And here’s what’s on my yuck list…
October 26, 2011 | My Jottings
Succotash. Hookworms. Well-done steaks. Stiletto heels. Not finding the couscous. Thirty-five below zero. Rap music. Cake frosting made with Crisco. Depression. Ted Dekker books. French dressing. Heat and humidity combined. Badly behaved dogs. Geometry. Hubris (especially in myself). Southern California traffic. Cliques. Smoking. Hopelessness. The hunting death of Hope the black bear. Tanning beds. Swampland. Computer crashes. Menopausal memory issues. Sullenness. Infidelity. Mildew. Forgotten cucumbers that turn to mush in the refrigerator. Trash talk. Sharks. Parkinson’s Disease. Spam (the kind in my inbox and the kind made by Hormel). Mullets. Time wasted on a book that never got good. Bad cosmetic surgery. O.J. Simpson. Gossip. Lessons I just can’t seem to learn the first time around. Gristle. Spiders. Not taking my thoughts captive. Divorce and the certain destruction it always brings. 
Lentil soup. Lentil anything. My own selfishness. Peter Pan Syndrome. Someone who betrays confidences. Fear. Uveitis. Life lived too loud to hear that still small voice. Ingratitude. A pro-choice platform. Poverty. Gumdrops. Powdery, fungal toenails. Missing and/or unnecessary apostrophes. The smell of mouse. Fractured families/withheld forgiveness. My paperwork procrastination. Lessons I just can’t seem to learn the second and third times around. Being misunderstood. Grapefruit. Young men who won’t say no to crack (both). Duplicity. Old Plymouth K-cars. White bread moist enough to roll into a ping-pong ball. Politics as usual. Tuna. Drought. Ruffles at the hip. Trying to swim through a Pacific kelp bed. Rejection. Cherry pie. Finding no red and blue floral upholstery fabric on the earth. The feel and sound of fingers on Styrofoam. Clowns. “Love, Mary” signed on anxiously anticipated Christmas cards. Human black rain clouds. Seeing pain in a child. Soft and mealy apples. The last name Penix. Insomnia coupled with despair. Dishwashers that don’t get dishes clean. Massive brown beetles that skitter up the headboard by your pillow in the night. Pouting. Thick, white nylons. Cancer. People who refuse to be teachable. Telemarketing. Skippy peanut butter. Being licked by a cat. Not knowing. Monosyllabic conversation. Broken, empty cisterns. Orange hair pretending to be blond. Alcohol’s warm, inviting subtlety disguising its cruel, often inevitable snare. Mustard. The smell of hot blacktop. Tinnitus. Bratz dolls. Debt. Faulty predictive texting. Broken promises. Jones fractures. Right index fingers that turn east. Worthless idols. Carpet that won’t give up its diamonds. Sheetrock dust in every drawer, nook and cranny. Prayerlessness and the resulting loss of perspective and peace. Easter blizzards. Margarine. Insincerity. Bullfights. What the locusts have eaten. Bunions. Chicken-and-fat necklaces at some Chinese restaurants. Tax preparation. Lying old tapes. Sportive Lemurs’ eyes. Goodbyes. Candirus. A loved one rejecting Christ. My own mediocrity.
What’s on your yuck list? (reprinted from the archives…)
Mean people, injustice, dirty boy-socks…inside-out and balled up in the laundry, pus and mucus, organ meats, wasted opportunity, greed, blood sausage, hypocracy, cats, lice, a “me first” attitude, unwashed hair, used kleenex, lies, litter, hate, cursing, poor grammer, an “I don’t care” attitude, Orcs, Atheism, frozen pot pies, any fashion trend from 1983-1993, drunk drivers, drunks in general, dirty refrigerators and presidential election season.
Rodents, B.O., cleaning up poop, liver, starting my car in below zero weather, waking up late, mole and chin hair, flaky skin, hair in the drain of a shower, wet towels, overdraft fees, misplacing anything, ignorance, close mindedness, picketers of any kind, luke warm food at a restaurant, shallowness, poor grammar, razor burn, blisters, pimples, overtweezed eyebrows, bushy eyebrows on women, gossip, aggression, racism, disregard for others, alcohol breath, broken promises, cheaters, addictions, liars, dead beat dads, pan handlers, doing what is cool, people who interrupt others, cliches.
Fruit flies, dead animals, technology that doesn’t work at the last minute, facial tattoos, face lifts, meatloaf, people who are flaky, red neck email forwards, any kind of professional team sports, meatballs, people who think Jesus is a Republican, meatloaf and meatballs, children screaming at each other over a toy, bad coffee with powdered non-dairy creamer, any kind of Danish, gravy, Brazil nuts, meatballs and gravy, giblets, people who don’t use turn signals, people who won’t let you merge or change lanes, Pamela Anderson, meatloaf.
Mostly I hate writing out a long answer to this quesiton only to have it disappear when I try to submit it. Blech.
But if you like Birkenstocks don’t you HAVE to like lentils?!!!
Helen, If you would make your best lentil dish I would try very hard to like it. I’ve done that with other things! When I moved to MN in 1981 I didn’t like eggs, tomatoes, cucumbers, broccoli, mushrooms, zucchini, or fish, and now because I kept trying, I like them all! 🙂
Stinky feet, earthworms, rude postal workers, hot offices, pillows that don’t scrunch up just the way I want, beets, Toms shoes covered in glitter, stamps that won’t stick, school, the feeling of being unprepared, not taking advice when you ask for it, apple pie gum, refusing to listen, pimples, the water that dead flowers have been sitting in for too long, fat rolls, fat of any kind, stepping on a slug, twisting my ankle(s), breaking my favorite salt and pepper shaker, my own laziness, the smell of nail polish remover and graduate school.
P.S. I love Ted Dekker, moist white bread, grapefruit, lentil everything, gumdrops, well-done steaks, and tuna and how did you know that I’ve been hoping all along to marry someone with the last name “Penix”…..
(Ok, the last one was too much. I can’t control my laughter. Imagine me gasping for breath at the thought of being “Savannah Penix.” Oh Lord, calm me.)
(But I do like all the other things.)
This is the truth: I have not sat at my computer and laughed this hard for years. You are a poet. You are a writer. You are a comic. You are a dear. And I pray that you will never be Savannah Penix. “LOL” just took on a whole new meaning for me. ILYTCAF.