I'm true to my sign. I'm hesitant when making decisions, and often regret choices made when trying to be more decisive. I don't like being rushed for anything.

I have plenty of hang-ups. Lint is gross, don't wear your pants or socks in my bed, bathroom rugs are disgusting, things like little rolled-up balls of paper are gross, I flush the toilet with my foot when in public restrooms, I don't let visitors use my washcloths, I bleach just about everything that's safe, and I think underwear are pretty gross too. That's the OCD.

I get crabby when things aren't moving fast enough for me and I often feel vicious stabs of hatred for people I usually don't know. That's the bipolar. There is nothing I hate more than stupid people doing stupid things. Which means I really don't like the majority of people I have to interact with.

Love my baby brother but wish I could knock sense into him. Hate my stepsister but feel bad that she's going to grow up ignorant and clueless. Wish my mom would actually stay on her antidepressants and wonder what it would be like to feel such a need to be secure that she would marry someone she can't even hold an intelligent conversation with. Don't trust my stepmother. Cautious about my dad, because he's kinda flaky like me sometimes and it makes for bad situations.

Able to clean up my own kids' poop, puke, and pee, but eating at other peoples' houses makes me ridiculously uncomfortable.

Felt guilty for awhile after Addie and Lydia were born because I was basically coming apart at the seams and was apparently alarming people with my behavior, prompting a brief involuntary psychiatric hold.

It grosses me out that purses are so dirty, but Gizmo loves sleeping on mine so I let him anyway.

Looking for a third odd doll to join my collection of Sarah Palin and Pregnant Barbie. Suggestions?

You guys are probably assholes who don't read this whole thing because there's nothing in it for you.

I'm going to go back to coloring a picture of the next quilt I'm making.

Adios.

Fuckers.

Passed down from my Grandpa Harry, who used it for a multitude of purposes, including spreading the powder on his face after shaving. Can you guess what I've been using this for?


Here it is in solid form.


Have you guessed yet?


No, it's not part of a cult ritual.


It's for medicinal purposes. Very painful medicinal purposes. Canker sores, to be exact. My dad swears by it, but the first time he had me use it on one, when I was 11 or 12, it made me cry. First the sore burst open, then it bled, then my mouth felt like it was melting. It wasn't melting, I was just drooling profusely and couldn't feel my bottom lip. It was like novacaine. BUT, when I could finally feel again, the sore was gone! A miracle.


I get canker sores whenever I drink orange juice. I really should just stay away from that stuff, what with the heartburn and the bad teeth and the sores. But I love it. So I get a lot of them. Right now I have four, in a row, inside my upper lip, rubbing against my teeth. What's a woman to do? Cause herself pain in the name of comfort, of course.

To this day, it makes my eyes water a little bit, but it's effective, and I'm not dead yet. No one should need even close to an ounce of the stuff for this, which is apparently the point where it becomes toxic to ingest. Does anyone else's parents make them try weird shit as home remedies? I've heard of a few, but no one else ever mentions alum.

I don't know if I have posted this before, since the search feature isn't working, but I have trouble focusing when I listen to this song, because it is awesome.

This one?

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We had a beginning-of-the-year staff meeting this morning. It started at 9AM, and by 10:15AM I was getting pretty annoyed. My boss is a repeater. I don't think he notices it, but he will find ten different ways to phrase the same information, and it makes conversations and meetings drag on FOREVER. He had been repeating the same lecture about thoroughness for 15 minutes and I was bored.

So I decided to send this text message to the person sitting across from me: "He's been repeating the same info for half an hour."

Imagine my horror upon hearing the tell-tale text message chime of a cell phone, followed by an abrupt silence and a long pause. "OK, I don't know if that message was intended for me or not... But yes, I am repeating a lot of this, because a lot of it isn't getting done the way it should be." Then he very quickly wrapped it up and sent us on our way.

I am mortified, and my mother says I deserve it.