Well, That Was Unexpected

Real life is stranger than fiction...depending on which authors you read, of course.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

OCD, white nectarines, and New Orleans

It's a telltale sign that I must be in the office when I suddenly become obsessed with ridding my hair of split ends. Almost every time my office mate has left the room today I have had the scissors in hand, dissecting out the offensive ends of my hair. Question: Is this disgusting? I have a feeling it is. I also feel that somehow my office environment is to blame for this unexpected descent into OCD.

Speaking of psychological issues, I think I must have been hypnotized at some time in my life regarding white nectarines. You know how serial killers have to buy Catcher in the Rye? (or at least Mel Gibson's character did in that movie Conspiracy Theory, which brings me to the frightening question: am I going to evolve into a crazy conspiracy theorist, or worse...Mel Gibson?) I have that same compulsion with white nectarines. If I see them, I have to buy at least one. I may or may not eat it, but it's like I get twitchy if I don't. I don't even really sit and debate it, I just buy it, like it's inevitable. I usually eat them, but sometimes I don't, and that's okay, because I'm just happy they're around. I mean, sweet God, they taste like what good peaches are supposed to taste like, but never do. I've finally just eaten the ones I bought 3 days ago, all is right with the world, sort of.

By "sort of" I refer to the fact that, of course, I will now have to buy more nectarines, natch, and also that yesterday I was given a class in New Orleans for which I have to fly out on Sunday. This coming Sunday. This makes me want to clench my fists and throw a childish tantrum. This is going to take some emotional steeling. Partly because I expected to be home for another week and I know no one in New Orleans, which is a crappy place to not know anyone, and partly because the New Orleans vibe is so forceful and emotionally taxing. Even the ubiquitous drive-thru Daiquiri stands, which make a rather forceful libation, do not soothe enough. I want to crawl in bed and make Brad Pitt go for me.

Oh well, as a parting pep up for the Julie, I will give a gift to bless us all. My friend, Devika, gifted me with two amazing videos I felt needed sharing because they should at least make you laugh, if not feel mindblown. Both feed, in their own special ways, into my Russophilia. The first is Rasputin, by Boney M, which features a man with an Afro and his genie-clad backup singers discoing it up about, who else?, Rasputin

The second is a German song by Dschingis Khan about Moscow, spelled, Moskau, with some crazy awesome outfits and dancing.


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