#14: Coordination is for the weak

Dear Family,

Okay, whose side does the klutz gene come from?

Take a moment to point at the other side of the family.

Got that out of your system? Good.

Now honestly, this must have come from somewhere. I refuse to believe that I just randomly ended up being the most uncoordinated person in the universe. I mean, I can walk and talk at the same time (usually). And I can horseback ride without falling down (a lot). And I'm pretty good at dancing and not looking like an uncoordinated monkey (at least I don't think I look like an uncoordinated monkey, but feedback is always welcome).

But I simply can not work out the logistics of drinking. Every single time I go out with my friends I manage to spill something down my shirt. Beer, water, pop (yes, pop), it's all the same to me. If it's coming toward my mouth, chances are it will end up on my shirt. After the Beer Tsunami incident, the spilling of things down my shirt has repeated itself at least three or four times. My friends don't believe that I don't spill when I'm not in front of them. To them, it's the funniest running joke in the world. "Let's all stare at H until she spills!" Blink. Blink. H spills. Them: "Ha ha ha." Me: "Damn."

Yeah. Funny.

Another thing I have not seemed to master is wearing nylons. You'd think that at 23 I'd be able to wear a pair of pantyhose for an entire day without wrecking them. You'd think. But you'd be wrong. I had on a pair for approximately an hour and a half the other day before I put a HUGE run (we're talking size of my fist) in them from my butt to the back of my knee. So of course I toddled off to the bathroom and removed them. However, those nylons served the dual purpose of keeping my legs semi-warm and covering up that Minnesota white I've been working on all winter. After removing them I was just cold, pasty and cranky that my ineptness was taking its toll on my wardrobe.

I also managed to drop an entire container of garlic powder into my tea the other morning. An entire container. Of garlic powder.

At 7am, I am at my absolute least coordinated. Which is pretty damn uncoordinated. But that is also the time I most need caffeine. I poured the hot water over my tea bag and reached up into the spice cabinet to get a cube of sugar to drop into the cup. My hand reached up to the third shelf and felt around for the box. A little to the right, nope. A little to the left... ah, there it is! Grab, withdraw hand and oh, no! Mayday, mayday! Garlic powder container in the way! Retreat! Retreat! But it was too late. Kerplunk! The container fell out of the cabinet and straight into my mug.

I couldn't move. I just stared at the little plastic shaker bobbing up and down in the brown liquid and mumbled "You're an idiot." By the time I fished the container out of the cup, tea had seeped in under the cap, saturating the powder, and the garlic had given my tea an unusual tang. So I threw away the garlic and dumped the tea.

Thus is the life of a klutz. I often get bruises and wonder, "Now how did I do that?" Running into things has become such a normal occurrence in my day to day life that it doesn't even register anymore. So please tell me where this affliction came from so I can figure out how to battle it.

Love you all (even those of you this accursed....curse came from),
H

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#13: These are a few of my least favorite things

Things that annoy me:

People with no concept of personal space.
I was waiting in line at the grocery store cash register and some yahoo talking on a cell phone to his wife ("I'm waiting at the register right now. Yes! I have the orange juice. It was on the list wasn't it?!? Do you want to call back in five minutes to make sure I've actually purchased it?") walks up right behind me. Right behind me. If he had been standing any closer, his nose would have touched the back of my head. He actually hit me with his elbow when he turned to glance at the magazine rack. Now I don't mind closeness. I love getting hugs from people I know, but being privy to a stranger's boogers while waiting in line at the grocery store is not something I enjoy.

People who wear berets to the gym (or anywhere).
Do I really need to explain this one? Okay. There is a guy who shows up every once in awhile at the gym who wears a beret. It seems to be part of his workout ensemble. He does not wear it when he enters or exits the gym. Just when he is working out. I don't understand why anyone (especially a male) feels the need to wear a beret. Especially at the gym. Every time I see him I want to go up and ask, "What makes you think this is okay?"

Really loud Irish music
Slayer and I went to an Irish pub downtown the other night where they play authentic (as opposed to polyblend) Irish music. We thoroughly enjoyed the first group, a nice bunch of older guys playing songs perfect to jig to. (Not that we jigged. I'm not much for the actual jigging.) The next group was two younger gentlemen who thought that they would play some nice Irish folk music really, REALLY loud. Slayer and I had been having a nice chat but found ourselves only able to scream "WHAT?" at each other until the group took a break. During which Slayer and I discussed the amount we would be willing to pay the group to NOT come back from their break. It's not that I don't enjoy loud music. I like to feel the bass pumping in my chest (Yes Mom, I know I'll be deaf by the time I'm 30). But that's rock music. Irish folk songs about defending the rolling green hills of Ireland are not meant to be played at ear-drum-rupturing decibels.

Walking around in beer soaked jeans.
Funny story. (I hate it when people preface stories with that. When they have to tell you the story is funny before they tell it, it's usually not. But this one is. I promise.)

A few days ago I went out to a neighborhood bar with all of my friends to celebrate a friend's birthday. Late in the evening we had all parked ourselves at a table, surrounded by the carnage of nachos, fries and emptied beer glasses. Deuce and her boyfriend, The Master of Disguise, were sitting across the table from Sir and I. The MoD was contentedly sucking down a pitcher of beer. He offered to pour it straight from the pitcher into my mouth, but I politely declined. The MoD had had quite a bit to drink thus far and coordination was not his momentary strong suite. He shrugged and poured some more beer in his glass. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for handling the situation diplomatically, avoiding confrontation and also avoiding a beer shower. A few minutes later, I was focused very intently on something Deuce was saying when out of the corner of my eye I saw Sir lunge in front of me and felt a cold wave of liquid gush down the front of my shirt and all over my lap.

The MoD had lost his hold on the pitcher and I was now wearing what was left of his beer. Sir had lunged to stop it but could not save me from a drenching. It's amazing how sopping wet a third of a pitcher of beer can make you. Of course, because I am a delightful person, I took this all very well and found it incredibly funny. I laughed so hard that no sound came out of my mouth.

Did you know that when beer dries it gets sticky? Not that it dried in a timely fashion. I was stuck with a wet lap for the rest of the evening. Walking two blocks to the car at midnight was not fun. Especially because I was holding my jacket in front of me instead of wearing it. You know, just to keep anyone from thinking I had not made it to the bathroom in time.

At least I did not spill the beer on myself.

When Sir isn't at work.
I have no one to come into my office and amuse me. And, yes, I know they do not pay me to sit here and be amused. But they should.


Things that make me happy:
Just so you don't think I'm a Pouty Patty. (Don't ask what a Pouty Patty is. I just made it up. I don't know where I come up with these things. They just happen.)

Singing Disney with friends
Yes, I am 23. Yes, my friends are also in their twenties. Shut up. We are so cool.
I'm telling Mom.

Yoga instructors who know what they are doing. (And aren't sadistic.)
I finally found a yoga instructor at the gym who knows how to teach yoga! (read: who knows how to teach yoga so I'm not sore for weeks afterward.) For those of you not paying attention (shame on you!) I encountered Satan's yoga instructor a few weeks ago. She not only was evil, but made me so tense that all I wanted to do was hunt her down after class and slash her tires. What? That's not how you're supposed to feel after a yoga class?

This new yoga instructor made me feel relaxed, energized and excited (yes, excited to go to the gym!) to go back to her class next week. I was also immensely amused by the three guys who positioned themselves at the front of the class. Bless their hearts, they were trying so hard. It's nice to see men secure enough with themselves to try new things. Especially new things that require you to balance on your tailbone while holding one ankle in each hand with your legs spread as far apart as you can spread them.

When recent history repeats itself and I miss
Sir and I went out to eat a few days after the "Beer Magnetically Drawn to Pants" incident. One thing led to another and we found ourselves locked in a vicious thumb wrestling match. Our thumbs hovered expectantly as each of us waited for the other to make the first move. Sir tried to fake me out by putting his thumb down and I took advantage of his amateur bluff and pinned him. But he was able to weasel his way out from beneath my thumb before I could count the obligatory three seconds. He jerked to my right, so I jerked back to my left. Guess what was sitting on my left? My water glass. Knocked the whole damn thing over. Luckily, I mean skillfully, I missed myself and avoided all pant-related dampness. Hah! No more soaked trousers for me (knock on... plastic desk laminate).

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