– 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.