Eccentricity or Weird?

In spite of comments from others, I described my weird habits as eccentricities until someone commented that an eccentricity requires a level of savior faire that I have yet to acquire.

Whether they are eccentricities or weird; I find it much simpler to acknowledge my oddities and bypass the shrink.

I get uneasy if there is unequal and dim lighting in a room. I require a minimum of three lamps in every room. At the first hint of dusk, lamps must be on, mid-level lighting on all three lamps. Improper lighting is as irritating as nails on a chalkboard. The lamps must have some degree of relationship to the décor and each other, but cannot match; can’t stand lamp “sets”.

I am not a health nut who eats certain foods together for improved digestion, however I eat one category of food at a time i.e. meat, vegetables, potatoes. I was not aware of my eccentricity until someone pointed it out in a restaurant loud enough for the valet parking attendant to hear. I’d like to believe it lends an aura of mystique to my persona, but was informed “odd” is not mysterious.

Unorganized shelves anywhere make me nuts. Glassware enjoys residing by similar receptacles as do plates, cups and saucers. Spices would never feel comfortable sharing space with canned goods. It’s probably best I not mention the requirements for the bookcase.

My desk lamp has to be slightly higher than the computer monitor that sits slightly to the left, tchotchkes and extra pens on the right.

I have label maker issues. I get antsy when the tape begins to run out. I cannot be certain, but I believe I overheard someone mutter something about the #$%& label maker and dumpster.

One final minor oddity is I must have bedside reading material. I may not stay awake long enough to read more than one page, but got to have that page.

I believe this strangeness may be due to the fact that my second toe is longer than my great toe. I’m turning a deaf ear to Mary Margaret’s suggestion that I change the tin foil in my hat.


With all the fright going around with ISIS and talking heads making-it-up-as-they-go-along-Ebola experts, thought I’d give myself a break from the scary stuff.

I am working on my family genealogy chart. Due to diligent family recordkeeping I was able to reach far back in history. My break from the scary stuff was short lived.

As I scan the aging photos of my DNA predecessors, it becomes obvious why the term “descend” is apt. A long line of unattractive people make up my gene pool. The men don’t look so bad, but some of the women look like they missed the casting call for “Transparent”.

A friend recently commented that women of a certain age, age more attractively in the city than their counterparts who inhabit the hinterlands. If she is correct, this has been going on for a long time. Believe you me; the myth about the beauty of southern women is exaggerated. There are few Scarlett O’Hara beauties in my family tree. Not only are some of them extremely unattractive, they look mean as rattlesnakes. I wondered why.

The reason for their unpleasant countenance became clear as I noted the number of kids these women had. Can you imagine living in a rural area in the 1800’s and having ten or eleven kids running around the cabin? There was no Mothers’ Day Out program. There was no electricity or running water. There was no pinot grigio to take the edge off; well maybe a little moonshine every now and then. There was no Fratelli’s pizza delivery on the days they didn’t feel like killing or skinning something for dinner.

These women probably thought chopping cotton was the equivalent of a spa day. A mani or pedi was unheard of which is why they wore gloves and ugly shoes when they left home. The men looked mean too and with good reason. Can you imagine the reception they got at the end of the day? (Workday fatigue must have been short lived as evidenced by the large number of children).

Had I been in their place I wouldn’t “smile for the camera” either.

I’ll take my oversized proboscis and generous backside that my forebears thrust upon me and be thankful for the here and now.

Mary Margaret has a different solution to her genealogy situation.

Mary Margaret Who?

Southern women know how to find the humorous, fun aspect of dysfunction.  Mary Margaret is a composite of many strong southern women. She is unconventional, nonconformist and more than a tad rebellious.

In her words:


When asked the source of her unorthodox point of view she replies  “I’ve been that way all my life” and fixes her subject with a stormy glare that dares them to continue. You can read more about her at