judypatricia

You know what I hate? Trying to tear out the deposit slips that come with your checks, at the end of the book. Because I almost always bend that semi-cardboard back cover to shit, and manage to rip the hell out of the top half of the slip despite valiant attempts at tearing along the perforated line. And why can't they just give you an entire book of deposit slips apart from your checks, instead of scum-bagingly sticking about ten not-so-easy tear-out ones in the back?

I just thought of the only real memory I have of my grandmother on my mothers' side. She was sitting in a chair and I was standing behind it, and I bumped into it, which caused her to yell at me. I distinctly remember her saying, "What the hell's wrong with you?" This must have been when I was about five, or less than seven. But that about sums up the long line of miserable women who spawned me.

There are two things that popped into my head right now, that I see other people do and don't do myself, that I think are weird and disgusting.

The first thing; the weird thing: I only noticed this when I started college. One day before or after one of my classes, I was in a bathroom and about to start washing my hands, when I noticed the girl next to me do something I had never noticed anyone else do beforeshe pumped some soap into her palms, rubbed them together in standard hand-washing fashion, and then turned the faucet on and rinsed the soap off. A true WTF? moment indeed. Maybe it's just me, but mama always taught me to turn the water on, wet your hands, then add soap.

The second thing; the disgusting thing: This happens in my home more times than I care to comment on, because my grandmother gets to the dishes usually before I do, but it never fails to skeeve me out majorlyleaving a sponge you plan on using for future dishwashing, floating in the sink or lying atop used pots, pans and dinner plates and bowls. Every time I see a sponge soaking up the filth in a sink, be it mine or someone else's, I die a little bit inside. If it's happening in my house, I'll fish it out of the grime, wash it off and place it where it belongson the fucking sink counter, near the dishwashing liquid, above but not far away from the grossness that is the sink and its contents after a long day. I can't even begin to describe how much I hate the feel of a sponge that's now cold and heavy with still water and grease. But I do the right thing by picking it up and placing it where it belongs, because frankly, if you do that, you're gross to your very core and don't think I won't offer to do your dishes properly if I get comfortable with your digs.