In order to curb the pen chewing, I have given myself an alternative place to keep my pen lately. It seems to be working and my teeth are thankful.
Showing posts with label The "C" in OCD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The "C" in OCD. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
EEEAAAARRRRRSSSSS!!!!
Day: 379
Photo taken on Monday, August 15, 2011 in the Medical Records Room of The Surge at 120pm.
In order to curb the pen chewing, I have given myself an alternative place to keep my pen lately. It seems to be working and my teeth are thankful.
In order to curb the pen chewing, I have given myself an alternative place to keep my pen lately. It seems to be working and my teeth are thankful.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Chappie
Day: Three Hundred and Sixty Four
Photo taken on Sunday, July 31, 2011 in our kitchen at 839am.
This is the first time I have ever completed a chap-stick before misplacing it or prematurely having to throw it out because it became gross. I love lip balm and putting it on is a compulsion that I never mind doing especially since I have a plethora of flavors and kinds to choose from. This particular one is a Yankee Candle SPF 15 balm, Vanilla Cupcake flavored. Yum.
This is the first time I have ever completed a chap-stick before misplacing it or prematurely having to throw it out because it became gross. I love lip balm and putting it on is a compulsion that I never mind doing especially since I have a plethora of flavors and kinds to choose from. This particular one is a Yankee Candle SPF 15 balm, Vanilla Cupcake flavored. Yum.
There is a chap-stick in every bag I own as well as in hidden pockets of all my winter jackets. I have so many Chapsticks and Lip Smackers that I ran out of room in my night table drawer and had to find them a suitable and easily accessible place to reside.
So I chose the beautiful Ethan Allen jewelry box Moma bought me for Christmas. I know it was quite expensive but you have to understand, my lip balms are like the equivalent of gold to me so this is a perfect home for them.
Friday, July 15, 2011
TGIF
Day: Three Hundred and Forty Eight
Photo taken on Friday, July 15, 2011 in the Surge kitchen at 916am.
When my coworkers find out Preston is in town, they beg me to bring him by so they can meet him. They have heard so many funny stories and seen so many cute pictures but they want the live version. I ask Kim if it's possible to bring him to the Surge before she heads out to Long Island to meet up with some friends and I learn it is possible! Even though he is supposed to be going out there for breakfast, Preston's eyes light up when he comes into the kitchen and sees all the free food displayed on the community table. He doesn't know what he wants so he settles for a little bit of everything, including Julia's fruit!
He is such a ham! Plus he already knows the way around the place and acts like he owns the joint even though it's his first visit. Everyone is just taken with him and can't help asking him questions just to hear is funny answers. He also has an issue with my broken desk and keeps trying to put the keyboard back where it belongs even when I tell him, "It's broken. Believe me Preston, it drives me nuts too." I think Bossdad should consider hiring him as my assistant because his OCD tendencies rival my own.
Unfortunately, their visit is short lived and we all reluctantly bid adieu to my family. I look forward to Kim and Preston's next visit to the Surge! Maybe next time they'll come on Potluck Day!
When my coworkers find out Preston is in town, they beg me to bring him by so they can meet him. They have heard so many funny stories and seen so many cute pictures but they want the live version. I ask Kim if it's possible to bring him to the Surge before she heads out to Long Island to meet up with some friends and I learn it is possible! Even though he is supposed to be going out there for breakfast, Preston's eyes light up when he comes into the kitchen and sees all the free food displayed on the community table. He doesn't know what he wants so he settles for a little bit of everything, including Julia's fruit!
Unfortunately, their visit is short lived and we all reluctantly bid adieu to my family. I look forward to Kim and Preston's next visit to the Surge! Maybe next time they'll come on Potluck Day!
Friday, May 13, 2011
Talking T-Shirts
Day: Two Hundred and Eighty Five
Photo taken on Friday, May 13, 2011 in the Manga Dining Room in front of our DVD collection at 1150pm.
This shirt was spotted at ICon and immediately purchased. Need I say more?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Later Taters!
Day: Two Hundred and Sixty Seven
Photo taken on Monday, April 25, 2011 in front of the TDM mudroom door at 202pm. (Pictured hands from left: Steve, me, and Charlie. Pictured on the stoop from left: Moma, Grandma Z., Kimberly, Preston, and Daddio)
I hate saying goodbye.
It really is no fun at all. I don't like the finality of it; it creeps me out sometimes because I know I will be seeing everyone again so why do I have to say it? I usually settle for some version of "see you later" because it sounds better.
But then if someone wishes me a "safe flight" I HAVE to say, "Tell that to the pilot!" What started as a joke has turned into a compulsion and I will seriously freak out if I accidently say, "Have a safe flight!" and they don't return the punchline. One time I called Moma back in a panic right before she shut down her phone before boarding. I have chased Bossdad down the hallway to make sure he says it though he has come up with his own version of tell-that-to-the-pilot. Dad says, "Make sure he doesn't drop me in the Hudson." That sounds reasonable.
So don't take it personally if I drop you at the airport and I don't wish your flight to be safe. I really do want you to be safe but if you don't say the infamous line, I might end up chasing you through security. And then I'll get arrested.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Egg and I
Day: Two Hundred and Sixty Five
What is Easter without eggs? Or Jesus? Or a Jesus egg?
Pretty much Preston runs the show; we just make sure the eggs find their way back into the container so they don't drop dye all over the table or crack open. It's just interesting how when the task is all complete, he has to arrange them in color order. There are six colors-two eggs of each-and he lines them up in Roy G. Biv fashion, then decides to line them up in pairs after scrutinizing them for awhile. I observe Preston doing this and I proudly nod my head at his compulsive ordering.
He's definitely my nephew.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Back off!
Day: Two Hundred and Forty Two
Photo taken on Thursday, March 31, 2011 in the kitchen at 739pm.
Even though cooking is alchemy in its most basic form, I still don't like doing it. I can never get the timing of a meal right, part of it will be cold while the other part may be burnt. My dad has it down to a science and will say things like this when he's on his way out the door to barbeque: "In three minutes put the rice on." Three minutes? Exactly three minutes? And then he'll pop his head in the back door as I'm stirring the rice, "Put the bread in the oven now." Then he'll disappear again until he's walking through the door with burgers and dogs as I'm putting the rice and bread on the table.
How does he do that?!
Steve and I are not like my dad at all but we do have a partnership in creating meals like my parents do and our roles always stay the same. I cook the eggs and Steve handles the starch for breakfast. I doctor up the red sauce as he drains the pasta. But the ultimate role I have in the kitchen is frying the meat. Under no circumstances is he to touch the meat. There have been times when I'm on my way home from somewhere when he calls to ask if he can start our infamous taco dip and I frantically press the pedal down and tell him I'll be there sooner. It's not that Steve does it wrong, it's just that I feel I need to do it. Christine taught me how to make tacos back in college and put me in charge of browning the meat so I like to keep that tradition going (kind of like the 3D glasses).
If I have to threaten violence when browning the meat, so be it, though when it comes time to drain the fat and I have trouble maneuvering the meat away from the fat in order to scoop it out, Steve is finally needed.
*While the pan in my hand precariously teeters above a Campbell's soup can* "Steve," I call. "I need help."
Even though cooking is alchemy in its most basic form, I still don't like doing it. I can never get the timing of a meal right, part of it will be cold while the other part may be burnt. My dad has it down to a science and will say things like this when he's on his way out the door to barbeque: "In three minutes put the rice on." Three minutes? Exactly three minutes? And then he'll pop his head in the back door as I'm stirring the rice, "Put the bread in the oven now." Then he'll disappear again until he's walking through the door with burgers and dogs as I'm putting the rice and bread on the table.
How does he do that?!
Steve and I are not like my dad at all but we do have a partnership in creating meals like my parents do and our roles always stay the same. I cook the eggs and Steve handles the starch for breakfast. I doctor up the red sauce as he drains the pasta. But the ultimate role I have in the kitchen is frying the meat. Under no circumstances is he to touch the meat. There have been times when I'm on my way home from somewhere when he calls to ask if he can start our infamous taco dip and I frantically press the pedal down and tell him I'll be there sooner. It's not that Steve does it wrong, it's just that I feel I need to do it. Christine taught me how to make tacos back in college and put me in charge of browning the meat so I like to keep that tradition going (kind of like the 3D glasses).
If I have to threaten violence when browning the meat, so be it, though when it comes time to drain the fat and I have trouble maneuvering the meat away from the fat in order to scoop it out, Steve is finally needed.
*While the pan in my hand precariously teeters above a Campbell's soup can* "Steve," I call. "I need help."
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Master Packer
Day: Two Hundred and Seven
Photo taken on Thursday, February 24, 2011 in the bedroom doorway at 1111pm.
Do not let the clothes on my bedroom floor fool you, I still have OCD. There is an order to my chaos and clothes can not be put away until they go through a screening process of smelling, shaking, spraying, and folding. Naturally, this takes a ridiculous amount of time so if I don't have the time I just don't do it until I do have the time. I don't half-ass my compulsions and if you open any of my drawers, you will be shocked to find how "in order" they are and will be absolutely AMAZED that I fit that many articles of clothing into such a tiny space.
Dad likes to mimic my drawers by creating a tiny square with his hands and even though he's most likely making fun of me, I know he's impressed and totally sweats my ability to neatly fold a sweater into a jewelry box. The first time he lets me pack for an upcoming skiing trip he is surprised to find my small duffel bag heavier than his own suitcase. He stares down at my elementary school self and asks what I packed in there. I shrug. "My clothes for the week." He opens the blue canvas bag and finds I have packed more for a month than a week and instructs me to take some out. He knows then how efficient I can be with the compartments of a carry-on.
Fast forward twenty years and now to up the ante of my awesome superpower of packing I have Steve time me. As I scream out, "Time Check!" on my second trip downstairs to retrieve a pair of sneaks from the shoe rack, Steve lets me know I'm only six minutes in. I have to be setting some kind of record though I lose time as I search for a pair of jeans I could have sworn were not in the wash (they are). In exactly 11 minutes I complete the task of packing for a weekend trip down to Virginia and I am proud to say I only over-pack in the underwear department this time.
Do not let the clothes on my bedroom floor fool you, I still have OCD. There is an order to my chaos and clothes can not be put away until they go through a screening process of smelling, shaking, spraying, and folding. Naturally, this takes a ridiculous amount of time so if I don't have the time I just don't do it until I do have the time. I don't half-ass my compulsions and if you open any of my drawers, you will be shocked to find how "in order" they are and will be absolutely AMAZED that I fit that many articles of clothing into such a tiny space.
Dad likes to mimic my drawers by creating a tiny square with his hands and even though he's most likely making fun of me, I know he's impressed and totally sweats my ability to neatly fold a sweater into a jewelry box. The first time he lets me pack for an upcoming skiing trip he is surprised to find my small duffel bag heavier than his own suitcase. He stares down at my elementary school self and asks what I packed in there. I shrug. "My clothes for the week." He opens the blue canvas bag and finds I have packed more for a month than a week and instructs me to take some out. He knows then how efficient I can be with the compartments of a carry-on.
Fast forward twenty years and now to up the ante of my awesome superpower of packing I have Steve time me. As I scream out, "Time Check!" on my second trip downstairs to retrieve a pair of sneaks from the shoe rack, Steve lets me know I'm only six minutes in. I have to be setting some kind of record though I lose time as I search for a pair of jeans I could have sworn were not in the wash (they are). In exactly 11 minutes I complete the task of packing for a weekend trip down to Virginia and I am proud to say I only over-pack in the underwear department this time.
Friday, January 14, 2011
What would I do without you, Steve?
Day: One Hundred and Sixty Six
Photo taken on Friday, January 14, 2011 on the A platform of the Farmingdale train station at 609am.
Why on earth would I be back standing in the same spot I stood for three years when now I have an entirely different spot to stand in on a different line?
You know the answer to this one. You know it's been a tough morning already and you're not even up yet!
For some reason, Smithtown chose to be very secretive about shutting down Main Street this morning and any road that gets my ass to the train station on time. Luckily Steve is with me because he's taking Sai again today until the roads are completely ice-free, so he's there to try and cut off my panic of not making my train. I start losing it because the person in front of me is craaawwwling. CRAWLING! Because of this douchebag, I don't make my train but I try anyway. I bail out of the car and haul ass through a parking lot that leads to a dead end because I didn't see the tiny pathway they carved out to get to the other platform. But it doesn't matter, the train is too far down for me to sprint to anyway.
I start bawling.
I call Steve to tell him to come back and get me but so many roads are blocked he can't find his way back.
The panic starts setting in. There isn't a soul around, not even a taxi. The silence is deafening and the next train isn't coming through for another hour.
I'm hysterical. And scared.
Steve tries to coach me through my breathing so it doesn't turn into hyperventilating but I'm too angry for a panic attack. If Smithtown needed to do snow removal so bad that should have been announced to commuters last night on the LIRR. I would have allotted for more time this morning, especially since I jolted awake 14 minutes before my alarm went off anyway.
I keep turning in circles, checking my surroundings since I know only skells are out this hour, especially around train stations. I see a car pull up and I start darting the other way until Steve screams into the phone that it's him. I climb in and look away since I have tears streaming down my face and I'm blubbering like a fool. I feel completely out of control. I think of the work on my desk and my morning routine at the Surge. I start crying even harder and he just rubs my hand, telling me it will all be alright.
I start in that it's because I didn't finish my acne steps last night, that's why this happened. Steve says that's not true and that he is going to drop me off in Farmingdale on his way to work so I can catch the train I took for three years. It's familiar. It's safe. I know all the other commuters on "my car" and where they all sit. But I then think about the fact that now I have to go to Penn and come up on the C train and I start to worry that something bad is going to happen. While the obsessional thoughts creep in, Steve stops in Hess to fill up the tank I wanted to fill last night. I hop out to tell him I won't make the 6am from Farmingdale.
And we don't make it. We pull down the road that leads to the parking lot and I wave to the train as it pulls away. Now I'm petrified the day is going to turn ugly.
I get on the 609. I read a novel for most of the way there, in an aisle seat *shudder* in part of a six seater *shudder* but luckily no one sits in front or next to me.
I get on the 609. I read a novel for most of the way there, in an aisle seat *shudder* in part of a six seater *shudder* but luckily no one sits in front or next to me.
Then the C train is there when I reach the platform.
Then the M86 is there when I come out of the subway.
I'm only 15 minutes later than normal.
Huh. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Hour Shower
Day: One Hundred and Fifty
Photo taken on Wednesday, December 29, 2010 in the living room at 1058pm.
When I am a wee one, I come bounding out of bath time one night and right up to Grandma Raab, waving my water-wrinkled fingers in front of her face. "Look Grahm! I'm just like you!" Looking back on it now, not such a nice thing to say, but I was five and had no filter and thought that was a perfectly normal thing to blurt out in conversation. I was a water rat all my life: pool, beach, bath, didn't matter what type of water it was you had to pull me out kicking and screaming. Now as an adult, I still love the beach and pool but I HATE showering. I may hate it but let me assure you, I take them daily.
My shower is a little different than yours. Where yours is a decent amount of time and relaxing, mine is long and torturous. Don't let my acne fool you (since it's caused by stress and constant heel-of-my-palm tapping), my hygiene routine is thorough and excessive. My worst compulsions are in the shower so everyday it's a battle I have to fight with myself to get in there. Once I'm in there, it is at least one hour before I am done. My friend, Mike M., once asked me if I ever have "fun" in the shower to which I replied, "the shower is a place of business." I'm too methodical to enjoy a shower: every turn is calculated and done the same each time, I wash my body parts in order, I shave a certain amount of strokes, I repeat the same hand patterns to get soap out of my hair well after the soap is out of my hair. If ever I start doing something out of order or God forbid, turn a different way, I have to start over (this rarely happens). Even Steve has become part of the showering process. When he's in there with me, he has to pass me a certain way facing a certain way or I freak. I think he's become so accustomed to it that he now showers the way I do.
Once the shower is over, the lotions, face meds, astringents, and moisturizers start. I have five different lotions for my body and three acne steps that follow. There have been some days that I break down crying because I am so tired of this routine but it's so imbedded in me that I can't stop. If I try to stop, the obsessional thoughts start up and then I find myself back to square one. I've been shaving every day since the age of 12. No joke. Every. Day. Sure we all miss a shower some days but I have make-up showers. I'll do two the next day and shave twice. It's sick I know, but I wanted to share why I take so long to get ready and still look like crap. It's not about looking good, it's about feeling clean enough to leave the bedroom.
Photo taken on Wednesday, December 29, 2010 in the living room at 1058pm.
When I am a wee one, I come bounding out of bath time one night and right up to Grandma Raab, waving my water-wrinkled fingers in front of her face. "Look Grahm! I'm just like you!" Looking back on it now, not such a nice thing to say, but I was five and had no filter and thought that was a perfectly normal thing to blurt out in conversation. I was a water rat all my life: pool, beach, bath, didn't matter what type of water it was you had to pull me out kicking and screaming. Now as an adult, I still love the beach and pool but I HATE showering. I may hate it but let me assure you, I take them daily.
My shower is a little different than yours. Where yours is a decent amount of time and relaxing, mine is long and torturous. Don't let my acne fool you (since it's caused by stress and constant heel-of-my-palm tapping), my hygiene routine is thorough and excessive. My worst compulsions are in the shower so everyday it's a battle I have to fight with myself to get in there. Once I'm in there, it is at least one hour before I am done. My friend, Mike M., once asked me if I ever have "fun" in the shower to which I replied, "the shower is a place of business." I'm too methodical to enjoy a shower: every turn is calculated and done the same each time, I wash my body parts in order, I shave a certain amount of strokes, I repeat the same hand patterns to get soap out of my hair well after the soap is out of my hair. If ever I start doing something out of order or God forbid, turn a different way, I have to start over (this rarely happens). Even Steve has become part of the showering process. When he's in there with me, he has to pass me a certain way facing a certain way or I freak. I think he's become so accustomed to it that he now showers the way I do.
Once the shower is over, the lotions, face meds, astringents, and moisturizers start. I have five different lotions for my body and three acne steps that follow. There have been some days that I break down crying because I am so tired of this routine but it's so imbedded in me that I can't stop. If I try to stop, the obsessional thoughts start up and then I find myself back to square one. I've been shaving every day since the age of 12. No joke. Every. Day. Sure we all miss a shower some days but I have make-up showers. I'll do two the next day and shave twice. It's sick I know, but I wanted to share why I take so long to get ready and still look like crap. It's not about looking good, it's about feeling clean enough to leave the bedroom.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Sweeney Kate
Day: One Hundred and Thirty Nine
Photo taken on Saturday, December 18, 2010 in the Time Out Room at 1149pm.
I am pointing to where the scissors were located just a second ago but now they have vanished courtesy of Steve. I know he hates this behavior of mine but in order to get me to go to sleep at night he'll do what he has to.
I'm not sure when this fear of leaving scissors out started but I have a feeling it stems back to a disturbing dream I must have had in college. As long as the scissors are in the spot they are supposed to be, I'm fine. But if they are out in plain sight, I have to ask him to hide them. I have this fear that when I am asleep, I will wake up and stab someone with them unknowingly. Never mind the fact I can always take them out of the drawer or I don't know, grab one of the hundred kitchen knives I have to do the job. It is totally ridiculous but it brings peace of mind to both of us knowing the scissors are hidden.
Actually, this might not have been a good idea to write this entry. If Steve ever gets stabbed with scissors I'm going to be the prime suspect.
I am pointing to where the scissors were located just a second ago but now they have vanished courtesy of Steve. I know he hates this behavior of mine but in order to get me to go to sleep at night he'll do what he has to.
I'm not sure when this fear of leaving scissors out started but I have a feeling it stems back to a disturbing dream I must have had in college. As long as the scissors are in the spot they are supposed to be, I'm fine. But if they are out in plain sight, I have to ask him to hide them. I have this fear that when I am asleep, I will wake up and stab someone with them unknowingly. Never mind the fact I can always take them out of the drawer or I don't know, grab one of the hundred kitchen knives I have to do the job. It is totally ridiculous but it brings peace of mind to both of us knowing the scissors are hidden.
Actually, this might not have been a good idea to write this entry. If Steve ever gets stabbed with scissors I'm going to be the prime suspect.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Talk To The Hand
Day: One Hundred and Thirty Three
Photo taken on Sunday, December 12, 2010 while in the Commander's Chair at 743pm.
One day while dining at the Shipwreck Diner in Northport Village, I am found out. I did not even know that I did this but the lovely people I am with point out my strange ordering habits. Apparently when I order a cup of soup I cup both of my hands together and show it to the waitress. They get such a kick out of this that they all order a "cup of soup" even if they don't want it just so they can mimic me into embarrassment.
So it is no surprise that when I order my buffalo wings with extra sauce on the side I do the same thing, only it is a tighter, smaller cup. I'm not sure I can even stop doing this because it just happens when I start to order. I'm just too set in my ordering ways.
One day while dining at the Shipwreck Diner in Northport Village, I am found out. I did not even know that I did this but the lovely people I am with point out my strange ordering habits. Apparently when I order a cup of soup I cup both of my hands together and show it to the waitress. They get such a kick out of this that they all order a "cup of soup" even if they don't want it just so they can mimic me into embarrassment.
So it is no surprise that when I order my buffalo wings with extra sauce on the side I do the same thing, only it is a tighter, smaller cup. I'm not sure I can even stop doing this because it just happens when I start to order. I'm just too set in my ordering ways.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
No Place That Far
Day: Sixty Six
Photo taken on Wednesday, October 6, 2010 at 245pm in the Surge kitchen.
I am so unbelievably OCD it isn't even funny. Actually it is. It is funny. It's so funny that it's pathetic.
One laundry day I go into our walk-in closet to fetch our quarter bag but when I look at the shelf in the spot it sits in, I find the cloth bag is missing. I inform Steve and we search around the apartment looking for the coin bag until Steve goes back into the walk-in closet. "I already looked in there," I say. He comes out holding the bag. "Really? You looked in there?" he says skeptically. I ask him where he found it and he leads me inside and points to the shelf directly above the one it normally sits on. "Well," I say in a huff, "you must have put it away then." Steve learns then that things I use tend to have a "permanant resting place" and if he moves anything in the future he would honestly try to remember where he moved it to.
I'm like this in my own office but today I learn that I have places for things outside of my office, like the hot beverage cups. When I go to make a hot chocolate this afternoon, there are no hot beverage cups left underneath the paper towel dispenser. In my head, that means there are no hot beverage cups to be found. Yeah, I'm annoyed that no one replaced them but I go and grab another batch and put it in its rightful place, under the paper towel dispenser. As I go to reach for a spoon I notice another stack of hot beverage cups that were right in front of me the whole damn time...just not under the paper towel dispenser.
I am so unbelievably OCD it isn't even funny. Actually it is. It is funny. It's so funny that it's pathetic.
One laundry day I go into our walk-in closet to fetch our quarter bag but when I look at the shelf in the spot it sits in, I find the cloth bag is missing. I inform Steve and we search around the apartment looking for the coin bag until Steve goes back into the walk-in closet. "I already looked in there," I say. He comes out holding the bag. "Really? You looked in there?" he says skeptically. I ask him where he found it and he leads me inside and points to the shelf directly above the one it normally sits on. "Well," I say in a huff, "you must have put it away then." Steve learns then that things I use tend to have a "permanant resting place" and if he moves anything in the future he would honestly try to remember where he moved it to.
I'm like this in my own office but today I learn that I have places for things outside of my office, like the hot beverage cups. When I go to make a hot chocolate this afternoon, there are no hot beverage cups left underneath the paper towel dispenser. In my head, that means there are no hot beverage cups to be found. Yeah, I'm annoyed that no one replaced them but I go and grab another batch and put it in its rightful place, under the paper towel dispenser. As I go to reach for a spoon I notice another stack of hot beverage cups that were right in front of me the whole damn time...just not under the paper towel dispenser.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Smooth Criminal
Day: Forty Two
Photo taken on Sunday, September 12, 2010 on the floor of my bedroom after the daily shower. (Moma likes to call this process "creaming my body" which makes me cringe a little at the word cream and I always shout out, "LOTION!" instead.)
I try shaving my legs for the first time in Grandma Raab's bathroom before I go into the 7th grade. I fail miserably at it, nicking myself twice and learning how much a shaving cut will hurt even after the bleeding stops. I thought it would be like how I shave my underarms but find the contours of the legs much harder to navigate than a pit. A week later I confess to my cousin, Sarah, that I am petrified to try again and she assures me it just takes some practice. We get in our bathing suits and sit in her bathtub and she carefully shows me how to shave properly. She is the only person to this day that I have ever allowed near me with a blade. Sarah cautiously shaves my shins without nicking me and gives me confidence to try again on my own later in my shower. A week later as Moma and I sit on the stairs talking, my mom rests her hand on my leg and notices the smoothness. I get embarressed as I tell her that all the other girls are starting to shave and I looked so hairy compared to them. She then takes me upstairs and gives me a lotion bottle, letting me in on the feminine secret that rubbing lotion on your legs after a shave makes them even smoother. Fast forward to our 7th grade trip when Annie places her hand on my knee to get my attention and looks shocked at how evenly her hand runs back on forth on my skin. "Smooth!" she exclaims. "Nantucket Briar lotion," I reply.
And since that fateful day of Moma opening my eyes to the wonders of lotion, I make sure to lather myself up real good whenever I exit the shower. Of course the process of lotioning has reached extreme OCD measures with me using six different lotions and moisturizers in certain locations of my body with rules on how they are used and applied. At the end of the ritual I clap once which signifies the completion of the act of lotioning and Steve sighs dramatically from the other room with a: "Finally!"
I try shaving my legs for the first time in Grandma Raab's bathroom before I go into the 7th grade. I fail miserably at it, nicking myself twice and learning how much a shaving cut will hurt even after the bleeding stops. I thought it would be like how I shave my underarms but find the contours of the legs much harder to navigate than a pit. A week later I confess to my cousin, Sarah, that I am petrified to try again and she assures me it just takes some practice. We get in our bathing suits and sit in her bathtub and she carefully shows me how to shave properly. She is the only person to this day that I have ever allowed near me with a blade. Sarah cautiously shaves my shins without nicking me and gives me confidence to try again on my own later in my shower. A week later as Moma and I sit on the stairs talking, my mom rests her hand on my leg and notices the smoothness. I get embarressed as I tell her that all the other girls are starting to shave and I looked so hairy compared to them. She then takes me upstairs and gives me a lotion bottle, letting me in on the feminine secret that rubbing lotion on your legs after a shave makes them even smoother. Fast forward to our 7th grade trip when Annie places her hand on my knee to get my attention and looks shocked at how evenly her hand runs back on forth on my skin. "Smooth!" she exclaims. "Nantucket Briar lotion," I reply.
And since that fateful day of Moma opening my eyes to the wonders of lotion, I make sure to lather myself up real good whenever I exit the shower. Of course the process of lotioning has reached extreme OCD measures with me using six different lotions and moisturizers in certain locations of my body with rules on how they are used and applied. At the end of the ritual I clap once which signifies the completion of the act of lotioning and Steve sighs dramatically from the other room with a: "Finally!"
Monday, August 16, 2010
Caps for Sale
Day: Fifteen
Photo taken right before nightly showertime on Monday, August 16, 2010 in the Team Reab bathroom.
So I wear shower caps. I'm probably the only one who wears shower caps anymore. Me and probably my grandma. I remember a time when I get to a hotel and freak because I learn that they do not have complementary shower caps and I have left mine at home. I immediately run down to my parents’ room and explain my earth shattering dilemma to my moma in hopes she brought one. She didn't. Like I said, just me and my grandma. But mom comes to my rescue a second later! She takes a plastic Waldbaum's bag and places it on my head. Instant shower cap.
Moms are truly the best.
Photo taken right before nightly showertime on Monday, August 16, 2010 in the Team Reab bathroom. You may think I'm gross (and I really don't care if you do) but I don't wash my hair every day. I really don't find the need to especially if all I've done all day is work at The Surge and the most energy I dispel is walking up a flight of stairs.
Moms are truly the best.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
A Lover's Caress
Day: Nine Photo taken at 712pm on Tuesday, August 10, 2010 in the Smithtown train station parking lot.
Where as most people treat their pets like they're children, I treat my electronics and technology as if they are real human beings. I think people do not realize what certain appliances actually do for us and forget to be grateful. Sure your dog is fun and all but can he get you to Great Neck in 25 minutes? Your cat totally loves you and greets you at the door but can she keep you "grounded" in an electrical storm? I didn't think so.
So this is why I name and respect major electronics that without them in my life I would be completely lost. I make sure every time I get into my Pathfinder, Sai, I greet him properly. Although I leave fingerprints all over the back door and affectionately tap the taillight compulsively, he still makes sure to bring me to any destination that I desire.
Now that's unconditional love.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Goals I Won't Ignore This Time
As I am perusing the old archives in a new fanfiction community I'm currently lurking in, I come across an individual with guts. Someone in her life dared the author of the BLOG Kids These Days Don't Know How To Move Slow to take a daily self portrait for a year. She does not go into specifics of the terms of this dare but she made the choice to post it for friends (and creepy stalkers like yours truly) to witness this unabashed picture taking. I'm impressed with her ability to make each photo different and not just in the angles but in the emotions expressed within each frame. In some shots she even looks like a completely new person! Even though she claims not to be a photographer, I am taken by her creativity and her self-assuredness to put such an intimate part of her on display.
And because of this brave soul, I have been inspired to follow in her footsteps. I am going to take this challenge that her work presents.
Me. The person who never comes out "quite right" in every picture she takes. Me. The one who for the past two times takes her license picture when wearing white so it washes out her complexion. Me. Someone who loathes the sight of herself in the bathroom mirror each morning (and I don't mean just the sight of what I glimpse as I turn to flush the toilet and a half naked me is squinting at my reflection as I reach for the handle...which I promise will NEVER be a self portrait I decide to take). What I do usually take is funny pictures but there's only so much comedy I can hide behind.
No, this time I'm for reals. This time I'm making a goal and actually sticking to it. One picture a day can't possible be that hard for someone as lazy as me right? Maybe this will strap me down and teach me discipline when it comes to deadlines. Maybe this project will kick my ass into finishing all the things I've wanted to accomplish in life whether it is writing a four part Fullmetal Alchemist fanfiction to something so trivial as actually putting my college degree to use. This is it folks because if I can't follow through on this then there is no hope for me ever completing anything.
Though I have to laugh, out of all the challenges I have come across, this may very well be the hardest. It is not easy to pay attention to something you don't really like half the time, let alone take an enticing picture of daily.
Day: One
Photo taken on August 2, 2010 in the afternoon inside The Surge at my desk.
I'm a pen chewer. I'm not sure how long I've been engaging in this ugly behavior but I'm pretty sure it started around the time I learned how to write. In middle school I fancied what I like to call "Magic Pens" that write like markers and if you hold it a certain way the ink strokes could be thin or fat making for a really cool effect. What isn't cool is the fact I suck on them so hard the ink comes out the top and into my mouth, staining the center of my bottom lip. That's when I switch to the Bic pens with see through cartridges which are also great until the day I nervously chew through it in math class and cut the inside of my mouth and have to spit out bits of plastic and blood onto the white linoleum floor of St A's. Now if you go to my house you'll find an assortment of pens in a tiki cup on my large desk and you'll quickly be able to discern which ones belong to me and which ones belong to my husband, Steve. My pen chewing has gotten so out of hand lately that I have to take pens from home in order to discourage my coworker's from lifting my writing utensils from my desk. So far it’s worked wonderfully.
And because of this brave soul, I have been inspired to follow in her footsteps. I am going to take this challenge that her work presents.
Me. The person who never comes out "quite right" in every picture she takes. Me. The one who for the past two times takes her license picture when wearing white so it washes out her complexion. Me. Someone who loathes the sight of herself in the bathroom mirror each morning (and I don't mean just the sight of what I glimpse as I turn to flush the toilet and a half naked me is squinting at my reflection as I reach for the handle...which I promise will NEVER be a self portrait I decide to take). What I do usually take is funny pictures but there's only so much comedy I can hide behind.
No, this time I'm for reals. This time I'm making a goal and actually sticking to it. One picture a day can't possible be that hard for someone as lazy as me right? Maybe this will strap me down and teach me discipline when it comes to deadlines. Maybe this project will kick my ass into finishing all the things I've wanted to accomplish in life whether it is writing a four part Fullmetal Alchemist fanfiction to something so trivial as actually putting my college degree to use. This is it folks because if I can't follow through on this then there is no hope for me ever completing anything.
Though I have to laugh, out of all the challenges I have come across, this may very well be the hardest. It is not easy to pay attention to something you don't really like half the time, let alone take an enticing picture of daily.
Day: One
Photo taken on August 2, 2010 in the afternoon inside The Surge at my desk.I'm a pen chewer. I'm not sure how long I've been engaging in this ugly behavior but I'm pretty sure it started around the time I learned how to write. In middle school I fancied what I like to call "Magic Pens" that write like markers and if you hold it a certain way the ink strokes could be thin or fat making for a really cool effect. What isn't cool is the fact I suck on them so hard the ink comes out the top and into my mouth, staining the center of my bottom lip. That's when I switch to the Bic pens with see through cartridges which are also great until the day I nervously chew through it in math class and cut the inside of my mouth and have to spit out bits of plastic and blood onto the white linoleum floor of St A's. Now if you go to my house you'll find an assortment of pens in a tiki cup on my large desk and you'll quickly be able to discern which ones belong to me and which ones belong to my husband, Steve. My pen chewing has gotten so out of hand lately that I have to take pens from home in order to discourage my coworker's from lifting my writing utensils from my desk. So far it’s worked wonderfully.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Not quite there yet.
Eventually I'm going to be coming over here, finally getting a big girl BLOG, but for now I'm still over at good ole Livejournal (is it a sin to say that over here? Eep!). I'm just preparing myself for the inevitable. One day I'm going to run out of gigabyte picture space over there and instead of paying for writing my drivel, I'll just move over here. Though I really don't know how creative I can be over here... seems there's no location icon or a place to tell you what music I'm currently listening to and how am I supposed to show you what mood I'm in without the help of lemons or anime characters? Will this place hinder my artistic ability? I know I can make a background which I'm already working on with my poor graphic artist skills but what else is so great about this BLOGging site? Maybe I can add a counter? Google analytics will actually work over here? I need BLOGger for Dummies.
The reason I'm here early is just so I could comment on someone's journal entry. They left me no choice, I had to join. I couldn't just ignore my compulsion.
So here I am. Kinda.
I'll be seeing you.
PS- I'm listening to All For Leyna- Billy Joel.
I'm hungry.
I'm at The Surge.
The reason I'm here early is just so I could comment on someone's journal entry. They left me no choice, I had to join. I couldn't just ignore my compulsion.
So here I am. Kinda.
I'll be seeing you.
PS- I'm listening to All For Leyna- Billy Joel.
I'm hungry.
I'm at The Surge.
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