PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I've been thinking about those 100-things-memememememe thingies, and how I've never done one but what I might say if I did, and that led to me thinking about the Ways In Which I Am Different From Most, and while I know we all have a shared existence and our humanity knits us together, the fact that as a child, I picked out a retro toilet seat for our outhouse still pops up as one of those "Hey-O" yodeling-old-lady-waving-at-the-waitstaff sorta facts that makes me feel a little bit different, a little over on the fringe of the universe. Not that it's bad or wrong, of course. You, readers, you get "it". "It" being "me". You know things around here aren't always uniform, or even partially dressed. And yet, you still return. That's nice! I do try to be a good hostess, and one of the things I was instructed upon, early-on in life, was to never run out of food at a party. To me, it is the Cardinal Sin of Entertaining.

The other thing I was taught, at some point in my teens, was How To Avoid A Masher. That was exactly how my mom put it. And that I needed to learn it. NOW. We were visiting family friends, and I stood there with an utterly confused look on my face. I said, "What's a 'Masher'?" and our friend's husband said, "THIS!" and he grabbed me in a bear hug, bent me over backwards, and pretended to kiss me.

I almost peed my pants in terror. Mashers! Who knew! Where did they lurk? How surprised would they be if they dropped me? (How surprised would I be?) By the time I was back on my feet, blinking at everyone laughing, I realized that most Mashers would ultimately fall into the category of "People You Know." So it was in that small kitchen, I learned how to deftly and swiftly turn my cheek as pursed lips approached me, to kiss the air by the Masher's ear, and pull back, exclaiming in delight while fiercely creating distance between my face and the Masher's. Funny, the life lessons that stick with you. Admonishments to save money? Nah! But how to avoid sneak kissing attacks? Check! And, oddly enough, I recall that on that trip, I purchased an army green overall outfit, and a tan mesh cloth belt thingamajig, plus numerous pairs of delicious plastic earrings. It was, indeed, the 80's. Mashers and Madonna and Michael Jackson.

I also have thought about the Dichotomy of Me. For instance, I am unorganized, I have plenty of clutter, but god help everyone if one particular thing is "off". We were sitting in James' grandparents' living room this past weekend, and they have furniture and items that span the decades. In particular, a very large lamp, with an equally enormous lampshade, sits by one of the couches. James was seated by it, and I picked the recliner on the other side of the lamp. I noticed the lampshade was all akimbo, the bottom of it at a wonky angle to the horizontal plane of the end table. Immediately, I adjusted it back to level. We continued to watch this really cool show comparing Man to Apes, and I turned to say something to James, and noticed the shade was, once again, at a completely strange angle. Almost unconsciously, yet compulsively, I readjusted it and kept talking to him. A small gnome (one assigned to the OCD Task Force) in the back of my brain scribbled on a post-it: "Something wrong with lamp. Shade keeps tilting. May need further investigation."

A few minutes later, I turn back to talk to him and - yep - the lampshade was once again jacked up. Now I'm a bit exasperated, and as I frown and return the shade to parallel the floor, I start to mutter and curse, something about what the fuck is wrong with this lamp, I keep moving the shade and yet it keeps going back and, and my husband is looking at me and then bursts into laughter. Because, yes, of course. HE is tilting the lampshade every time I turn around. Because he knows I am obsessed, and will not let it go. Had he kept a straight face, it may have taken one more adjustment before I clued in to the fact he was messing with me. I gave him that - it was damn funny. (But I still fixed the shade, and it got left alone after that. Phew!)

So, even though I'm not ready for one of those big long lists of how we're all alike and how I'm different, these are the ones floating at the top today....

Labels: I'm Crazy