I’m a pretty normal girl. I grew up and still live in New York. I married my college sweetheart and we have been to gether now for 15 years. We have two great kids and decent jobs.
My mother died when I was 5 years old, my grandmother raised me. My “'Buela” was a Catholic and a practitioner of Santeria (she saw no conflict here). I would regulary come home from school and find a group of people dressed in white performing some kind a ritual that included live chickens and dead doves, among other things.
I never realized how weird this was until I brought my then boyfriend and future husband over my house once and my grandmother and her friends were in the darkened livingroom, sitting around candles that encircled a severed goat head.
“Uh, you didn’t know my grandmother practiced Voodoo, honey?”
I talk to my car as if it is another living creature, capable of answering me.
Oh, and sometimes in fast-food joints when I’m eating chicken fingers or nuggets, I’ll make a chicken noise (BKAW!), then jump and stare around looking for who did it. Then I’ll look down at my chicken with a look of fear, and slowly raise it to my ear. BKAW! I’ll say again, jumping in surprise and almost dropping the chicken. Then I’ll carefully hold it to my ear with a look of intense concentration, run my face through a series of changing emotional expressions, then start nodding vehemently. Finally I’ll put the chicken down, exclaim “YES! Yes! You’re right! I can’t believe I never thought of that! Thank you, Mr. Chicken!” and walk out.
Not sure how weird this is, but it is totally anal-retentive and the only time I act this way.
I cannot eat Skittles out of a bag. I have to dump them out and separate the colors. Then I start counting them out and putting them into sets. If there are say, 9 yellows, 13 greens, 14 purples, 16 reds, and 18 oranges. I make a set of 9 of each color. Then since 4 greens is the lowest number left, I will make a set of 4 of each the remaining colors. Then set aside one purple, one red, and one orange, since the one purple that would remain needs a new set. This leaves me with 2 reds and 4 oranges. I divide the oranges and make yet another set.
Then begin eating, starting with the remaining 2 orange Skittles. I them work my way up the sets, eating the sets with the fewest flavors first and working up to the set that includes all 5 flavors.
I don’t remember when are where I started doing this, but God help me I can’t stop now. I don’t even eat Skittles in public because I’m so self-conscious about this anal-retentive habit of mine.
And no, I don’t do this with M&Ms. Only with Skittles.
Mahaloth: Only when I’m, say, at the mall food court with my friends. I think I’ve done it four times in four different malls. It’s great to watch the reactions of the people who can hear me…
You know that infamous horrible smell that skunks produce? I can’t smell it. Well, I can smell it, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s sort of an olfactory version of colorblindness – skunks smell rather like lemons to me. I have heard that there are actually clubs for people like this, with scratch-and-sniff stickers and everything, but I have never been inclined to seek them out and join.
I have zero “sweet tooth” but sometimes succumb to idiotic impulses with JellyBellies. They’re just so small and the names/scents are so neat. So I’ll buy a mix and match bag for desk-munchin’–and then it drives me wall-eyed nuts eating them.
I MUST sort them out by type before eating. Forget inanities about “1 raspberry+1 white chocolate=cheesecake”. Like I remember which colors/shades/speckles are what–or they’d taste that way anyway.
So I’m skipping lunch and foraging for “grab food”, cruisin’ The Dope–and get totally sidetracked sorting out bizarre nibbles. Kiwi-melon? Raspberry-jalepeno? Choco-latte?
On second thought, the wonder isn’t why I sort 'em; it’s why I bought 'em at all.
lemon and lime first always in 4’s (2&2)
(big disappointment if they dont come out even)
orange next
then cherry
grape always last
this takes place in the work truck so no one sees
I can’t eat Skittles. They make me sweat. It only takes one and my face will get hot, then I’ll feel a fine sheen of perspiration on my face. And it happens every single time I eat Skittles.
I do not have this reaction with any other candy.
I’m 30 years old, American, and never had Skittles until last year, when a friend was so disgusted and amazed that nary a Skittle had passed my lips that he insisted I immediately eat a bag of them. I thought they were pretty good. I don’t really have a good reason for why I never ate one before.
Oh, you mean this isn’t a “tell me something weird about yourself and Skittles” thread?
I don’t have anything that can compete with either a goat head or Ike’s nuts. The only thing that comes to mind is that sometimes when no one else is home, I wear one of my favorite Halloween costumes around the house. Usually the pirate costume. If I’m feeling frisky, I call one of my friends while wearing the costume, and laugh like a maniac and say “I dialed the phone with my hook!” when they answer.
I often wish I were a young, newly-married wife living in 1950’s suburban Baltimore, all excited that her pilot husband has come safely home from the war and looking forward to a bright future with him, barbecueing and having limbo-rock backyard theme parties in the New Atomic Age. Man, that would be so awesome. I’d wear starched white aprons and serve icy martinis and my husband and I would watch “I Love Lucy” together and on Saturday nights we’d go dancing at nightclubs in the city.
um, Mahaloth, don’t tease me about this, okay?
Well, um, I have a friend who is a leatherman, you know bikers cap and leather chaps and all, and he remarked to a friend once how he had always wanted to play dolls as a little kid, but having been ridiculed about it he never did and the friend said well now you’re an adult you can play with dolls all you like
and so
he bought a Barbie doll
[insert horrified smiley]
and he now has two,
and a small portable clothes case
and fifteen different outfits
and the set of fridge magnets.
Well, he has fun and he doesn’t hurt anyone. My friend, that is.
I have two regular sized nipples in the appropriate places and a third, smaller one (maybe a quarter of the size) at the bottom of my left pectoral.
Why do I have it? I don’t know. My father and grandfather both have a birthmark there, but on me it turned out to be a third nipple.
Unfortunately, as far as I know it has not granted me any special powers…yet. I can’t tell the future with it and it doesn’t make me irrisistable to women. Perhaps it is the source of my humour, though…(apparently, that’s a joke from Friends; my friends are fond of bringing that up if my third nipple is brought up in conversation).
Ive been looking for a place to post this story… and this would be the place. I’ve broken nigh every vibrator Ive ever bought.
Masturbating hasnt always been a pleasant experience for me. Theres just too much shit that I can hurt myself on. Lets go over a list, shall we?
I try to avoid food products… Because well… molesting veggies just seems wrong to me. Im sure Ive done it. But it just seems wrong. So like… Ick. Not my thing.
So instead lets talk about… my first vibrator. My first vibrator was prolly 4" in length and black… and relatively thin. It was a gift from my ex. (Back before he was my ex, of course) as I was under 18 and unable to go into “those” kinds of stores.
God, I loved that thing. It broke after about a month. Why on earth arent vibrators waterproof?? It just doesnt make sense. I kept it anyhow… I kinda like it better off anyhow. Im sorry but vibrating is not normal. It doesnt feel normal on yer insides… and after awhile you become numb and/or have to sneeze.
So yeah… I lost that one about 2 years ago. I miss it sometimes.
My second vibrator: The Mutant.
This was also purchased by the ex. It was big and pink and had…
…wait for it…
…studs. Thats right… It was studded.
“Studded… for her pleasure”
No… “Studded… for the uncomfortable sensation of being raped by a vibrating gourd.”
It didnt last too long. I tried to modify it… tried to take the studs off… but then it was just rough and that sucked too.
My third deviant sexual device was a corded device with two small eggish shaped things each on a seperate cord that both attached to a box that had the vibrating speed control on it.
Fuck that thing.
Like… not in a good way.
It shocked me.
That’s right… Bad engineering… One of the cords was exposed…and literally SHOCKED me in one of the most inconveniant places a young woman can be shocked.
So yeah… fuck that thing.
Lessee… I dont recall any toys for awhile after that… I was sort of gunshy, I think.
I’ve never been a finger person, really. I mean… someone elses fingers are great… but my own? Nah… just doesnt work for me. Works well in conjunction with a dildo, mind you… Hooray for Clitorisi! But just by itself… No thanks.
So then I bought my own vibrator. I took my then boyfriend to Castle Boutique to purchase it. NEVER take your boyfriend to help you pick out a vibrator. Its a very traumatizing thing to do to a guy.
I decided on a 7" pink realistic looking vibrator which I named “Mr. Pink” a la Reservoir Dogs.
I broke it.
It shall buzz no longer.
But It still roolz. It was the first “lifelike” vibrator I ever had. (The others were more of a bullet shape)
So Mr. Pink and I became best of friends… insert cheesy iMac commercial song here
And then one day I decided I needed to be a toy-adulteress. So back I skipped to Castle Boutique.
This time emergining with a pink monstrosity I named “Also”. (Mr. Pink and his brother Also… Get it? Also Pink… Bwahaha… anyhow)
It’s too big. Its kinda floppy… but its made out of a super pliant rubber that feels really neet.
It also has a cord. With a vibrator control box… which sometimes works… and sometimes doesnt… I dropped it in the bathtub.
God damnit! Waterproof these things!
So yeah. Theres my confession.
