Things that only happen to me

So, here’s what I get for trying to be responsible and organized.

Not actually my bedroom, but the armoire looks mostly like this. It matches nothing else in my home decor, other than a table that I am keeping in the closet and want to get rid of except I feel it's too expensive of a table to pitch in the dumpster. Does anyone need a Queen-Anne style coffee table?

Lately I have been on an organization-in-the-house kick. I think it’s because I have been staying in a lot more this month, due to the rain, or the darkness, or my friends being sick and broke, or me being unpopular or something. So while I am at home and it’s pouring down rain in the inky black of the outside, I organize things on the inside. I fixed my closet and noticed that I have a ton of clothes that I hate and need to dispose of. I made a pile of things on the floor that I intend to sort through and then throw away. Then I collected all my massive piles of random jewelry from the downstairs bathroom and the kitchen, and carted them all upstairs. I have a jewelry armoire in my bedroom, but I haven’t really been using it because I usually don’t think about what jewelry I want to wear until I am leaving the house, and I leave the house via the first floor, rather than the third. Generally.

So anyway, part of the whole organization kick involved getting all those necklaces out of the bathroom, and getting all those earrings and bracelets off the tray on the kitchen counter. And so I carted them all upstairs and arranged them in the armoire and now the kitchen looks much tidier. As I was arranging things in the armoire I naturally discovered lots of stuff I hadn’t worn in ages, and forgot that I had. One of the things I found was this Cycladic head pendant that I

This is not my actual pendant, but is remarkably similar. Sadly, I have no such beautiful backdrop bark or stone or other natural or man-made material in the vicinity of my house.

bought when I was in Athens. Now, that pendant is special to me for many reasons.

1) Because I like to buy a piece of jewelry from every place I travel to, to remind me of where I’ve been

2) Because I have a long-held fascination with all things Cycladic

3) Because when I was in Athens I actually bought this at a market and bargained the woman down. If you know me, you know this is not my nature and 10 years later I am still very proud of myself, even though she most likely still overcharged me. I bargained, dammit!

4) When I wear it people tend to comment on it, and then I can say “Oh yes, I bought this when I was vacationing in Greece.” in a very breezy and off-hand manner, thus satisfying my need for being a pretentious asshole

Anyway, I love this necklace

So I saw it hanging in the armoire and decided to wear it Tuesday night. Being  a person of a rather forthright and immediate nature in regards to my own personal wishes, I put it on and wandered downstairs. I played on the computer for a while, then went to brush my teeth because I had company coming over and I think it’s polite to expose my company to minty-fresh breath rather than whatever-I-had-for-dinner breath. As I gazed into the mirror while brushing my teeth I thought “Why, what is that shadow on my neck there?” and then I craned my neck for a better view and thought “What is that substance on my neck there?” and then as I wiped at it with ineffectively with my hand I thought “What the motherfucking fuck happened to my NECK?”

Then I realized that whatever (elasticated? wax-covered thread?) type of cord this pendant had been hanging from had been in the armoire undisturbed long enough to have experienced some sort of elemental breakdown, and was now comprised mostly of a sticky, tar-like substance that was currently coating my neck in a horrible black horse-shoe shape. I took the necklace off and set it gingerly on the counter. I noticed my hands were now coated in black sludge. I picked up a washcloth and scrubbed at my neck, to absolutely no effect whatsoever. I squirted soap on the washcloth and scrubbed at my neck quite viciously, to very little effect. At this point I began to panic, as my company was going to be there in 10 minutes and  A) I have an aversion to greeting company whilst coated in tar and B) This was not the kind of company to whom one might reasonably appeal for help in the scrubbing of one’s neck. ( i.e. it was not my mother.)

So I opened a drawer and found some eye makeup remover and poured that on the washcloth and scrubbed more at my neck with it. Finally some of the goop began to come off, promptly ruining my washcloth. I scrubbed and scrubbed, removing most of the gunk, and then I had to put my hair up and use a hand-held mirror to look at the back of my neck while I scrubbed that too. It took a really long time, and I got tar-like crap all over my hands and under my fingernails. It was gross.

The other thing you should know is that I have had a mystery neck-rash that flares up periodically ever since July. (the doctors tell me it’s Not Serious but they don’t know what’s causing it. I <3 me some doctors, for serious.) Of course this scrubbing in that area irritated my rash and then I looked like I had some kind of pox on my neck. So basically I was sitting there, eyeballing the clock and trying to get cleaned up before my company arrived and watching lovely itchy red bumps appearing all over it, all the while thinking that these are really the sorts of things that happen only to me. Really. I mean, I woke up in the morning with a significant pack of troubles already on my back, and then I ended the day inadvertently covered in tar.

I lead a very, very special life kids. I am not sure what the moral of this tale is, other than “Try not to be me, whatever you do.”