Three Things I Love

You had to see this coming.

I love...

1. Dane Cook.

Okay, so it's not that deep a love or anything, but this man makes me laugh like crazy. In fact, we're going to have a small tribute to him right here, right now.

2. fantasizing that natural disasters will come my way.

I'm not talking about a fire. I don't like fires. What I mean is a fucking tornado or something. Maybe a hurricane or just a flood. And I don't want this to really happen, keep in mind. Katrina was sad, natural disasters are bad, I get it. But every now and then, don't you just like to think about what would happen if some hurricane came your way and you had to pack a backpack in two minutes with everything you loved and get on the fucking roof to be rescued? When do you get to climb on the roof? Never, that's when. But during a natural disaster, it's game. All your neighbors will be up there. You wave hello, maybe communicate with morse code. That's awesome. If the flood gets high enough, you can get in those rescue boats and be on the news.

Admit it- that gets your blood pumping.

A tornado's even better. You have to pack a backpack in two minutes with everything you own and run down to the basement. When are you down there other than when you need new batteries? Suddenly, the family and dogs are in close quarters as you're breathing what may be your final breaths and someone starts to confess. "I ate the last bag of Chips Ahoy." "No! You blamed that on me!" And they gradually get more serious. "I fucked Tommy from across the street two weeks ago." "No! You blamed that on me!"

The pipes start making that creepy sucking sound like they did in Twister and the whole house starts shaking. The obligatory screams begin. Maybe you hear things crashing around upstairs. The eye of the storm passes over, and when the winds start up again, you lose the whole upper part of your house. The sky is abruptly wide open above and anything could come crashing down and smash you at any moment!

I have a serious fantasy disaster complex.


3. to be the first to put a knife into a jar of peanut butter.

I think this all started out as like the ultimate privilege when I was small.

"If you go potty right now, I'll let you dip your knife into the new jar of peanut butter."

"Yay!"

Yeah, it started out totally adorable. I was an adorable little kid, slightly chubby with baby fat and brown frizzy hair that was still cute 'cause I was young. Have you ever thought about that? Frizzy hair is adorable on little kids. It's like "Aw, shucks. You slept on that head. No one brushed it. It's awesome. Keep it up, nice job." Then suddenly they're fifteen and you're like "What the fuck are you doing? Run a brush through that mop. Use some hair gel or something. You look completely gross."

But anyway, I was adorable. And I clamored to get my way with the new peanut butter jars just a bit. Suddenly I was interrogating people.

"Did you open the new jar?"

"No, the old one's only half-finished."

"Well... we'll have to eat more of it. Quickly."

The next day, the same question. "Did you open the new jar?"

"No! Stop harassing me!" After that, I merely resorted to eating as much peanut butter as I could every day. That way, I would be the one to finish the jar. I would therefore have the privilege of opening the new jar. Yes, I was fucked up. I am fucked up, I don't even care. So by the end of that week, I would have the jar down to one last sandwich. I would go to bed that night thinking "Yes. Tomorrow I will eat my last peanut butter sandwich and open a new jar. VICTORY."

That morning, I raced downstairs. I was ready to eat peanut butter on toast for breakfast if I had to. I opened the cabinet, reached up for the mostly-empty jar of peanut butter, and found nothing. NOTHING. The jar was gone. I looked everywhere in the cabinet, the kitchen, the house, it was GONE. I found my Mom in the den.

"Where's the peanut butter jar?"

"Peanut butter? Your father took a peanut butter sandwich to work this morning."

"NO!!!" But then I calmed myself. You know why? There was still hope. There was still some possibility that, in his early morning stupor, he had neglected to open a new jar. I still had a chance!

I raced back to the cabinet and found the new jar. I twisted the cap and held my breath. My heart leapt as I dreamt I saw the tell-tale silver seal. "Yes-" My cry of ecstasy was cut off by the realization that all I saw was a knife actually jammed deep into the full jar of peanut butter. My dad had been so half-asleep that he had left the knife in the new jar when he closed it. "NOOOOOOOOO!"

And to this day, I will still fight you for that first baptizing of the knife into peanut butter. Marlie thinks this is funny as shit. I suspect she eats peanut butter just to see me worry how far down the jar's getting.

She then redeems herself by saving the new jar of peanut butter for me to break into. She actually puts it on top of the fridge and brings it down especially when I come over. "Look what I have for you, hikari." And I dig into that new jar and savor the privilege like each new jar I begin will go and do good in the world thanks to me.

Marlie understands.

While she laughs, she understands.


Do you love to do something that people ordinarily get no pleasure out of doing? I don't want to hear about any sexual escapades, please.