My Head Sounds Like That
One of my greatest talents is remembering details about people. With few exceptions, I remember EVERYTHING, and it’s a popular game among my close friends — Ask Jonna, Because She’ll Know. Who smeared poop all over the bathroom walls in fourth grade? Oh that’s easy! Chris Lindeman, whose mother’s name was Jane and wore the blouse with the big flowers to the PTA meeting. Chris — who I don’t even KNOW anymore — also preferred his cupcakes without icing, and would scrape it off in disgust every time a birthday came through our classroom.
Who doesn’t like icing, you ask? I can only assume some sort of puritanical stick in the mud, and have since determined that Chris joined a monastery and enjoys wearing a hairshirt. Unfortunately, Google turns up nothing, but that is consistent with monks. They don’t really broadcast their career choices on LinkedIn.
Usually, this ability makes me look thoughtful — the next time Meredith* comes to visit, I plan to have plenty of Flat Earth chips in Farmland Cheddar flavor, along with Paul Newman’s pineapple salsa, because I remember she enjoys them. See? Helpful!
When it is not helpful is when I meet someone once — or in some cases, don’t meet them, but hear so many details about them from someone ELSE that I feel like I met them — and run into them somewhere and start spouting off like some kind of stalker, which is precisely what I did to the wife of the host of one of our favorite restaurants. Yes, please read that again. I ran into the WIFE of a HOST of a local restaurant — who I have never met — and, after making small talk about our babies, realized who she was, and started spouting a variety of details I’d heard about her, including WHO DELIVERED HER BABY AND HOW LABOR WAS, in the middle of TJ Maxx. Oh, and then had to explain that I got all this from her husband in five-minute snippets as he escorted us to our table, which I’m sure she appreciated. Jesus.
What’s worse is that I GUARANTEE her husband has no idea who I am. I just REMEMBER these stupid things about people, and have a compulsion to SHARE THEM.
STALKER. STALKER.
I have zero brain to mouth filter, y’all. ZERO. I need an escort, for God’s sake, and will be publicly soliciting one for BlogHer ’10 before this whole thing becomes a PR NIGHTMARE for me.
Snippets!
– Big-assed girls, I have found your jeans, and though they are unglamorous, I have been bending over with impunity for DAYS now. Vera Wang Simply Vera jeans, available at Kohl’s. I know, I know, Kohl’s isn’t exactly the land of high quality fashion, but for me, they were a great purchase, as I’m losing weight (HAHAHA, sort of), and didn’t want to spend a lot on transitional jeans. I believe I spent $35 for them, though the fact that they cover my whole ass no matter how much bending and lifting I do is worth every cent in my bank account, I tell you.
– I have a few irrational baby-related fears that make no sense whatsoever. First, Tylenol. I hate Tylenol. I’m AFRAID of Tylenol, and so help me, I think it will be the end of us all. I have no scientific basis for this, and I’m pretty sure it’s just me, but I avoid giving my kid Tylenol like the fucking PLAGUE. I swear I can hear her little liver atrophy with each wee baby dose.
Edited to add, after AndreAnna‘s comment: Oh you guys, MOTRIN. For some reason, Motrin feels safe to me. I Motrin her ASS OFF. My sister’s husband once gave her son FIVE TIMES the dosage of Motrin — uhh, accidentally, obvs. — and when she spoke to poison control AND the pediatrician, both said stomach upset was the only likely side effect. However, both nearly SHIT THEMSELVES at the thought that it could be Tylenol. I’m telling you, I hate Tylenol. AFRAIIIIIIIDDDDDD.
Also? I am afraid of constipation. For everyone, and if I could, I would make prunes mandatory eating for everyone in the entire world. I just think we’d all be a lot happier if all systems were go, all the time. My kid started solids recently, and what was the second food I gave her? Prunes. How proud was I that she loved them? ABSURDLY SO.
Don’t be afraid of prunes, people. They’re just dried plums. Remember, however, that while they are sweet and delicious, overdoing them is … well, a very bad idea.
– True Blood, True Blood, True Blood. Oh, how your finale SUCKED. SUCKED. Am EMBITTERED. And ANGRY. And EMBITTERED. Things were really at a fever pitch there, with all the Eric nakedness and Godric-burning and Steve and Sarah Newlin and Nan Flanagan and … well, it seems that things really peaked too soon, did they not? They blew their wad with the Dallas/Eric/Sookie/Lorena storyline and ended up in a very sad place that Michelle Forbes couldn’t even save, and people, Michelle Forbes is talented.
To tide my ass over until next season, I ordered the Sookie Stackhouse books. Am hopeful that they get here in time for Laptopless Wednesday and Offline Saturday, which are new rules in our house that I am very excited about. Because really, the world could use just a LITTLE less Internet, and I’m starting here at home, y’all.
Happy Tuesday!
*Dude, have you read the news? THE NEWS! IT IS OUT! GO!
** Peter Gabriel
47 comments September 14th, 2009