Sex and Suburbia, More about Nuts

Sex and Suburbia, More about Nuts
By Julie Stankowski

Recently, I wrote about the fact that there are so many nutty people out in the world. And there are. But after further consideration, I have decided that we are all nuts! I have decided that there are two categories of nuts: (1) Normal nuts, like pistachios, with a nice, typical shell on the outside and all kinds of weird nooks and crannies and blemishes on the inside; and (2) Crazy nuts, like cashews, with no shell to cover up the slimy, naked oddly shaped morsel leaving any irregularities visible to the naked eye.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I am a pistachio, a normal nut (thank God my husband does not have his own blog to rebut this declaration and present evidence that I am really a cashew!). The more I think about myself, the more I realize how nutty I am. For example, here is what’s on my mind today, no pun intended. I have a headache; therefore I have a brain tumor. I think I am somehow related to Woody Allen because I, like him, am a neurotic hypochondriac. Really, maybe I am related to him. We’re both short, we’re both Jewish, we’re both writers. Oh, but I didn’t divorce my husband and marry his son. And I haven’t written 500 successful movies. So maybe I’m not related to Woody after all. I must say, however, that every time I get a little ache or pain, I worry that I am dying. Very Woody-esque of me. Very pistachio-like.

And another thing, I have all kinds of phobias I don’t think normal people have. I can’t stand cooked fruit. I think it is slimy and gross. That means I think all fruit pies are disgusting. Weird, don’t you think? I don’t like crowds. That means I don’t like going to Disneyland or rock concerts or even to Lakers’ games, despite the fact that we have awesome seats. What’s the problem with crowds? I have no idea, but somehow I feel claustrophobic when there are lots of strangers all around me. Lice. I am absolutely paranoid about my kids getting lice. If you have ever experienced lice, maybe you won’t think I’m so weird, but I use Hair Fairy products on my kids every day and when my daughter plays softball and is assigned catcher, I cringe and pray that when she puts on the catcher’s helmet, she won’t come home with lice! And when I sit in a taxi cab or bus or any public chair, for that matter, I lean forward and try not to let my hair touch the seat for fear the person who sat there before me had lice.

And I have a complete phobia of public restrooms. Whether I am at the Four Seasons or McDonalds, in a friend’s powder room or a ship’s stateroom, I avoid touching anything at all cost. I have a deep-seeded belief that all bathrooms, other than my own, are cesspools of germs and disease. I even squat in my own guest bathroom because people other than my family have used the toilet in there. Unfortunately, my daughter is the complete opposite of me and feels the need to use every public restroom she comes across. I am still astounded that I survived her having to go number two at Dodger Stadium!

Other reasons I think I’m a nut include my dancing around the house with my kids while singing Shabbat songs I can’t get out of my head, as if they were number one hits and I was a rock star. I could be totally content to sit on my tush and do nothing for eight hours straight but watch reruns of Law and Order. I think restaurant chefs spit in my food when anyone in my party says anything that can potentially be interpreted as rude to someone on the wait staff. If I could exchange my closet wardrobe with any celebrity, it would not be with J.Lo or Angelina, it would be with Diane Keaton. I can’t get enough of reality TV. I’d rather eat a whole loaf of freshly baked bread smothered in butter than I would chocolate cake. Between each bite of a hamburger, I dip it in ketchup as if it were a French fry. I laugh hysterically when someone gets hurt, you know, like an adult who hits his ankle on a hotel bed frame that was sticking way out, but couldn’t be seen because it was covered by a bedspread. Hysterical.

And the number one reason I know I am nuts is based on this hypothesis: I think almost every person I have ever met is weird. Since most would argue that the entire human population is not made up of weirdos, I must be the weirdo. That’s it. I’m done. I just have one question: Now that I’ve spilled the beans about myself, do you agree that I’m a pistachio or do you think I’m really a cashew?

P.S. I did a little research and according to Wikipedia, there are 53 different types of nuts out there!