Persnickety

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Cracking

Friday, October 18th, 2013

I’m not what you would call a “festive” girl. Celebration isn’t really my strong suit; I’m better at “mourning with those who mourn” and all that. Show me heartache and a cozy melancholy, and I’ll show you a girl in her glory.

Of course, if you know me in real life, you know that this is all a little tongue in cheek. I’m not perpetually crestfallen or colorless; on the contrary, in social situations, I can be downright chipper.

But then again… it’s a tiny bit true. I feel an affinity with the sufferers, a kinship with the woebegone. I have a hard time making merry. It takes alcohol to make me dance. Convivial hullabaloo just isn’t really in my nature, and never is this more apparent than when it comes to holidays.

I have long held to the vow to never get a Christmas tree. I’ve actually said it: “I will never get a Christmas tree” (and… there fell an angel). I own zero Christmas decorations – nor Easter or Thanksgiving or 4th of July and especially not Valentine’s Day. No cornucopias on my dining room table, thank you very much. No wreath on my door, no green plastic grass in a basket, no Nativity set, no jack-o-lantern themed anything. Please don’t come caroling at my house. Please don’t make me dress up for Halloween. Listen to “Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow”? YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.

But deep down, I know that this isn’t my true disposition. As much as this stoic girl hates to admit it, I was meant to be a celebrator. Scratch the surface, and you’ll see that my iron will is desperate to break. And I think it’s starting to happen.

The other night, I was at the grocery store and saw a bin of pumpkins. Before realizing it, I was inspecting them one by one and thinking how nice and autumnal it would feel to buy one. And then I did. I chose a pumpkin, paid for it, and brought it home where it’s now gracing the center of my table – a DECORATION to commemorate the SEASON. If that doesn’t scream “gaiety” I don’t know what does.

I am grateful for the people in my life who force me to celebrate. I recently told Mel that if I ever get married, I’m going to elope – and without skipping a beat, she said, “Great, I’ll come,” a lighthearted refusal to sanction my rejection of a party. I have friends who commemorate occasions with gusto and mirth, declining my own decline, enveloping me into the fun.

And little by little, my hard shell is starting to crack into a jack-o-lantern grin.

pumpkin

My [perhaps not justified] opinions

Thursday, October 20th, 2011

There are certain words and phrases that I do not – and will never – allow in my vocabulary.

The first thing is using “boo” as a term of endearment.  I have plenty of sweet, intelligent, fabulous friends who call their friends and/or significant others “boo,” and while I still love them, every time they do, I die a little inside.  You might argue that this is because I don’t have a significant other (thank you for the reminder), but trust me – the minute I’m no longer between boyfriends, I will feel just as strongly as I do today.

The next thing is calling a girl friend “lady.”  I think that my least favorite way to be greeted is “Heeeyyyyy, lady!”  This happens all the time.  ALL THE TIME.  If you’re a girl (or, as a friend reminded me the other day, a gay man), start listening for it – and just try to not cringe.

When Americans fly to Europe – specifically the UK – and they say they’re going to “hop the pond,” I’m torn between a strong desire to roll my eyes or to punch them in the face.  It’s not a pond, it’s the Atlantic Ocean.  I can’t think of a really good reason for me to get so worked up about this one, but it just bugs me, okay?  It reminds me of that oft-used Australian phrase, “Let’s put another shrimp on the bar-b!” that probably no one in Australia has ever actually said.

I will never shorten “totally” to “totes.”
Or “adorable” to “adorbs.”
Therefore, “totes adorbs” shall never pass my lips.

I probably have a ton of other words and phrases that I could find something wrong with or annoying about, because as my family can well attest to, one of my most natural states is “opinionated irritation.”  And maybe I’m getting all hot and bothered for no good reason, since, hello – they’re just words.

But so far this morning, I’ve had to clean up dog poop from the carpet and then kill a spider that I found CRAWLING UP MY SWEATSHIRT, so I think I should be allowed to simply mention some words that annoy me.  I don’t know how one justifies the other, but it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.

Update: purse

Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011

Some of you have been asking about my search for the ideal purse.*

Listen, all I want is something dark brown and genuine leather, with no silver buckles or gold chains, small enough to carry into a bar, but large enough to lift a bottle of wine from a wedding reception. That’s all. And I can’t find it.

*Total lie. No one has asked. I wanted to talk about it anyway.

I trust you, blog-readers.

Wednesday, January 12th, 2011

I have a confession: I have never listened to Mumford & Sons.

I know.  They’re, like, all the rage these days.  But I don’t even know what they sound like.

Everybody loves them and will probably murder me for not being on the bandwagon already.  Who knows – maybe if I heard them, I would promptly die of love anyway.

Julie tells me that one of my strong suits is the fact that I know what I like, I know what I need, and I know how to say no to things that don’t fall into those categories.  Other people tell me that this makes me a boring, prudish, unenlightened killjoy – but then again, they just promptly earned themselves a place on my List of Things I Don’t Really Like.

Other things on my very short List:
– Watching sports
– Going out to lunch
– The Twitter

But really.  I’m trying to be more OPEN.  Should this list actually be called the List of Things I Don’t Really Like (Even Though Maybe I Should)?  Tell me the truth.  I’ll believe you.

And if you tell me to listen to Mumford & Sons, I’ll do it. You have the power.

Pillow talk

Thursday, May 27th, 2010

I ordered a $39 throw pillow from Home Decorators Collection.  They charged me $15 in taxes and shipping.  It arrived and was ugly, so I sent it back.  UPS charged me $12.04 for return postage.

Returning items via mail always makes me nervous – I hope they credit my card like I asked them to.  Otherwise, I have just spent $66 on something that Becca said I could have gotten “from a grandma’s house” and I don’t even have anymore.

I think I might try for these Pottery Barn babies next:

Then again, I’ll need to wait and see if I’m refunded for the ugly pillow first.  That was all the pillow money I had.

Surely you are bored by now.  I’ll stop here.

Couches and men

Thursday, January 28th, 2010

You’re dying to know about the Great Sofa Hunt.

Here’s the thing: I wish that I could be content with just any couch.  But if there is one word to describe Annie Parsons, it is “particular” – just ask my poor parents who have watched me for 1 score and 7 years (often with much chagrin – sorry, Mom and Dad).  I am so persnickety, it’s appalling.

Because I don’t have a lot of money, one would think that I would be happy with whatever might get tossed my way – but nay, I say to thee.

NAY.

Because I don’t have a lot of money, that is ALL THE MORE REASON to invest my dollars wisely.  It might not make a lot of sense, I know, but here is my line of thinking: why spend $200 dollars on something heinous that will make me miserable and ashamed every time I lay my poor, unfortunate eyes on it when I could spend $1,000 on something that will make my heart burst with sprinkles?  I would rather pay more money once than less money what would wind up being multiple times.

The obvious trouble is that I usually do not have confetti-inducing funds just lying in a manila envelope under my mattress.  If I did, I sure wouldn’t be driving a 20-year old Honda Accord – but then again, that’s EXACTLY why I’m driving a 20-year old Honda Accord.  I could go out right now and buy a 1993 Saturn (no offense, if that’s you), but why would I do that when what I really want is keyless entry and seat warmers?  It’s worth waiting for.

Does this make sense to anyone but me?

In other words, I am still couchless.

And single, as it were.

There are probably some parallels there.