Is There Something Wrong With Me?

Please don’t answer that question because I already know the answer is a big fat yes.

There are things I do or say that make people look at me like a daisy just sprouted out of the top of my head.  This could be because of habits I have, things I like or don’t like or an opinion I have.  I have a few examples:

I love sleeping on the plane:  I’ve traveled a lot in my day and catching a 5 AM flight is tiring so catching some zzzz’s wherever I can is a must.  Many times I’ve buckled in, crossed my arms and immediately fallen asleep only to wake up when we touch down at our destination.  Even with my current sleeplessness problem I can still sleep on a plane.   So many of my friends think I’m crazy because they aren’t able to sleep on a plane at all.  One time I was leaving JFK and fell asleep on the tarmac and slept hard and long, I woke up and we were on the ground…….I looked at the woman next to me and she said “we’re still at JFK, you’ve been sleeping for an hour and a half”.  She was not a happy camper because apparently she did not sleep.  The good thing is I missed the entire delay.

Locked doors while I’m home:  I lock all my doors a majority of the time when I’m at home.  I think ever since the break in I’m even a bit more paranoid but I’ve always been a bit OCD about it.  I usually keep my blinds closed as well especially in the summer but that’s because I’m trying to keep the house cool.  I guess I’ve heard enough stories about someone wandering into a house even during the day.  I have enough issues I certainly don’t need to find anyone hiding in a closet or sleeping on my couch.

Corn dogs, pot pies and fair food:  If these were the only foods in the world I would starve.  Perhaps this should be the new diet I try because I just wouldn’t eat.  I even have trouble eating things that remotely resemble a pot pie such as pasties and calzones.  Yeah, yeah, I know, they’re not the same thing.  My head knows that but my stomach says ‘oh hell no’.  Fair foods which include corn dogs are not something I go wild about either.  I hear people talk about not being able to wait to get to the fair because of the food.  Gives me the trots (that’s old-time speak for….well, you know)  just thinking about it.  I go to the fair for a good ego boost, nothing but people watching on my mind.

My toilet paper supply:  A friend recently pointed out my toilet paper supply when I had my basement door open.  She was laughing because my extra shelf was plump full.  I didn’t tell her about my stash under the sink in the bathroom as I didn’t need to hear about that.  I did tell her that there’s one thing that I never want to happen and that’s run out of toilet paper.  One can work around running out of milk, bread, toothpaste, dish soap, etc. but running out of toilet paper could be completely tragic, especially if it’s while company is in the house.  I wouldn’t want it to happen to me or my company.  I can’t even imagine either of those scenarios….sometimes it’s necessary for three or more wipes, can you imagine not having enough paper for the first wipe???

I’m sure as people read this I will get notification of other things I do that cause alarm so expect a second installment of this post at some point.


Pot Pies

Have you ever hated something so much the mere mention of it makes  you want to throw up?  Well, I feel that way about pot pies.  It actually hurts my fingertips to type those words but I’m hoping this works as therapy.  I also hope that I can type this story without actually throwing up.  You know, face your fears, right?

This complete hatred began when I was a child.  We used to have pot pies pretty often.  Now, once a month would have been often to me but it seems like we had them ALL the time.   I can never remember a time, not even the first time, that I actually liked the taste, the look or the feel of a pot pie.  I’m fairly sure the first time I poked through that crust and unveiled the sea of gravy with meat (I use that term loosely) and vegetables this lifelong hate began.  I’m not sure if it’s because of this I don’t eat gravy, cooked peas or cooked carrots.  I don’t even put gravy on my mashed potatoes.  But I digress.

Mom would send me down to the freezer to pick my poison and one was no better than the other.  I remember the nightmare of opening the freezer and seeing those square red boxes staring at me.  I feel like that was all that was in the freezer.  Even when I had to go get something else from the freezer I had to rifle through the layer of pot pies to get to it, nothing like ruining an appetite.

When the pot pie was finally baked I would stare at it, poke at it and swirl it around while eating very little of it.  Like most parents mine wanted me to finish my plate, or in this case my crust filled disaster, because there were starving children all over the world.  Well, more than once I volunteered to send my pot pies to those poor starving children, even though I knew in my heart of hearts they wouldn’t eat them either.   That never went over well.

When I didn’t eat my entire pot pie, the rest of it was saved for the next time I said I was hungry.   I’m not sure how any of you feel about pot pies but the only thing worse than a freshly baked pot pie is a heated up half eaten pot pie.  The chunks of crust laying soggy in the juice some would call gravy.  I just threw up in my mouth a little while I typed that.  I believe there were times that a pot pie lasted me several snacks/meals.

Jump ahead to 2005 on a Sunday afternoon, my hatred for pot pies still alive and well.  A friend and I would grocery shop together every week.  Whoever was done first would wait for the other one and help her bag her groceries and homeward bound we would go.  This particular day we were in the checkout at about the same time, her slightly ahead of me a few lanes down.  I was paying no attention to anything other than my groceries and getting them bagged, until…………I spotted the groceries of the man behind me coming down the adjacent conveyor belt.  Every single item on that belt was a pot pie.  My knee-jerk reaction was to  turn around and I saw he had an entire basket full of pot pies.

Panic ensued.  And I mean PANIC.  The pot pies were coming toward me like a marching army of soldiers with their guns drawn.   I began to sweat, first my palms, then my forehead, it started slowly and then quickly sped up.  I started shoving groceries into bags at lightening speed, my friend coming to help asking what I was doing putting eggs on top of bread.  With crazy eyes I looked at her and said “we need to get the hell out of here”.  At this point the pot pies were stacking up at the end of the belt and the man buying them was paying.  I couldn’t even look at him as I didn’t want to know what sort of animal was buying that many pot pies.

I was literally running out of the store with my cart and my half-assed bagged groceries to try to get some fresh air as my mouth had that watery ‘I’m going to throw up’ feeling.   My friend was completely confused as to what my problem had been.   We loaded our groceries and she continued to look at me like I was crazy.  Finally in the car she asked what had happened.  When I told her of my intense hatred of pot pies and the horrible situation that had just happened in the check out lane she about doubled over with laughter.

Writing this story did not work as therapy, in fact, I may hate them more now than I did before.  I did manage to write this without throwing up though which I would consider a major breakthrough.