Mishmash Hodge-Podge of Flim Flam

It is never okay to sport a mullet, unless you are a two-year-old with unfortunate hair and/or my niece Sophie.


I strongly believe that roughly 69.732% of all health problems and chronic diseases would be eradicated if people faithfully took enough magnesium, essential fatty acids, B vitamins, and probiotics.


Earlier I could not think of the word for someone who constantly believes they are sick; I just knew it started with an M. Turns out the word is hypochondriac.


Thousands of potentially curable cases of mercury poisoning are misdiagnosed as Alzheimer’s in this country every year. I recently learned that of a sampling of random fresh- and salt-water fish, 100% contained some level of mercury. How ironic is it that fish has always been touted as brain food?


I am a supremely indignant driver. If I learn that you text while driving, I will give you a stern and overly sanctimonious lecture.


Being in a car is sort of like being online. Other drivers become one-dimensional, and you behave in ways that you never would normally if you met these people outside the confines of your vehicle. I have raucously honked at people for cutting me off in traffic, but if the same thing happens in the toothpaste aisle at Target, I graciously smile and offer a pleasant “Oops, I’m sorry, am I in your way?”


I have plenty of will power. It’s won’t power that I need more of.


At work if I wash my hands and only quickly dry them so they are still slightly damp, it is that point at which I will run into my boss’s boss and he will greet me and extend his hand. There is no discreet way to finish drying my hands, but there is also no appropriate way to work into the conversation that my palms are really not sweating profusely either.


One of the bathrooms at work has a toilet with such low water pressure that you invariably have to flush twice. I hate using this bathroom. I just know that whoever is waiting outside the door is broadcasting to the rest of my coworkers that I’m a Repeat Flusher.


When my boss uses the number keypad on her keyboard, it looks like a tarantula trying to do DDR in slow motion. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable.


If I was stranded on a desert island and a genie granted me three items, I would choose the following:
• Google. Is there anything more annoying than trying to think of something and being unable to look it up? How am I supposed to build a shelter and find food when I’m preoccupied with trying to remember where the 'i' goes in the word palliative?
• My iPod. Nothing drives me crazy faster than an annoying song stuck in my head, and it's not going away if I don't have something else to listen to!
• Floss, because let’s face it- there is no good substitute for floss. And I had popcorn and peanuts during the in-flight movie shortly before the plane crashed.


I missed a connecting flight by one minute in the Houston airport. They had just shut the door when I came screaming up to the gate. Of course it was the last flight of the day and I had to spend the night in a hotel. I always pride myself on flying light, so I only had my wallet, which contained my Visa, ID, iPod, chapstick, eye drops, and about $7.. almost enough for a pop at the hotel where I stayed. I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed myself at that hotel. I was roughing it, and surviving to boot. That's when I knew I would have made a good boy scout.


There are certain words that just sound outlandish after being rapidly repeated ten times. Included in this list: ‘each’, ‘discuss’, and the name Lois.


Try to tell me that you haven’t ever once struggled to spell the word ‘of’.


Every time I go to the grocery store, I push my full, squeaking cart all the way down an aisle, fighting to keep it from perpetually veering to the right, when I come upon a Label Reader. Although her cart is parked on the right side of the aisle and she is standing equidistant from her cart and the shelves opposite, she thinks that shifting her weight from one leg to the other will leave me enough room to pass. I usually hover passive-aggressively for a good ten seconds, then I push my cart forward just slightly, hoping a loud squeak from one of my wheels will get her to look up. She somehow fails to notice that I have not passed by yet, and I end up having to do a five-point turn to get my cart turned around. All I want is a quick glance, a muttered apology, and wide enough berth to pass. ARGH.


I was the perfect parent until I had a kid.


People who like country music hate rap music, and people who like rap music hate country music. People who like anything else hate both country and rap.


Why is it so hard to write a thank you? If someone came up to me and said “Hey, I’ll give you $5 if you write a thank-you,” I would jump at the chance. The gifts I have received in my life have been worth far more than $5, and yet I struggle. Once I start writing it, I find that it comes easily, and I certainly don’t have trouble addressing and stamping the envelope.. so why is it so hard to start??


I love the smell of a wet garage. It’s hard to explain. I also love the smell of a car wash. Other smells I love: bleach, burning ditches, and, unknowably, the smell of a certain brand of cigarettes. I don’t know which brand, but I know it when I smell it.


I used to have a fascination with straws. I’m not exactly sure why, but I think I equated a straw with being out to eat or something. One time at Valley Fair I saw a straw laying on a table, and I grabbed it. I was probably ten years old. For whatever reason, I inhaled to clear the straw rather than blowing out. I tasted what I knew could only be beer. I got a little nauseous on a couple of the rides, which made me realize I was drunk, and I was so scared that my mom and dad would get mad at me. Needless to say, my interest in straws subsequently waned.


A wise philosopher once asked, “How can someone’s favorite Starburst flavor NOT be pink?” And while I think this is a legitimate question, I think it’s important to note that some of the time my favorite flavor is orange.


Starting a sentence with “I’m going to be honest with you” not only has the opposite effect you are intending, it also makes you sound like a corporate blowhard.


We used to tease Dad for being a slow driver. He was actually just a very cautious driver respectful of posted limits, which, now that I have a child of my own, I appreciate. I sure didn’t back then. We would crab loudly that we were the only vehicle on the highway that had bugs splattered all over the back.


If you ask my brother Scott for a limerick, this is the one he’ll give:
There once was a man from Calcutta
Who had a most horrible stutta.
He said, “Pass the h-ham,
And the j-j-j-jam,
And the b-b-b-b-b-b-buttah.”


My favorite thing to do in the whole world is put a puzzle together while drinking coffee with a multitude of cream and sugar and listen to a book on tape narrated by Michael Beck. Marcy and I did this all the time in high school.
**UPDATE** Marcy did not always do this. She also played Snood.
**MORE IMPORTANT UPDATE** I agonized over whether to use the word listen or listening. I still don't know which would be right. It's an awkwardly worded sentence. Forget you saw it.


At the risk of some pretty serious eye-rolling, I have to admit that the funniest people I know are my four siblings. When we all get together, at least one, if not all, of us will laugh until we squeal and cry uncontrollably. It scares small children, and even Scott a little.


If you want to see me vomit, all you have to do is brush your teeth in front of me and let the foam drip down your chin. When it has warmed to the temperature of your skin, suck it back in your mouth and swish it around. *SHUDDER* Scott has effectively scarred me for life.

I read in a magazine once that if you don't have chapstick and you are getting windburned lips while skiing, you just have to swipe the outside of your nose and rub it on your lips. Ready-made lip balm. Of course I made the mistake of telling this to everyone in front of my rotten, no-good brother-in-law Travis, and he has never let me forget it.


If you provoke my mom, she will affectionately say to you: "Oh, you're so dumb and ugly." My husband's eyes were the size of saucers the first time she said this to him.


If I am obeying the speed limit and you crowd me from behind, I will drive so impossibly slow that you will be convinced I am breaking all laws of physics. I have to go that slow; I'm so busy delivering a look that will turn you into a pillar of salt that I'm not watching the road.


Mom told me once that when they were growing up, Grandma Aggie told them that hitting each other causes cancer, so they never did it. I think that's a bit harsh. I'm going to tell my kids it causes acne. Then if that doesn't work, I'll graduate to cancer.


I can't help but grit my teeth every time someone says "I could care less," when they really mean to say they could NOT care less.