I'm pretty sure that I might end up being crazy someday. Possibly soon. If I'm lucky I might be able to get away with being merely eccentric. Here's why:
1. I listen to my iPod a lot when I'm going to and from work. If the weather is nice I'll walk to the train station rather than taking the bus. Provided, of course, that I don't have a full bladder, haven't left my office too late, and am not wearing unfriendly pants. (The topic of unfriendly pants is a whole other blog post, I assure you.) Anyway, I have a really hard time not dancing to the music when I'm walking down the street or standing around waiting for a train. I'm not talking head bobbing, toe tapping, or even that weird thing where people put their hand to the side of their head and wince like the music is making them simultaneously deaf and incontinent. No, I mean dance. Things like that hop to the side thing that Vanilla Ice does in the "Ice Ice Baby" video or dancing down the street waving my arms like they do in Hairspray. You may be thinking I'm silly because music makes lots of people want to dance. Duh, it's music. My problem is that I'm not sure I'm always going to refrain from busting out some moves. I've caught myself several times now aaaalmost letting loose and it worries me. The hardest song to walk normally to is "Stayin' Alive" (ah ah ah ah stayin' aliiiiiiiiiiive). That song puts me on auto-strut. So someday I might give in to my compulsions and reenact the "If I Were A Rich Man" scene from Fiddler and I guess we'll see what happens.
2. I have three cats. No one who voluntarily shares space with these aloof yet needy barf machines is completely sane. That said, I'm still very fond of them. Dogs are fine, but I don't trust unconditional love. The love of a cat makes more sense to me as it is based more on the barter system. You feed me, I let you pet me. You give me water, I purr for you. You scratch me under the chin, I barf on the carpet (never the hard floors). I never said it was a perfect system.
3. Twice this summer I came back from running errands and discovered that my shirt was on inside out. This wouldn't be so disconcerting if the shirts in both cases weren't button-up collared shirts. Accidentally wearing your t-shirt inside out is for rookies. The closest I came to realizing what I'd done was when I tried to stow a pen and thought, "Huh, I thought this shirt had a pocket." And then, like the mercury from a busted thermometer, that thought went slithering out of my fingers and I continued to roam the word looking like a crazy person.
4. I am 38 years old and if someone plays peek-a-boo with me I still laugh like I'm a a toddler. Belly laughs. That can't be OK.
5. One of my celebrity crushes is Gene Wilder. Case closed.
Re: barfing cats, my mother used to give our cat very small amounts of mineral oil on her food. Now I read that mineral oil is discouraged, because inhaled fumes can cause pneumonia; we didn't have that problem. If you Google it, there are a variety of solutions that will keep the hairballs a managable size and moving in a front-to-back direction, rather than, um, reversing direction onto your carpet.
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