Yet Another Time I Embarrass Myself In Front Of The Internet

For my birthday over the summer, Vanessa made me this really cool notebook. She cut out all the pieces herself from different papers, like her old English book and a box of Cheerios. So I always carry it around and jot down ideas, posting possibilities and other fun things. Like lists.

I’ve really enjoyed writing lists, recently. It was during a brainstorm for a list idea that I realized something that I’ve always tried to bury deep down in my soul and deny to any and everyone.

I’m a crier.

I cry at a lot of different things, most of which are totally uncalled for and would make others either feel uncomfortable being around me or comfortable enough to taunt me. Neither option turns into a good scenario for me.

So for a week, I wrote down everything that made me cry. And here they are.

Things That Brought Tears To My Eyes

• The episode of M*A*S*H where BJ arranges a reunion party for all the family members back home so that the families could meet each other and share stories of their loved ones at war.
• A sneeze building up in my nose that refused to come out.
• Staring into a light to get the sneeze out. It works, sometimes. Try it.
• The episode of The Nanny where Grace or Maggie [I forget which one] tells Fran that she’s like their mother, and even thought they love and miss their real mother very much, they still love Fran, too.
• Snapping open a bag for a customer that ended up hitting me on the side of the nose, right near the eye, that resulted in a bit of bloodshed.
• Moulin Rouge. Multiple parts, really, but mostly when Ewan and Nicole reunite, then again when she dies.
• Yawning on the drive home from Boston with Carla, Amanda and Jason.
• Watching the movie RENT.
• Thinking about the musical RENT because I just saw the movie.
• Yawning in Carla’s kitchen while talking to Kristen and Carla.
• Powerful episodes of Roseanne.
• More sneezing/needing to sneeze/looking into bright lights in order to sneeze.

While many of these tears were shed in a Nyquil induced delirium or by the over zealous nature in which I pop bags*, most of them came about because of my ability to became so attached to characters in movies and 30 minute sitcoms that it can only be deemed unbelievingly unhealthy.

I’m not sure why, but my attachment to these characters is intense. And it doesn’t even have to be towards characters I like. Or even watch, for that matter. For example, I only watched the first episode of Dawson’s Creek. Yet when it ended, and I found out Michelle died, I may or may not have wept like baby. YET I DON’T KNOW THESE PEOPLE.

I am aware that the obvious answer to this problem would be to just stop watching TV. What you don’t realize is that I’d sooner shove toothpicks under my fingernails and go swimming in a pool of gin than give up the precious TV.

Hooray for the late 20th century upbringing!

*I don’t know if anyone reading this has worked retail, but popping bags is about the only thing that keeps me going back to the store. That, and when the receipt paper is about to run out, and I get to take it out and snap it like a whip, making the plastic cylinder inside go flying across the store. It’s fucking sweet.