Have you read this book by Amy Krouse Rosenthal? It's fun, a fast read and makes you want to do one too! Which is exactly what a bunch of scrappers have done. Mine is still in the construction stages, but here are some random entries:
There’s a scene in the movie “A Fish Called Wanda” where Jamie Lee Curtis’ character is having a romantic encounter with Kevin Kline’s character. KK’s character has a heavy Italian accent and she keeps encouraging him to talk. He doesn’t know what to say. “Say anything at all” she pleads. “Chicken parmigiana! Rigatoni! Veal Scallopini!” he croons. She swoons. That’s pretty much how I feel about men with accents. They can be ugly as sin, but if they wear a paper bag over their heads and just keep on talking, I’ll keep swooning.
I am terrified of bats. It all started in 1993? when one got into Mom’s house. ... That night just as I was falling into sleep, it started swooping around my room. I turned on the light and it hung on my curtains making the same squeaky noise that movie bats do. Mom finally chased it out of the house with a broom and I spent the rest of the August night completely covered up by a heavy quilt, sweating to death and wide awake. Then in 1998, when D. and I lived in Spencerport, one came sailing up from the basement. ... It took a week to get rid of it. A week I spent holed up in the bedroom with rolled up towels under all the doors so it couldn’t crawl under. Now just hearing the word “bat” gives me nightmares. D. looked it up once in the animal imagery book and apparently bats are a symbol of change. “You’re afraid of change!” he exclaimed. Well, duh.
I’ve always had a secret desire to go to clown college.
Eating, Strange Habits of
I cannot “mix” my food. I have to eat in sections: all the vegetable, all the potato, the meat always last. I absolutely cannot take a bite of this and then a bite of that. It makes me queasy watching others do it. And those people who mix everything up into one big glop on their plate? We’re no longer dinner companions. If it’s soup or salad or something that’s meant to be mixed up, that’s ok, I can eat it like that.
I have to cut up all my food first before eating it. I cannot cut a bite of meat off the larger piece, eat that, and then cut another piece. Nope, it’s all gotta be in little pieces first.
I eat apples all the way around the middle, then one end all the way around, then the other end, until the skin is gone. Then I go back and do it again until I reach the core. I cannot share an apple with D. who just bites it any old place. Corn on the cob must be started at the left and eaten in a circle around the cob. Move to the right one mouth width, eat in a circle around the cob and continue until you reach the right end.
Hot sauce is the only condiment I like, though I will tolerate ketchup on a hamburger. Mustard is entirely too disgusting, as is mayonnaise.
We keep the garbage can under the kitchen sink. When the boys were small we had those childproof locks on everything. It was a pain to undo the lock every time we wanted to throw something out but obviously I didn’t want the garbage can out in plain view either. So we started putting the garbage into an empty bread bag or other container in one side of the double sink. When it got full, we’d undo the lock and throw it all in the garbage can. The boys are bigger and we don’t need childproof locks anymore but try as I might, we can’t change this rather disgusting habit.
Laundry, Time Needed To Do a Load of
It takes at least 31 days to complete a load of laundry. Really. First there are the two days I try to ignore the overflowing hamper or the jammed laundry chute. Then there is one day for washing, including leaving the clothes in the washer overnight. Then the four days for drying -- two hours to actually dry the clothes and 3.8 days to leave them wrinkling in the dryer. The laundry basket remains in the basement for three days. Then I move the laundry basket to the living room for two days. Finally I fold the clothes, which takes one day. Then the clothes reside, nicely folded, in their laundry basket bed in the living room for seven days. I have actually taught my children how to lift the stacks neatly to extricate that coveted Spiderman shirt without disturbing the rest of the basket. The sight of my husband wandering around naked looking for underwear should shame me into bringing the laundry upstairs but I actually enjoy the show. At the same time, part of my brain is anxiously wondering if the neighbors are enjoying it as well. Then it's time to bring the basket upstairs where it sits until every laundry basket, Rubbermaid bin and cardboard box is similarly filled with a combination of neatly folded and wrinkly unfolded laundry. Then I put it all away in the now completely empty drawers and start over.
Also known as “RH” - the result of waking up with your hair sticking out in “horns” all over your head. Which can be especially bad if you have no time for a shower & shampoo. As in “how bad is my RH this morning, do I need a hat?”
I cannot think of a damn thing to put under X.