Thursday, August 26th, 2010
The song “I Love Paris” has been forever ruined for me by the Meg Ryan film, “French Kiss“. I cannot sing that song without compulsively adding “… because my love is theeeeere… with this slut girlfriend.” Thank you, Hollywood, for ruining that for me.
I may have mentioned this before, but I get the total heavies when I use a public restroom and the seat is still warm from the person before. How long was that person sitting there that it they warmed up the seat? Were they writing a book? Save it for home, sister. No crapping in Target. Unacceptable. Next stall.
Those ‘wacky, wailing, inflatable, arm-flailing tube men’ used by car washes and Radio Shacks to get people’s attention? Yeah, I hate those. Like hate those. I can’t look at them for too long; I must avert my eyes. Some people are afraid of clowns, though I think that’s pretty cliche now. I don’t know one person who says, “Oh, yeah, man! I love me some CLOWN!” Unless, they’re like Juggalos or something. I can legitimately say these things unnerve me. I won’t pee my pants or run down the block or anything, but I definitely would prefer they not exist.
I have 32 cookbooks, including mixology books (for cocktails). I don’t know that I’ve ever cooked one thing out of them. Maybe some cookies… but I always have these great plans to cook my way through various cookbooks, but really, I’d rather read the recipes than actually cook them. Cookbooks without pictures are lame. This one is my favorite.
And finally, I don’t like warm carrots or fresh green beans, in general. Spicy carrots, sure. But not hot, or warm. Or, at least, I’ve never had a warm carrot I was particularly fond of. I can eat raw carrots all day, but warm it up and I’m out. Green beans are hit and miss for me. If they’re fried and served with wasabi ranch like at Mo’s? Hell yes. But that kind of negates the purpose of a vegetable. I do like them canned, which I realize these days is a big no-no what with all the creepies in canned foods and sodium out the wazoo, but I just prefer the canned ones. Fresh ones are like eating pipe cleaners. Furry veg fail.
Welcome to my neuroses.