I had a little accident this morning. I was eating a hard-boiled egg for breakfast and the salt shaker tipped. A little salt spilled on the table. Without thinking, I immediately, without pause, grabbed a pinch of the salt and threw it over my shoulder.
I have no idea why.
Yes, I threw salt over my shoulder, because … I threw salt over my shoulder because … uumm, you can be for damn sure no evil shall befall the ann-frank house for at least a fortnight as a result of split salt?
Clearly, I don’t know how to explain. It just felt right.
Yeah, I know. Trust me, I had never tried that before. I do not believe I have ever had the occasion.
Anyway, I had no idea I had such a superstitious streak. It’s a wonder I left the house on Friday the 13th. But do me a favor - if I start harvesting four leaf clovers or freak out when a black cat breaks a mirror while walking under a ladder, just point me to the nearest Old Wives Tale 12 step program and let’s take care of it, already.
But I am still not gonna open an umbrella in your house, okay?
Hey, know what?
I was planning on writing about several things and I wrote them down to remind me but it seems as though I left my crib sheet at work.
That is, somewhere on my desk, just waiting to be seen but curious coworkers who like to nose, is a tiny post it note with something like the following scribbled on it:
1. I never realized I spent so much time nekkid
2. What’s with all the Mohawks?
3. Can I get a damn sharpie?
4. Shit shingles
5. Dangling testes
Okay, so I know what #1 and #4 are in reference to. You know that construction on the awning outside my apartment I was talking about earlier this week? You know, the dudes with tools in my window? Well, let me tell you – one who lives alone doesn’t realize how much time one really does spend nekkid while getting ready in the morning until one walks nekkid into one’s living room and sees strange shapes outlined in one’s blinds and hears “hey Bob, where’s the extra hammer?” as the ladder shuffles outside the window sending one to run into the closet where there are no windows.
I mean, when one lives alone, why bother putting on clothes to grab something out of the next room when one exits the shower? I mean, really.
#4 is in reference to the ugly-ass shingles they are now tacking onto the once-a-nice-shade-of-green awning outside. They are apparently cedar, but look more like, redwood, these shingles. Which I am sure are very nice and sturdy and hold some sort of aesthetic value in Appalachia, but good grief, collectively, nailed to a roof? Ugly, ugly.
Earlier today, I bumped into the lady who runs the frou-frou chi-chi boutique below my apartment. She was outside enjoying the fresh air, having a smoke. We talked for a few minutes and the entire time an ash the size of Texas dangled dangerously from her cigarette and it made me extremely nervous as I wondered how long until that sucker broke free and set the stray cedar chips littering the street a blaze.
But I carried on.
“So, what do you think of the shingles?” I asked. “Gives the place a touch of the backwoods, no?”
“Looks better than before. It’s about time Larry [the property manager] took care of that shit. I’m not paying for it.”
So much the aura of the chi-chi frou-frou boutique manager mystique.
#2 on my list is simple: an odd Mohawk trend has started within my department at work. That is, one of the fellas shaved himself a Mohawk, and another fella has since followed. It’s only a matter of days ‘til we see another.
Look, I have nothing against Mohawks, but being 30 years old and spending your days working the 9-5 and your nights playing Tony Hawke on your PS2 does not a punk make.
I am sorry if this is you and I seem harsh as you are reading this. Go ahead and make fun of my old lady superstitions and me and whatever things you dig up in my archives and let’s call it even, ok?
#3: Can I get a damn sharpie? is also work related as I spent a good portion of my afternoon in meetings as my department discussed capital expenditures for the year [fancy-ass talk about how much money will be allotted for new work-toys]. Which means all of the video editors who work all day on their super-fancy-video-editing computers spent the time rallying for the super-expensive super quick multi-this and that illusion-fx-pack-image stabilization-plug- filmmaker's toolkit- mega-huge-byte-ram-memory-speed-thing-a-ma-bob system upgrades.
Which left me and my friend/boss/cube-mate Matt (yeah, officially, our business cards say we are “writers” which is totally open to interpretation, but means the standard Microsoft Word is like, our main software) trying to speak up over the cacophony of tech-talk with, “uum, yeaaah, our sharpies are getting really dull – can we order up a few dozen?” and the occasional, “Am I gonna get my Itoya Paper Skater Rolling Ball Pens, Extra fine, silver barrel black ink for, like, $12.95 a dozen or what? ”
Which leads me to numma 5 on my list of topics: dangling testes. It has to do with my beermates, actually - the 12% crew and some ideas that have been bandied back and forth about the “buttons” to put on our pages. So, it’s not all that important, but herein lies the fruit of my labor (because if anything - I have microsoft PAINT and image manager on my computer, bay-bee):
Those people are much fun.