That just fiddles my stick.

I have issues. Some of them are bordering on full-fledged OCD, I'm certain. Others are just plain annoying or weird. Ask my mother. She'll tell you. Ask my friends. They'll complain about it. However, most of these issues I am about to discuss have never seen the light of day prior to this post. Sketchy.


So, I apologize if your glorious image of me in all my godly goodness is very dear to you (as it should be). Because I'm probably about to shatter it. A lot. And smear some poop on it. 

Say bye bye now.

So, without further ado, I give you: 

MY ISSUES: VOLUME ONE.

1.

I hate it when I see an unattended, open drawer. HATE. I drives me insane. It feels like there are tiny squid and octopi sucking on my brain with their little suckers, and they won't stop poking and prodding my mind with their nasty tentacles until SOMEONE CLOSES THAT DRAWER. Usually I take it upon myself to complete this task.

It happens.

2.

I love shiny objects. Be it a faulty necklace that slipped off some neck or a wrapper from a granola bar, I must stop to stare at it for a moment. If it's the former, I take it. Finders keepers. The wrappers I stare at for longer, hoping it will mystically turn into something shiny but of more value. I stop and stare at it even though I am most definitely blocking up staircase traffic between classes.

How could I refuse THAT beauty?

3.

I really like milk. No one understands this but my father. I don't know why. Milk is like juice for your soul. 

4.

I have developed a deep, unconditional hatred for fairies. Maybe my upbringing is party to blame, as my mother loved to fill it with fairy dust and little winged girls clutching berries and flowers.

And there were mermaids. Lots of mermaids. Also, the redhead is a total ho-bag.

5.

Somehow, my hair manages to fall out and cover just about everything I own. I suppose this isn't really an issue, since I'm not really to blame. BUT IT'S GROSS.

6.

Everything has to be perfectly in line in my outfit or I nearly have a breakdown. Shirts not perfectly layered over each other? Jeans loosely hanging over ass and hips because no size fits just right? Hair not perfectly curled around neck and face? SWEET MOTHER OF GOD NOOOOOOOOOOOOO *pounds fists against desk, throws guitar out window*

7.

I am obsessed with locking doors. As soon as I enter the house after school, lock. Lock all other doors. After I let my mom in, lock. After I put the dog outside on his runner to pee, lock. When my mom leaves for a walk down the street, lock. When she runs outside to get something from the car, lock. YOU AIN'T GETTIN' IN THIS HOUSE, YOU SERIAl KILLIN' BITCHES!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

8.

I hate tartar sauce. With a burning passion. If it was alive, I'd kill it all. For that matter, it very well may be sentient and out to destroy us all with its mysterious green and red specks in a suspicious white mess. You think I'm going to soil my seafood with THAT? What a useless, disgusting, putrescent and worthless condiment.

Hats off to you, sir.

9.

For all my claiming to not be superstitious, I am deathly afraid of the number thirteen. It scares the living piss out of me. 


10.
I walk really fast. I can't help it. I think it's overcompensation for the fact that my stride is incredibly short. My friends always get mad at me. They're like, "Shaannniii why are you walking so faaaaast???? Sloowwwwww down so I can catch my fat assssssss up to yoooouuuuu."


Not really though. My friends don't actually talk like that.

NYC, I love thee

New York City. Capital of the Empire State. The city where dreams are made. Until yesterday, I'd never been there. Well, except for passing through the Bronx in a van packed with eleven other people on our way to the Rally to Restore Sanity in D.C. But that doesn't count.


My dad was driving down to see his sister, my long-lost aunt whom I hadn't seen since age five. She's an artiste, and had an art showing on a seedy, dirty street near the Hudson River. I don't know. I'm not really into that kind of stuff.


We live a few hours away, so I saw the trip as an opportunity for adventure, excitement, procrastination, and a whole lot of eating empty calories like the fatass I know I secretly am.


Plus, I knew I would get to laugh at a ton of weird people.


Haha.


Anyway, we breezed down the highway to the city in a blaze of awesomeness, our father-daughter dream team astounding the onlookers. I made funny faces at the drivers of adjacent cars during traffic blockage. It was great. Of course, until I started laughing so hard at their reactions that I began snorting and spraying milk all over my father and his beautiful truck (Yes. I drink milk on road trips. Not to impress you, or anything...)


The whole ride to the city was a lot like the paragraph above, so I won't bother repeating myself. But as for the rest of this entry, I shall cut it up into small, digestible pieces and puree them in a blender so you won't hurt your delicate teeth. And by that I mean this post is going to be of UNGODLY PROPORTIONS.


We arrived in New York City! Poof! WAHAHAHAHA!


1.
So first, I encountered a man on the subway, holding a bouquet of pretty flowers. He was looking at them meaningfully and repeatedly muttering, "Do I LOOK okay? Are YOU okay?" Then he got off the train.


2.
My father and I meandered around the streets looking for some thugs to rough up. We got bored of that and decided we were hungry. We ran into a place called Burger Stack... or maybe it was Stack Hut, or Stackdog... or whatever. 


We ordered our "Bird Dogs," which were sausages in a bun that were supposed to come with delicious apple slices. They ripped us off, though, clearly recognizing that we were Massachusetts country hicks, and withheld their apple slices. Those bastards.


I don't know. The sausages were really rubbery and mine had gross gristle in it, so I'm guessing that no amount of apple slices would've made them any better.


It wasn't all for naught, at least. I did see someone in line that bore a startling resemblance to one of my heroes, Nils Lofgren. If you don't know who he is, go here and be enlightened. You should become well-acquainted with this man, as I will probably be frequently mentioning him in the future. 


Anyway, me being my creepy, nosy self, I went over to get a closer look just to make sure I wasn't missing out on my favorite human being buying a burger. I sidled up next to him and promptly began to inspect the packets of mayonnaise, trying to look casual and nonchalant. It was clearly the wrong move, seeing as selecting mayonnaise for a sausage is serious and suspicious business. 


He gave me a weird look, and I smiled then went back to examining and analyzing the ketchups and mustard dispensers.


Nope. Nils is a lot more attractive than this dude.


3.
My dad was all like, "Can we please go up the Empire State Building? Please? Can we? Can we? Please please please pretty please with a cherry on top???"


He sometimes gets really excited about things.


I said yes.


We managed to drag ourselves to the majestic building, after asking for directions from many locals who were obviously judging us for our status as country hicks who don't know how to find the Empire State Building.


And I tell you, that place is CLASSY. And really really big. Almost unnecessarily big. There is a ton of empty, classy space in there. And about 500 floors. Wowee. We (My dad) paid our (his) hard-earned $42 for tickets and went to the 86th floor via elevators that travel faster than a speeding cheetah.


Dear Father was bubbling nostalgically about how he hadn't been up there since he was a kid, and how you could see the Something-Something Bridge, and Something City across the Something River. And about how his dumbass friend once threw a paper airplane attached to a nickel off the top.


Fun stuff. The view was wicked, and I even got to see the Statue of Liberty from up there. But let me tell you: BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT OF MY LIFE. I always pictured the Lady Liberty as this massive behemoth of ungodly proportions, towering over the entire state of New York with her mind-blowing girth of flowing green robes. Don't blame me. Blame the media.


My dad pointed to a tiny blip of a building from the observatory. 


Dad: See? There's the Statue of Liberty.


Me: What, that there? You're kidding. Haha...


Dad: ...No, really, that's it.


Me: *dramatic stare into the distance* Wha... *Double take* THAT'S THE STATUE OF LIBERTY? THAT MERE SPECK? THAT TODDLER?


Dad: What do you mean?


Me: It's... so small...


Dad: Of course it's small! How would you expect the French to move a thousand foot statue across the Atlantic? They had to get it here somehow! You see...


Ah. Logic. The preferred weapon of my Gemini father. This has  permanently marred my childhood dreams of grandeur with failure. Pffft. Statue of Liberty... 305 feet tall... what a sappy loser of a monument. Pfft.


4.
We still had some time to kill before my estranged aunt arrived at her gallery, so we hit the streets looking for a bank to rob. However, we couldn't find one with challenging enough security, so we decided to start shopping instead.


We ambled into a gift shop, to peruse the sophisticated wares. I wasn't planning on buying anything. Must have been some of my Red Sox pride leaking through. Also, I didn't have any need for a model police car or a keychain with my name on it. The latter doesn't even exist.


There was a mystical doorway in the back of the store that led to something downstairs. It looked magical. The stairs were all creaky and they brought us to a wonderful bronze sculpture and crystal chandelier emporium. The crispy old guy selling the stuff promptly began following us very closely around the shop.


Crisp: *Breathing down my neck* See anything ya like?


Dad: Thanks, we're just looking.


Crisp: *Breathing down my dad's neck* Everything's 75% off.


Dad: Thanks.


I think the cheapest thing there was $20,000. And even if we had wanted to purchase one of the mammoth bronze hawks in flight, how would we possibly move it up that narrow, creepy staircase?


The crispy guy kept following us at arms' length, repeatedly asking us if "Anythin' was catchin' our eyes." He seemed almost suspicious.


What did he think we were going to do? Just stick one of his bronze statues in a pocket while he wasn't looking and walk out with it? AND he followed us up the stairs as we left. Just to see us off, I guess.


Also, we met a vulture-ish guy with an accent in some hat shop. I really didn't need a snobby hat with a six-foot brim and plumes of feathers springing off of it, but it looked interesting to gawk at. The dude in there kept trying to reel us in with bargain prices, but I was getting kind of creeped out. Plus, a rack of matching hats and suits was blocking my view of the outside world, and I couldn't be sure that this shop wasn't a front for the mafia. The hat-selling mafia.


5.
Am I rambling yet?


We went to the art gallery, blah blah blah. I met my alienated aunt from Seattle, blah blah blah. Then we hit the road back home and my dad explained what a Rodeo Burger was. 


I really need to quit muttering about my wondrous trip to New York City, because I just developed an extreme desire to warm my ass by the pellet stove. Thanks for listening.