A Brief & Incomplete List: #1

Things I should probably be embarrassed about:

5) I don’t really hate citrus fruit, I’m just too lazy to work that hard for food.

Or maybe citrus fruit just isn’t worth that much effort? I don’t even know. I think I would peel tacos out of a protective rind, but maybe not. Maybe tacos’ accessibility is the root of their appeal, but a’peeling citrus fruit is the worst.

Here are the facts: you buy citrus fruit, you peel it, you dispose of the rind, your fingers get sticky and weird, the world is a dark and scary place. However, if you present me with a bowl of pre-peeled orange segments? I would happily eat them without complaint. Write that down somewhere.

4) I can’t catch car keys with my bare hands.

Ever. It’s not that I’m bad at catching things.  I’m merely terrified the flying keys will puncture my hands. I realize this fear is irrational, because physics. I just can’t risk it. I prefer to kick at them out of the air, or catch them like this dog catches his ball. 

Nailed it. 

3) I have no interest in classic 80s movies (i.e. Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles).

I’ve frequently been in the same room as classic 80s movies. I’ve glimpsed them on shelves, memorized most of their one-liners, and seen the beginning and/or ending scene at least a handful of times. Actually watching these movies from beginning to end has been impeded by A) high-grade pain killers, B) narcolepsy, C) an overpowering desire to scrub the kitchen floor with a toothbrush rather than watch the movie. I would rather peel an orange than watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Don’t ask me why.

The notable exception to this aversion is Dirty Dancing. Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

2) I’ve read an obscene number of VC Andrews novels.

Including but not limited to Flowers in the Attic, “the gothic incest classic which has endured as a nostalgia-fueled oddity”. And every subsequent book in the Dollanganger Series. You guys, this woman wrote incest the way most of us write grocery lists. I also find her plotlines comfortingly predictable, albeit horrifying. Young human beings + terrible trauma = coming of age tale. Anyone with approximately 70 posthumous book publications is clearly some sort of demi-god.

Flowers in the Attic was recently released as a Lifetime original movie. Autostraddle very accurately recapped it. Much uncomfortable dialogue ensured. Don’t worry, VC. I got yo’ back.

1) I potentially love my cat more than anything on this planet.

I feel like this isn’t uncommon, but that doesn’t make it socially acceptable. Thus far, nothing rivals her grump-face in the realm of joyous squeal inducers. Not even a baby porcupine eating watermelon. Or a pygmy goat head butting Shih Tzu puppies. If anybody rolled in my gym socks I’d be disgusted. But That Cat can do no wrong. Even when buffalo jumping live rodents into my bedroom window.

She never judges my marathon television habits. I wish she could Snapchat me. I realize that if I die alone she won’t think twice about postmortem predation, but I’m not even mad about it. She’s the cutest sadistic jerk on this planet. 

That about sums it up. I hope you don’t love me any less.

-b