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Showing posts with label frightening look inside my head. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frightening look inside my head. Show all posts

Friday, July 27, 2007

Borderline OCD (self-diagnosed), Part 2


Another frightening look inside my head.

This past Saturday, I wrote about the various perils of filling my car with gasoline.

Today, a different kind of problem that I didn't realize I had until a year or so ago.

It has no name, and can only be described by examples.

Example 1:

I'm one of those people who wash my hands about 30 times a day. (and that's way down from when I worked in the restaurant business, believe you me)

It's a good thing that skin replenishes and replaces itself.

So at work, in the bathrooms, we have those towel dispensers that you crank a handle up and down and with every down stroke it pushes out more of the rough, brown paper towels.

Assuming that there's some towel left in there, and I've just washed my hands and face (yet another compultion, I wash my face almost every time I wash my hands), I push the handle 11 times.

Not 9. Not 10. Not 12.

Why?

Because, while any of the above given numbers is a sufficient amount to dispense enough towel to dry both face and hands, 11 is the only prime number of the bunch.

Some people are all into even numbers. Most needing that approximate amount of towel dispensed might a.) choose 10, because it's a nice, even number, or b.) not count at all and just dispense towel until it "feels" right.

Many times I count things, I have no idea why, but in the case of the towels in the restrooms at work, I finally decided on 11 becasue prime numbers are cool. (I also usually count other things like the number of steps to and from my cubicle to where I park at work. It's usually between 150 and 160 steps; a few more when my back/leg are hurting and I take smaller steps.)

But at times, I can really be thrown off my game there.

When they first put a new one of those massive rolls of brown paper towels into the dispensing machine, they're so heavy that each ratcheting of the handle only produces a miniscule amount, and my carefully considered and arrived at prime number of 11 ratchets only gives me enough towel to dry maybe one hand.

In those cases I'm thrown into that pathetic, desperate class of hand/face washer who doesn't really care how many times he pumps the towel dispensing handle and just sit there and crank away like a mad man until what looks like enough towel to dry both hands and face is out and then I just dry off and leave. It's both exhausting and mentally frustrating.

I don't particularly like it when that happens, but I don't lose sleep over it either. A short attention span can be our friend at times like that.

Example 2:

Photoshop Elements slider numbers.

I have neither the guts to plunk down $600 for a legal copy of Photoshop CS3, nor the darkness of heart to search out and buy a cheaper but illegal copy of it.

Therefore I bought Photoshop Elements 4.0, and although it is a surprisingly powerful program, I've finally developed my skills to the point where I would like to have and use some of the real Photoshop's features.

But, I digress.

When I use Photoshop Elements and am adjusting say, brightness or contrast of a photograph, I'll watch the screen and the image I'm working with there and adjust the brightness or contrast slider until the photo looks as I envisioned it looking.

When I have it where I like the brightness and contrast, I'll then look at the numbers above the sliders.

Both contrast and brightness are at a default value of zero. So if I add contrast or brightness I might end up with a +5 or +10, or conversely, lowering contrast or brightness might result in -5 or -10. See?

So when I look at the number that came up in my slider work, remember I was watching the picture, not the slider or it's number, and see, say, -6 or +6, I'll move it to five. +11 or -11 is moved to +-10. (This even weirds ME out, because despite my preference of 11 ratchets worth of brown paper towels at work, I will move 11 to 10 on Photoshop Elements.)

What if I end up smack dab in the middle, like with a contrast of +8. For some strange reason I'll move it to a +7.

I tend to prefer odd numbers over even numbers.

I have absolutely no idea why I do this.

So part of my process of working with images in Photoshop Elements is to first adjust the slider controls to visually give me the look I want in the image, and then, without fail, I'll look at the resulting slider's number value and feel compelled to move it to a multiple of five, and if in the middle, I'll prefer the odd number over the even ones. 3 is better than 4 to me for reasons even I cannot fathom.

I know. I'm a freak. I'm all over the map with this stuff.

You probably all hate me now.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Borderline OCD (self-diagnosed), Part 1


Warning: another frightening look inside my head.

I say borderline OCD, because at heart, I'm a slob. Some areas of life and my living spaces are a nightmare mess of stacked books and papers, and other areas I want clean and orderly.

Yet another dichotomy that is part of being me.

Like everyone else, I hate the high prices of gasoline.

Yes, I hate that it simply takes more money to drive a vehicle now, but that's not the only thing that bothers me about the high price of gas.

Example. Last week, I'm driving the van, Dodge Grand Caravan, 1998 vintage.

I happen to look down, and have one of my patented mini heart attacks. The fuel gauge is BELOW "E". As in, no part of the needle is even touching the thicker red line that indicates "E"; it's below that.

I pull into a Shell station, the first gas station after my miraculous recovery from the mini heart attack.

I get out, do the debit card thingy at the machine, because I'm a dedicated pay-at-the-pump kind of guy, and start gassing the van up.

Well, the van has a pretty huge tank, and after a while I tell myself, "if it hasn't filled up by $40, then I'll stop it there."

It hadn't filled all the way as I approached $40, so I slow down and... "Aargh!" I overshoot to $40.03.

That, dear reader, is just absolutely intolerable.

So I continue and try for $41. Whoops.

Try for $42. "Dangit!"

Here comes $43.

I'm focused like a laser beam. Total master of my eye hand coordination.

I'm praying.

Man, I'm using the force, just like ol' Obi Wan taught Luke...

...and...

Yes! $43.00 exactly!

(If at all possible, it's crucial that the amount be exactly on the dollar. The order of preference is thus: exact dollar, then half dollar, then quarter dollar, and finally tenth of a dollar.)

I carefully flip the handle down to ensure the pump doesn't jump forward a penny or two and throw me off my game again.

I breathe a sigh of relief, press the YES button for a receipt, and I'm back on the road.

And thus is the experience of buying a tank of gasoline with borderline OCD (self-diagnosed).


Related, But Different Gasoline Buying Stressor In My Life

We have one car out of three that has the gas fill door on the passenger side. Since we bought that car, no matter which car I'm in now, I cannot remember if IT is the one with the fuel door on the passenger side.

So as I pull any vehicle into a gas station, I have a minor panic attack while trying to quickly remember 1.) which side is the fuel door on in this car? 2.) scan the instrumentaion panel in whichever vehicle I'm in, because sometimes car manufacturers anticipate idiots like me getting into just such a panic and have a helpful "<-FUEL DOOR" or "FUEL DOOR->" written there to help us out of our jam by flat-out telling us where the dang fuel door is, and 3.) try to figure out the exact path I need to drive, turn, back up if necessary, to put the fuel door I've finally found nice and close to the gas pump without having a war / road rage with someone else trying to do the same thing.

Come to think of it, getting your car in the proper place for pumping gas at a station is JUST LIKE musical chairs when you were a kid.

And I'm not a very competitive person at heart, so I'm the one usually left waiting.

Note To Self: Ensure that all future automobile purchases also consider which side the fuel door is on. Or, write my Congressman to demand legislative action to have all fuel doors on all cars made on the entire planet be placed on the driver's side of the car.

Just for me.



Hey everybody. I've had a rather tough week, and haven't been making the rounds of everyone's blog to read and comment. I'm sorry about that, I'm hoping to catch up on my reading and commenting on your blogs this weekend.
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