Tag Archives: Twitter

More Headlines From My House

It’s been a few months since I’ve shared some headlines from my house, so I figured it was time for an update.

More Headlines From My House

Nemo Found. Dory Lost. Owners Banned from Owning More Pets

Evidence Suggests Hardest Part of Exercising in Morning for Most People is Not Telling Everyone They Worked Out in the Morning

Twitter Greatly Overestimates Woman’s Desire to Find New Friends

Driver Beeps Horn .03 seconds After Light Turns Green; Woman Shuts Off Car, Lies on Hood and Feeds Birds for an Hour

Motion Made to Rename Naps ‘Horizontal Life Pauses’

Personal Ad: The last two things I’ve spooned were a pillow and a jar of sunflower seed butter

Dora the Explorer to Explain How She Gets Shirt Over Her Giant Freak Head

Etiquette Tip: Use Phrase ‘Gender Reveal Party’ and not ‘Baby Sex Party’

Study Finds Only Thing Women Like More Than Target is Talking About Going to Target

College Graduate Observed Washing Lawn Gnome in Bird Bath; Neighbors Cease Questioning as to Single Status

Cantaloupes Resent Being Called ‘Just Negative Antelopes;’ Sue for Slander

Of Available Techniques for Safely Drinking Hot Tea, Waiting for it to Actually Cool Down Least Used

Woman, 32, Emotionally Unprepared When Last Bit of Food Eaten Without Realizing It

Poll: Bigger scam: Non-stick pans or no-scrub bathroom cleaner?

New Reality Show Created About Bored People Scrolling Meaningless Crap on Internet at Work Called ‘Relatable’

After Third Time Tripping Over Cat in Single Trip Across House, Owner Refuses to Fake Concern For Cat’s Wellbeing

Banana Pulled Off Bunch Feels ‘Ripped Viciously From Family’

Confirmed: Internet Connection Goes Out More Than I Do

Woman Turns on Oven. Hears Fire Truck in Background. Turns off oven. Reverts to Plan B

Editor Disappointed to Discover ‘Plastic Martini Glasses’ Drying in Office Bathroom are Actually Part of a Breast Pump

Most Underreported Form of Cyber Bullying Found to be Invitations to Play FarmVille on Facebook

After Reviewing Bank Statement, Writer Diagnosed with Earning Disability

Confirmed: No Good Way to Hurry Around Old Lady in Motorized Cart Without Looking Like You’re Racing Her

Creator of Pants Without Pockets Fails Performance Review

Broccoli Floret Fell Out of Shirt at Gym. Thinking of Becoming Motivational Speaker

Psychologists Conclude Burritos are “Just Shy Tacos with a Soft Side”

After Vacuuming, Couch Free of Cat Hair For Record 19 Seconds

‘Sense of Community’ Formed When Line of Cars Joins Up to Prevent Jerk from Cutting In at Front

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Your turn. Give me a headline from your house.

Odds and Ends

I actually have a new post to publish, but I like to read my posts out loud to the cat before I publish them so that I can prepare myself for no emotional reaction whatsoever, and she’s been on a catnip bender this week. Twice I came home to find her burning incense and eating Cheetos while hanging upside down off the couch.

She knows she’s not allowed on the couch.

Anyway, she’s penciling me in this weekend so Monday I’ll probably share whatever it is I wrote that I already forgot about because it’s been a long week. In other words, this is a post that isn’t really a post but just wrapping up a few odds and ends.

First of all, I’m over In the Powder Room talking about shopping for pants and you should go read it.

Clothes shopping is the 7th circle of hell @abbyhasissues

I know, I know. Who am I? First I talk about ta-tas and then retail. But seeing as I’m equally ignorant and ambivalent about both topics, I felt I was qualified to write about them on the Internet.

Speaking of the Internet, anyone who has a Facebook fan page knows what a pain in the dupa it is to actually get people to see your posts. Most of the time the stats show only about 25 percent of my “fans” see anything that I share.

If you’re not doing that on purpose, check out the handy tip sheet Kim from Let Me Start By Sharing made to simplify the process.


And finally, I hate to brag, but Jake from State Farm replied to one of my tweets.


Sorry I’m not good at screenshots.

He had to had to stalk his name to find it (weeks later) and doesn’t have that many followers, so maybe he is as hideous as the commercial suggests? All I know for certain is that he’s wearing khakis and emotionally available at 3 a.m.

That’s more than I can say.

Anyway, that’s the end of this post that isn’t really a post. Now entertain me.

If you could sum up your week with one movie or song title, what would it be?

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Questionable Karma

Not too long ago I had the unfortunate experience of waking up with a Nickelback song in my head.

For some people—the dozen or so fans of the band—this would have been a delight. For other people—the person writing this post who is not a fan of the band and who has OCD, therefore causing the song to remain there all day—this was the opposite of a delight.

After about 10 minutes of contemplating either a lobotomy or going back to bed and starting over, I instead decided to be proactive and figure out how I must have ticked off the karmic gods to deserve such an ill fate.

Despite my legions of charitable acts—flipping a worm off the burning sidewalk onto the grass, joining in a sense of community when an entire line of cars silently agreed to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front—I suppose there were a few questionable things I could blame.

Questionable Karma

When the weather is nice, I often take my mom’s dog for a walk and always make sure to have my plastic poop bag on hand for pick-up. However, there “might” have been an occasion when I could tell he was going to dump and I “might” have dragged him to the next yard to go, simply because I didn’t like the people who lived there.

The little boy who lives there “might” be a huge brat who always yells stupid things at us when we walk by, so I “might” have pretended to pick up the poop and instead grabbed a leaf to place on the top of the pile. I don’t think this is the reason though, as if the karmic gods are watching this kid, they would probably thank me.

I admit. I got your voicemail and just didn’t listen. To alleviate this problem in the future, maybe send me an email or a text and let me know if the voicemail is actually worth listening to.

I’ve retweeted a compliment. Personally I find this extremely annoying, as I would never go around the grocery store and tell people, “Hey! My friend just told me she actually liked my book and I think you should know!”

However, sometimes I apply the “tweet others as you would like to be tweeted” rule and acknowledge those misled souls who take the time to follow me, as I do appreciate it. It still annoys me when it’s self-promoting though, so karma might have just stepped in.

When it comes bugs, I figure the outside is their area and I don’t bug them, so they shouldn’t bother me in my lair. However, if one makes it into my house I often try my best to do the “shoo them out the door” or “capture in a cup” method of catch and release. But some spiders choose their own fate, particularly those that fall from the ceiling and land on the counter in front of my face.

It’s a primal reaction to grab a paper towel and pummel the sucker to death, and I admit that I did this last week. The only problem is that even though I know spiders can run really fast with all of those legs, I keep thinking I’m going to find a spider in that same exact spot everyday. He is haunting me from his grave in the garbage, so karma need not apply.

Finally, I totally committed discount deceit by passing through an old coupon. We’ve talked about this before and I’ve been trying to harness my egregious behavior, but when the possibility to save $1.50 on a ridiculously overpriced vegan veggie burger arose, I couldn’t resist. Carefully ripping the coupon so that the expiration date was “accidentally” torn off, I passed it through the self-checkout.

But come to think of it, I don’t care if I had to endure Nickelback for that one. The fact that they charge $5.50 for four vegan burgers warrants a karmic kick in the ass to those people instead. I was actually reversing the universal order of things with that discount, right? Right.

So while I can’t quite pinpoint my cardinal sin, I do feel better having gotten these offenses off my concave, size AA chest—something else I must have pissed the karmic gods off to receive.

At any rate, I feel a bit better. Now it’s your turn. What would you like to confess today?

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Spoon Me

There’s something I need to get off my chest—and that would mostly likely be a hunk of food that failed to make it into my mouth.

While I’m generally a pretty neat person, sometimes that gets lost in translation somewhere between my mind and my mouth. Actually, a lot gets lost in translation between my mind and my mouth, but let’s move on.

I do my best to avoid any spillage and eat a majority of my meals out of bowls for that very reason. Putting most things on a plate without edges acting as little barriers increases the likelihood that I will be wearing a piece of the meal.


But I do sometimes use this awesomeness my mom got me a couple of years ago.

And while most people thrive on variety—it’s the spice of life!—I’m one who is perfectly content eating the same things over and over again. In fact a majority of my meals are the same few things with an easy variation on the staples. It’s not that there’s no variety available with a vegan lifestyle—the complete opposite is true—but I know what I like.

Part of what I like is to eat certain things in a certain way.

I admit it’s a bit OCD, but it’s also something I’ve been doing since I was little and picked certain things out to eat first—I’m told I called them “beaks”— and I still do that today.

farrobowl2 I eat some variation on this combination every day.

When it comes to my daily hippie bowls, I always eat the veggies first, then the protein (chickpeas, for example) and then the grains. And even if I’m at home, I still use a plastic spoon for some reason that is decidedly unclear to me.

Much like the Ziploc bags I rinse and reuse, I’m pretty sure I’m common law married with a few of these spoons.

With a sandwich, I cut it diagonally and then eat the crusts before eating the smaller half first—something about saving the best part for last. The thought of picking up an uncut sandwich and eating it as is is foreign to me.

However, my avocado sandwiches are usually cut in half and then eaten open-faced with a knife and a fork in part because I’m not entirely confident I won’t end up wearing a piece of the thing if I didn’t.


Apples are always cut up for the same reason, and if I’m eating anything that has some sort of layers—like a mini-Twix or a peanut butter cup—the outside edges are eaten first, then the top, then the rest.

I have at least three cups of my tea a day in one of two cups, and it has to be drunk with a small straw. This is also to ward off spillage, but also to ward off staining my teeth with the tea (you know, in case Hollywood calls.)

But I draw the line at drinking it with my pinkie finger up. After all, a girl must have standards. 

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So spill it (pun completely intended.) Do you have any weird food things?

And if food’s not your thing a) I will never understand the kind of person that you are but b) stay tuned later this week for my annual holiday poem. ‘Tis the season!

Take Notes, Hollywood

As I was fishing chickpeas out of the sink the other day, I was reminded that I’m why I can’t have nice things—and also why I will never have a movie made about my life.


But if Lifetime’s Meredith Baxter-Birney retires from storylines involving a drug-addicted woman scorned by conjoined twin husbands and decides to go a new route—enter my life as a movie—I have a few suggestions for the writers.

  • A montage of me wandering around the kitchen wondering why I went in there, each scene featuring a different, stylish T-shirt.
  • Plot twists around why the cat’s head is wet and covered in catnip and an existential crisis upon realizing the excitement for electric tweezers exhibited by people in infomercials far exceeds any emotional reaction I’ve ever had for anything with my job.
  • Simple dialogue involving key phrases such as, “I’m confused,” “Not now, I’m eating,” “Ouch” and “Why is there such a high divorce rate among my socks?”
  • Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On” would play every time I sit down to eat a meal, with “I Am Woman” supplying the background music every time I remember to put out the recycle bin.

And if you need more storylines, it might be helpful to take a look at a few of my tweets from the past couple of weeks.

Take notes, Hollywood. Take notes.

A squirrel just ran by the deck with a piece of bread. If another one shows up with a Mimosa, does this count as hosting a brunch?

As she watched her little dog pee into the wind, she took pride in the fact at least this time, he didn’t tip over.

“That girl graduated from college and still goes out in the snow in PJs and flip-flops to fill the feeder. Money well spent.” – My neighbors

If they don’t want an impromptu dance party in the store, they shouldn’t play Michael Jackson’s “Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground.)”

Tortillas are like little warm blankets for food.

“The best option here is to panic.” – My brain when I think that I’ve lost my chapstick.

Days when my underwear matches my outfit make me feel like I’ve really got it together.

I came across two decapitated Barbie torsos on the sidewalk. I’m disturbed, yet slightly intrigued.

When I’m feeling down, I make a list of things to look forward to. Today’s just said “food” and “sleep.” Pretty good list.

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do” she said to herself as she prepared to say Worcestershire sauce.

I dreamed about work last night and now I’m at work. I’m not impressed with this “living the dream” thing.

The irony of watching “Fashion Police” while on the couch in yoga pants isn’t lost on me.

Becoming a member of the Swiffer Facebook Fan Club is the closest I’ll ever come to joining a gang.

I’m for equal rights so I just used the often neglected back left burner on my stove. Follow my lead, people.

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world,” I whisper to myself as I replace the empty paper towel roll in the office kitchen.

My one-woman show “Help Me I’m Trapped In my Sweatshirt!” is garnering some major buzz from the cat.

My Sunday morning walk of shame includes a fabric softener sheet falling out of the leg of my pants at the gym.

Again, that’s just a sample. I suppose that means several sequels could be made, not to mention a line of action figures featuring a variety of interchangeable workout pants and sweatshirts tinged with the light scent of garlic.

All I ask is that the bust region resemble more “Barbie” than “Skipper.” Let’s make this happen, people. 

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It’s time for audience participation!

If you were to have a movie made about your life, what actor/actress would you want to play you in the film?

Don’t Be A Filbert

Lately I’ve just wanted to shut my brain off and avoid any sort of deep thinking whatsoever.

As a result, my tweets and updates usually end up being something along the lines of,  “If Bobby Flay doesn’t have another daughter and name her Sue, he’s not doing life right” and “I can’t help but feel that if quinoa were a person, it would be that friend that insisted you call him “Steff-on” and not “Stephen.”

In other words, deeply introspective stuff here people.

Side note: I actually know one person named “Steff-on” who despite interacting with me on and off for the past decade, still calls me “Amy” when we run into each other. I call him Steve.

Anyway, the quinoa (keen-wah) thing got me thinking that there are certain foods that carry with them a preconceived/stereotypical idea of how they would be if they were people—like the high-maintenance “quinoa” referenced above, who I picture pulling an eye muscle from excessive rolling at my delight in going to Target or drinking red wine from a box.

So let’s begin.

Wait. Another side note because I don’t know where else to put it: I realize a lot of non-veggie people think some of these foods are weird, but play along.

Don’t be a filbert.

See? There’s one right there! I picture a filbert—a kind of hazelnut—being like Dilbert, a clumsy nerd with no appreciation for rambling blog posts about certain foods. So I repeat, do not be a filbert.

Chickpeas—named as such because “dudepeas” didn’t have quite the same ring, they would be a real gas to hang around with and always willing to go for a dip. Because she comes from a mixed background—both Middle Eastern and Spanish—she’s sometimes referred to as “Garbanzo” and throws out that card when she needs to get into a hot Latin club.

Seitan (sey-tan)—I think the name of this mock meat made of wheat gluten says it all, don’t you? Odds are you would never hear of a Pope Seitan or Sister Seitan. And even though she might be nice, let’s be honest — would you trust a babysitter with that name? I think not.

Pepita—Also answering to the nickname “Pumpkin,” this often salty gal would be spunky and the life of the party. 

Pâté –She’s not that appealing on her own. As such, she uses a fancy pronunciation of her name—do NOT call her Patty—and tries to blend in with Pepita to appear more attractive. She would most likely date a “Steff-an” and go through life holding in all bodily functions. 

Worcestershire — (WUUS-tur-shur) This is the foreign friend with the name no one can ever pronounce. As such, they go by the nickname “W” or “that foreign friend with the name no one can ever pronounce.”

Prunes—Considered nerdy and old-fashioned only because they’re full of great information and not quite as sexy as their plum siblings. However, they’re dependable, get things moving and get the job done.

Tofu — Completely bland with a distinct lack of personality, willing to shape itself into whatever group is currently hip or trendy (can also cause intestinal distress to those with an intolerance for bullshit — and soy — such as myself.)

Kale — He’s become quite the popular dude since switching over from the traditional “Cal” spelling and establishing himself as a powerhouse of sorts. However, years of being misunderstood have left him a bit bitter, but a quick massage of his ego will leave him tender and much more enjoyable.

Oranges — Sigh…I picture Orange being like the seventh child to parents who have given up trying to be creative with names and resigned themselves to the obvious, kind of like “Junior” or “Tiny.” Orange will have developed a thick skin accordingly.

I could go on, but that would negate the whole “shutting my brain off” thing. So instead it’s your turn to bring something to this personality potluck in the comments.

Food. Personality. Go. Don’t be a filbert.

Jose Can You See

While Thursday is generally just the day in between people annoying me with “It’s Hump Day!” and “TGIF!” it’s actually a really important day for me this week.

It’s Opening Day.


And yes, we have a Detroit Tiger gnome named Leyland.

If you’ve followed this blog for any amount of time, first of all, thank you and you deserve a medal of honor and possibly a psychological examination. But you also are aware that baseball has always played a huge role in my life and quite frankly, in my happiness.

Because the Tigers open up their regular season on Thursday, I felt like I needed to write a post about it. Then I realized that the post I was trying to write had already been written—last year, by me.

It’s tacky to refer you back to old posts, but if you have even one tiny cell of fandom or like reading about my 89-year-old grandma explaining the rules of the game to her deaf friends at the nursing home, please go back and read these two posts.

Opening Day Senior Moments

My Perfect Game

They’re important to me, as I’m grateful to have another Opening Day to celebrate with the old woman and another season to enjoy. I’m taking Thursday afternoon off and once again, the three of us will gather around the TV and belt out the National Anthem off-key before my grandma simultaneously yells about a bad call or how the popcorn tastes like shit.

But another reason I love baseball is that after star players retire, they can still entertain us with their talents. No, I’m not talking about starting charities or becoming insightful game analysts, although those are commendable endeavors.

I’m talking about Twitter, and specifically, Jose Canseco on Twitter. The following stream of tweets last week have nothing to do with baseball, but quite honestly, they’re just as entertaining. And now I want Jose Canseco to send me a virtual hug.


Jose Can You See

how do we stop global warming

reduce reuse recycle morons class in session i complete you of to practice for my playboy celebrity golf tournament

clowns if you dont stop your mass consumption we will have no polar bears soon need to recycle or else no more bears

1 more stop global warming tip .turn your home heat all off at nite .saves $ an energy and lowers your body temp so u will live 20% longer

flanel pajamas morons share body heat like the pioneers did even in snow

hole families used to sleep in one big bed and produce no waste how did we go from their to killing polar bears in 100 years

al gore was a head of his time .i miss him rest in peace buddy hug for u

sorry al you need to make some more noise .Keep fighting for us i believe in your and i am with you

what did you clowns learn yesterday other than gore is not deed?

Had no idea @algore had a tv station. What a coincidence he is all over news today about firing people. Hug for u al

we need to consume less and protect enviroment for future generation nobody has no regard for the earth anymore. lets do our part

His last solution?

how about a sitcom where I play a gym teacher and wear those old skool nuthugger shorts coaches used to wear with those high tube socks

*I did not edit any of these, as the horrific nature of grammatical structure simply adds to the charm.

Home run.

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Why I Don’t Have a Stalker

Hello again.

I’m trying to deal with some issues in a “healthier” way than I want to, so I’m writing, but not about those things. Maybe I’ll write about those things in the next couple weeks if I don’t think it will bore everyone. We’ll see. I’m feeling wordy.

But right now it’s the weekend, and  not to brag or anything, but I’m pretty sure I have a hot date with the shovel. Oh yes. I’m told I could get a good six inches, but then again, those things are always exaggerated. 


Or so I’m told.

The only dating I do is reading expiration dates on food.

Anyway, I don’t have a hot date and I don’t have a stalker. Why? Because I’m 154 percent sure that I would bore him to death after about two days.

During the week, my days are basically the same and involve the same route and the same activities. The weekends are similar, minus the drive to work and the occasional TV appearance that at no point included paparazzi or security guards—except to drag me off the set.

Pretty much knowing where I’m going to be might appear to be the formula for a stalker, but trust me. If parts of my Twitter feed lately are any indication, you can see why they would move on to someone with a social life beyond jilted geriatrics and gang-banging birds.

I think I’m safe.

  • For the record, it’s entirely possible to fall up the stairs completely sober. Multiple times.
  • Never ask yourself, “Could I make a bigger mess?” as you will promptly find out that yes, in fact, you can. At least if you’re me.
  • I need the Dog Whisperer to teach Chauncey how to not pee into the wind.
  • It’s kind of amazing how quickly I go from “nothing sounds good” to “why isn’t there more of this to eat?”
  • Today I’m going to replace the word “the” with “le” for awhile. Example: “A piece of le cereal just fell out of my bra.” Sounds classier.
  • Someone found my blog with “Abby + Gordon Ramsay = fuzzy pink gnome tiara” so I have that going for me.
  • Going to Walmart at 6am on the way to work saves the annoying people factor. However, you can’t brag about/show off your teeth. It’s a push.
  • Just spent 10 mins playing, “What the hell did I write on that Post-It?” I think I’m inventing my own language, written only in characters.
  • I’m still wondering if I will ever look at a man as passionately as I look at just about anything with pesto.
  • I think I killed my fake tree.
  • Going to write a novel about a young, successful, beautiful woman who achieves great things. What’s the opposite of an autobiography called?
  • I can’t be sure, but I think there’s some sort of winter bird gang initiation ceremony going on under my bird feeder.
  • Simon says: Shovel, food, couch, hockey game, food, football game, shovel, couch, food, repeat.
  • I actually moved things when I vacuumed today, so I’m basically some sort of cleaning Superhero now.
  • I didn’t win Miss America or a Golden Globe this weekend, but I did manage to watch football & catch up on “How I Met Your Mother.” I win.
  • Despite numerous verbal threats, this bug keeps lunging towards me. I obviously have a very brave adversary. This may take awhile.
  • My uncle called because he was at the bookstore and couldn’t find my book. It turns out he was looking for “Abby is Crazy.” Close enough.
  • Tonight’s quote from the old people’s home: “He might have left me for a woman 25 years younger, but that didn’t make his peter any younger. Have fun with that pickle, missy.”

Now keep in mind that these aren’t all my tweets or anything. I do actual stuff that goes undocumented. I also only tweet from my computer and not phone, therefore reducing the stalker potential even more.

But if you are so inclined to proceed with stalking, please bring a shovel and at least make yourself useful. If I decide to break out the fuzzy pink gnome tiara, I’ll let you know so you can jump back in the bushes.

Just watch out for the gang-banging birds.

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(I encourage this kind of stalking.)

I’m a Hot Mess of a Tree

I’m looking for a synonym for “shittastic,” as I would like a classier way to describe my week and hate resorting to profanity to express my inner drama queen.

Who are we kidding?

This week has been shittastic.


Thank you, Survival By Design.

Thesaurus be damned, along with a positive blog post bestowing the many things I have to be happy about. I know they’re there, but this week, they’re under a pile of shit.

So my apologies to anyone who followed me this week and was exposed to these Tweets:

  • Gas station cashier sneezed and stared into his hands. I will return to this moment when I have to quit laughing in inappropriate situations.
  • I’m thinking five straight bad hair days actually adds up to one bad haircut. This does not please me.
  • Fact: There’s not much that’s scarier than sneezing while driving through thick fog on a dark country highway at 6am.
  • I walk the walk. I talk the talk. But today I mostly sit the sit and try not to stab people who won’t let me ignore them.
  • I’m thinking a laugh track and someone flashing an "applause" sign whenever I do something would make this day better.
  • Now crazy drunk neighbor lady has replaced her porch light with a red one for the holidays. Sending something other than a "holiday" vibe.
  • You know what’s not awesome? Spending lunch on the phone with the bank b/c my card was hacked. Did not bring an umbrella for this shit storm.
  • This much I know. Tonight will most certainly involve my yoga mat and either whining or wining, vinyasas or vino.
  • Debit card hacked yesterday. Dead truck battery today. Who the hell did I piss off? (And thank you to those who pointed out that it was most likely my toaster.)
  • For those keeping score, it was not a dead battery, It is a broken fuel pump. And expensive broken fuel pump. No car until Tuesday. Awesome.

So I tried being more positive, you know, that whole “you get what you give” thing:

  • The coolest things about being a cartoon character would be wearing the same thing every day and never having to go to the bathroom.
  • Million Dollar Idea: Find someone to create "Dancing With the Swiffer" or "CSI: Couch" so I can get a reality show.
  • Starting a support group for people not obsessed with/using Pinterest. So far membership includes: me.
  • I just released a ladybug back into the wild. Filling out my application for the Nobel Peace Prize as we speak.
  • Business Idea: 1. Buy a wine tasting truck. 2. Park it in front of my house. 3. Sell samples to myself.

As you can see, I did make a valiant effort. Plus, I’m thinking crazy drunk neighbor lady’s “red light” might really be good for my wine truck idea. If you want in, let me know.

Anyway, on top of that crap there’s the normal work and family stuff I don’t talk about because we all have our things. I don’t have it harder than anyone else. In fact, you probably have it worse than me and I salute you.

But everyone has a breaking point.

Everyone is allowed to complain about things once in awhile. Frustrations are not the end of the world or life shattering, but at some point—usually when your car battery dies at 6am or you bite your lip for the 128th time in a row—you need to flip out.

And apparently I need to Tweet about it.

But I’m sure next week will be better, and if it’s not, at least my Tweets will make you feel better about your own situation. As for this weekend, I’m stuck at home  without a car, so I’m thinking I’m might do a little more work on the business plan for that wine truck.

So far I still only have 1. Buy a wine tasting truck. 2. Park it in front of my house. 3. Sell samples to myself.

Actually, that looks pretty solid to me.

Here’s your chance to bitch about anything and everything without someone telling you that other people have it worse. What’s your gripe of the week/day?

Out of Order

The title of this blog is “Abby Has Issues,” and a bunch of my issues revolve around my OCD. While there are serious things that go along with it, a lot of them are what I consider to just be annoyingly quirky, no doubt adding to the charm that I ooze out of my various bodily cavities.


When I get stressed, my anxiety relief takes the form of (over) exercise, cleaning and brushing my teeth. Don’t ask. And not surprisingly, I tend to crave order, organization and keeping things to a minimum—whether it’s in my house or on my computer.

For instance, I would Tweet much more than I do if The Twitter didn’t keep a running total of how many tweets I’ve put out there. The higher the number gets, the more I want to go back into the past and delete until the number is reduced to something more manageable.

When it comes to email, I have an anxiety attack that can only be cured with an episode of “The Soup” and wine from a box when I hear people say they have 300 unread messages in their inbox.

Even though I have four email addresses for work, my inbox never has more than 10 emails. I’m pretty sure anything over that would trigger some sort of catastrophic destruction, so as soon as they come in, I open them and then organize/delete as necessary.

Email in Inbox

(When we have an email blast and I get 50 “Out of office” replies in 10 minutes, it’s like a manic game of Whac-A-Mole between the emails popping up and me deleting them.)

Let’s move on.

At any rate, I like things neat and tidy and have been known to straighten out hangers and items on store shelves as I walk by, pull weeds in other people’s yards as I pass and if I visit your house, I will make sure the toilet paper roll is properly placed—over is right, under is wrong—and then knock you off the pedestal I might have placed you on.

But my actual order of operations is screwed up in other areas, and it seems no matter how many times I try and get it right, I still end up out of order.

For instance:

  • I will get dressed, spray perfume and then proceed to walk directly into the sprayed perfume with my mouth open. Approximately 1.6 minutes later, I will decide that I don’t in fact want to wear that shirt (that now smells good), change my shirt, spray perfume and repeat the neurotic, yet fragrant, process.
  • I will also put chapstick on before taking a drink of something, and although I wash my water bottles and cups, it’s a) a waste of chapstick and b) not enjoyable to have chapstick-flavored water.
  • Whenever I clean my shower, I only remember to ventilate after unicorns and bottles of shampoo start talking to me. In other words, open a window before you enclose yourself in a small space with noxious cleaning fumes. 
  • This won’t come as a shock, but I wash my hands a lot. However, I often decide that I have to wash my hands after I put lotion on them—not because of the lotion, but because of something else—which starts a vicious cycle. Not only that, but I will put lotion on before I have to open a jar or a door, wash dishes, handle my food or get something out of my eye.

Seeing as I would like to cleanly wrap this up, I’ll just leave you with those examples and encourage you to line up single file and share your own.

What do you repeatedly do “out of order?”

And just because I want to know your take on this one, do you vacuum and then dust or dust and then vacuum?

This is very important to know.