Many bloggers have a 100 Things list, in which they detail 100 miscellaneous facts about themselves, usually along the lines of "I'm a people person," and "I believe in love at first sight." However, I don't want to get to know you any more than you want to get to know me. So how about I just make a few self-deprecating statements about myself? It'll entertain us both. I give you my list of 100 Things Wrong With Me. I'm posting the list in installments, because seeing an entire 100-item list of my faults might drive me to suicide. Here's #71-80.
71. Even though it takes all the joy out of eating, I can't help reading the nutrition labels of everything I eat. For the most part it's a good thing, because it stops me from eating fattening things most of the time. But reading the nutrition info of certain products can be dangerous, too. Once, I bought a Haagen Daaz ice cream bar at a convenience store, saying to myself, "Don't read the label, just enjoy it. You can afford the calories." I almost made it, too. But then, as I was taking the last bite, I caved, and turned the box over to peek at the numbers. I almost went into cardiac arrest. I consider it a feat of modern science that they managed to cram that many calories and that much fat into that little bitty space. That was over ten years ago, and I've never eaten Haagen Daaz since.
72. I don't drink beer. I want to be "that girl," the supercool girl who drinks beer right alongside the men, and doesn't require the skills of a bartender to make some kind of fancy, frilly girly drink for me, but sadly, I can't drink beer. I tend to feel full after a just a little food or a little drink, and if I drink beer I can only have one or two before I feel like I need to go buy new pants. However, give me a gin martini with three olives and I'll...drink it and order another one. Then another. No new pants required. Unless, you know, I get drunk enough to pee myself. Or unless I wasn't wearing pants in the first place.
73. I don't ride roller coasters. I don't understand you goofballs who do. Is life so boring to you that you need to vomit on yourself while loop-de-looping at the speed of light in order to say you've had a good time? Fine, call me a sissy and a baby and whatever else you thrill seekers want to call me to justify your own death wish. I doubt I'll be laying on my deathbed someday thinking, "I wish I'd spent more time standing in long lines in 90 degree heat waiting to wedge myself onto a bench seat next to a fat guy with sno-cone syrup on his shirt so I could lose control of my bladder while careening upside down on a tiny track at 120 miles per hour."
74. I'm a fast eater. Often I will eat standing up, or while driving. I rarely make a whole plate of food, but instead grab something that I can eat out of my hand like a chimp. All this rushing while eating would give you the impression that I'm so incredibly busy and in demand that I can't afford the 5 minutes it would take to sit down and eat at a normal pace, but that's not the case. The truth is I'm usually rushing for no reason. I'll swallow my food in 3 bites like a Rottweiler, only to then stand around trying to figure out what to do next. I am one of those people who keeps busy constantly, so after inhaling my food I'm off to the next project, but the next project is never anything so pressing that I couldn't have sat down and had a normal meal like a respectable human; the next project is usually some aspect of house cleaning or other busywork. Because all the food I eat in a day has to be something that can fit in my hand, my diet consists pretty much exclusively of bananas, apples, cheese, nuts, fat free hot dogs, grilled chicken that I've cut into strips and bagged in Ziplocs, energy bars, carrots, beef jerky, Lean Pockets and canned tuna, which I eat straight out of the can.
75. I get June and July mixed up, as well as March and May. So if you tell me your birthday is July 24th, I will spend the entire month of June trying to figure out if I need to buy you a present this month or next. No matter how many times you tell me it's July, I will never be able to commit that to memory. Of course, I keep all birthdays and appointments and other important dates written in the calendar in my purse, but still, I find it maddening that I have that June/July, March/May mental block. Along those same lines, I also get meeting times mixed up by 30 minutes. So if you tell me we're meeting for dinner at 7:30 tonight, I will spend all day wondering, "Did he say 7 or 7:30?" I'll call you and confirm that it is, indeed, 7:30, and then later that day I'll be wandering through my house eating some crappy food out of my hand like a hobo, wondering, "Was it 7 or 7:30?"
76. I have to be entertained 24/7. Mostly this involves having something funny to listen to. I have an .mp3 of the Howard Stern show loaded onto my .mp3 player at all times, and I keep it in my purse so that if I am in the grocery store or standing in line somewhere, I can take it out and be entertained. I record, on cassette (what is this, 1981?), Loveline with Dr. Drew (and formerly Adam Carolla) so that I can play it on my home stereo while I'm taking a shower, fixing my hair, doing dishes, etc. I keep magazines in my car, books and magazines in my gym bag, TV shows and movies recorded on my Windows Media Center (kinda like TiVo, for the uninformed). I'm like a 3 year old with a red balloon. I have to have something to play with or I get antsy.
77. When Brian and I are going somewhere in his car, he's usually driving and I'm in the passenger seat. I find great big fun in putting my bare feet on the passenger-side windshield of his car while he tries to swat them away. I try to keep it interesting, and arrange my grimy footprints in a different way each time. You know, toes pointed inward for a knock-kneed look one day, heel-to-toe as if walking a tightrope the next day.
78. I drink pickle juice from the pickle jar. Or I pour it into a juice glass and drink it that way. I'm sure this isn't entirely unheard of, and I'm not the only person who does this. But I also buy these little packets of pickle-flavored salt for ten cents each. I buy big handfuls of them and keep a few in my purse at all times. For, you know, those times when you really just want to dump some pickle-flavored salt into your mouth.
79. I would make the world's worst teacher because I'm terrible at explaining things. It goes badly awry in one of two ways: Either I talk way over the person's head so that they have no idea what I'm trying to tell them, or I dumb it down so much that I insult their intelligence. And it's impossible for me to know which is the case and make an adjustment, because either way I find my pupil staring at me with a look on his or her face that seems to register either total bewilderment or perhaps fear. When I ask, "Does this make sense," they nod mutely. If you think I'm making this up, I'm not. I can't tell you how many times this scenario has played out. To make matters worse, I talk fast, so the person probably spends most our time together trying to figure out what language I'm speaking. All of this explains why I like blogging. Because, even though you're almost certainly sitting there right now with a look of bewilderment or perhaps fear on your face, at least I can't see it.
80. I know this makes me a bad mother, but I really want to get this baby t-shirt for my 10-month old son. The text may be hard to read in this pic, but it says, "Hung like a five year old."
Don't worry, I'm sure my husband wouldn't go for it. One of us has some sense, at least.