Tag Archives: neurosis

Tiny Observations: Adult Concerns

I remember as a child desperately wanting to watch America’s Funniest Home Videos when it came on, but it conflicted with the evening’s weather report on the local news channel.

And if there was one thing my parents could not miss, it was the weather report.

I didn’t get it as a child and I still don’t.

I mean, yes, I do understand the importance of being ready for hazardous driving conditions in the winter. And, in the event of some kind of outing, I understand obsessing about the rain that threatens to derail the entire family reunion’s three-legged sprint race. On a very base level, I get it.

I guess you would have to know my family to really get how confusing this is for me, though. We so very rarely went anywhere where the weather would make or break the event. We rarely went anywhere at all. We’ve never been an outside family. Day-long beach trips were non-existant, parks weren’t frequented, yard work was rarely done. Yet, the weather had to be watched every night or…I don’t know. Think of something terribly tragic and pretend that that happened to me as a child every time they missed the weather report

~I’ll give you time to think of a tragedy~

Yeah. I know, right? No wonder I’m so messed up

I told you that to tell you this:

I was walking into work this morning and literally everyone was carrying an umbrella. Looking up into the sky, I noticed that it was a tad bit cloudy, but nothing too ominous. Turns out, get out of work around 4:45 and, it’s raining. Do all these people obsessively watch the weather, too? Or are they just prepared for whatever weather turns up and I simply don’t notice their constant umbrella companions?

When will I start to become concerned about adult things? Weather, dinner, the dryness of the newspaper, how thick a toenail has to be before some kind of specialist should be called? We went out to Olive Garden for a work lunch and I had barely anything to contribute to the conversations. First and foremost, I don’t have children or grandchildren or nieces or even a little baby sibling, so there goes any chance of saying anything there. But that’s expected with a bunch of middle-aged women.

It’s the other stuff. It’s their yearly plans-of-action during Black Friday where they do nine straight hours of shopping. It’s the divorces of one person or another, every time acting as if this one is as novel an idea as women wearing pants in the 1930s. Checking the weather, checking the obituaries, worrying over a theme for the new half bath. When will I have more to contribute than, “Hey, speaking of Wal-Mart – did you know that they sell caskets in their online store?”

Is there a certain point that you come to when – BAM – all of a sudden you start concerning yourself with all of this? Is it a doom faced by engaged couples?

Or do you already worry about this stuff, guys?

Am I alone in my lack of want or need to watch the weather report in the evening?

That’s a scary thought


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More Piccolo Now

Up until this point, you have only gotten my stupid music challenge shit and the occasional hypochondriac freak-out

How about a real post…about real life?

So very boring, I know

My roommate from college has borrowed out to me a book. It is called Bonk. It is written by a lady named Mary Roach, whose other books include one called Stiff and is about the life (or lack thereof) of a cadaver. Bonk, as you probably have already guessed, is about the curious coupling of science and sex. I have only finished the first chapter, but this is going to prove to be quite an informational ride.

For example…

There is a psychological disease that I first heard of in my Paranoid’s Pocket Guide. It’s called Vaginismus and, in short, it is when the act of penetration (or using tampons) is virtually impossible because the muscles of the vagina will clamp shut. It’s a psychological affliction that stems from a fear of (surprise surprise) penetration and/or the subconscious belief that sex equates to “wrong.” Of course, most women wish that their subconscious would stop making those kind of decisions for them without informing them first, but what the subconscious does not want, it will not have.


The cure for this used to be the standard: psychological therapy and physical therapy to stretch the muscles. But now, you can go in and, with your OBGyn’s blessing, get Botox. This will paralyze the muscles and allow for a little bit of play

I wonder if that will become an option open for ladies who have a hard time with sex in general, in the event that it always hurts. Granted, if sex continues to hurt after months of doing it regularly, I think you shouldn’t turn to Botox as the first solution. Because, you know…your problem might be your tango partner who isn’t letting you warm up before the big number. In the event of unforeseen circumstances, though, this could potentially be a useful thing


This last weekend, I finally ransacked a few of my friends’ iTunes libraries. This is both an exciting thing and a very devastatingly bad thing. And I’ll tell you why

Here comes your daily dose of neurosis. Ready?

I have all these new artists to explore and some old ones that I haven’t spent any time with, excluding our occasional radio affairs. In fact, this time, I have a lot more to plow through than usual (the usual being between two and four gigs – fucking 14 gigs this time). And with me, I don’t want to miss out on a single song that might just be my new Obsession Song of the Month.

Up to this point, I’m sure you’re nodding your head. You get it. You understand

Yeah, but would you attempt to get through all that music in the span of a few days? Probably not. And if you do, get in contact with me and we can organize our stacks of classmates’ senior pictures by color, size, pose, glasses/contacts/neither, and hair color together.

I go music crazy and that’s not entirely a good thing. From dawn until dusk, music is playing and I’m making lists, lists of what I like, love, and adore. I plow and plow through every artists, letting them rape my music-exhausted brain until I’m screaming that I FUCKING HATE THIS BAND I CAN’T STAND THIS ANYMORE WHY ARE THEY PLAYING THE GUITAR SO OFTEN MORE PICCOLO NEEDS TO HAPPEN. And it could be my favorite band. I’ll still hate it. Because I’m tired and I don’t want to listen to music anymore and I want there to be glorious silence. But I don’t stop. I just keeping going

Because there must be order. There are playlists that need to be made and songs that need to be added to existing playlists. The good must be separated from the bad. On-the-fense songs need to be considered more closely. Lyrics need to be learned.

And there is no time to waste.

The day I’m going to have at work tomorrow is going to be exhausting. My iTouch will be drained of battery. My hand will cramp from the lists. I will hate the Goo Goo Dolls and that should never happen.

Pray for me. Pray that I will come to my senses and take it slow – enjoy the whole getting-to-know-you process.

I rush into and through everything


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