I don't make my own decisions

Much to my dismay, I have discovered that I am the epitome of a walking oxymoron.

I am amazed that as such a stubborn pain in the ass, I can be as easily influenced as I am.

I think I am so use to throwing a fit and getting my own way that when someone tells me to do something, I just shut my mouth and do it. Of course, the person telling me what to do has to be someone I like, Otherwise you will be getting a foot up your ass.

Let's use the following examples:

When I was 3 years old, we went to Sea World.

This was back in the glory days when I was still an only child and even more of a brat than I am now. Thank God my parents had two more "surprises" to bring me down just a little.

We went to watch the "Wonderful World of Shamu" or whatever it was called. Now, back before Shamu killed two of his trainers, kids were allowed to sit on the famous whale and get their picture taken. Well, not just any kid, a special kid chosen from the audience. I announced to my parents that I wanted to sit on Shamu and then proceeded to throw an obnoxiously loud temper tantrum when another (pre-chosen) child skipped down the stairs to climb onto Shamu's back.

This would have been a great time to teach me that we have to take turns in life and that you can't always get what you want. However, before my parents could even consider this lesson, an abnormally happy attendant came to find out why the poor little blonde headed toddler was crying. My dad grudgingly explained that I wanted to sit on Shamu and that it really wasn't a big deal. I looked up at the man with big teary, blue eyes and was invited back to the evening show. My grandmother had a picture of me, in pink and yellow overalls, all smiles, sitting on Shamu and waving to the crowd, on her refridgerator for 22 years. It may still be there.

Surprisingly, my little brother's best friend has also sat on Shamu. He pulled the exact same gig. And I quote, "I really don't understand why people can't figure out that throwing a fit gets you everything you want in life."

Please do understand that this only works if you have the sort of charm where people constantly question why they should hate you but don't. Probably because I liquor them up nice and good.

On the other hand, I really do tend to back down pretty easily.

Episode 1: the cranberry sauce.

I'm not particularly fond of cranberry sauce. I don't know why. I don't even really know if I like it or not, but the texture is weird and I have an issue with food touching and I don't like tangy red fruit running into my stuffing. In fact, I told my family I am going to invent "the Thanksgiving divided plate." I know they make the 3 portion plates but I really have a problem with those. On thanksgiving, it is a given that you will probably eat at least 6 different foods or casseroles at a minimum, and since I want my gravy in a separate compartment so I can "dip" my food in it instead of smothering all of it in brown liquid, I need 7+ compartments. I was thinking I could just divide the plate into a pie-like set up but have since changed that idea to make it more of a center piece in the middle for the turkey or ham, surrounded by compartments arranged similarly to a clock. Then I could even arrange the foods as I plan to eat them and work in a clockwise motion.

I am aware that I have put far too much thought into this and sound completely neurotic. I just like organization, okay? Just nod and give me a pat on the back for finally discovering that corn and mashed potatoes can mix, and that the combination is, in fact, genius.

I do believe I was supposed to be talking about cranberry sauce.

At some point, I told my family I didn't like real cranberry sauce and that I preferred the kind out of the can. I'm guessing I did this as a ploy to avoid the cranberry sauce altogether, but the next year, and for every consecutive year, we have bought the ocean spray canned cran-jelly and sliced it up.

And every year, I eat it.

I was somehow brainwashed that I just looove that straight-out-of-the-can-still-has-ridges jiggly mold of cranberry sauce. It's not even "sauce" it's gelatin. So now, I eat a big ole slab of it every year. Because my family buys it for me, and "i like it", and who am I to argue with my mother and grandmother.

Episode 2:

High School Football

So my high school is big into football. We have several national championship titles and the small town stigma that there's nothing else to do on a Friday night.

Tonight is a playoff game at SMU.

I politely declined the option to go to this game, citing that "I do not give a shit."

I graduated 6 years ago, it's going to be cold, and I could think of better things to do with my Friday night, such as picking my toenails and watching Charlie Brown Thanksgiving or Home Alone for the second night in a row eating cold mac n cheese out of the gladware tub.  

Unfortunately for me, I don't have a spine and have been told that "I am going, I will like it, and I will cheer on my alama mater....loudly and with pride..."

I was also bribed with tailgating, which I find to be the equivalent of using sex as a weapon against men. Do you really have to resort to tempting me with booze and hot dogs?

I find this to be a cruel way to manipulate me.

It's like running up and hitting someone in the knees when they are locked.

Even if you see it coming, you can't act quick enough to defend yourself.

So now I will put on my gloves and green scarf to support the Dragons, I will toast to high school football, I will bear the cold and cheer them on, and to tell the truth, I'm even a little bit excited about it.

Will power is for suckers.

So here's the secret if you haven't figure it out. I'm like a dog. I'll bark and snarl and bear my fangs, but if you walk toward me, look me in the eye, and tell me to do something in an authoritative manner, I will be whimpering in the corner in no time. If you throw something, and tell me to fetch, I might just do that too.

Let's address the fact that this can be taken too far.

After dinner last night, we were celebrating a Cowboys win and waiting for the horns game to come on. Conveniently enough, Home Alone ended at exactly 7pm. The movie literally was fading into black for the credits to roll, my hand is reaching for the remote, my fingers already hovering above the correct buttons to take us directly to ESPN HD.

In the split second between 6:59 and 7:00, my grandfather finds it necessary to yell out "THE HORNS GAME IS ON!!!" 

1. Look old man, I'm on it. I wanted to watch the bandits get carted off to jail and my hand can only move so quickly.

2. You can just sit tight and not get your panties in a wad because I am the one who had to remind everyone that THE University of Texas was playing tonight.

"Is there any football worth watching today?"

"Uhhh...MY TEAM!!!"

Traitor Sooner converts.

I liken this to Dallas Mercedes drivers. I'm at a red light. I'm watching traffic going the other way, my eye on the crosswalk as the hand counts down...3...2...1....

My foot is hovering over the gas and I ease forward as I wait for the light to "officially" turn green. It turns green. Before I can lower my foot I hear Slick Hair McGee lay on the horn behind me. If I'm in a hurry, I like to hit the gas, then throw my hands up in a "What, buddy?! I'm goin' I'm goin' SHEESH" motion. If he's the only person behind me and I have time to kill, I like to sit and wait until the light turns yellow, then clear the intersection leaving old grumpy pants waiting at another red light.

Childish? sure.

But it fills my heart will laughter as I cruise away in my basic little car without mirrors on the visor.

Money doesn't hold all the power now, does it home skillet?

I don't remember what I was even talking about now.

But let me tell you, giving others road rage is really a delight, sometimes.

And you know what they say, Tis better to give than receive.

Happy Holidays everybody.