Tonight, however, I’d like to go deeper.
I was talking to a friend recently about my theory that people who click the “non-crushed” ice button on their refrigerators have horrible self-esteem. First off, if you don’t like chewing on ice you’ve obviously never chewed on ice. It’s delectable. It’s not subjective, as ice has no flavor. And you like chewing, right? You do it all day. Now, you might not like chewing on canned tuna or Whoppers (both are terrible), but even if you do, I can’t use that to judge your psychological well-being. I believe you just have shitty taste and your buds are really whacked out of alignment. But you’re not nuts, necessarily.
Since ice hasn’t a taste, what I do know is if you aren’t chomping away you don’t enjoy having fun. Chewing ice is the milk’s bananas!
Okay, I’m not going to Google that, but for a second I thought I just made that up. It seems unlikely, and I probably heard it watching a newsie at the Bijou back in ’47. But, if I did just invent that phrase I’ll expect it up on UrbanDictionary with proper citation.
Hang on, bozos! I just made a statement that was over-generalized. Chewing ice in all its forms is not worthwhile. Ice that comes out of those plastic blue trays in your freezer are NOT to be chewed upon. They’re too big, too solid, and you end up playing Russian Roulette with your molars. It’s not smart or fun.
Same thing with the longer, cylindrical ones that come out of automatic ice makers. The “non-crushed” ice. These you can chew without chipping a cuspid, but again, it’s a little too intense. It’s not comfortable or relaxing. You’re nearing the edge of sanity. Sure you can let them melt down a little in your Fresca, but then your drink tastes watery.
Crushed is the only way to go. Fill up a tumbler of whiskey, load it with crushed ice, and chomp away while getting slammed. I don’t drink anymore, and I can’t remember if people order whiskey with crushed ice, but they goddamn well should. If you appreciate this style of ice as much as I do, part of the beauty is that each piece is unique. It’s like a snowflake without a tool to view the design of a snowflake.
Crushed ice is simply fun. It’s a free thrill with no calories.
So, my friend mentioned above heard this insane rant with no logic, sound reasoning, or empirical evidence and said, “Yeah, but crushed ice fails next to those little balls of ice.”
Hold the phone! Stop printing! We have a new exclusive!
She was right. Holy farts was she right! I had forgotten about the tiny balls of ice.
Not that slushie ice crap – that stuff sucks and we all know it. No, the little balls of ice you used to see at various snack shops. They have a texture that compresses in when you chew on it. It’s the most satisfying ice experience you can have, bar none. To be able to push ice into itself as it melts – well, it’s giving me goosebumps right now. I’m not joshing.
Just did some research, they range from 2-5k bucks. Ice pelletes are not easy to make apparently, and that’s a bummer because to spend that kind of money on an ice machine, while worth it in my book, is not a sound financial decision for me at this point. It reminds me of my friend’s dad growing up. “Sure we can afford a Ferarri, we’d just have to live in it.”
Tomorrow I’m going to see if I can find a local joint here in Chicago that serves drinks with ice pellets. I will try to take pictures if I can stop shaking with nervous excitement. I can’t believe you just read this whole ridiculous post. Truly.
photo credit: Seven Morris via photo pin cc
]]>A problem I’ve had throughout my love life has been getting women to agree with me on all my opinions. If you disagree with my stance on something I feel passionate about, I take it as a personal attack. I then think we’re not a united front and mismatched. But I also think you’re lying about your position. That, under sodium pentothal and a heat lamp, you would admit that my stance on the topic was, in fact, your stance.
So, to sum up – you’re disagreeing with me to intentionally spar. This means that you really hate me, because why wouldn’t you just say, “Hey, that’s a really great opinion!”? So, since you hate me – I have to attack you to defend myself.
Once again – you know I’m right. You don’t want to concede I’m right. You make up a bullshit opposing position. I don’t believe you and try to get you to admit you’re lying. I get increasingly upset that you won’t admit you’re lying. I accuse you of horribly malicious stuff.
Can you imagine you’re dating me and just have a different opinion on a topic where I believe I’m right? After a few experiences with my insanity, you’re going to keep those viewpoints to yourself. And you’re going to feel that I don’t respect or acknowledge your thoughts. Basically, I’m going to make you feel like shit.
Welcome to my crazy.
I was telling my therapist all about this today – and just to put a few points in my good-guy column, I know this is nuts. I understand how this is all in my head and not appropriate behavior and that it can damage relationships. Plus, it’s plain not fair to my partner.
However, I never do any of it on purpose. I’m not trying to be combative. In the moment where you’re sharing a different viewpoint – I actually think you’re lying.
During therapy I wanted to work on me not needing my girlfriend to agree with me on every little topic. And also to not see every differing opinion as a personal attack. Even though I may think she’s wrong, she may think she’s right, and it’s okay to make room for her beliefs.
We worked on some basic active listening skills and what to do when I’m caught up in the moment and feeling attacked. I wanted to go back to the psychological roots of why I was doing this in the first place. Finally, she said, “I don’t think you’re listening to me.” That got me super pissed because I was listening.
“I’ve heard and agreed with each strategy you just discussed. I can tell you everything you just said if you’d like me to repeat it.”
Sure, go ahead.
(after repeating almost verbatim what she had said) – I was agreeing with you but I kept wanting to go back to the roots of the issue instead of strategies to cope when it comes up.
Okay, so clearly you were listening. But why would I think you weren’t?
Because while you were talking I was inside my head trying to figure out the roots of my issue, and at the same time processing your strategies. I can do both simultaneously.
That’s amazing. However, again, why did I think you weren’t listening?
My eyes were closed and I was inside my head trying to work this thing out myself. And I kept changing the topic to going back to what I wanted to talk about.
Right, we weren’t having a conversation. You were trying to control the direction of the session to get to where you wanted. You evaluated every strategy I gave you, and since you agreed with me, you immediately moved on to the next topic.
Ah – yes, that’s true.
So, that’s not a conversation, D.J.
But as soon as I agree with you, can’t we just move on?
Oh boy…
— fin —
It’s time for me to learn that a conversation is not a monologue or rant of my thoughts. That’s merely performance. I need to be able to take in other people’s ideas and really digest them with them. This is intimacy and connectedness.
Strangely enough, to coworkers or friends I’m okay with your having a different stance on something. But when we’re dating (or married) you better damn well agree on everything I believe. Or else!
Yep – sadly, I have to own that this is me. But hopefully not for long.
Truth is, I’m feeling a bit sad. After nearly three weeks of being here, Jessica is heading back to Atlanta in a few days with her cat and dog. It’s been over two years since my wife moved out, and to have somebody at home has been wonderful.
I found myself criticizing her quite a bit while she was here. Now, she does basically nothing that a sane person would find annoying. She’s great. But I still found things to pick on.
This trip, however, about halfway through going off on a rant about something she should be doing differently, I would think, “I’m trying to control this person. Why?”
Because I feel that often I don’t control my own life well.
So, about a dozen times these past weeks, in the middle of some point I was trying to make to her, I would just stop and say, “You know what? I’m trying to change your behavior, and control you. That is about me – not you. I’m sorry.”
Now, before you hail me as a hero (too late – you did), realize I had already abused her by trying to make her feel stupid. I would apologize, but the damage had been done.
This really is a big step forward because eventually I’ll feel the feeling that prompts me to be controlling and critical and realize that I really need something else and I’m lashing out to get it. Then I’ll learn how to cope with that feeling, and won’t need to be harsh to people.
I waxed on for thirty minutes yesterday trying to tell her she should feel like shit for a nasty thing she said to an ex-boyfriend. She didn’t feel bad about it whatsoever. I told her she should be ashamed. On minute twenty-nine I stopped and said out loud, “I’m totally nuts. Why do I need to make you wrong? Forget anything I said.” Plus, I realized I didn’t have any problem with what she said to the boyfriend.
So, I guess yelling at somebody and then at the end saying, “You know what? I’m trying to control and shame you. Let’s forget this conversation ever took place,” is sort of funny. Not funny for her as much.
Oh, this is funny. She wraps her toothbrush in toilet paper and puts it on the counter. When asked why she says that you flush the toilet after a hearty two that doody particles fly through the air and land on your bristles. I use mine to brush my dog’s teeth as well as my own.
I am going to try to not criticize her for this crazy doody theory. But I want to. I want to so bad. Please, just this once. I have to.
