I blog gluten-free

Sunday, August 29, 2010


 I've had occasions of late to wonk myself in the head. 
1)I adore natural foods and cures. Truly! I don't necessarily like a hard-sell, like that freak who was in late-night infomercials, discussing bathroom matters (And looking rather gross and fetid himself) and the erroneous, and TMI information about John Wayne's internal parts. Tune in at about 4AM when you can't sleep. Natural cures THEY don't want you to know about. OK, dude. Calm yourself. There's a huge network of THEYs keeping you from knowing about aloe for sunburns? If there really bloody were a THEY, I wouldn't have been subjected to a massive, TMI, TL;DR mini-book, about curing Baby's pinkeye without drops... but rather, by giving the little squirt a little squirt- of Lac-De-La-Mammary. (Note: The author passed 7th grade French, by a margin the width of a hairpin. I can tell you to shut your mouth, order chicken with wine sauce, and ask where the bathroom is.) Mind you, I have absolutely nothing against breast feeding or the breasts themselves. Both are lovely. I am a former infant nourished on expressed milk and high-calorie formula myself. I also am a fond member of the Feel Your Boobies Club, or as they say en Francois, Le Club Feel Your Boobies. Fancy, no?
But for God's sake! Keep some things private! THEY, feel free to keep that pink eye remedy away from me. It's almost as bad as the old cure, Mother's Spit. Wake up, position yourself, and hock one into the kid's affected parts. Oh, no.
2)But, I am often fond of reading up on old superstitions and cures.
When I move, I hope to have someone sweep my threshold to eliminate any bad spirits. (I am considering Holy Water.) Not because I'm superstitious (If I were, the number of black cats I've crossed of late, and the fruit bats  that befriended me, (and scared me nearly out of my pants when I flicked a light on- NOSEDIVE!) But because I want to feel safe. Anything to reassure myself. After all, it's the first "ME-Me-Me" house, not sharing it with roommates or boyfriends or husbands... and I feel scared as well as excited. But I will not make "Special Love Me Tea" or save toenail clippings, or whatever. But we must learn from the past, or we are doomed to repeat it. Remind me NOT to read up on death rituals, masks, and postmortem photography late at night, by the way. I think spending a night in the Mutter Museum would have scared me less.
3)For the love of all that's holy... I love suggestions on decorating. But asking people for things I might not need, or that YOU want in my place, that I am not sure are needed (Suggest, don't order, please) scares me. That's why I finally shouted "All right! Screw what I want! I wanted yellow and maybe a soft pink- if it could be put in gracefully and not oh-ew-Pepto Bismol Pinkishly, to go with the light oatmeal/sand-colored carpet and the white walls. I have a bed. I don't want Grandma's. I know, she didn't expire there, but it's uh... creepy. It'd be like sleeping in a coffin for me.
4) And I bought a bed for my birthday last year. SOFA, woman, think sofa! Oh, wait, I have a loveseat from a friend. Great. I'm 5'5". Oh, wait, I curl up anyway. I know it's a small place, but uh.. seating! A saucer chair or something cozy?  Or 2 or 3 if cheap, and able to be folded. A desk? Yeah, that I'll need. And please! For heaven's sake, help me, don't hinder me! If I mention pink, don't screw up your nose. If my nephew, who loves orange, gives me something in that color, do I do that? NO! I'm easy-going, and like the softer shades. I am not fond of green if I can help it. I know...560SQ feet ain't much (more than now however) but I've lived in far smaller.
5)Please, for God's sake, there are some things you DON'T have to tell me, because I can read, or because I'm willing to find out. Please! If it sounds blatantly obvious, or if you SAW me read it, don't repeat it to me, if there's a lull in the conversation. Now if it's verbal, and they go too fast or are too soft, I may ask for a repeat, ask for a written version, or look to you to translate. Then, don't speak it back to me like I'm a bad, stupid child. And don't KEEP repeating it. It makes me willing to "disobey" just to get my comeuppance.
Thank You.
6)If it's a Sunday, don't send people I barely know along with strangers, to see the old house for a second time. I don't like people shoving, and if you recall, the last person who wanted to buy, treated me shamefully and has left me scared of future buyers, and male strangers. But, I have to play Little Miss Susie Homemaker. Don't think I won't tell them everything that's wrong with the place, for my own personal pleasure. I'll also exaggerate some things. Like, did you know an old man died in this house? Well, kind of. He had breathing issues here and died at the mailbox. Why? I don't care. I could care less, if it burned to ashes, once I was out. Because after so many shitty events here, I quit giving a damn.
*I am not generally the type to get this pissed. But I don't like people forcing themselves on me. I did not get asked about some things, I was told "This is how it's going to be".
I don't actually LIKE being annoyed. It annoys me.