I’m terribly sorry about the hiatus, it’s been a crazy couple of days. I hope you have all survived my absence and to reward you I’m bringing out a hate that’s probably pretty close to my personal kryptonite. Remember when I said that I hate equally? Well, I lied. No I’m not above lying, sorry to disappoint you all.

I HATE WATER. No, not drinking water, water water. I am absolutely terrified of water. I don’t even take baths because it requires me to sit in water and at least in the shower I have a 99% chance of not drowning. I am convinced that my water terror is ultimately going to lead to my demise in a watery grave. Ironic? Exactly, as if I would go out any other way. There is nothing else in this world that makes me cry and tremble like a little girl than water. The last time Aaron and I went to Myrtle Beach he thought it would be funny to carry me out in the ocean, I lost the ability to talk or communicate in any meaningful way, unless sobbing counts as meaningful communication.

I blame my mom for this, because she’s terrified of water herself. I always thought it was silly and then she put me in swim lessons. Suddenly I understood. I swear I thought I was in swim lessons for 3 years but in reality my mom says it was only like 6 months. Apparently I failed the beginners swim class twice and I think they asked my mom to stop bringing me. Every week they would make us jump off of the diving board and every week I would stand at the end of the diving board and sob. Eventually I would jump but only after performing a very dramatic production that I like to call, “Nikki is about to wet herself, or get snot in the pool.�? I’m positive all the other moms pointed at me and whispered, “That poor girl in the Snoopy bathing suit is going to be in therapy for years after this.�? My dad came to watch me at swim lessons once and this was the only time I jumped off the diving board without all the useless, teary procrastination. My mom told me, “you’d better not pull that crying stuff this time, dad doesn’t want to see it.�? She wasn’t kidding either, my dad’s universal response to a crying child is, “Dry it up kid!�? Empathy isn’t his strong point. This is what I remember from swim lessons (besides the crying): It was at the YMCA in Blue Ash, the pool was ridiculously large and they made us canoe in the pool sometimes. Um hello, I’m 4. I have no desire to paddle this oversized pop can around with 9 other 4 year olds. We don’t even know which end of the stick goes in the water! And the fact that I’m required to wear a life vest in the swimming pool is causing me great distress. I also have a very vivid memory of some boy throwing up what looked like pink popcorn all over the side of the pool and he got to go home. I spent the next 3 months thinking, “If I could just throw up…�?

If I had to choose between a swimming pool and the ocean, I would choose the pool. Not because I’m afraid of the waves (well, I am, but that’s not the reason) but because nothing larger than an amoeba lives in the pool, and I’m down with that. I am NOT down with invading aquatic ecosystems. I would not be pleased to find a sea bass lounging on my couch, so why on earth would I want to go tromping through a jelly fish’s home? No wonder they sting people. Fish, shark, octopus, whatever the sea creature, I’m pretty sure they don’t appreciate me invading their oceanic paradise. I remember being in Florida when I was 12 and I caught a fish in my hand and then I realized there were creatures of the sea all around me and I had to peace out of the water.

One last story to truly solidify my ridiculousness, Aaron’s parents were kind enough to take us on a cruise to Alaska. We did all sorts of excursions and one included a canoeing trip. So we arrive at this lake that looked more like the Pacific in my eyes (I don’t think it was even half a mile wide..) and I’m wearing a child’s life vest and it’s raining and I’m supposed to traverse this slippery dock and climb into this slippery, rocking boat without falling. So I get in the boat and sit on the wet board they called a seat and THEN they expected me to paddle?! Heck to the NO! So there I was, 23 years old, sitting in a boat in the middle of Alaska, in the rain, shaking, holding a paddle in my lap and crying. I tried to be brave and help paddle on the way back but the lady behind me had no rhythm (who let a Canuck on the boat?!) and after about the third time that she smacked into my paddle I gave up and went back to praying, humming hymns and fending off the grim reaper.

And all of this aquatic trauma has set me up for a lifetime of floatie dependence and a hate for the YMCA.

I’m just going to come right out with this one, I cannot stand that sound in your car when you have the air conditioner turned up all the way. To me it sounds like I’m trapped in a tornado. What’s worse, I married a man who truly believes he’s the god of car-cooling. However, he’s not, he’s simply the amazing god of making his wife seize in the passenger seat. When he turns it up to “4�? I start pulling at my ears like some sort of deranged rabbit. I honestly believe that more than 30 seconds of that sounds could make a person bleed from the ears.

I once made a comment to someone about how I could not stand this wind tunnel like sound. This person thought I was a total nut job. Not so much because I hated this sound, but more so because I was able to just run off a list of things I can’t stand, as if I have some sort of mental queue of things I hate. Hmmm…that might be true. Anyways, so the next time I see this kid he says to me, “Oh my gosh you were right, that is the worst sound I’ve ever heard.�? The greatest part of this, you’re all going to try it now. You think of me when your ears bleed.

This hate makes me turn my niece into the family dog. I can’t stand tomatoes. They’re all mushy and seedy, like bad jell-o with stuff in it. Whenever I am out to eat with Haley, I scrape the tomatoes off my salad onto her plate. She doesn’t mind, because if I don’t offer them she makes sure to ask (politely of course!). There’s simply something repulsive about tomatoes. I do not like the taste, but that’s not what makes me gag. It’s the fact that they get so slimey and runny. You make one slice in those juice balloons and there is just stuff everywhere. What appears to be water with blood cells in it comes running out, the inner pulp falls apart and my nose turns up at the sight. I won’t even eat a lettuce leaf out of my salad if it has so much as a tomato seed on it. It’s too nasty, and from a girl who spent time cutting up dead people, that says a lot.

I’ve spent most of my life listening to my parents say, “I think we brought home the wrong child, who doesn’t eat tomatoes?�? Well mom and dad, the same child who doesn’t eat green beans, meat loaf, vegetable soup, roast beef, chili, salisbury steak, white rice or food that gets cooked together in one big pot because I prefer my food segregated. I might be a picky eater. Even Haley says, “I won’t ever understand why you don’t like tomatoes Aunt Nikki.�? She says this as she crams a handful of diced tomatoes in her mouth and a little part of me dies.

I know you’re thinking this, so I’ll go ahead and answer: no, I do not eat ketchup, yes I do eat sauce on my spaghetti and I like pizza sauce. Yes I understand they are tomato by-products but if I don’t have to see the chunks, I won’t blow them.

Not only does this hate not make any sense, it’s suffering an identity crisis because it’s simultaneously disgusting and delicious. I can’t stand the texture of beans when I eat them. They’re so pasty and gross on the roof of my mouth. Truth be told, I hate the texture so much that I try not to chew when I’m eating any sort of bean cuisine. What’s even more awesome than hating the texture of beans? The fact that I enjoy both black beans, or white chicken chili (which has beans). However, every time I eat them I get that grit in my mouth as if I have just chewed on a piece of sandpaper. It keeps my bean intake relatively low, which may be the saving grace to my marriage..afterall, beans are the musical fruit.

The best part of not liking beans is that I won’t eat real chili, you know, “Texas chili�?. Before we were married, my Texan husband’s grandmother gave me her recipe for chili, telling me how much my husband enjoyed it as a young boy. I smiled and accepted it, but all I could think was “It’ll be a cold day before he enjoys it again�?. As a child, I would actually starve on nights when we had chili because I wasn’t about to put that spoonful of yuck in my mouth, there wasn’t enough cheese in the world to make it all better. The beans are only 1/3 of the reason I won’t eat chili, the other 2/3 are a combination of meat and tomatoes which I also do not enjoy.

Finally, the WORST beans of all. When I go to a Mexican restaurant I will not even eat and item if it touches that chunky diarrhea they call “refried beans�?. Those aren’t beans, I could hang wall paper with that goop! I would die as a Mexican.

Fun and Educational bean fact for the day: Everyone has heard that beans are a good source of protein. This is only a half truth, as beans are only a good source of protein if combined with a grain. Remember that when you go vegetarian.

This hate gives me the heebie jeebies and makes me believe that I might be mildly autistic (just like my dog). I literally cringe when I think about it. I HATE the way velvet feels, and this is where the autistic part comes in. I think that my brain cannot handle this sensation and it makes me want to scream and pull my skin off. I don’t think velvet is soft, I think it’s scratchy and when I touch it I can literally feel it in my eyes. I’m not joking, I can feel the texture with my eyes (I’m magical like a friggin’ unicorn). I feel bad for those poor babies dressed in velvet for their Christmas pictures, but not so bad that I wouldn’t punch them. Honestly, Need to punch babies + Close proximity = Path of least resistance, you get the picture, if they get to close these velvet babies are getting punched! Oh look, I made this fun AND educational by adding an equation. I should be teaching kids to finger paint….

And the bodily functions just keep on coming, however this one is not even cute on babies. I simply hate snot. Not so much when someone blows their nose, I mean, I live in Cincinnati, with the allergies around here if I got nauseous every time you blew your nose, I’d just walk around with an airsick bag taped to my chin.

There’s something about that trickle of snot that starts coming out that I find horrid. When babies have snot coming out, I feel bad, it’s not like they know what to do. If you’re over the age of 4 and you don’t realize you need a tissue you’re either demented or your disgusting. There was this girl in high school who ALWAYS needed a tissue, I mean really, should a senior in high school need to be told she needs a tissue? Maybe it’s not so much the snot that I can’t stand, but rather the lack of hygiene.

Sorry this is short and not even remotely entertaining, it’s been a rough day.

There’s this thing that babies do, and it’s completely normal, in a lot of ways it’s actually kind of cute. However, when adults do it I can’t stand it, it’s not cute and it’s actually quite gross. What am I referring to? DROOLING.

I cannot stand the site of an adult drooling. When I see a baby drool I smile and my first instinct is to wipe it off, with my hand even if I know the baby. On the flip side, when I see an adult drooling all over themselves, I don’t even think to get them a drool cup. I don’t even feel bad either, I just try to control the urge to vomit. Feces, no problem, adult drool, peace out.

I once had an experience with a patient who was described to me as “kind of a pervert�?. So here I am with this man who’s had a stroke, secondary to long term alcohol abuse (and he’s detoxing), he can’t talk but rather grunts out odd sounds, and he’s staring at me with one droopy eye and a mouthful of drool oozing out. I was glad that I was just there to observe and not actually do anything. It allowed me the freedom to sit in the corner, rocking back and forth and think of unicorns. Trust me, it helps with the nausea.

While we’re on the smelly subjects, I might as well continue the journey. This is the one that baffles the minds of many people, but honestly, I cannot stand the smell of coffee. Everyone knows that person who says, “I don’t drink coffee, it always smells good but I just don’t like the taste.” Well, I am not that person. Unlike green beans, I don’t have any traumatic childhood experiences for this hate, I just don’t like the smell. However, unlike green beans, I have actually tasted coffee. My beloved went through this not brief enough phase where he wanted to drink coffee. I tried it once and decided that it’s not the caffeine that wakes you up, but rather the sensation that you may have just ingested mud. Even chocolate didn’t help, and I tend to peace out on things that are beyond the healing powers of chocolate.

I have also found that there are coffee associated smells that are actually WORSE than the smell of fresh brewed coffee. For instance, stale coffee makes me nauseous. I was so upset when Meijer put in the Starbucks up front because it meant all those “classy” broads from West Chester could leave their half empty Venti mocha latte grossay cup o’yuck on the shelf for me to dispose of later in the day. Actually, there was a day when one of these yuppies spilled her coffee all over the place and then continued to wander off as if nothing happened and I looked at my co-worker (of South American decent) and said “I can’t clean this up, the smell is going to make me puke” and she replied, “I love the smell of coffee,” to which I snapped “that’s because you’re half Columbian, your blood is 50% coffee!” True story.

Other horrid coffee associated smells: Coffee breath, seriously..it’s called a mint. Shove an Altoids in that orifice! Even worse, smokers with coffee breath. As if the coffee might mask that horrendous odor? No, it amplifies it and makes your teeth ten times as yellow. Please, don’t stand so close to me, your breath is literally melting my skin off. Oh and just an FYI, coffee is a bowel irritant, if that helps explains your morning case of the runs.

As promised, this is the beginning of my series, Things I Cannot Stand. Again, these are in no particular order because I hate equally, so here you go, the first thing I cannot stand.

#1- The smell of green beans. It’s true, it makes me gag. This all goes back to my early childhood when my mom thought it was a truly swell idea to can her own green beans. Who does that? And why on earth is it called canning if you put it into jars? Shouldn’t we just call it jarring? But anyways, my mom would “can” her own green beans and it made our house reek like some sort of old cat came in and urinated everywhere just before dying, then a rude house guest came in and spilled 3 day old coffee everywhere. I’m not kidding. It smelled like old coffee and pee..and dead animals, mixed. As if that wasn’t bad enough, that horrid odor concoction stayed in the house for DAYS. After that smell, there truly wasn’t an ice cubes chance that shizzle was going to touch my tongue.

I actually remember seeing one of those fire safety things on TV telling you to put a blanket at the bottom of the door to keep the smoke out, so I tried it, seeing if it would keep that smell out. Let me tell you, that suggestion is going to kill a lot of children. It didn’t even help filter the odor, I just ended up with a stinky blanket and no place to hide from the smell. Now my mom hasn’t canned her own anything since circa 1986, but I can still smell that old coffee and pee-pee badness, and it’s still burning my nose hairs. I honestly believe that green beans (and okra) are gifts from hell, so thank you satan. To this day I will not even try green beans because of how horrible they smell. However, I married a man who likes green beans (and okra..what is wrong with this person who pays my bills?) and I believe if he could just change one thing about me, he’d make me cook green beans. I hope he’s not holding his breath….he’ll die fo’ sho!

Oh, and by the way, I think there’s still at least one jar each of canned green beans and canned tomatoes in my parent’s basement. It’s like my mom was saving during the cold war, you know just in case, but that came and went, and Y2K came and went and at this point I think there’s some sort of emotional attachment to them.