Nobody's perfect, right? That's what they say, and although I like to think I'm pretty darn close to perfect, I'm not. I guess. That's what I've been told.
In fact, I have a few habits that some heathens have pointed out can be construed as a tad bit ... annoying. I consider them endearing myself, but everyone's entitled to their own (misguided) opinion. Here are a few that have rankled people over the years:
1. I tend to correct other people's grammar. In public. Repeatedly.
Jason actually bears the brunt of this little habit, but I've done it to others. Here's a snippet of an actual conversation I had with a former friend:
Sally: I can only take so much. Blacken my eyes, break my ribs, fine. Irregardless, when he raised his hand to my 18-month-old, I decided enough was enough. I called the cops.
Me: Oh. My. God. How many times do I have to tell you "irregardless" is not a word?
She's not speaking to me anymore. I'm happy to report she did get that guy arrested and went on to meet a wonderful man who treats her like gold. I've only met him once, at which time I reminded him there's no "t" at the end of across. They never invite me over.
2. My head is chock full of trivia about serial killers, and I'm happy to share.
Yes, I'm that person, the one at the PETA rally who reminds everyone that Charles Manson is also a big animal lover, or the woman at the barbecue who announces that Jeffrey Dahmer used to hand out pulled "pork" sandwiches to his neighbors. I've read a lot of true crime, and for some reason, many of the minute details have stuck with me. I just have a hard time remembering that nobody really cares that Ted Bundy sometimes kept severed heads as mementoes of his crimes.
3. I am a serial flosser.
My dentist and I don't see this as a huge problem. I keep floss in my purse and have been known to whip it out whenever it's called for: in the movie theater, in a public restroom after eating corn on the cob, on the subway. I can't stand having anything stuck in my teeth, and certainly don't want to use a matchbook or my fingernail to get it out. That would be disgusting.
4. I can't stand to have my food mixed together on the plate.
You'll never find me ordering shepherd's pie off the menu, but if you serve me a plate of ground beef, corn, and mashed potatoes in neat little separate piles on a plate, I'm happy. However, if even one stray kernel of corn finds its way into the mashed potatoes, there it will sit, uneaten. Who wants their corn coated in mashed potato? Ick!
I don't even have a good reason for this. It might be indicative of mental illness.
5. I could get lost driving out of my own driveway.
I like to think that because my mind is filled with so much trivia that this is why I can't find my way to the KFC down the road without getting lost. (You know who else was a big fan of Kentucky Fried Chicken? John Wayne Gacy.) I've actually recognized landmarks when traveling through town because I've been lost there before. And don't tell me to use Siri or a GPS: they're not always right, you know. Just last week, Siri told me to drive straight on a dead end road, and now guess who has to pay the fees to have the Blackledge Golf Course reseeded?
There you have it: my complete list of nasty habits. Love me, hate me, I am who I am. And if you ever need to know what brand of sneakers Richard Ramirez preferred, I'm your go-to gal.
In fact, I have a few habits that some heathens have pointed out can be construed as a tad bit ... annoying. I consider them endearing myself, but everyone's entitled to their own (misguided) opinion. Here are a few that have rankled people over the years:
1. I tend to correct other people's grammar. In public. Repeatedly.
Jason actually bears the brunt of this little habit, but I've done it to others. Here's a snippet of an actual conversation I had with a former friend:
Sally: I can only take so much. Blacken my eyes, break my ribs, fine. Irregardless, when he raised his hand to my 18-month-old, I decided enough was enough. I called the cops.
Me: Oh. My. God. How many times do I have to tell you "irregardless" is not a word?
She's not speaking to me anymore. I'm happy to report she did get that guy arrested and went on to meet a wonderful man who treats her like gold. I've only met him once, at which time I reminded him there's no "t" at the end of across. They never invite me over.
2. My head is chock full of trivia about serial killers, and I'm happy to share.
Yes, I'm that person, the one at the PETA rally who reminds everyone that Charles Manson is also a big animal lover, or the woman at the barbecue who announces that Jeffrey Dahmer used to hand out pulled "pork" sandwiches to his neighbors. I've read a lot of true crime, and for some reason, many of the minute details have stuck with me. I just have a hard time remembering that nobody really cares that Ted Bundy sometimes kept severed heads as mementoes of his crimes.
3. I am a serial flosser.
My dentist and I don't see this as a huge problem. I keep floss in my purse and have been known to whip it out whenever it's called for: in the movie theater, in a public restroom after eating corn on the cob, on the subway. I can't stand having anything stuck in my teeth, and certainly don't want to use a matchbook or my fingernail to get it out. That would be disgusting.
4. I can't stand to have my food mixed together on the plate.
You'll never find me ordering shepherd's pie off the menu, but if you serve me a plate of ground beef, corn, and mashed potatoes in neat little separate piles on a plate, I'm happy. However, if even one stray kernel of corn finds its way into the mashed potatoes, there it will sit, uneaten. Who wants their corn coated in mashed potato? Ick!
I don't even have a good reason for this. It might be indicative of mental illness.
5. I could get lost driving out of my own driveway.
I like to think that because my mind is filled with so much trivia that this is why I can't find my way to the KFC down the road without getting lost. (You know who else was a big fan of Kentucky Fried Chicken? John Wayne Gacy.) I've actually recognized landmarks when traveling through town because I've been lost there before. And don't tell me to use Siri or a GPS: they're not always right, you know. Just last week, Siri told me to drive straight on a dead end road, and now guess who has to pay the fees to have the Blackledge Golf Course reseeded?
There you have it: my complete list of nasty habits. Love me, hate me, I am who I am. And if you ever need to know what brand of sneakers Richard Ramirez preferred, I'm your go-to gal.
Charles Manson: protector of animals. Just not people.
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