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Further proof I am an idiot.

21 Mar

There are some foods I love because of their texture: Tic Tacs would be one, banana chips another. I don’t even like bananas, but I love banana chips. Go figure.

One thing I like to do with banana chips is to put one in my mouth and wedge it between my upper teeth so it fits there snugly for a moment before I tap it with my tongue, breaking it in half and relieving the tension. (I know – this is vaguely pathetic. I can’t even believe I’m admitting this.)

Since you’re already cringing in horror at my revelation, I’ll take it one step further down the path of shame.

About a minute ago, I performed “Operation Wedge” and got a banana chip stuck in the roof of my mouth. Except, when I went to “tap and relieve” it, it wouldn’t break.

There is a fine line between enjoying a texture and imposing some odd tension on your palette, and freaking out because you think you’re going to need to have a banana chip surgically removed from your upper cleft.

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You can tell we’re related. And not just because of our humor.

11 Mar

In the middle of my otherwise stressful work day, I checked my personal email and found this gem waiting for me from my sister, who shares my sense of humor:

Last night I had my spinning class and was super gassy. I’ve never done this before, but last night had to go to the bathroom to let off a little pressure because I was getting crampy.  There were 2 girls in there, probably middle-school age.  I go whipping in (trying to hurry so I can get back to class), go in a stall, and though I tried to be quiet, end up ripping some of the largest, squealiest farts.  Then the girls started giggling.  I peed and then had some more gas, which was just as obnoxious.  They whispered and giggled some more.  I went out to wash my hands and figured I had to own it.  I said, “I know.  It’s nasty.  But I figure better here than in class.”  They couldn’t even look at me.

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I suppose this justifies kids owning cell phones.

24 Feb

When I was in second grade, a McDonald’s opened in my small, five-stoplight midwestern town. It was a pretty big deal, so pretty much the entire town’s population – including my mom, my seventh grade sister and me – turned up for the grand opening.

Middle school is not the time when you want your little sister clinging around, so Alicia did her best to ditch me and hang with her friends as soon as we entered the restaurant. My mom had other plans, however, so after securing our tray of food, she seated us at a table next to where my sister sat with her friends.

Alicia tried to ignore me. I tried to pretend I was part of her table. My mom tried to mediate, making us each a bit more accommodating of the other.

And then I went to the bathroom.

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News Flash: apparently when I’m sick, I’m cranky.

5 Feb

Admittedly, I was feeling rather sorry for my sick self yesterday when I reported on my recent experience at the library, so my tone was probably a bit more bitchy/whiny than pithy. In fact, it’s hard to be pithy when you’re sick.

Anyway, it wasn’t one of my funnier posts. Unfortunately, it drew a record number of hits, apparently because a librarian stumbled upon it and tweeted it out, presumably to an audience of other librarians. And in case you hadn’t made the connection: librarians read.

The link was teed up as, “These posts make me so sad. Another lost library patron…” which left me scratching my head.

Did the tweet mean that the library had lost me as a patron or that I was a clueless human being? Was my post sad because of how it was written or because of the service I had received?

(I re-read my post and was embarrassed that my self-pity had come across as a mean-spirited assessment of the librarian’s mental capacity.)

Then I saw that this same tweeting librarian was playing with the idea of offering a reward for non-librarians to write something positive about libraries. And the thought that librarians feel like they have to pay for positive publicity made ME sad. Because the truth is, I love libraries.

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Open mouth (write Christmas card), insert foot.

29 Jan

Look - there's a book about me!

I’m a bit old fashioned when it comes to letters – I like to write them, I like to receive them, and I tend to believe email is a poor substitute for any sentiment that isn’t really urgent.

So it’s probably no surprise that I take Christmas cards fairly seriously, carving out hours before the holiday to write them. (And yes, I actually write in my Christmas cards, following the example my mom set when we were growing up. It seems to be a disappearing practice.)

Except this year I made a mistake. I sent a card to one of my cousins and FORGOT to include one of her children in the greeting. I addressed the salutation to her, her husband and their son. No mention of the daughter. OOPS.

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