carbon monoxide-gate08, part 1.

Last night my FirstAlert carbon monoxide alarm went off at 2 o’clock in the morning. It’s strange to admit to even having a FirstAlert carbon monoxide alarm, but I also have a Russian Jewish Mama (RJM) who watches a lot of 20/20. I mean A LOT. Like to the point of calling me every couple of hours to make sure I haven’t suddenly been afflicted with meningitis. She also lets me know on a fairly regular basis how many dust mites may currently be occupying my home. Did I know there could be up to von MEELYON dust mite in apahrtmint RIGHT NOW RIGHT AT DIZ MOMINT, Elina, vhen is lahst time you change vakyoom feeltir?

Anyway, FirstAlert goes off, a soul-piercingly horrific sound. It makes me almost cry. It blinks at me. I stare at it. I call RJM. It was either her or 911 and honestly I haven’t vacuumed in a week, so that really wasn’t an option.

Needless to say, much Russian fretting and praising of the 20/20 ensues. Should I call 911?? I don’t want to wake up all my neighbors though…unless they’re already dead. What if I am the sole survivor of Carbon MonoxideGate 2008? I am getting slightly nervous because I cannot hear my overweight elderly neighbor snoring at ear-piercing decibels like I usually can.

We decide the best idea is to open all the windows, which is not very awesome on a typical San Francisco night. I lay huddled and shivering in a sweatshirt, two pairs of socks, leggings and pants, the innards of a blanket burrito. I text a few people, and Albina immediately calls me back.

I think I found God, I told her. This is usually what happens when you have a near-death experience you know. Um okay sure, she says. We start talking about guys. Yeah really. Gossip girls at 2:30 in the morning, in the middle of a unnatural disaster, and boys are still the topic du jour. Sleepover party with your girlfriend on a school night, only thing missing were the Rice Krispy Treats. When will I not be 12?

my friend keith.

My friend Keith doesn’t like my blog so far. He says it makes him feel the equivilant of someone calling up a friend, blathering on for hours about nothing and in the end, the friend simply saying, “That’s nice.”

Ouch. And yet…good feedback. And yet….ouch!!! Dammit. I kinda feel like I just told on him. Moooooommmm, Keith doesn’t like my blogggg!!!

I’ve always thought of myself as a writer, so I should be able to write well. Right? Even if it’s about nothing. Let’s face it, writing about nothing provides quite a chunk of change for my boyfriend, Jerry Seinfeld. Have you ever noticed that he looks way better now than he did on the show? Even though he’s like 20 years older? At least he got rid of those horrible white tennis shoes.

Keith probably hates this post.

breaking bad habits

Today my No-Bite Pro Growth anti-nail biting stuff came in. I had to special order it from a website with a French name and pay $20 and wait 2 weeks, all because I’ve had no control over my nerves for the  last 28.5 years and my cuticles look like a crime scene as a result. The annihilation of my cuticles has gotten to the point where sitting on my hands or folding my fingers slightly into my palms is second nature for me on a first date. Or, you know, 6 months into the relationship. I am horribly embarrassed about my hands. All the anxiety I may have inside, I take out on my poor, blameless fingers, whose only crime is providing enough dexterity and dry skin for me to compulsively “fix” until something starts bleeding. Ew. Goddammit, I am almost 30 years old and I still bite my nails. Also I discovered that I really like saying, “I am almost 30 years old and…” It has a nice ring to it, and since I just turned 29, isn’t realistic enough of a concept for me to actually start believing.

Addendum: has anyone really found a way to stop biting their nails? I’ve been using the stuff but I’m scared to get my hands anywhere near my face, cause it tastes REALLY bad and has seemed to seep into my pores.