OW! Why’d You Kick Me?
Let me back up for a second. It’s not that I AM a pain in the ass, but I can BE a pain in the ass.
Things you oughtta know about me. I …
- Have a mental “red pen” and compulsively edit my Twitter stream as it rolls past (and everyone’s Facebook statii, too, thank you Meg).
- Get cold when it’s 65 degrees out.
- Love baseball.
- Love hot dogs with tons of mustard, but can’t eat them. Stupid nitrates. (I make sure to address my mustard needs in other ways.)
- Am a chronic overanalyzer.
- Fall asleep, like clockwork, at 10:13. Yep. Every night.
- Am prone to verbal diarrhea.
- Cook like a sonofagun, often to obsession. You know. To relax.
- Am likely to trip over my own feet while walking across a flat floor.
- Am fiercely loyal.
- Work through things by talking them out (see “verbal diarrhea”, above).
- Speak with a drawl when exposed to South’rons for more than 15 seconds. Y’all.
- I LOVE grits (see “South’ron”).
- Need cupcakes to just GO. AWAY. And bacon. And bacon cupcakes.
- Am a perpetual “fixer” (note: this doesn’t mean you can call me to repair your toilet’s conoculator valve).
- Suffer from “OOH! Shiny!” syndrome.
- Wear stupidly high heels (doesn’t always go well with aforementioned foot-tripping).
- Compulsively change my hair color (currently, it’s black with deep purple highlights).
- Am deeply passionate about the loves in my life.
Most of these things are fine — endearing, really. Right? Maybe. I don’t know. But I digress. Each of these things is fine … individually. Sometimes, however, a couple of these qualities go rogue, join forces and form a sort of seven-headed Kraken-like beast that sucks the life out of people, places, and things by talking. Oh my GOD, the talking. I talk. A lot. Like, I can’t stop.
Where was I?
Right! Verbal diarrhea.
And being a pain in the ass.
Anyway. When there’s a problem, I instinctively want to FIX IT. I want things to be nice. Making things NICE is what I do. FIX! FIX! FIX! Hey! I know! Let’s fix it by TALKING!
And then I want to kick myself in the shins. Sometimes I think I ought to do it repeatedly.
But nooooooooo! I poke myself in the eyes to keep myself from kicking myself in the shins. Soon, it’s like a twisted, new romantic comedy entitled, “When The Three Stooges Met Sybil.” Maybe it’s not THAT bad. Wait. I’m talking again.
I did say before that this stuff is endearing, right?
I digress. And I promise not to digress anymore. Or regress. Or any other sort of “gressing” that there may be. What?
What I need — and am trying very hard — to learn is that not everything can BE fixed. Not right away, anyway. What I also often fail to realize is that not everything NEEDS to be fixed. Sometimes, it’s OK to just let things be.
Stop talking! STOP. TALKING.
The good thing, and something that the people who love me know, is that all of this mania is borne of a good place. It comes from caring deeply about things. I may be a bit of a knucklehead, but the upside to all of this is that if you find me acting this way around you, odds are that I really love you a LOT.
OW! (Getting kicked in the shins smarts).
And I’m done now. Wanna go somewhere and talk?