimanding them or raising them to be good pets tolerated and loved by all. So the bad behavior goes entirely unchecked, making it impossible to carry on a simple conversation while visiting the home of one of these idiot mongrels. Chihuahuas are as angry as they are stupid, and I usually want to stomp them with my shoe. (I do happen to know at least one Chuhuahua owner who is a responsible owner. I mean, her dog is still a total dick, but at least she recognizes that and keeps him away from company.)

64. I picked a boring name for my blog. My husband tried to talk me into getting a blog for maybe a year before I finally did it, but I was reluctant because I really didn't think I'd have anything to say that would interest anyone, and I wasn't entirely clear what the hell a blog was supposed to be for anyway. But he wanted me to start one and he offered to set it up for me, so I finally told him to go ahead. He asked me what I wanted to call it. I had no idea. I thought about it for a few minutes and finally said he could just call it Karlababble. Of course, now that I read other blogs and have figured out what to do with my own, I see what an incredibly boring title that is, and I can think of about a billion much cooler ones. But I'm stuck with this snoozer. How any of you managed to find me is beyond me; generally when I see a list of links, I click on an interesting-sounding one, which Karlababble most certainly is not. Seriously, I can't tell you how much it bums me out that my blog has a boring name. I wish I could go back in time and change it.

65. When my husband takes off his wedding band, I like to hide it. He doesn't take it off often, but two situations he's guaranteed to remove it are when he mows the lawn and when he feeds the baby (so the ring doesn't thump Jake on the spine when Brian's burping him). He always puts it in the same spot--a little glass ring holder I have on my bathroom vanity. When I see it there, I hide it. The first couple of times, Brian panicked, fearing he'd lost it, but my gleeful snickering soon revealed otherwise. Common hiding places are along the tops of hanging picture frames, inside the cap of a can of deodorant or hair spray, inside the cotton ball dispenser, etc. This is my way of punishing him for not following instructions, since the ring is clearly inscribed with the phrase "Put it back on." How can this marriage survive if he won't obey?

66. I've had C Is For Cookie stuck in my head for 2 weeks now. And no, I haven't seen Sesame Street lately, and haven't heard the song in years. But the lyrics have been tormenting me, so I've been tormenting the people around me by singing them out loud. Over and over. Cheerfully.

67. I hate being tickled; really, seriously hate it. Which is hard for an observer to discern, because I'm incredibly ticklish, so I'm laughing my ass off even as I'm getting truly angry and begging for the tickler to stop. Clearly, it looks like I'm playfully protesting but still enjoying the tickling--but not so. It took my husband a while to understand this when we first got together. He would tickle me at length as I protested, and when I finally got him to stop, and when my giggle fit had finally subsided, I'd look at him solemnly and tell him "Seriously, don't do that again. I hate it." But he didn't think I was serious, and it would happen again later. Finally I found a way to get back at him. I'd bide my time, and later we'd be going somewhere, with him driving and me in the passenger seat. At a busy intersection, I'd slouch down in my seat and look idly out the passenger window as I reached over and laid on the horn. He'd wig out as other drivers turned to stare at him with that "What's your problem?" look. I'd giggle like mad, and he'd say "Seriously! Don't do that, it's not funny!" I'd reply that I was just getting him back for tickling me earlier. So the tickling promptly stopped. As it had to, before some angry trucker beat the living hell out of him with a tire iron.

68. The sound of my dog licking her paws totally repulses me. That slurp-slurping sound makes me want to ram a coat hanger into my eardrum to deafen myself. I don't want to reprimand her, because I don't want to make her think it's bad to clean herself; I like a clean dog. But at the same time, I do want her to cut it out so I don't vomit. So my solution is to toss something near her but not at her, so that it lands about 6 inches from her and distracts her. This totally works. I'll throw a pen or a Kleenex box or whatever's handy, it will bounce a few inches away from her and distract her, and she'll stop that disgusting licking and just lay her head down and relax. I've been so successful with this tactic that I'm going to try it with Brian next. When he starts telling me about some new techno-gadget out on the market, or begins describing the software he's working on at his job, I'll just toss a pencil about a foot away from him and distract him. Then maybe he'll forget what he was telling me.

69. I refuse to make goofy faces at babies and children other than my own. You know how every goddamn time you fly somewhere in a plane, there's a 5-year-old in the seat in front of you who remains turned completely around in his seat the entire flight, staring you full in the face like you're a zoo animal? I hate that kid, regardless of whether he's quietly staring or actually causing a noisy scene as he stares. I know, I know, he's just a kid. But he's a kid I hate. I had an ex who would always indulge that kid, and spend the flight making funny faces at the kid to make him giggle, which, of course, always prolonged the staring. Isn't that sweet, that he loved kids so much, and had such a playful nature? Puke.

70. I hate to iron clothes. Every once in a great while, when I'm feeling particularly magnanimous, I iron a couple of Brian's work shirts and he jumps for joy like I just coughed up a gold brick. I know he's praising me so highly in the hopes that I'll repeat the gesture in the future. Poor thing. He must lay in bed at night and fantasize about those women who cook every night for their husbands and iron their work shirts every day. And at that very moment, as he's fantasizing about those kind of wives, I'm probably somewhere else in the house hiding his wedding ring or throwing things at the dog.


soapbox.SUPERSTAR said...

The dog licking repulses me too. Our dog would do it at like two in the morning and wake me up. My husband would get so pissed because I would sit up and scream "Moses, STOP LICKING" and wake everyone up. I did not care, it sounded gross and I could not sleep litening to that.

Anonymous said...

When my cat decided to take a bath at the end of our bed while we're trying to sleep, i can't help but laugh. The sound is so incredibly hilarious. I'll start laughing and then the cat will look at me like "what the hell are you doing." And of course my wife will join in, in the "what the hell are you doing" bandwagon.

Great blog, I'm a long time reader, first time commenter!

Lisa Armsweat said...

I've got a chihuahua, and it might sound weird but I hate them, too. Mine's very quiet, elderly and doesn't beg for much...but he is still a massive tool. He pisses on my coffee table legs, and he is too small to throw a tennis ball at. Once he's gone, that's the last of the tiny dogs for me. How he even got here in the first place eludes me still.
By the way, this post was hilarious all the way through. I treat my houseplants the exact same way. I know they pray for death.

OldHorsetailSnake said...

It's coming to me -- the name for your blog: Karla, the Evil Wife/Mother. No? Queen of Comedic Quirkiness?

Speckledpup said...

I'm beginning to think we're long lost twins.
oh my
get outta my head.

I hid my husband's wedding ring and he was afraid to tell me and went and bought one just like it and then scruffed it around to look like the other one.
I just tied a little bow on his with a note saying "busted" and left in on the shelf in front of the mirror in the bathroom. To this day (4 years later) we have not spoken of the event.
He thinks he has a spare hidden away in his drawer should he lose it again......ha won't he have a surprise when he goes to find it there, under the socks, under the little felt thingy.....where I left only the note...."busted".
Gawd I'm mean

melissa said...

Your husband needs a gold star for putting up with your ring-hiding behind! My husband hid my rings once and the wrath of hell rained down upon him--I was freaking out! : )

My husband also knows I hate being tickled, but does it anyway for his own sick sadistic pleasure. Maybe I should try the horn defense...

Leah said...

I hate the tickling too, but so much that I've kicked ex-boyfriends (two of them, actually) in the balls before. Only once was on purpose, but it worked well both times.

My husband heard the story and hasn't tried anything yet. I think he wants to stay married to me.

Anonymous said...

I hate chihuahuas. I kill plants. BUT in my family, as odd as it sounds, there was NO modesty with bathroom time.
Maybe we were separated at birth. You would be the skinnier, prettier one.

Carbon said...

I throw things at my cat cuz her licking repulses me too. She will actually stop if I just look around to grab something cuz she's afraid of getting hit :)

I don't ever iron either. After they have been in the wash, I let it dry for 5 minutes and take it out to dry on a hanger...almost as good as ironing. no lines. if i forget, i just wash the thing again and try again:) I'm so lazy.

john boy said...

Karla, you do not need my extra blogging ideas. They would be way to boring and tame for you anyway. Your husband must be a saint! But, I do appreciate the not using the bathroom in front of one another. We should leave a little mystery/romance, right?! Damn, I can totally picture you singing that cookie song now! And don't worry, your blog is entertaining enough to overcome the boring title :P

leesepea said...

I'm with ya on the ironing.

I hate it.

Crazy MomCat said...

Well, I guess were all not that weird after all. I was about to reply with an "are we related" or "we should be friends" comment and I see about 10 other people already have!

A hate small dogs--I call them "drop-kickin'" dogs and I would actually do that if I had one probably. Unfortunately, we have a big dog and I'm thinking I'm not a big dog person either. But, they're too heavy to kick really.

I kill plants too. It's depressing.

I haven't tried the hiding the wedding ring thing but that's hilarious.

My husband's "mommy" always made him pitchers of Koolaid (yes, even as an ADULT) and ironed his clothes. I don't iron. My mom taught me the way to iron is to throw the clothes back in the dryer over and over again until the wrinkles come out or they shrink so much you can't wear them anymore. Once or twice I have ironed for him, just to try and be nice. Yeah, he doesn't ask me to iron any MORE! (grin)

Anonymous said...

the dog licking thing is soooooo disgusting, mine does that too and I do exactly the same thing, I throw something to distract her.

I must be boring cuz I love the name of your blog...LOL

As for the inscription on the wedding is nothing short of brilliant...atta girl...

BTW the word verification thing sucks after a few voddies... grrrr

kim said...

Better "c is for cookie" than --


...and just those lines

...for days.

Anonymous said...

I grew up in your town, graduated high school and taught middle school there.
I'm just saying.

Anonymous said...

That ring inscription is genius Karla...tell you hubby not to be such a baby (kidding). I like that you've split up a hundred things I might steal this idea!

Ivy the Goober said...

OMG, Karlababble, I worked part-time for awhile as a front desk clerk in a tiny hotel. People would come up to me and say where's the bathroom, and I would always want to say, "In your room!" I had NO idea what they were up to :) Probably that was YOU in there the time I FINALLY got 45 seconds away from the desk and phone and ran to the only bathroom I could use and it was locked! Darn you! :)

Anonymous said...

Wait. Cotton ball dispenser? Really? Other than the plastic bag they came in with a corner cut out, I don't think I've ever seen an actual thing that was designed for dispensing balls of fluff (other than the business end of a broom, of course).
Oh wait, are you talking about the "candy-dish-with-lid that's full of cotton balls instead of cotton candy, you bastards" dish? That, I've seen.
Can I have a Q-Tip dispenser that works like those toothpick or straw dispensers? I wanna push a thingie down, and have ONE Q-Tip drop onto the tray.
Of course, I'm Koo Koo for Q-Tip Puffs, so what the hell do I know?

gina said...

my hubby gets SO excited if i take his shirts to the cleaners! BA HA screw ironing. that was not in the deal when we met/married.

CommonWombat said...

Holy Christ on a lollipop tree, where do I begin?

Here's a suggestion: Gather all of your anemic plants in one corner and pull a 2' high chain link fence around them, topped with a little barbed wire. Hang a sign on the fence that says "Plantschwitz." Maybe everyone will think it's some kind of political statement, instead of thinking you are death on legs.

No, on second thought, don't do that. Ignore me.

Seeing as how Sal and I have an entire relationship based on being extremely, insanely, waaaaaaay too comfortable with matters of the butt, I can't pretend to understand this one. You can cling to that mystique all you want, but I'm pretty sure that no matter how much you hide it, Brian knows you poop. Regularly.

Amen. Fuck 'em.

I don't think your blog name is boring. Sure it could have been more clever, but it has two other big things going for it. First, it sounds good rolling off the tongue. "Karlababble" is just fun to say. It's kind of like the sound you make when you run your finger up and down over your lips and go "Beeblebeeblebeeble." Second, It makes a very nice shape in print. Just look at it up there on top of your blog in big lowecase letters. Lots of sharp towers regularly jutting above these soft, rolling forms. It's like the round letters are soft pat thai noodles, and the sharp letters are the peanuts. Mmmmm. Texture.

Okay, now I'm hungey. That's a typo. I meant "hungry," but I think I'm "hungey" too.

Abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. Poor Brian. God save the man in love with a mean, mean woman like you.

Aaaaand now it's stuck in my head too. THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH.

C is for-Damnit! See??? Thanks a lot, Karla.

The irony is that your dog only slurps her paws to drown out the sound of your retching. It's a never ending cycle.

I'd like to stop making goofy faces at babies, but unfortunately, my face is stuck on "Goofy."

Minnie Mouse had that same problem the time Mickey swapped the KY for Crazy GlueOH MY GOD did I just type that???

I discovered that the best way to get out of ironing clothes is to do it REALLY REALLY badly a few times. Now I'm banned from touching the ironing board. Heh heh heh.

Okay, I'm out. You can have your blog back now.

tfg said...

Item 62. I absolutely love the fact that most women are ashamed of their bodily functions. In a relationship, I pretend that I'm not aware that women are even capable of such things. Most of my girlfriends have been more than willing to preserve the illusion, leaving me free from worrying about whether I left the toilet seat up or down.

Little Light said...

My former roommate has a chihauahua who bit me 5 times in a year and who would go insane if you gave him the finger. That was actually pretty funny because he was so easily manipulated. We'd just put our finger up and down and watch him growl, stop growling, growl, stop growling...

Arctic Skipper said...

No, Carolyn, it makes you normal! Excuse me, unattentive parent, can you regulate your little brat and make him stop staring at me???!!! I don't particularly care for kids, though, so this may be coming from left field . . . ;)

Karla, you make me feel so much better about all my little issues! (i.e. plant killing, peeing in front of the boyfriend and hating small, yappy dogs.)

My evil, hateful, horrible boyfriend has serious horn issues. He pulls the scrunch-down-in-the-passenger-seat-so-it-looks-like-Lindsey's-all-alone-and-lay-on-the-horn-so-she-looks-like-a-bitch trick all the time. It's his favorite.

(His other favorite trick is to lay on the horn as I'm coming around the front of the truck. The sadistic bastard likes to see how high I can jump.)

Am I the only one who's retarded with the word verification thingy??

Anonymous said...

Oh my God..we may or may not be the same person. I HATE being tickled to the point where I get so insanely angry at my boyfriend I won't talk to him for an hour or so..and that's after I've kneed him in the balls to get him to stop. I HATE, HATE, HATE the sound of our cat licking herself and I will toss her off the bed or any surface just to get her to stop or do it somewhere else. And I HATE with a passion those kids that sit and stare at you, but I hate their parents even more for allowing this behavior. But I LOVE your blog--we're so similar I feel like I'm reading my own thoughts sometimes (creepy? haha). Keep writing! Love it...