We're all a little weird

My friend, Cathy and I are challenging ourselves to write in our blogs with more regularity so we decided that each week we will assign each other a topic on Sunday night which is to be completed by Wednesday of that week. This week's assignment: something weird about myself that I can't explain.

Oh where to begin. I have my fair share of {shall we call them} idiosyncrasies, that's for sure. Probably more than my fair share but hey, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right?

I firmly believe that we're all a little weird. We all have our "things," and truthfully, I'm glad because we'd all be pretty boring if we didn't have some stand-out, er, qualities that make us unique. I shall let you in on a few of mine, so long as you agree that this is a no-judgement zone because remember, I know you have your "things" too - I'm just being challenged and prompted to share a few of mine:

1) Saying the Lord's prayer when taking off on an airplane
Every time I take off from a runway on an airplane, I shut my eyes and silently recite the Lord's Prayer to myself. Each and every time. Without fail. A little background: I was baptized in the Catholic church and raised Catholic until I was 9. I attended Catechism and was on track to take my first Communion. But the nuns and priests at my Catechism school (held after school hours) were not very nice to us students. Kids were hit with rulers (not all that uncommon), chastised for not knowing an answer and told they were stupid. When I told my parents this, I was pulled from Catechism (after they had a few words with the priest in charge) and we started attending a Methodist church instead. But apparently my Catholic upbringing reappears when I'm on an airplane and I must recite the Lord's Prayer to save my soul upon setting forth into the wild blue yonder.

2) Silverware in the dishwasher must not be alone in the rack
A lone fork? A spare spoon? No. Never. All silverware must be on the buddy system when in the dishwasher. Why? Because they'll be lonely. {see, this is where you don't judge me and remember how much you enjoy my company}

On that same thread...

2.5) A little old man eating alone in a restaurant will make me want to burst into tears
Ever since I was a very little kid, like three, I've really struggled with elderly people (especially little old men, because they seem so helpless or something, I don't know) eating alone in a restaurant. There they sit, all alone, no one to talk to, no one to cook for them at home. I begin to churn a story in my mind: their wife probably died a few years ago. They spend all their waking hours wandering through their empty house, watching memories of years past flit by like ghosts, and they wake in the night reaching out for their lost love. My active imagination is a blessing and a curse. According to my parents, when I was very little, I saw a little old man eating all alone in the restaurant we were at. I asked my parents why he was eating alone and apparently not satisfied with their answer, asked if I could eat with him or maybe he'd like to eat with us. I just want to take them home with me, make them a cozy place to stay and adopt them into our family. Forever and ever, Amen.

3) I'm a "checker"
Admittedly, I have OCD-like tendencies. One of these so-called tendencies is checking a locked door *probably* more than I should or is necessary. But my rationale is that I'd rather be a bit cray than forget to lock the door and have a break-in resulting in the loss of our precious pets. So I check. Often more than once. Sometimes more than twice. And yes, I have turned around in the car when several blocks away to check if the garage door really went allll the way down.
  
4) If I can't find something, I cannot rest until it's found
It's a problem and has resulted in the complete tearing apart of our home on more than one occasion. I cannot simply put it out of my mind and resolve to look for it later or adopt that quaint old adage of "when you stop thinking about it or looking for it, it will just appear." No. It will not. I must find it, and I must find it now. And most unfortunately, this scenario usually unfolds right at bedtime. This happened recently, in fact. It was 10:30 p.m. We were getting ready for bed and for whatever reason I thought to myself, "I wonder where Grandpa's jacket is." There was no going back: the seed had been planted. Surely I could remember where it was. I hung it up when we moved. But it's not there. And guess what? After careful examination of each of our closets, it's not anywhere. No, I didn't stuff it in a box. No, I didn't leave it in CA. I distinctly remember unpacking it and hanging it up. And with that, the hunt is on. Nearly 2 hours later, the precious (to me) heirloom is found and we find ourselves surrounded by all of the stuff we own. *sigh* Jason is a good sport.

5) I have a heightened fear of chicken in Mexican food
I got food poisoning from a chicken taco May of my Senior year of college. The experience has scarred me for life, and as a result I choose the veggie route with Mexican food whenever possible. Yes, I realize that not all restaurants are the same and it was "just the one time" but save your breath, it's over. It has been for 7 years.

6) I start getting excited about Christmas the day after it's over. No, like REALLY excited.
Most people know this about me already because I'm not ashamed or shy about it in the slightest. I LOVE Christmas. Really really. I am confident that I could rival a little kid on the level of excitement that I feel. When December 1 hits, I get Julie Andrews spinning around in an open field ala The Sound of Music excited. When the holiday decorations begin appearing in stores, the excitement is steadily bubbling. When Halloween arrives? Means we're 2 months away from Christmas. Thanksgiving? One more month. In short, all holidays and yearly milestones march us *that much* closer to the most wonderful time of the year. Picking out a Christmas tree is an event. It can take hours (and has). I'm like a freaking kid in a candy store, best shopping trip ever. Again, Jason is a saint. I simply love everything about the month: the music (HUGE Mannheim Steamroller fan), the food, the general good cheer in the air, the smells and decor associated with the season, but most of all, the family time. I must have inherited this extreme merriment in part from my grandma Lorraine, who loved the holidays and always tried her best to make it special and gather us "kids" all together. But I think I've surpassed her. The first part of December in 2009 was about 5 weeks post-heart surgery. I was in so much pain I had tears running down my face but it was tree decorating day and before I'd had surgery, I was so fearful that I'd never again experience Christmas (see, obsessed) so I was so thankful to be alive and it was Christmas-time and I'd be damned if a little bone healing pain was going to keep me from enjoying my day! So decorate we did, and when it was done, ahhh the feeling of joy. It was so worth it. So lovely. I love baking cookies, having holiday gatherings, decorating our home, and I even love filling out and addressing those holiday greetings. Okay, I have to stop talking about it because I could seriously write an essay and it's getting me all excited lol.

And last but certainly not least...

7) I believe inanimate objects have feelings
It's true. I do. And I blame this entirely on growing up with Toy Story. For instance, a van backed into my car when I was passing through a parking lot my sophomore year of college. My car was totaled and it broke my heart because I could vividly picture my poor little car alone and scared, confused and sobbing in the lot where all busted cars go (you know, like the junk yard from The Brave Little Toaster). It was horrific. I cried and cried. I feel guilty for packing away my stuffed animals from childhood. I feel awful for an abandoned cart in a grocery store parking lot, left far away from the store in a lonely corner, forgotten and forlorn. My heart is full of sadness for these lost, abandoned, inanimate "lifeless" things and I wish I could un-believe it but again, Toy Story won't let me.

So there you have it. Yes, it appears I am indeed a little weird. Join me, won't you?