Turn the average citizen loose with a website, and he'll talk about himself until he's successfully bored the internet to tears. That's what blogging's all about, and that's what the 100 Things list is all about. This is where bloggers detail 100 miscellaneous facts about themselves, usually along the lines of "I'm a morning person," and "A beautiful sunset can make me cry." While I'm as self-absorbed as any blogger out there, I'm pretty sure you'd find my list so boring it would make your heart slow to a stop. Instead, I give you my list of 100 Things Wrong With Me. The good news is this is the final installment in this billion-installment series. Here's 91-100.
91. I call my older sister Candy Pants, just to bug her. I don't know if it actually bugs her or not, but the perversity of it makes me cackle like a mental patient.
92. I refuse to do any chore that involves greenery. I don't mow the lawn, I don't plant petunias, I don't trim hedges. When I lived alone, the lawn just didn't get mowed unless some entrepreneur with a lawn mower knocked on the door and asked me if I wanted him to do it for a fee. In fact, had I not gotten married a few years ago, I'd probably be unable to leave my house right now because of the jungle blocking my front door. That's 90% of the appeal of marriage: It comes with a free gardener.
93. I'm afraid of looking like an idiot, which has kept me from doing a lot of things in my life, like playing sports, going dancing, performing in plays, etc. I belonged to my gym for probably three years before I got up the nerve to attend one of the group exercise classes. I had always wanted to do it, but I saw how the other club members would stand around watching the classes through the huge glass window, and I was paranoid about looking like a dope in my first few classes as I stepped left while everyone else stepped right, beebopped while everyone else scatted. This shows supreme ego on my part, because why else would I assume that anyone would be watching me, in a class of 40 people? But that's how I go through life: Certain that I'm being watched and and critiqued by everyone, when in actuality, most of the time probably no one's even looking my way. This is a sure sign that when I get old and senile, I'm going to be 'that' old lady; the one who raves constantly about how everyone's out to get her, everyone's stealing her money, and everyone's lying to her and plotting against her. With any luck at all, my husband will die first so he'll be spared that lunacy.
94. I need two forks when I'm in a restaurant: One for whatever I'm eating that has a sauce or a dressing on it (like a salad or pasta dish) and one for whatever I'm eating that doesn't have a sauce or dressing (like a vegetable). But I nearly always for get to ask for the second fork until after I've started eating. Often, you'll find me sitting there, stricken, sauce-covered fork in hand, wondering how I'm going to eat that non-saucy item on my plate, as I look forlornly about the restaurant for the waitress who can provide me with that crucial second fork.
95. I have been known, in public restrooms, to hold a camera over the bathroom stall to snap pictures of friends of mine as they're peeing. It's also big fun to hold the camera over a shower stall and snap a picture. It's not quite as much of a violation as you might think, since in 95% of cases you can't see much from that angle except the top of a head and an arm or two, but the joy lies in witnessing the reaction of the person being photographed. The trick is to let them know what you're up to just at the moment that you snap the picture. The best method is to say, "Look up!" about 2 seconds before you pop the camera over the top of the stall and snap the picture. Come on--don't you want to be my friend?
96. When at a restaurant, I feel that I must sample the food of whoever I am dining with. Even as my plate of food is being brought to me, I'm already eyeing the plates being set before my dining companions. You've seen how a pair of dogs behave when they get each their separate bowls of food set in front of them? Instead of just being content to eat his own food, at least one of the dogs will scramble to dive into the other's bowl, clearly worried that the other dog might have something way better in his bowl. I am that dog. But don't worry, I don't always act on it. It's not like I behave like primitive man or anything. I mostly only stick my big germy fork into my husband's food, and leave everyone else's alone. Mostly.
97. I absolutely do not cry in front of people, not even my husband. In fact, when my mom died a couple of years ago, I cried a lot--but always in the bathroom with the door locked. Brian and I would be watching TV, and if I felt some tears coming on, I'd get up before he had a chance to notice, and I slip quietly into the bathroom and sit on the floor and cry. Afterwards, I'd go to great pains not to let him know I'd been crying--I'd put on makeup, busy myself in the kitchen or wherever he wasn't, until my my red face turned a little more normal, etc. There's no good reason I'm this way--Brian is very sensitive to me and doesn't in any way discourage me from showing my feelings, and there's been no one in my past who has given me the impression that it's weak or wrong to be sad. I'm just a weirdo.
98. My first name is legally spelled with a C, but I spell it with a K. This is a result of that phase little girls go through in about the third grade during which they experiment with different spellings of their name. Debbie becomes Debi, Robin becomes Robyn, Wombat becomes Wahmbat. Girls typically use their new and improved spelling for about 3 months before they grow out of that silly little phase. Apparently, I'm still in that phase.
99. I do not understand the whole concept of chicken fried steak. There's not a person I know who doesn't love it except me, so I must assume I'm the crazy one. But for the love of Christ, what IS it? It's not chicken, but it's sure as hell not steak, even if it did allegedly come from a cow. But I offer you this: There's something very suspicious about a meat that must be completely blanketed in a disguise of thick gravy in order to trick people into eating it. My guess is that if you left the gravy off this dubious so-called meat, it would look like something you'd see at the site of an auto accident, and there's not a person alive who would eat it.
100. It's shameful how seldom I clean the grout in my shower--and it's almost certainly a violation of several health codes, as well. Luckily for me, all my problems have recently been solved with the purchase of a Scumbuster by Black and Decker. It is a rather phallic instrument with a rotating brush that cleans my grout for me while I stand there idly and think of things to blog about. It even has a reservoir that holds the liquid cleanser of my choice, so that I don't even have to muster up the energy to point a spray bottle at the filth in my shower. I just hit the 'spray' button on the phallus periodically as it scrubs away. Observe the clean wall on the left of the following picture, versus the wall on the right side, which looks like something you'd find inside a POW camp. Bear this in mind next time you try to weasel an invitation to stay at my house while you're in town.
I am guilty of several of those things.
Nothing green under my care survives. My boyfriend likes plants and stuff, so the best I could do was pay for a couple of cactus plants so he had something to look at. Sometimes he remembers to water them. He must, because I never do. I think we're actually going to make the entire back yard (all five square yards of it) concrete with a little runner around the edges with, like, some very resilient ground cover, so at least the puppy I want to get will have someplace nice to pee. Right now it's just dirt, and I must have inherited the brown thumb from my mother, because it's been "just dirt" for the past 18 years, which is when we first moved in here.
Were it not for the efforts of my boyfriend, my shower would never get scrubbed. Ever.
I like to sample other people's food. Usually I stick to just eating off of my boyfriend's plate. Unlike my mother, I at least feel guilty enough to ask him if he doesn't mind first. My mom will just stick her fork in whatever it is she wants to taste, not even breaking from the conversation at hand.
I don't participate in classes at the gym because I don't lkke the feeling of being watched. I'm not the most coordinated person in the world, so I'm usually out of step or shimmying when I should be shaking, so, yeah, I avoid those classes like the plague.
I don't like to let people see me cry, but I cry at the silliest things and I hate that people don't understand that I don't need to be comforted, I just need to cry. I usually just leave the room, if for no other reasan than to avoid shouting something like, "FUCK OFF AND LET ME CRY!"
Maybe I need a "things wrong with me" list.
Or maybe I'll have to start directing folks to your blog.
Um yeah, chicken fried steak...what the f@&k! Steak fried in chicken? Noooo. Chicken fried in steak? Noooo. Some kind of mystery meat (and I use the term "meat" loosely...very loosely) that possibly comes from a separate dimension? Maybe from the same dimension that all the dryer socks disappear to...maybe it's an even trade and we just don't know it. Very well.
Hehe...I love to mow the lawn. :) Nobody bugs me.
Oh, and in the 4th grade, I wrote Eryn on allllll my papers. Thank goodness my teacher went along with it.
Good God woman, you take photo's of your friends peeing?!! Did you do this before the advent of digital cameras and send the films away to be developed?
And yes, I will, but I need to buy some hair clips, it's an accessory I don't normally keep around the house.
I thought when I got to the end of the100 things I might find an excuse to stop reading. I thought the really bad stuff might come here at the end. “How could I enjoy a blog written by a woman who clubs baby seals for the beauty products of white supremacist organizations whose third goal in their foundation is to promote the play of the Starships ‘We Built This City’ on my radio?” But it never came about.
There is no reason to stop reading.
Oh my gosh, woman, you're hilarious! On #95, glad I'm never in the restroom with you at the same time. You see, a guy can never do that without getting the snot beat out of him.
And on #99 - you CAN'T really be from Texas and post this. It's CFS! Chicken Fried ... Steak. Friend like chicken, steak.
So good! I can even suggest some places to eat it.
Other than that, I'm visiting more often. Found you through "Jesus Doesn't want me as a sunbeam".
no chicken fried steak for me either...
I have always thought the very same thing about CFS. The 3 coats of breading and gravy screams things aren't on the up and up with that dish.
I snap from the bottom of the stall :-) The look of horror is more pronounced.
Things to remember when you visit Cccccccarla's house.....
1. Do not turn on the stove or the dryer. Jake is probably in the dryer or in that big ass pot on the stove.
2. Do not dig into the crack stash without asking, she's pretty stingy with it.
3. Don't eat the charcoal that has been put in front of you, even if she tries to pass it off as a "meal". But rest assured that it is not a. chicken fried steak, b. cranberry sauce or c. ham. It's probably one of those nasty ass veggie burgers.
4. Don't be afraid to pack your old, hole-ridden sweatpants and ratty t-shirt to lounge around it, you'll fit right in.
5. Don't bring a plant as a gift...it will just meet an untimely death.
6. Don't sit nekkid on any surface in her house, it's not acceptable.
7. Bring shower shoes....we've all seen her grout.
8. Bored while there? Remove all the nutritional labels from her food.
9. Don't ask her to help you with your math homework....you'll fail your class.
10. Bring a big can of Raid, well, because we all know how she is about bugs.
C'mon, Karla.....give us more things wrong with you!! =0)
I wanna be there the day, in the public restroom, you snap the picture IN THE WRONG BOOTH. Hoo boy, I hope she isn't much bigger than you....!!! (You little devil.)
Karla, can't you just use your second fork to snag your eating partner's tasty morsels, while all the while innocently using fork #1 to fiddle about with your own meal?
TWO FORKS: Okay, you are officially Rain Man. Wait. Should I spell that with a "K?" Krain Man. You are aware, aren't you, that your mouth can double as a very efficiant sauce-cleaning device? (Don't go turning that dirty... Yeah, I mean you, ACW...) Just place the saucy fork in your mouth and um... clean it of sauce. Now you have a clean fork for your non-saucy items. This works every time unless the sauce tastes like curdled goat feces, but in that case, you probably should ask for a new meal, instead of a new fork.
BATHROOM PHOTOS: Given the geograhphical distance between us, and also our difference in gender, I think the chances of you popping over the stall wall to snap a photo of me are pretty remote. And yet, I know the next time I'm in a public bathroom I'm going to be THAT much more paranoid, because... Well, because you're crazy and scary. And I've seen you with that camera. You get a look in your eyes like Joan Crawford had just before she pushed Bette Davis down the stairs.
That being said, I'm going to miss the "things wrong with me" series, because I have this terible feeling that you could easily do another hundred horrible character flaws.
eeeeewwwwwwww! That bathroom! I'm a guy and I clean better than that!
I am so with you on a few of these, but especially the chicken fried steak. NO THANK YOU! UGH! You are absolutely hilarious! Stacie
You have totally sold me on that Scumbuster thing. I hate cleaning the grout. WOW. I can't believe it's that clean. You should get some money for the endorsement.
everyone IS out to get you and someone is already TAKING your moeny. in fact, if you check jakes diaper right now, sift through the shit that has traveled up his back, hes got a few quarters and pay checks stuffed in there. go ahead. look.
me thinks I wouldnt mind being called candypants by miss karla.
You’re not the only one who doesn’t get Chicken Fried Steak. I didn’t have a clue what it was until I went to San Francisco on holiday last year. Oh, I’d heard it mentioned on TV and in books and thought... er... they fry it with chicken? In chicken fat? No idea. So I asked a nice waitress in a little restaurant in Castro – and she told me. So I had something else.
OK, I’m Scottish, so I’m used to the notion of deep-frying pretty much anything that moves, but steak? In breadcrumbs? Are you people mad?
Oh and off topic - very, very pretty blog you have here.
I agree - awesome design, madame. Waaaay better than my standard, boring template. I diggit.
93 is the story of my life as well, but thanks for pointing out that it's a selfish ego thing. I never realized that, and now I feel like a selfish idiot. Sheesh.
95 - good God! I hope I'm never in the stall next to you!
When you're stealing other people's food, do you use fork #1 or fork #2? Or do you get a third fork just for the stealing?
I love chicken fried steak. To the best of my knowledge, it's just steak that's fried like chicken would be. What I don't get is Applebee's "chicken fried chicken". Wouldn't that just be...um...fried chicken?
I'm 100% with you on the Chicken Fried Steak. I firmly believe it's a way for restaurants to get rid of "mystery meat." Why else go to such efforts to cover it up?
I hate scrubbing my shower, but I HATE it being dirty more. I get grossed out by dirty showers, which made my hostel experience in Europe VERY interesting. Let's just say I brought shower shoes.
I'm with Wombat on the bathroom thing. I will be looking over my shoulder to assure myself you aren't lurking in a dark corner with your camera. I may wear my coat over my head. Who knows. This paranoia thing is getting ridiculous...
The trick with chicken-fried steak is to make it yourself. That way you know the road-kill is fresh.
Take it from one who knows...NEVER turn your back on Karla when in a bathroom. Thank God I always pee with my hand over my hoo-haw (a story for another time...and maybe not in mixed company) or Ms. Priss might be plastered all over the web by now. (Yes, I named my girl ..you have a problem with that?)
Boom, I'm not surprised you named your hoo-ha; I'm just surprised you didn't name it The Holland Tunnel.
The pieces of the puzzle are fitting together. The two forks thing is very common in correctional facilities. One fork is for eating and the other is to keep the other inmates from stealing your food. And what was #96 about?
Karla, if I'd only known, I wouldn't made so many of those prison jokes. I would have made more.
I am with you on the chicken fried steak! and a steamer will work better than a scum buster on the grout!!!
I laughed out loud when I read about the forks. It's good to know I am not the only one who doesn't like mixing foods. I always get freked out when my niece mixes her mashed potatoes and peas.
Great list Carla. I mean Karla.
HAHA So now I'm the REAL Karla HAHAHA
About that age I started telling people my real name was Karlotta.
I also do not understand Chicken Fried Steak. My kids love it. Freaks. I'd never cook it in my house though. I wouldn't even know where to begin, but I'm guessing it has something to do with a bucket of lard and mutilated meat
Regarding #95: I would beat you.
That's her street name.
Karla, the only thing that's wrong with you is that you're not in my bed naked right now.
CFS may be a mystery but Chicken Fried Chicken pegs the transistors of my logic gates.
You're not alone. I won't eat chicken-fried steak. I've never tried it and don't plan to. I've always been confused about what it actually is. Also, I don't dance for the same reason you mentioned.
i didn't read any of this.
there's too much wrong with you for me to burden my mind trying to understand it.
Wait wait wait...I just reread this. Taking pictures of people in bathroom stalls...that's wrong?!? Shit...
I, too, experimented with different spellings of my name when I was younger. But there was nothing interesting I could do with it (at least not anything that seemed like it might stick for very long), so I ended up back where I started, at Nicole.
I don't do bathrooms. I just don't. It sicks me out. All other cleaning is fine. But my cleaning lady has to come every other week to do my dirty work.
And I'm totally with you on the chicken fried steak thing: NOT chicken, NOT steak. But it is fried, so at least it's not entirely false advertising. Yuck!
I HAVE to get one of those scum busters! It looks BRILLIANT! And we've just bought a house with grout like your uncleaned grout so I'm gonna need it! My wrists are too weak for that kind of labour.
this is the best 100 things list i've ever seen. i could never do one of those everything is rosy lists. this makes more sense to me.
it reminds me of a friend who sends a christmas newsletter telling us what he hasn't accomplished during the year.
long live the contrary.
I'm not sure I like the "Power tools to clean the bathroom"-trend.
Sounds like a nefarious, Tom Sawyer-like plot to get men to clean the bathroom, and like it.
If they come up with a Black & Decker Bridal Shower Present Opener, that is the last straw and I'm gonna turn gay.
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