I like to worry about things. Stupid, irrational, improbable things. I always have to check to make sure doors are locked, ovens are off, and irons are unplugged, or I’m positive that the house will be full of burglars trying desperately to escape as our house burns to the ground, all because someone forgot to put away a curling iron and double-check (triple-check?) the deadbolt.

As I sit here, theoretically doing homework on campus, I’m instead BLOGGING about my PARANOIA. Good thing I brought my laptop to increase my “productivity.”

I knew that there was a 70% chance of rain today, but I also wanted the chickens to be able to go outside so they could kick around in the mud and cockadoodledoo for the ever-appreciative neighbors. The outdoor part of the coop doesn’t have a roof, and the chickens are kind of ditzy (see also: stupid) and forget that they can go inside when it starts raining, opting instead to stand there sopping up the raindrops. We ended up stringing a tarp up, which seemed to kill two chickens with one stone: they can go outside, and they won’t get wet. Now, however, I’m paranoid that while I spend the next 10 hours at campus, the tarp is going to be filling with water, getting really heavy, and screwing up the structural stability of the coop. When I get home, I’m expecting to find a collapsed coop, where all the chickens are either running amok in the forest and getting eaten by predators, or smooshed under the tarp.

My other paranoia of the moment has to deal with the garage door. Our new house doesn’t have one of those safety garage doors with an electric eye like the old house did, and even though people have managed to LIVE FOR DECADES without safety garage doors, and even though I myself used to have one of these very death traps and would even run under it WHILE IT WAS CLOSING, I’m still paranoid about it. I’m busy worrying about a scenario that my “Safety First!” brain has concocted whereby I didn’t close the interior garage door tightly enough (even though I checked it like 3 times), the cats escaped into the garage, and as we drove away, got CRUSHED UNDER THE GARAGE DOOR, all because I didn’t watch the garage door close all the way.

All in all, I can’t wait until we install the fancy, new, technologically-advanced Genie garage door opener that we bought at Lowe’s. The funny thing is, when we did have a safety garage door, we’d forget to watch it close and then get paranoid about whether or not we actually closed it, and if we did, whether or not there were any obstructions (broom handles, boots, errant ants) that might have gotten in the way at the last minute and made it pop back up again. So the burglars could get in. And turn the curling iron on.

I think there’s a term for this. I think it’s called OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER.

Number of times fallen down stairs in last half week: 3

Number of times stabbed self with steak knife while washing it: 1

House: 4
Kiki: 0

Chicken,

     What’s up with you? For the five years I’ve been vegetarian, I’ve always dreamed of the day when we’d be reunited. You’re the only meat I ever really loved (welllll, I wouldn’t turn down one night with a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, but you can’t hold that against me). I cheated on Vegetarianism twice to be with you, each time hoping that we’d be together forever, each time feeling nothing but remorse. But what gives? I’ve been trying to give you a chance, Chicken, really I have. I’ve been availing myself to you, nay, throwing myself at you, hoping to get lured back to the Dark Side. But Chicken, you have let me down time and time again. The following is my list of grievances:

Tuesday, April 18, 2006: As a post-birthday celebration (I wimped out on the actual day), I ordered my formerly beloved Chicken Makhni at the Indian restaurant near Alan with the REALLY CREEPY basement restroom. But you had no flavor! It was like eating TOFU. The sauce was okay, but the cubes of you? Totally flavorless.

Sunday, September 3, 2006: As a dare to myself, I ate a turkey sandwich. Okay, so it’s not exactly chicken, but you’re like cousins, right? Anyway: flavorless. Then I tried a piece of smoked turkey, which was better, but mostly because of the taste of the smoke. Boooor-riiiiiiing.

Monday, September 4, 2006: Fortified by my previous indiscretion, I took a bite when my mom offered me some of her Tandoori chicken. Not bad, really, but not necessarily that great, either.

Friday, September 15, 2006: On our way to the Al Gore movie (does anyone really call it An Inconvenient Truth?), we stopped at Taco Bell and I totally took a bite of my mom’s chicken burrito. It was a hell of a lot better than my bean taco, I’ll tell you that. This gave me hope, Chicken, hope for our future.

Monday, September 18, 2006: We got a rotisserie chicken at the grocery store, and I totally had a drumstick. That was pretty good! Except I forgot you have those weird rubbery cartilage parts.

     Okay, so maybe it’s not as bad as I might have thought. Man, I’ve had a lot of meat lately!

     But the real kicker was tonight, Chicken. I always vowed that when I started eating meat again, I’d order some Apple Almond Chicken. Mmm! Apples! Almonds! Chicken! How could it go wrong? My entree arrived and it looked good! But when I took a bite, I realized I was eating glorified French Toast. French Toast! For dinner! This was not chicken! It was chewy toast with pie filling! I feel very full, not of chicken, but of French Toast. Can you believe it?!

     So I have some gripes, Chicken. I thought you had some flavor! I will admit, listing my sins made me realize that you were pretty good Tandoori style, in burritos, and off a rotisserie, but just as many times, you let me down. I really wanted to leave Vegetarianism for you, but even those times we cheated didn’t really do it for me. This is a heads up, Chicken. You won’t get many more chances.

Disgruntled,
Kiki

An AIM conversation

Kiki: i think i’m gonna finally buy one of these scented dessert necklaces since the cinnamon rolls are finally in stock. want anything?
cupCAKE: mmmmmmmmmm
cupCAKE: looks good. let me look
Kiki: leslie makes amazing realistic scented polymer clay stuff
cupCAKE: holy fuck
Kiki: unfortunately she’s only in stock of cinnamon rolls, but i think that’s what i like of her stuff the best
cupCAKE: i fucking love miniatures
Kiki: i KNOW!
Kiki: her cake texture is AMAZING but i think i’d rather wear the cinnamon roll
cupCAKE: FUCKING CREAMPUFF
cupCAKE: MARSHMALLOW CREAM NIBBLE NECKLACE
cupCAKE: i fucking need one of these necklaces
cupCAKE: kiki, let me order it for you
cupCAKE: i owe you bday. I NEVER GOT YOU A GIFT
Kiki: no you don’t i probably didn’t get you your goods due to fact half the stuff i bought you turned out not to be in stock!
cupCAKE: from the depths of my MINIATURE HEART
Kiki: you totally got me a gift
cupCAKE: what was it?
Kiki: um
cupCAKE: shit
Kiki: i don’t remember, but i’m pretty sure you did
cupCAKE: they have fucking waffles and sandwiches
cupCAKE: how can i make up my mind
cupCAKE: i did not!!!!!
Kiki: also you got me the shirt!
cupCAKE: if there’s an ounce of truth you can glean from my fucking potty mouth
cupCAKE: it’s this:
cupCAKE: “i did not get you a fucking birthday gift”
Kiki: no i’m SURE you got me something. i’m sorry for not recalling exactly what it was, but it was GREAT
cupCAKE: grant me this ounce of satisfaction in my day
Kiki: let me buy YOU one. or we could buy each other one
cupCAKE: yeah, how about you buy me one for xmas
Kiki: okayyyyyy
Kiki: but i don’t want to wait until xmas O:-)
cupCAKE: i’m ordering yours now. make me real cupcakes instead
Kiki: you’re my suga sista!
Kiki: I LOVE YOU FOREVER
Kiki: YOU MADE MY LIFETIME
Kiki: THANK YOU A THOUSAND THANK YOUS
Kiki: YOU MAY HAVE MY FIRSTBORN
Kiki: thank you sooooooooo much!!!
cupCAKE: you better get busy
Kiki: get busy doing what? baking cupcakes for you?
cupCAKE: busy getting me a firstborn

A phone conversation

cupCAKE: Hey, have you talked to Tom lately?
Kiki: Yeah, he emailed me to tell me it was Talk Like a Pirate Day.
cupCAKE: He emailed you to tell you it was Talk Like a Pirate Day? Who DOES that?
Kiki: Alan did!
cupCAKE: He did? (She laughs.)
Kiki: “Who DOES that?” I wish I had done that. It’s Talk Like a Pirate Day!
cupCAKE: Talk Like a Pirate Day is so OLD. That was so like, two years ago.
Kiki: You’re over Talk Like a Pirate Day? It’s everyone’s chance to finally be a pirate!
cupCAKE (exasperated): I’m DONE with pirates. What about Talk Like a Caveman Day? Everybody likes pirates now. Skulls and crossbones are everywhere.
cupCAKE (insistent): It was over two years ago!

Let’s say you acquire a Lindt Lindor Truffle, the ultimate chocolatey, melty, swoony, roll-your-eyes-in-the-back-of-your-head-it’s-so-delicious treat.

You think to yourself, “I’m going to save this tasty morsel for a rainy day and tuck it in my purse!”

WRONG!

Do not, I repeat, do NOT store aforementioned chocolatey, melty, swoony, roll-your-eyes-in-the-back-of-your-head-it’s-so-delicious treat in your purse/pocket/glove compartment. You will forget about it until a week later when you wonder why there’s sticky stuff all over your wallet. And on your DS case. And in your ChapStick cap. And smooshed in your iPod EARBUDS. It’s chocolate, numbnuts, and it melted all over your bag.

Good thing it still tastes delicious!

If you need a few vegetables for a chili, the grocery store down the street with the hand-painted “CHEAPEST LIQUOR PRICES IN THE STATE” sign probably won’t have much of a produce section.

It will, however, have an excellent liquor section.

Best Idea Ever
Sign a petition to turn Leap Year into a national holiday called Pizza Party U.S.A.!

“Here’s how it works. First we ditch the whole ‘Do you want $3 of your federal tax to go to the Presidential Election Campaign Fund?’ thingie on income tax forms. … Instead, we add a checkbox that says, ‘Do you want $3 of your federal tax to go to PIZZA PARTY U.S.A.?!! Hell, yeah!’”

Worst Idea Ever
I’m too old-fashioned to get a credit card quite yet (I’d prefer to bury thousands of dollars in cash in a pickle jar in the back yard, grandma-style), so when I saw that my debit card was eligible for Visa Rewards, I said “Oh hell yes.” For every buck you spend, you get 1 point toward fabulous prizes. “Free plane tickets, here I come!” I gloated.

It turns out you have to spend like $200,000 to get a free plane ticket. The other prizes are still totally radical, though. For example, for a mere 1,735 points ($1,735, for those of you not so keen on ‘rithmetic), I could get a commemorative pin. Nonetheless, I persevered.

Then I found out that the only purchases that qualify are ones where you don’t have to type your PIN in. You have to type your PIN everywhere. Devious, VISA, devious! After a month of attempted points gathering, I realized that the only qualifying purchase I made was at 7-11. For a $1.05 Slurpee.

It’s going to take a lot of Slurpees to earn a commemorative pin.

I also realized belatedly that I forfeited my chance at a free Frappuccino when I stupidly paid my tuition with a check. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Interesting Fact
Blondes do have more fun. I cut my hair short months ago, but now that it’s Christina Aguilera blonde, people have been coming out of the woodwork to comment on it. What was I before, people, chopped liver? Bottle blondes and peroxide blondes, UNITE.