smorg

“That was so bad, it gave me cancer…”
- Futurama

Verna: “You think you’ve raised hell.”
Tom Reagan: “Sister, when I’ve raised hell, you’ll know it”
- Millers Crossing

“Wake up, time to die”
- Blade Runner

Wendell: “It’s a mess, ain’t it, sheriff?”
Ed Tom Bell: “If it ain’t, it’ll do till the mess gets here.”
- No Country for Old Men

“If I don’t go, we gotta pack up and leave. Now I’m tired, Alice. I’m tired of watching my boys go hungry. I’m tired of the way that they look at me. I’m tired of the way that you don’t.”
- 3:10 to Yuma

Yay, civil unrest in a country with nuclear arms and an already unstable political climate. Hold on to your hats.

As anyone who knows me also knows, I am a little bit crazy. Just a tad OCD. not about anything cool, like counting cards or extreme cleanliness, but with stupid shit like locking doors and checking my silverware for food at a restaurant or arranging stuff on my desk (not in order, but symmetrically) or not returning a phone call (see earlier post alluding to hatred of phone calls).

So the other night I was lying in bed, wondering if the back door was locked (the alarm system doesn’t sate the crazy). I tossed and turned for a good half hour as I tried to convince myself to NOT get up and check.

Finally I made myself a deal: I would go check, and if the door was unlocked, all was good. But if the door WAS locked and I had gotten up for nothing, I was going to punch myself in the side of the head, Fight Club style.

The door was locked. But I didn’t punch myself, mostly because I was afraid I would somehow cause undue damage that would end up causing me discomfort or money.

Regardless, I have decided to come up with smaller, more accessible punishments for myself when I decide to be crazy. In fact, if I don’t have solutions by the end of the week I am going to punch myself in the head.

Maybe.

On Christmas Eve, Holly and Tegan and I were sitting around, wrapping presents and bullshitting and there is a chance that I was near the end of a bottle of wine. A small chance.
We were also watching Anthony Bourdain on Travel channel as he discussed his hometown of NYC.

Note that all of the above factors weigh into this story.

Anyway, Holly said she would be right back, that she had to pee. I, in my clouded state, laughed and said “you have to PEEP???”. Light chuckles ensued. Briefly…ever so briefly.

Then I started laughing to myself and said “peep - thats when you have to pee and poop at the same time”. By this time, I was snorting to myself and laughing in what Holly says is my way of not laughing out loud - which means I make a weird sound and snort and kind of squeal like a girl. I prefer to think of it as trying not to piss myself as I ponder how clever I am.

So, the ‘peep’ humor continues on for a second, and the laughter has subsided and we have turned our attention back to the television, when suddenly Bourdain says something about how NYC is no longer dirty and forbidden and fun. And then he shows a sign for an ‘ALL GIRL PEEP SHOW’.

I frickin lost it. I almost peeped myself, as suddenly what was kind of an erotic concept seemed like an entirely different kind of experience, and most certainly one I do not want to see.

Soon after I went to bed, with visions of peeps and sugarplums dancing in my head.

Compare for yourself, using this normal size iPod knockoff!