Thursday, September 18, 2008

Got Tagged, Just Now Getting Around To It

Sorry for the delay Madwoman...Obviously I was busy trying to kill my child (see previous post), or at least get a shower in, or a full meal...whatever. Here we go:

Six fantastically unremarkable things about me.

1) I'm a picker. I like zits (both white and black), scabs, boils, boogers (both mine and yours), ear wax, etc., and Oh My God I have a child now to pick things off of!! Woot! I discovered yesterday, however, that I do not like picking infected fingers. My Guy had an ingrown fingernail that he has been digging at with various and sundry filthy objects like scissors, tweezers and pushpins. It got puffy a few days ago and turned slightly green yesterday. He asked me to poke it with a sterile (surprise there) needle and squeeze it so he could relieve some of the throbbing pain. I acquiesced like any good picker would do. WHAT? It had potential! But then when I pricked the mound (that sounded dirty) loose, watery, greenish yellow pus burst forth and quite frankly grossed me out. There was not much pleasure in it at all - even when I gave it several good squeezes to get the rest out. I think, for me, the appeal of the ooze is in the thickness.

2) I am just gross (see above) and am comfortable being that way. Take me or leave me.

3) If you want to entice me, offer me chips - the saltier, the better. Sweets don't do it for me (she says eating a chocolate chip cookie with her tea...). I won't tire of the chip - I'll weather the ripped up mouth from masses and masses of salt n' vinegar crisps, but I will not, repeat, NOT, go any further once the twinge of sickliness washes over me from too much sugar. Bleah.

4) I think inanimate objects have feelings. I feel sorry for neglected things; I wonder if certain of my rarely used spices feel rejected, or if my towel is screaming to be washed. Can toys really communicate and does my third-in-line-brush pine to be used? I don't know, but I do wonder.

5) I have super hard teeth and my nails and hair grow like stink. I never rue a bad haircut. It's gone in like 6 weeks.

6) I am scared to do things for the first time. Once I buck up and get it out of the way, no big deal...I'm all good. The thought of driving a car before I had actually done nearly paralyzed me. Nowadays, I'm afraid of the prospect of going out to new environments with my son. Target was a big step. Will he choke in his car seat from spit-up? How do I unload the car efficiently? Will the car seat be best in the front of the cart, or should I put the whole deal in the body of the cart? Or should I just bring the Baby Bjorn? Or will he freak out and cry the entire time inconsolably? Will he want to be fed? Where do I do this? Should I just stay home?

ps - I did Target at home at week 2 and I just did it here in Brooklyn this morning. Maybe next I can tackle the subway to the city. Now I just have to contemplate the laundry list of fears I have about that one!


for a different kind of girl said...

Dear heaven, I am a picker, too! My husband and boys have learned (sadly) that when I say "Come here a minute! Hold still!" that they really should run away. I get a little giddy just thinking about it!

Also, I think the toys the boys don't play with often feel bad.

MadWoman said...

Oh my long lost twin, how I love thee.

I'm with you on the picking and the gross. It drives hubby nuts.

I too have hard teeth.I haven't been to the dentist in 12 years, and have had no problems! Not even excess plaque! Go figure. And the bad haircut thing? Yeah...not so much a problem. 3 years ago I had hair as short as my husbands and now it's down past my shoulders. In fact, I just cut 7 inches off in the last 2 months.

And the chips thing? Oh. My. Goodness. Hand over the sour cream and onion chippies dear but please remove the M&Ms from my sight. Barf.

Not sure I totally get the inanimate object thing, but that may be because all the inanimate objects in MY house are just pretending.

Ann(ie) said...

Fellow picker here, too. My hubby doesn't let me near his scabs or god forbid a sunburn on the verge of peeling. =/