Obsessions, Undercarriages & the Id.

For the record, there's a car alarm going off in the distance. It's my fault. I kinda set it off.  And my bunny slippers are wet and I just slid across my kitchen floor. Cuz I ran through a snow bank while fleeing the scene of a crime. Long story.

Icicle bunnies!

Marvella was my best friend when we first moved to the states.  She lived a few houses down, and we would walk to school together. Marvella's mom would section her hair into these high-up-top pigtails. Her hair was short, so the ponytails looked like little puffy cotton balls. So I called her "Puffy".

She was the only schoolmate who wouldn't make fun of my bowl haircut, or my choppy English, or that I would wear the same shoes all year.  She's the only schoolmate my father would let visit (not that anyone else asked to), and we could sit on the porch and play if all my chores or piano or ballet or skating or whatever was finished.  I was so happy for her company but sometimes wondered why she spent so much time away from home. In retrospect, I think her home life wasn't the greatest and she just wanted to be away from it.

Whoa. Flashback. I had to get the bowl haircut because the school bully...what was her name...bah! I can't remember... Anyway, her minions held me down while she chopped off my braid.  So I had to get the stupid haircut. Which made it worse because I became the "fly lice chink".

That's crazy!

Okay, so Marvella. She had this constant compulsion to remove a person's nail polish using her fingernail. She would cradle your hand in her lap and painstakingly, patiently lodge her fingernail between the layers of polish and your nail bed, and get the polish off that way. This required intense concentration. She would lift your hand and study the layers of polish, determine the best angle to begin.  She barely paid attention to what I was saying when she was in "nail polish mode".  And if she was able to get the entire bed of polish off in one piece, she brightened with satisfaction and pride.

I mention this to offer that I'm not the only crazy person out here. 

So I don't know if it's because of the twenty seven polar vortexes we've had in the last two damn months, or if this is testament to my layered brand of insanity, or if I can assign complete blame to my old friend Marvella... but I've become completely obsessed with the piles of snow that gather behind the tires on cars and trucks. Namely, I'm preoccupied with kicking the piles of snow off. 

If the temperature is closer to above freezing, the pile is all slushy and not satisfying at all when I kick it because it just sort of slops to the ground like a slurpee. But if it's maybe 20 or below, the snow pile is packed and sturdy. And a good kick will knock it off in one piece. And then it sits there in a mold of the car's bumper and the car is finally free of the dirty pile of snow. Yay!  It's the weirdest release.

 

The act of dislodging a stockpile of snow with my foot gives me Marvella-ish contentment.

I'm constantly tempted.

As in...not paying attention to traffic because I'm staring at the stockpile on the car next to me.

As in...glancing around to see if anyone's looking before kicking a stockpile in a shopping mall parking lot.

 

Yep. Definitely my own brand of crazy. 

 

I stare longingly at cars I pass on the road, and will comment as appropriate for a married man at the Playboy Mansion...

"Oh, look at those babies."

"Now that is a thing of beauty."

"I'd like to get my foot all up in that!"

Wait, what?

 

Hey. You have obsessions, too.  Don't even give me that look.

I walked over to check on/harass my neighbor a while ago. I headed home (just now) thinking about blogging with nothing to blog about, and happened to take a gander at the snow pile on my neighbor's car.  And I saw it...

...the most GLORIOUS snow pile ever created!!! [echo]...

So of course I just had to walk back across the street and to her car, brace myself against the side view mirror thingy, and kick the pile.

And set off her car alarm. lol

I just ran home through the park. In my pajamas. And tripped into a pile of snow.

Okay, I had to stop typing for a sec.  Still laughing. I'm a horrible person.

She's probably looking for her keys.

The pizza guy who delivered pizzas to the audience at the Oscars on Sunday. Or the Emmys. Whatever it was. That was AWEsome. Edgar. How was he so calm? Where is this specimen? I will marry it now.  

 

I wonder if he's a Trekkie. 

 

While we're on awards, can Lupita Nyongo ever NOT be poised perfection? Every time I see her, I weep with jealousy over her beauty and those badass gowns I couldn't even pretend to wear.

Oh, to be a hanger
in that closet.

That robin's egg blue gown she rocked on Sunday was heavenly.  But the red Ralph Lauren cape gown she wore a few months ago? OMG. I weep. How can you not? It's a thing of beauty.

She can dress her ass off.  And she has silky smooth skin. AND she has zero fat on her body. That bitch.

For Iram: New store at Oakland Mall called "Manic" that sells a better quality. The white ones in the collage here...

Are below-knee versions of the ones I wore here:

Seriously, I had to leave before I bought something. Don't ever make me do that again.

 

Robot got a girlfriend for XMas. Did I mention that already?

I had this overwhelming need to do something selfish and primal and unplanned and unwise and not like me. It is apparently my body's new, grown up response to unnecessary stress. My body basically said, "oh yeah? Well, back at ya, bitch".

RoboPlaya!

I know this is all cryptic and scifi-ish. I confessed it in detail to a friend.  Okay, really, it was more like whining about it.  But my friend's indifference pushed me off the fence of humility and personal accountability and modesty and onto the lawn of narcissism and decadence.



That's not true. I can't blame one person's indifference for my life decisions. Ultimately, I did it because I wanted to. I wanted to be someone else for a change.

His indifference was the bird that landed on my head as I was trying to balance the fence that caused me to topple onto the lawn of narcissism and decadence.

Analogy much?

It could've ended badly. Really badly. Like...dead bad. I've never done anything like that before, and would have never made that kind of snap decision about something so serious.

Robot agrees.

But it ended up being the best, most selfish thing I've ever done.

I feel like a different person. Or renewed. Or something.  Like a soap opera villain.

It feels like I yanked that last part in me that was a girl, and became this me.

I'm a teeny bit closer to the woman I want to be.

 

And she's kinda awesome.