Confessions Of Freakdom

So I was reading the HoseMaster of Wine the other day, this got me thinking, (Yes Ron that was inserted just to annoy you. I know how you love posts that start with an unoriginal idea…I’m being ironical) I share a lot of my crap here in this “sphere”, not everything mind you…girl has to keep some secrets, that’s what makes us all alluring and junk, but I really only share the fun stuff, sometimes the sad stuff, but not often the stuff that makes me look like a jackass….well the 2 of you that may have been reading like a year ago might remember the story of me walking around in Wallgreens brand boys underpants in Schaumbrg Illinois, but other than you 2, some folks out there might think I’m like normal or something…oh wait, I can fix that!



The real reason for this post, other than to make Ron cringe was because after my Champagne class last night I hung out with a few of the hangers-on, let them get all pickled on the leftovers because they were kind enough to help us clean up….freaking love that by the way, these people come to all my events, pay to get in, drink wine, listen to Amy and I blather and stay to help put away chairs, tables and wash glasses…unreal. So we were done cleaning, I had punched out and we were all hanging out, sipping on bubbles and getting to know each other and that was when I confessed one of my weirdo issues and the whole damn group went silent, well…aside from Call-o who just stood there wearing the, “You feel My Pain Now?” face. They all acted like they could not believe I was a freak, (I am I assure you, riddled with weirdo behavior) seems like they had blurred the line between Wine Specialist and Not Special Olympics, (feeling you Obama).

It was rather liberating really, I never thought I was hiding anything, just never came up, but to literally see yourself being removed from some sort of false pedestal, well it was like washing my face…felt clean, invigorating and fresh. Also might be somewhat addicting, I want to do it again, let everyone know that it’s not all fancy meals, shots of whiskey and French wine, no…I’m a total tard…Oh, and feel free to pile your freakdom on, I’m totally curious.



Freaky Wine Stuff

Sediment makes me gag. Not the wines fault, I once drank a can of soda, it had a bee in it, I was told that those were expensive so I had to drink it, (they didn’t know about the bee) so the little thing just kept bumping my lips and freaking me out. So “chunks” in my glass…gag.

The gooey nature of some wines make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I get a shiver that runs down my spine…prelude to the gag reflex.

Not really wine, but Pastis makes me unbearably randy.



That little “escaping genie” that appears when you open a bottle of Champagne…I’ve named them.

I hate price tags on bottles, (we have to put them there but I take them off before bringing them home) just seems so…judgmental.

I always, always have schmeg on my glass.

It seriously pains me when someone hates a wine I love.

I cannot read books about wine…so dry, just cannot do it, so I am not as wine wise as some may think.



Sauternes tastes like celery and mold to me.

Other Freaky Junk

“Space Invaders” piss me off, “Hello I can smell your Three Bean Salad” back the fuck up.



I get lost…a lot, it’s really bad and maps, well they are of no help…it’s terminal.

I don’t bake or deep fry much because I cannot stand having that cakey goo on my hands…ewe, ewe.

I’m annoyed by people that pick their nose in the car…you are in a glass box, I can see you!

I would rather implode than fart in public.

Snuggles that last for more than like 15 minutes make me feel like I am on lockdown.



While I hate cakey goo on my hands I like to eat with my fingers…salad is my favorite finger food.

White gravy skeeves me out.

I cannot and do not eat filter meats.

I have been brought to tears by a bottle of wine….seriously lusted after one too.



I like Huey Lewis and John Denver

I am not at all moved by aesthetics, I go someplace beautiful I’m moved but only for a few minutes…no basking for me, just “Okay seen it. Now what?”. Same thing goes for bodies or art…inspires nothing in me.

I like the smell of gasoline.



I actually like Outback Steak House’s crab legs.

I think crooked, imperfect smiles are kinda hot.

Naked is the worst feeling in the world to me.

When I eat fruit, which is rare, it must be doused in lemon juice and salt.

Told you, total freak…and there’s more, trust me! Gonna go wash my face

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