Chirky

(This is a series in Weird Things About Me. Part One is here and Part Two is here.)

When alone in the car, some people sing. I talk. I’m very talky, incessantly chatting, always giving speeches and monologues and holding conversations. And it’s not even that I’m re-playing past exchanges in my mind. No, they’re all one-sided discussions that I’m making up as I go along, where I play both (or all) parts. And if I don’t like how my talks turn out, I go back and re-make them up with different endings. It is a sickness. Kind of like having an imaginary friend. (Except I don’t, I swear.) (Diana, I didn’t mean it. Don’t be upset.) (Ha, kidding!)

Usually I’m just playing through scenarios in my mind, bantering back and forth with myself about whether I really should buy those shoes or watch that movie or blog about my house remodel. Innocent enough, right? Until I started confusing my inner monologues with real conversations, that is.

A few weeks ago I attended a friend’s wedding. While sitting with friends at the reception, I noticed a girl a few tables away. I knew her, though I couldn’t figure out from where we knew each other. I sat, staring at her, thinking to myself: her name is Kelly. She’s a pediatric nurse. She has a kind of raspy, deep voice – but she’s never been a smoker. She’s very animated when she talks. Just then, she stood up to greet someone and I heard her voice - just as it had always been! - rise above the crowd.

I knew all this about her, like she was a long-lost friend. And the longer I watched her, the more annoyed I became because I couldn’t remember our connection. I started running scenarios through my mind, hoping that would help jog my memory. We played on a girls’ flag football team together. I could totally envision it, us sweaty and laughing and high-fiving. We went shopping together, and I could see us walking and talking at the mall, having met up after work. We went camping, sitting around the campfire and talking about the deepest things that somehow only campfires and forests and the star-studded sky can draw out.

I finally got up to go talk to her, momentarily distracted along the way with other friends, and when I got to her table she was – poof! – gone. I’m left with this imprint of her on my mind, wondering where she is and who she is and why I know all these things about her.

And – I’m sorry – but I just have to know if I’m alone with these neuroses. Because in my opinion, talking to myself is one thing. But making up friendships? That’s just weird.

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A conversation Roger and I had today, while standing on the property of a home our realtor had just shown us:

"It's YOUR job to look before you leap, and it's MY job to be impulsive!"

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To: Roger
Fr: Jes
This just sounds ridiculously cool.
And a little like I might need a barf bag.
Wanna go?
BodyWorlds Exhibit


To: Jes
Fr: Roger
The coolest thing about it is that it is REAL PEOPLE.
I wonder if it's death row inmates or something...


To: Roger
Fr: Jes
Ooooooh. Death row. You think?
Would we see where they were injected?
Or maybe a fried organ?
"I'd like fried pancreas with garlic butter, please."

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"I can not carry your phone and wallet and keys in my purse for you. You're just going to have to start carrying your OWN purse."

(This wasn't selfish of me, because I totally had a purse I could have lent to him.)

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"When I do this: 'gggguuuggglllrrrrrllllll,' do I sound sexy?"

"No. You sound like you are gargling with mouthwash."

"What about this: 'hhoooggggggllllllllllllll'?"

"Huh-uh. You sound like a cat gagging up a hairball."

"Uuggggggoooooorrrrggggllrrrrruhhlllllll. How 'bout that?"

"Now you sound like you're trying to hock a loogey."

"Roger! I'm trying to purr at you. Are you sure I don't sound sexy?"

"I'm certain."

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"Why are you wearing those exercise leggings?"

"Because I was thinking about exercising, so I put them on."

"And pulling them on wore you out, so you spent the rest of the evening on the couch watching TV?"

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As part of Project: Stay Out of Debt, I rarely go shopping for clothes for myself. Or, let me rephrase: I occasionally go shopping for clothes for myself, I rarely actually buy any thing that I find.

Roger and I have "fun money" built into our monthly budget so that we can buy anything we want without having to first ask the other. Within reason, I mean. If Roger spent $5,000 on a new tv without first discussing it with me, that might be an issue. But if he calls me every time he wants to buy a book? Or a CD? Gah.

Sometimes when I go shopping, nothing fits. Other times, I have good shopping days. Nay, great shopping days. Everything fits! Everything is cute! And on those days, I hate telling Roger how much I spent over my fun money budget. Because then I feel like I'm confessing to a priest, and frankly? I feel a little guilty. (And oddly justified because: clothes that FIT me!)

Today was that day.

"Sweetie!!!!!!"

[When I talk to Roger, I usually begin the conversation with a high-pitched greeting, one that typically omits or alters certain consonants so that it ends up sounding like "Seeeeeeddddddddiiiieeeee!!!!!!" and it always has just that many exclamation points. Sometimes more.]

"I went shopping on my lunch break. I bought a skirt. It was $12.99." [This is my way of easing him into the news.]

"That's great, babe."

[Encouraged by his good nature, I continue.] "Ummmm…I also bought a pair of pants."

"Oh, gosh. I can see where this is going. Just give me the bottom line and tell me everything you bought."

[Giggling.] "Okay. I bought a skirt, and two pairs of pants, and a shirt. And a cookie cutter. But they're all neutral colors and will go great with so many things and will totally be great if I get that new job, or even if I stay in this one! I mean, I don't even own a navy skirt, and the pants are that kind of material that…"

"A cookie cutter!? Why do we need that?"

"Because one day we might have kids who want cookies at Easter-time, and it's shaped like a bunny. For Easter."

"Is that all?"

"I also bought two necklaces. They're soooooo cute! I can't wait for you to see them. One is black and has lots and lots of strands and buckles in the back with a little crocheted button. And the other has different shades of turquoise stones and is in three different layered lengths, and I really think it will look soooo cute with a black tank…"

"Well, I'm glad you have some things that you're excited about wearing and that you feel good about."

"Okay. Me too. Talk to you later!"

I think that went well, don't you?

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"I think those pants are a little tight on your stomach - you should have gotten the bigger size."

"I think they fit just fine."

"You have a muffin top."

"Sweetie, if I am a muffin top, what are you?"

::pause::

"I'm a popover!"

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"Citrus is good to put down the drain. It's like giving mouthwash to the garbage disposal."

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"A bunch of us are going to try the Beyonce Master Cleanse diet starting today and we're going to do it for the entire week. Want to join us?"

"Hmmm. Well, I've kind of already done that one."

"Oh." [Looks at me.] "So...the diet doesn't work?"

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"I have to pee."

"..."

[whines] "But I'm so warm in bed. I don't want to get up because then I'll be cold."

"..."

"Will you sit on the toilet to warm it up for me?"

"NO."

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Six years ago I spent a summer in Asia. One of my favorite memories from the time I spent there is of a conversation I had with a Chinese national, Pixie (my nickname for her). Pixie and I met after she bought a beancurd icecream. I was staring at her as she ate it, simply because I had never witnessed anyone eating frozen bean ice cream before, and she came up to me and asked, "Do you want to be my friend?" I marveled at her vulnerability and was flattered by her sincerity. I was so curious about her that I agreed, "Yeah! I'd love that!" And soon, I found myself meeting new nationals and asking them if they wanted to be my friend.

Summers were hot - really, really hot, and I don't think a day went by that I didn't wish I could strip and jump into the nearest water fountain, or lake, or puddle on the street - whichever was closest. And although I probably lost ten pounds by sweating alone, I still exercised. Many mornings my "exercise" consisted of meeting at the campus basketball court and humiliating myself among the locals who congregated to practice Tai Chi.

One afternoon Pixie and I were walking around our university's jogging track, discussing movies and watching men in three-piece suits running laps. She told me about a movie she watched with a girlfriend a few nights before, and asked if I had ever heard of it: The Quiet Sheep. She said it was a popular American movie, and I was surprised that I had never seen it or even heard of it. She went on to tell me how frightening the movie was, and as she continued chatting I realized she was talking about the movie The Silence of the Lambs. I started laughing and explained to her the inaccurate translation of the movie's title.

Asian countries have become well known for their funny translations of English phrases. I am convinced that translators do it on purpose. For example, when I was there I found a green mug with the Starbucks logo, except the "b" was replaced with an "f." In retrospect, I have NO IDEA why I didn't buy it on the spot. Many food packages, clothing, and way-finding signs boast flawed translations and have given birth to websites dedicated to finding such products. When I returned to Denton, TX from my study abroad, I found a website that quickly became a favorite during those frequent bouts of insomnia.

I recently received an email from my cousin, who works for an oil company in Houston. Part of her job involves reviewing documents that were originally written in Italian and then translated to English. Because she knows my love-hate relationship with grammar, she sent me this sentence from a recent document she was reading:

"The aim is to supply to the Procurement and Technical Dept. a tool providing in an easily and synthetically way the evaluation of performances of the Vendors and, at the same time, identify and keep under control Vendors with negative performances."

The editor in my wants to whip out my red pen and scribble all over that horrible sentence. But another part of me is in love with it, with the translation, with the person who thought that sentence was acceptable. And I think that part of me - that loving part - is why I so desperately want to move overseas again.

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"Why don't you watch Alias tonight while I work in the office?"

"Ok. And I promise I'll try to be patient and kind when you interrupt me, because I know that you will, and it almost seems like a sin to press pause when I'm so into it."

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"That's 'cause we compliment each other."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying I don't have much of a bottom back there and you do have much of a bottom back there."

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I am sleeping.

Noise.

Startled, I sit up in bed and try to assess the origin of the noise. I look at the clock. 3:45 a.m. Roger is sleeping. Noise continues. My brain, functioning slower than it did my drunken freshman year of college, realizes the noise is my cell phone, ringing, in the kitchen.

I stealthily leap out of bed, allowing the wall to break my fall. Jes: Careful not to wake Roger! Naturally, I ram into the doorway and then knock over most of the crud on the bar in an effort to find my cell phone and SHUT. IT. UP.

I don't recognize the number, and wonder whether it is a wrong number or if something terrible has happened and someone is calling me from a payphone at Baylor Hospital downtown. But then, I don't know many people without cell phones, so it probably wasn't a pay phone. But then, cell phones don't always work in the ICU, so maybe it was a pay phone. Or at least the nurse's station.

I half-whisper and half-demand, "Hello?"

Continue reading "Simon: You have very, very challenged friends." »

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"Uggghhh!! I'm SO FULL my stomach wishes it could turn itself inside-out and smear itself across the grass!"

"That's disgusting."

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"One thing I've come to realize after almost two years of marriage is...just because something is true doesn't mean you have to say it."

--Roger

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"Your hair looks pretty, Sweetie."

"I look like Cousin It!"

"No, you don't. You look a lot sexier than Cousin It."

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"Are you going to look at my belly button?"

"Mmhmm."

"I don't think there's anything in there."

"I could knit an afghan with what's in here."

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I went shopping for jeans this weekend, and oh: how I lament that decision. I hate shopping for jeans. I visited about eight different stores looking for some and NONE of them fit me. I'll have you know that I didn't try on just one style of jean at each store. I walked into each dressing room with somewhere between 3-8 different styles. That's a lot of jeans!!

I've discovered that there is only one acceptable female figure for jeans. I know this because even though the "styles" were different, they all fit the important parts of me exactly the same. Forget the bootcut, straight, or tapered leg openings. Forget the natural, low-rise, or ultra-low-rise waistlines. I'm more interested in how they look on my thighs, hips, and butt.

I affectionately call the predominant female figures "stick legs and no butt." Do you hear me, Levi? Do you hear me Gap? Do you hear me, jean designers?

My mom has stick legs (sorry to single you out, mom). My brother got my mom's body, in that he is thin and wiry (but very muscular). My dad, on the other hand, is stocky. Not short and stocky -- he's fairly tall and stocky. And I got HIS body. I can remember being four years old in my ballet class, wondering why most of the girls around me had skinny little legs, and I didn't. I've suffered with the stocky-leg-plight my entire life. And now, this weekend, I realized it again.

So, last night Roger and I went shopping one last time. We only went to only one store, a department store, and we had one goal: to try on jeans from the men's section. Lots of jeans. Many styles (which included "loose thigh, baggy thigh, slim thigh, etc. -- Why do only men get this option? Most of them don't even NEED it). I tried on several pairs that fit me both in the hip and in the thigh.

I was feeling pretty good, when Roger poked his head into the dressing room to console me: "Sweetie! You just have a man's body."

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