Humor of the Day: OCD...Only Certain Digits

I remember the day I diagnosed myself with OCD. I laughed about it that day and yesterday, my OCD brought yet another smile to my face.

My self diagnosis of OCD occurred one evening when I went to the Danbury mall with my friend Lisa and our kids (Lauren and Madison). Because Lisa thinks I am an irresponsible driver, she usually drives on our outings. On this particular night, Lisa stopped for gas, filled up the gas tank, got back in the car and drove away.

No sooner had she pulled out of the gas station and I said to her "why did you do that?" She replied "What?" I said "you bought $32.23 worth of gas." And her reply to that was "Yea..and?"

I was beyond horrified; I could not imagine why she didn't slowly pump the gas until the dollar amount read "32.25 --or optimally $32.50." As I told Lisa that night, I found it so "disturbing" that she would just leave the dollar amount on an odd number. Lisa, in turn, found my OCD tendencies equally odd - but laughable.

Yesterday, I was at All Sport (a place the seems to be a haven for humorous moments) and I was running on a treadmill next to another woman. At the end of her workout, I glanced at her treadmill and her vital stats were:

Time elapsed: 26:42
Miles: 1.91
Calories: 343

As she got off the treadmill, I wanted to say to her "NO, NO..COME BACK...YOU CAN'T LEAVE THE TREADMILL WITH THOSE NUMBERS ON IT." Was she crazy? At the very least, she needed to come back and round the mileage up to an even 2.0. I found myself staring at her numbers and thinking "how could she do that?" and then I laughed. Because I realized that she was not crazy at all; I was the crazy one. I was the one afflicted with OCD of the "Only Certain Digits" variety.

Evidently, I have a very complex set of internal rules about what numbers may/may not be left on the treadmill display (or gas tank). I tried explaining my rules to Lauren last night and it went something like this:

• Any number without trailing digits is good ($32.00, 2.0 miles)
• Any even or odd number followed by a digit that ends in "5" or "0" is good ($32.25, 3.30 miles)
• Any 2 or 3 digit number whose last digit is "5" or "0" is perfect (345 calories, 360 calories)

These are all number combinations that make sense to me or do not disturb me. Sometimes, if I am having a really lucky day, all the right numbers show up, in all the right places, at all the right times.

And that's what I consider a lucky day because there's nothing better than winning the "OCD Jackpot of the day" ....lol

Humor of the Day: Flowers down..towards me..happy on 3

Last night, I received a a very odd phone call, which, after I hung up, made me laugh. When I answered the phone, a woman with a Southern accent asked for Diane. When I told her she was speaking with Diane, she proceeded to tell me that her name was Doneta (?) and she was the photographer from my wedding.

I could not imagine why, after 25 years, the photographer from my wedding was calling me. Had she secretly, years later, entered me in the Bridezilla competition and was calling to say I was a winner?

She continued to say that she believed she had photographed my wedding to Ed Crawford, which took place in High Point, NC. Because I have inherited both my mother's superstitious gene and her suspicious gene, I immediately said "No, I don't think so" because in reality, I had gotten married in Greensboro, NC.

But, because I also inherited my mother's inquisitive gene, I couldn't just let the conversation die. So, I said "Well, if I were the Diane, who married Ed Crawford, in NC....why are you calling?"
She said that she had records indicating I had married Ed Crawford, in 1986, at Temple Beth El.

Knowing that she had the correct information, I 'fessed up and and said "Ok, I think you may have photographed my wedding." Was she now going to tell me that she had proof that the rabbi who performed our service was a fraud and I wasn't really married after all these years?

Interesting theory, but no.....she said that she had closed her photography studio and for $50.00 plus $3.85 tax, I could have the negatives to all my wedding photographs stored in a bank deposit box. If I didn't choose that option, my negatives would be shredded to ensure that "no one else would have access to them." I opted to have the negatives shredded.

This all sounded so strange to me and in retrospect, I really wish I had asked her to repeat the "mantra" that she used over and over and over each time she took my photo that day. If she replied "Flowers down, towards me, happy on 3", then I would have know she was indeed the woman who photographed my wedding!

Also in retrospect, I really wish I had said something along the lines of .... "Well, I am the Diane you are looking for, I did marry Ed Crawford in 1986, but I am now on husband #3...so shred those photos"....lol

Humor of the Day: Oy Vey and Evil Eyes

Yesterday was a fairly humourless day; there wasn't anything notable that made me laugh or smile. Hence, I am relying on a conversation I had with my mother a few days ago that definitely made me laugh (the truth is, most of my conversations with my mother make me laugh for one reason or another).

I had called my mom and was telling her about my friend Irene's father and that he died. I then proceeded to tell her about my friend Lisa's mom who has Alzheimer's and was going to be placed in a nursing home. No sooner had I relayed that information, when I somehow managed to mention that Lisa's son Ty (10 yrs old) has a best friend with cancer.

At that point, my mother stopped me and said "Oy Vey...you are full of good news today." Then, she said "wait, let me find my evil eye." I said "your WHAT?" She said "My evil eye...the one I bought in Greece. The Greeks believe that if you wear it, it will ward off any evil spirits...hold on."

So there I sat, on a long distance call, my allocated monthly minutes ticking away, while my mom hunted for her evil eye. Fortunately, she didn't have to hunt hard and long for her evil eye, because it was on top of her TV (where all good Greeks probably keep their evil eyes).

She then said "one second...I am pinning it on me. Ok, now I'm safe....what were you saying about Ty's friend?"

And my kids wonder why I am so superstitious????.....lol

Humor of the Day: You Might Be a Redneck If....

you are contemplating putting a piece of carpet over your muddy lawn so you can park your car. Am I kidding? I wish I were.

This was the very topic of conversation at our dinner table tonight. Because Ed is nice enough to park his car outside all winter (while Lauren and I hog the garage spots), Ed's outdoor parking area is slowly becoming a muddy mess.

Ever the engineer, Ed is thinking of ways to combat the mud bath that he faces each night when he parks his car. One idea I heard suggested tonight was placing a large piece of wood on top of the affected lawn area. The house majority was swift to veto this idea.

The next idea presented was to buy a carpet "remnant" and place that over the muddy lawn area. Ed was quickly informed that this idea would only be allowed if the carpet remnant came with a broken-down patio set and a planter to match:


Spring just can't come soon enough....lol

Humor of the Day: M&Ms...Movies and Matrons

Last night, Ed and I did something that we don't normally do: we went to the movies. While this doesn't sound all that unusual, it is actually highly unusual considering I am not a movie buff and do not enjoy sitting through movies. Yet, ever since our movie theater installed stadium seating, I have found that I am more readily able to "tune out" others talking, eating, crinkling paper, etc. So, in the past two months, we have gone to the movies twice. That's two times more than we have gone in the past 2 years!

As I was watching the movie, an incident occurred that brought a BIG smile to my face and caused me to lose focus on the movie (though not terribly difficult for me to do). I was sitting with my feet up on the seat in front of me (all part of my ploy to keep other patrons at bay) when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flashlight. I looked to my left and it was the movie theater employee who walks down one aisle, in front of the screen and then back up the other aisle. The minute I saw his flashlight, I sat up, instinctively took my feet down and held my breath as I waited for him to continue walking past me. And when the coast was clear, I put my feet back up and laughed to myself.

But, growing up in the Bronx, going to the movies and dealing with the "movie matrons" was no laughing matter. For anyone who did not grow up in the Bronx, the notion of a "movie matron" might be a foreign concept; it was to Ed.

Movie matrons were women who were employed by movie theaters and they had one common goal: to make all kids' movie experiences as terrifying and uncomfortable as possible. Apparently, there were 3 qualifications to be a movie matron:

- Must be a minimum of 85 years old

- Must be a minimum of 40 pounds overweight

- Must have an instinctual hatred for all people under the age of 12

If you were "lucky" enough to meet this criterion, then you were given a stark white uniform (think old fashioned nurse's uniform), a blinding flashlight and instructions to patrol each and every aisle of the theater. Your mission was to find those persons under the age of 12 who were violating one of the many theater rules.

Of the many theater rules, the movie matrons were notorious for finding the "feet on the seat" offenders. If the movie matron happened to sneak up on you and saw you with your feet on the seat in front of you, she would immediately shine the blinding flashlight in your eye, then direct it towards your feet and then instill the fear of God in you until you took your feet down.

Usually, during a movie outgoing, there was one friend who was on "matron patrol". It was not uncommon to hear your friend murmur "matron coming" at which point everyone sat upright, feet flat on the floor and attention completely focused on the movie. When the light from the matron's flashlight disappeared, our feet returned to the top of the seat in front of us and we carried on with our antics.

Hoping to find an old photo of a Bronx movie matron, I did many Google searches, but was unsuccessful. However, I did find these quotes that also made me laugh:

"The matron at the Luxor must've been about 110 years old and hated kids"

"I remember those matrons (those scary ladies in white dresses) monitoring the kids on Saturday afternoons"

"..and the "matron" (that kind of movie theater always had a sort of headmistress ) - a very stern woman in a white dress - who stood guard so to speak, keeping kids in line and maintaining order..."

While it makes me laugh now to think about the movie matrons, they obviously left a long-lasting impression on me (and others). And for the lack of anything better, I can always blame my dislike for movie theaters on the mean-spirited matrons....lol

Humor of the Day: Spin Out

In an attempt to get myself into "some kind" of shape for my upcoming 40 mile bike ride in May, I have decided to take a weekly "spin" class at All Sport. Though I have often walked by and seen the class in progress, I never really had much interest in sitting on a stationary bike for an hour and peddling as fast as my legs could possibly go. Nevertheless, I have now taken the class twice. And, I'm still alive to blog about it.

I took my 2nd spin class last night and there were 3 things made me laugh (thank god for something to laugh about during the class):

• The first laugh-worthy item is the fact that the instructor, a stocky (overweight?) guy never, ever, ever, not once, sits on the bicycle. Yet, he is the spin "instructor". How can this be? Instead, he walks up and down the aisles yelling "PEDDLE..PEDDLE...FASTER...FASTER." And, while I find it bizarre that he doesn't "spin", I also find it humorous that he was sweating more than I was. Maybe I should give up the bike and walk up/down the aisles? I might just get as good (or better) of a work-out.

• I have always had a theory that there is "always one" in every class. Whether it be an academic class, an exercise class or any group setting, there is always someone who either asks 10,000 questions, is annoying or somehow, just manages to get themselves noticed. Last night was no exception. But, the part that really made me laugh is that in exercise classes, why is that person always front row and center? That spot must be reserved for the "exerciser who does everything and anything possible to be noticed by the instructor." Last night, that honor goes to some cycler who insisted on singing LOUDLY to the music, waving his arms in the air and ...well, you get the picture. I did not find him amusing, but rather, the fact that he occupied the front, center spot. It never fails.

• And last but not least, the most amusing event of the spin class was when I "spun" out. Somehow, I managed to survive the entire class but when it was time to get off the bike and stretch, my leg got stuck on the bike seat and I slid to the floor. Because I was in the back row (not center), I assumed my acrobatic maneuver would go largely unnoticed. Wrong! Just my luck, the instructor was looking right at me as I performed my graceful slide move. "You OK?" he shouted. I nodded my head. "You sure you are ok...everything's good?" Another nod of my head, not daring to speak and call even more attention to myself. "You know, we captured that on our video cameras" he added with a hearty laugh.

I think I now know why he doesn't dare get on the spin bike...lol

My Big Fat Greek Parking Adventure

Without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite movies is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"; I think that movie is hysterical. Part of the movie's appeal is that it probably works for most ethnic groups. I'm confident that you could easily change the movie to "My Big Fat Jewish Wedding" or "My Big Fat Italian Wedding" and it would still work. The movie is funny in so many ways, but it also emits a feeling of "warmth." All of the characters in that movie are warm, caring and supportive in their own, eccentric way. After seeing that movie, I always thought it would be so "cool" to be Greek.

When I started working at Bayer, I met Irene, who is Greek. After working with her for 3 years, we became close friends and she provided me with an even closer glimpse of the Greek culture. And, she assured me that my favorite movie was "pretty much" an accurate portrayal of a large, Greek family.

When Irene's dad died last week after a long and lengthy illness, I knew that I wanted to go to the wake and pay my respects to her and her family. Because I just started a new job, the only wake I could attend was the evening one (7-9:00pm) in Astoria, Queens. My other former Bayer colleague and friend, Marian, agreed to go the evening wake with me. Because Marian had worked very late the night before and because Marian does not "do" left-turns across on-coming traffic, we decided that I would drive to Astoria. My only short-coming as a driver (despite my road rage personality) is my inability to parallel park. Nevertheless, I had previously assessed the parking situation with Irene and she assured me that there was a small parking lot associated with the funeral home. If I were lucky enough to secure one of these parking spots, parallel parking was a non-issue. Phew! It was "all systems go".....

True to Irene's word, when Marian and I arrived at the funeral home, we secured one of the parking spots in the funeral home parking lot. We paid our respects, met up with one of our other Bayer co-workers, Pirco (a "funky" German, graphic artist) and then decided to sample some of the local Greek fare, which Irene had always raved about.

For "one" inkling, for just "one" fleeting second, for "one" moment in time, I wondered if I should move my car closer to the restaurant. But immediately, I knew that would mean having to give up my prized parking spot and possibly parallel park my car on the street. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered my mind and off we went to eat Greek food.

However, what my friend Irene had neglected to tell me about Greek dining experiences is that they last forever. And ever. And ever. When we entered the restaurant, we were immediately tagged as "tourists." Me with my red hair, Marian with her even redder hair and Pirco with her German accent, clearly stood out as non-Greeks. And, because of this, our middle-aged waitress immediately took us under her wing, explained the entrees on the menu, demonstrated the fine art of adding olive oil and lemon to Marian's dandelion roots, invited us to sample "very good" Greek yogurt, honey, candy and ultimately, Greek coffee.

At some point, during this 3 hour dining extravaganza, I glanced at my watch and jokingly said to Marian and Pirco "You don't think the funeral home puts down "those gates" at a certain time, do you?" Laughing at the ridiculousness of this idea, Marian and Pirco shook their heads no, stuffed their mouths with more Greek delicacies and continued to enjoy the warm, Greek hospitality that was overflowing in this restaurant.

When we finally emerged from the restaurant at 11:30pm, we began our 3 block walk back to the funeral home to retrieve my car. As we approached the block where the funeral home was located, we crossed the street and that's when Marian let out a loud, agonizing "AAAAwwwwwwww."
I glanced up and there, staring me in the face, were "those gates." Except this time, "those gates" presented themselves as a barrier. I was on one side; my car on the other and from the looks of it -- the two would never meet again. Or, at least not anytime soon.

After my initial gasp of "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IS THIS FOR REAL? OH MY GOD...WE ARE STRANDED IN ASTORIA", I did what Marian and Pirco were already doing -- I laughed! This was so not funny, that it was incredibly funny.

In between our laughing, we contemplated the options: Take a subway back to Pirco's apt. in Brooklyn and have a girl's slumber party, take a train back to Tarrytown, followed by a cab back to Bayer, retrieve Marian's car and she would then drive me home. Or, I could call Ed and beg, plead and pray that he would be sympathetic and offer to come get us. And, with any luck at all, he would not lecture me on how utterly insane it was for me to think that I could randomly abandon my car for an entire evening at the local funeral home.

After weighing the options, we did what anybody, who is stranded at a funeral home at 11:30pm on a Friday night would do: we called the Funeral Home Director.

After explaining the situation and providing the "secret code" (the name of the wake we attended earlier in the evening), we were told that someone would be by within 30 minutes to unlock the gates. As we huddled in the cold and waited in the front alcove of the funeral home, we viewed each passer-by as our potential locksmith. And, we groaned in unison when they simply walked past us. But then, Marian spotted two younger men, in dress shirts and ties and she proclaimed "I bet those are our locksmiths." No sooner had Marian said that when the more vocal of the two guys immediately started sputtering and shouting "What makes you think you can park your car in our funeral home all night? We close at 9:00pm and you cannot leave your car here and assume it is fine. The only reason we are here and you are getting your car back now is because "HE" still happened to be in the area."

"HE" was the other young guy who held the key to our freedom in his hand. "HE" told me to follow him to the gate; I apologized profusely and explained that it was the first time I had ever been to a funeral at his place and yes...yes, I was so incredibly foolish to think I could leave my car there all night. At that point, I would have confessed to being certifiably insane just so that "HE" would open "those gates."

When I offered him $20.00 and tried to make amends for my insanity, "HE" shook his head "no" and said "that's OK." Yet, I convinced him to take the money and give it to his friend, who was still sputtering. When we were safely in my car, I rolled down my window and managed to squeeze in one more "thank you" while Mr. Vocal continued to ramble about "Funeral Home Parking Only, 9:00pm closing time, gates locked, what were you thinking, etc. etc." And then, I did something that Marian never would have done: I took a left turn across on-coming traffic, headed home and vowed to sign up for my long over-due parallel parking lessons....lol