The Tough Guy Chronicles: The Shredder

Today's Tough Guy seems to think that 11 days in Mexico is worthy of an entire blog, but I think that cousin "Tasha" should be posting on Tough Guys neurotic and compulsive behaviour.

From Mexican Adventure,

"Last night I woke up in a frenzy. For some reason I thought I was at the airport unable to go to Mexico because I did not have my passport. I begin to look for my passport at MIDNIGHT. Everyone who knows me knows that I am So A-TYPE, so the fact that I could not locate my passport in my home office was a
major event. Everything in my house has a place!!!! After about 30 minutes of looking for this 4 inch passport in an a 10 by 10 spotless room, I call my cousin Tasha in complete frustration and tears. She calmly asks me OVER and OVER again when was the last time I saw my passport and I keep frantically repeating OVER and OVER again that I must have thrown it away because it is NOT in my house. We all know that I am the shredder and no tolerance of clutter queen , so I am convinced Dream Sanitation has my passport. I completely rip apart my office, looking in the same file cabinet and closet for over an hour. At this point, my supportive cousin is online researching how to get a new passport expedited by Friday, (which I might add would have cost over $500). Out of complete frustration, I hung up with Tash and resolve that I am NOT going on this MUCH NEEDED trip. I decide to look for the 80th time in the same file cabinet and look through the same check boxes I had looked in and low and behold the PASSPORT is there."

She is SOOOO A-Type, huh? I wanted to find out just what Type A entailed and our old friend Wikipedia has the answer.

Symptoms of Type A Behavior

1) An intrinsic insecurity or insufficient level of self-esteem, which is considered to be the root cause of the syndrome.
2) Time urgency and impatience, which causes irritation and exasperation.
3) Free floating hostility, which can be triggered by even minor incidents.

I am not surprised at all that she acted this way, but I am more concerned for Tasha really. I don't know what kind of relationship most of you have with your cousins, but it would be so odd if I called my cousin at midnight to cry about a dream I had. And tears? Really? Tears?

I really love how Tough Guy describes herself.

• Soooo A-Type


• The Shredder


• The Intolerant Queen of Clutter

Maybe I'm coming down to hard our The Shredder. I mean, I think everybody has a little Shedder in them. For instance, last week I had a dream that I was going to buy shoes at the local Korean equivalent of Foot Locker, but when I got there, I realized I had no socks on. I was not going to be able to try on shoes! After I totally woke up and shook off the dream, I began to look for socks at one in the morning. Everyone who knows me, knows I put socks in my sock drawer, so the fact that I could not locate them in that drawer was a major event. Every sock has a place!! After thirty minutes of looking for my knee socks that go with my saddle oxfords which of course matched my lederhosen, I called my cousin Greg and started hyperventilating.

He calmly asked me over and over again why it was so urgent that I had to call him in the middle of the night AND what it had to do with him. I told him that because we were related that I had every right to call him anytime and display just how insecure I really am. We all know that I am a clipper and am intolerant of any displacement of socks or foot-related apparel, so I was convinced that my mustache had, yet again, taken it upon itself to hid my personal objects. For the next hour, I sat with my head buried in my empty sock drawer while I calmed down. My cousin told me to look for the sock rather than just stare blankly at the imitation-wood drawer. Being the supportive one that he is, he was apparently fed up with me and was searching for institutions that could house someone in my condition who boasted in public space about their potentially hostile behavior. He found a great little place called Sunny Oaks, but he was too late. I had found my socks. They were on my feet after all. Now I can get shoes and continue giving details as to why I shouldn't have children.

But seriously, what should Tasha have done when bothered for probably the hundredth time by a obsessive compulsive relative like The Intolerant Queen of Clutter?