The new haunt

So, you know about the house I grew up in and the haunted happenings there (we’ll call it “thirty-three twelve” for the sake of this entry).  My parents’ new house -well, the one they’ve lived in for the past 7 years, a place I’ve never lived- is NOT haunted.

The dorm I moved into after moving out of thirty-three twelve was not haunted, the old, smelly, no central A/C apartment I moved into my sophomore year of college, same thing.  The newly-built complex where I spent the latter part of my sophomore year through AFTER graduating college: no spooks.

My apartment now: loud and sometimes shitty neighbors, the occasional homeless guy in the woods, and, once, a young black man who needed a flashlight because he lost his bike in those woods (I have no idea), but nothing scary.

However, I am about to become a homeowner.  The house I’m buying is a legit old-school house at a mere 75 years old.

Something tells me I may encounter a spirit or two here:

 

Somebody’s watchin’ meeee! -or- Did I really just say that?

While I realize the internet is a public forum, it still skeeves me out a bit to know that someone in my town googled “the fresh cracker wordpress” and landed here.

I have to wonder: did someone from my office somehow find out the blog title and domain and come here to see if they could catch me saying anything bad about work? Too bad, I never mention the company or what we do. Or name names.  I’ve been spied on by coworkers before, had things I’ve said severely twisted to the point of them being given a whole new meaning. Suck it.

Could it be a friend of mine who just forgot to mention that they came here to get an eyeful of ridiculousness? Maybe.

I have one other suspect, but let’s not talk about that.

IN OTHER NEWS: today I was eating lunch with my friend Amanda and talking about baby names [our coworker's wife is pregnant] and totally slipped and said, “I like the name Zelda for a girl….” Then proceeded to freak out because what I MEANT to say was “Stella”.

SHE IS STILL EVERYWHERE!!!!!

Have I ever told you…

- that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

- that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

- that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  ”Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

- that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.

Boo!

Things that gross me out: office edition

So by now you know that there are lots of things that I despise and some that even sicken me.  This compendium, of course, includes worms on the sidewalk *shudder* and since my office building is surrounded by sidewalks, my short trek into work often grosses me out.

But let’s take it a step further and go INTO the building.

I know, I know, you’re thinking “Come on, you work in an OFFICE.  How gross can things actually get?”

1. Fluids on file folders.  (alliteration FTW)  Oh yes, when working with file folders all day for TONS of patients (I don’t work in a doctor’s office, JSYK) things can get sticky. Literally.  Some of the grossest office moments come when I’m innocently perusing a file, updating some important document and I see stains.  Often brown, of uncertain origin, but possibly biological (I’m pretty sure I saw an actual booger the other day). Or chocolate.  Either way, keep runny things away from paper!

2. Cubeland nose-blowers.  Oh, yes.  You’d think someone would have the presence of mind to excuse themselves if they need to expel some mucus, but noooooooooooo.  Maybe I’m silly for being bothered by this, but gurgly snot sounds do NOT a pleasant working environment make.  Also of note: do these people not worry about a stray string of snot dangling out there? Go to the bathroom!

3. Speaking of that inner sanctum, let’s talk toilets. More specifically what some of my coworkers often DON’T do after visiting the toilet: WASH THEIR HANDS.  I don’t know how many times I’ve been innocently tinkling, only to hear someone else’s toilet flush, stall door open and then…… nothing.  They walk out of the bathroom without even rinsing!  I’ve nailed down at least two culprits, one of whom is this prissy woman who walks around talking very “essy” (I guess she thinks it makes her sound cultured?) and looking down her nose at people.  Oh, I’m onto you, prisspot.  Those hands are covered in remnants of urine and fecal matter.  That sign I posted on the bathroom door that says “Please wash your hands!” with a sign of germy palms? Totally directed at you. By the way, don’t touch the copier.

4. Also bathroom related and so gross it’s unbelievable: spying blood on various surfaces.  Oh yes, a travesty of this caliber occurred just this week, this time on the toilet roll itself,  and I was appalled.  Ladies, most of us have been dealing with “bloody issues” since we were about 12, so it’s time we got a handle on proper disposal, k?  If you can’t keep it off the floor and the wall (!!), then perhaps you should go back to 4th grade health class.

No wonder I’m always catching something.

Foreign candy is better than candy in the States

1: Cadbury Crunchie. All I can say is “OMG”. Delightful chocolate coating a golden honeycomb of toffee. And I usually don’t even LIKE toffee. Our coworker’s husband is British and he gave it to us for bringing their family meals after they had a baby.

2: Milka Bar. If you’ve had one, [mysteriously I've been able to buy them at Target of all places] then you know exactly what I’m talking about. Also, they don’t have have a U.S. version of their website.

3: Morinaga Hi-Chew candy: I tried this at a local sushi restaurant and about peed with joy.

4: (not exactly a candy) Digestives Chocolate-Covered Biscuits: that is, an awesome shortbread-type cookie, covered in chocolate.  Again brought to us by coworker’s British husband.  The man knows how to pick treats.

5: Lindt truffles: Okay, ok, so they’re available in the US, but HOLY SHIT these things are good.  They usually surface around Christmas, which is a plus for me because that is the time of year I gorge myself on sweets and don’t really feel bad about it.  This cracker doesn’t keep much candy in the house.

I love Antoine Dodson

this is the remix of his hilarious interview. watch it. now. this includes you, creepers.

things that bother me, list 3

- when I introduce myself to someone, very clearly pronouncing my name  and they reply, “Nice to meet you, [some other wrong pronunciation of my name].”

- the fact that someone in my company had to have a chart similar to this:

- the fact that the above mentioned dumbass took the chart down after being ridiculed by others in her office. i had to create the above pictured diagram in lieu of an actual photo.

- this whole  “being nervous around people” thing i’ve got going on lately. there can be people i’ve known for YEARS and i still get nervous when i see them. what the hell is that?

- stemming from the nervousness, always thinking people won’t remember me.  i don’t see someone for a while, then see them somewhere random, think they don’t remember me, so i don’t speak. then who looks like the asshole? this cracker right here.

- people who don’t reply to text messages. seriously, just common courtesy of saying “i don’t feel like eating dinner out tonight/with you/ever again” will suffice. most of us aren’t comprised entirely of baby girls; we can take it. 

- clicky shoes that women wear in the office. you may remember me mentioning this previously, but this time it’s almost worse because the lady who sits behind me wears them every. single. day. she also doesn’t celebrate birthdays which is weird to me, and i’m still unclear on the “bless you” thing if she sneezes.

Not a crazy cat lady

As you may know, I am completely in love with my cat Lucy.  This is a picture of her laying claim to the giant cat tree her Aunt Katie gave her:

Anywho, I love animals. Well, except ferrets, but I digress.

There is an awesome place in California where a lady [plus volunteers] houses over 700 cats and kittens (and some dogs!).  After watching this video by a guy named Jack Perez: http://www.wimp.com/housescats/

Go make a donation and read more about all the awesome: http://www.cathouseonthekings.com/index.php

The past few weeks of my life, in picture

I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass

…is a great album title.  See also: Yo La Tengo.

In other news: mosquito season has been upon us for quite some time.  You can also read that as “I have been pissed off daily for quite some time.”

I swear, these things have mutated this year and left me miserable and itchy.

I currently have at least six active bites (one of which is on Hildette, my left boob as it is called post-operation BLast)

Wait, have I ever told you about operation BLast?  That’s a story for another time.

Anywho, these bites are basically ruining my life. End hyperbole.

Today I acquired another in broad daylight while attempting to carry my cat indoors; I ended up dirty, with one mosquito bite, a reactive bite that can only be classified as “other” and huge arm scratches.

Thanks, Mr. United States Postal Carrier, for picking the exact moment I’m carrying my cat indoors to start up your mail scooter truck and peel out of the parking lot.

My scratched and bloodied arm appreciates your taking the time to scare the shit out of my cat.

Jerk.