OiRuby’s Weblog

So, for a rather pragmatic and cynical gal—I’m heinously superstitious. In fact, I’m superstitious to a fault. One of the banes of my OCD mind is when I see a clock hit the matching numbers like 5:55, 2:22 or 11:11 (the money shot of all clock superstition believing instances). When these slot machine numbers line up in a row on digital clock I basically can not function and lose dozens of IQ points until I can manage to kiss my fingers and then touch them to a wall.

I’m sure the actual urban myth requires that you technically kiss the wall with your lips—but seriously, it’s nearly impossible and awkward enough to try and slyly kiss the tips of your fingers and touch them to the nearest wall with enough true nonchalance to not draw any unnecessary attention. So, I’m a firm believer that the lip to hand, hand to wall transfer is completely valid in appeasing the superstition gods and retaining a morsel of respect in most situations, especially with my nerdy lack of gracefulness. Although I would love to see video of me feigning reasons to stretch and bump into a wall after noticing “4:44″ on a clock during a client meeting, it must be the height of geeky awkwardness. Hopefully it just helps to reinforce that I’m “quirky” and “creative” and not just weird in the eyes of my clients.

But tonight as I was eating some supa hot chili (with the ripest Avocado EVER and sour cream and melty sharp cheddar) I realized that my superstition, well more or less my childhood Lucky Charms superstition issues still permeate my adult life. As kids my brother and I were rarely allowed sugar cereals, so when blessed with such a treat I had to savor every moment of the treat. When the golden goose of a bowl of Lucky Charms was placed in front of me I would methodically eat each and every soggy wheaty piece and barricade the marshmallowy goodness to one side of the bowl. Same procedure with Cap ‘N Crunch and the prized segregated Crunch Berries. In desperate times it was the remotely sugar-coated raisins in the Raisin Bran that faced cereal segregation at my hand.

To this day I apparently still subconsciously practice this method of food in take. While I’m old enough to dig me some kidney beans, they really just don’t compare in ranking of desire when compared to the savory beef and avocado bits in my chili. So, at 32 I found myself methodically eating all the beans and veggie bits out of the chili and setting aside all the savory goodness for that last juicy bite. Maybe it’s good that in some ways we never grow up—or at least a great justification of neurosis.