Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Peel Me Like An Orange

I acquired quite the sunburn the weekend I went on my I have to get out of the house right now for a break or I’ll kill myself getaway. For some, putting on globs and globs of aloe helps them to not peel. But my skin pretty much told me straight up that since I killed it, I was going to have to deal with the peelage.

Okay, I have a creepy confession: I reallllllly like to sunburn, because it means I get to peel. There is something indefinably satisfying about this unfortunate habit. I’m sure some of you other readers have it – I believe it’s quite common(ish). But the joy found in peeling off a piece of skin the size of your palm is phenomenal in the eeriest of ways.

Well, ten days later, the peelage has begun. Everywhere. My neck, my chest, my shoulders and armpits, arms, legs, you name it. All this glorious skin just waiting to be peeled at my earliest convenience. And well, my earliest convenience couldn’t wait until I got in the privacy of my own home.
No. Oh, no.

It had to be right then, at my desk at work. Never mind the people passing through in the hallway. Never mind that what I was doing was really tacky. And gross. And something people no doubt would be discussing over the water cooler. Never mind I could not get a thing done at work for the rest of the day because the peeling of one’s skin is more addictive than crack cocaine and weed (and eating disorders, I daresay). None of it mattered. For I was getting my creepy fix: dead skin.

So, I discreetly pulled my garbage can near me, and began a peelin’. Gleefully I tried to outdo my previous giant piece of handsome skin. And then I couldn’t stop. On my break, I’d peel. Standing in line to get my chicken salad sandwich, I’d pull and tug that skin off. Stopped at a red light, I'd peel, roll down the window, surreptitiously drop it and watch it flutter away in the wind.

And everyone, I know what I’m doing is icky and vulgar. But I can’t help it.

And then, as I watched my skin blow away in the wind while I walked around outside, or blow into oncoming traffic as I merged onto the freeway, I realized my skin – my DNA – is now blowing all over the city. I’m still not sure how I feel about this. It could easily get caught in the cuff of a sleeve or in the handlebar mustache (that was in bad taste, of course) of the next guy in SLC waiting to be murdered, and WHAMMO! I could be brought in for questioning. A burly, no nonsense detective wearing a tired brown suit and scuffed loafers could very well ask me, "Why was your DNA found on the dead victim?"

"I don’t know, detective," I sob, "I have a creepy fetish, but I’m so ashamed to admit it. Please don’t tell anyone, I beg you!"

Or something like that. Shutup. It could happen.

I don’t think I’m going to let my skin go wherever it wants anymore. I think the peeled remains will be placed firmly (but oh so lovingly) in a waste basket in my home. Because the last thing I need right now is an untimely arrest.

But I have to stop now. Peeling myself at work, I mean. Because yesterday afternoon, I was busy not working, scraping away at my skin, hungrily searching for fresh spots ready to be skinned, and in walks my supervisor’s boss’s boss: the CEO.

“Morning, Brie.” He smiles ever so pleasantly.

I am caught with what looks like a long, stiff piece of slightly discolored Vaseline in my hand. What to do with it? Do I a) frantically flick it off my fingernail, mumble an apology, say Morning, sir, turn back to my computer, and let the flush creep up my neck? Or b) do I smile, exchange pleasantries, and pretend the damning piece of evidence that I am a disturbing person with a sinister fetish is not stuck to my finger? I did neither a nor b. I did c, which was worse: I grabbed the skin (that was so completely satisfying to peel, btw) with my right hand, tightened it in a fist, looked up at him, tried to smile, and got out, “Ah.” Clear my throat. “Hmmmm. Heeeeeey.” Thus begins this laugh thing that’s really disguising the fact I want to hysterically cry. Or hysterically vomit.

Lesson learned: keep your filthy and unwanted fetishes to yourself. After all, I’d really like to get my 0.33 cent raise next month.

Anagram of the day:
Creepy fetish: I’s, hefty creep because I gave this disgusting habit the fiercest hype.
And also: Please vote on my poll! I want to know what all of my readers think - whether you regularly comment or not...you can also vote for more than one option, if you just can't decide...

24 comments:

UsedToBeDay said...

oh man, i SOOOO hear you! I LOVE picking off peeling skin. I love it sooo much that I will pick it off OTHER PEOPLE.

So watch out... if we run into each other, you may have competition for your peeling skin.

Krista said...

I don't know if this is "good" advice, but if your skin is kind of damp, like from after taking a hot shower or kind of sweaty, your skin will peel off in sheets. It's kind of gross yet oddly satisfying. I have a fetish for popping zits on my husbands back... I know TMI and super duper disgusting, but I still like it.

Jackie said...

Ha ha ha is this the same as cutting your cat's fur? I see a trend emerging...perhaps this is a new addiction. You should become a guinea pig and perhaps this new addiction to fur/skin shedding obsession can be named after you :) And if DO get in trouble for your DNA hopefully I will pass the bar in July and can be your lawyer. I've got your back :)
xo Jackie

b said...

Jack Attack! Your my savior! And I love your idea about creating a new fetish/obsession in the DSM IV. I'm sick of having an Ed, everyone and their dog has one. It's time to think outside the box!

And Krista...wow. TMI! ;)

Emily said...

This blog post gave me a huge smile. :) I, too, enjoy peeling off dead sunburned skin. I thought I was the only one!

Devon said...

I have to say - it is indeed oddly satisfying. I wonder if we all feel that way...hmmm questions questions

Whit said...

I am more than a little frustrated that my skin is flaking off rather than peeling. This sucks!

KC Elaine said...

I randomly wonder about people finding my DNA at crime scenes too. it could totally happen!

kristin said...

I have that addiction, too! Or, at least, I used to. I haven't gotten burned in a while, so I haven't had to peel skin. It was always so much fun!

Sarah said...

hehe. I have been caught flossing and plucking my eyebrows at my desk. Do I stop? I do NOT.

I hear ya, sister.

Stacy said...

the peeling is definately an addictive thing. but I am a picker, finger nails, face, skin in general. not soo bad now but when at CFC they made me wear gloves so i would stop picking at my face... then I just picked at the gloves... that made them NOT happy.
enjoy the skin shedding/peeling, it can only last so long.

KC Elaine said...

I voted two options - the hellz yeah and the unresolved anger option, cos I thought it was funny! So don't see that and wonder who the heckers said that. It's just me being cheeky.

rachel said...

So I totally LOVE peeling, but has anyone noticed an irony? HUSBANDS HATE IT WHEN YOU PEEL THEM! OH THE HUMANITY! LIFE IS SO UNFAIR.

Shannon said...

Ahh . . . peeling is so creepily addicting. I cannot for the life of me figure out why. It feels weird and looks even weirder/grosser, but it's amazing. Anyway, that was such a well written post. Loved it. Hope your fetish didn't garner much of your boss's boss's attention. :)

zubeldia said...

I love peeling things and popping spots. Alas, I was not blessed with many spots so used to make Mr. Z let me pop his (how gross is that!!). I love to pick anything, tho. I got four blisters from rowing yesterday and I could not stop myself from bursting them and picking the skin. They hurt like heck now.

You're a loon, my friend.

love. Z

b said...

Rachey-

Bran will swat my hand, box me out, or even head butt me if necessary to keep my greedy little fingernails from touching his peelage. He just scrapes it off in the shower, and I am left utterly devastated, wondering how one could let such a beautiful thing go to waste. Pretty sure I learned to keep my hands off, though, cuz I'm pretty sure he threatened me with divorce last time I snared him in my greedly little fetish fingers. Sad!

Anne-Marie said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Heather said...

I pretty much had the wose day EVER at work today. I'm gonna write about it in my blog...I had a kindergartner screaming really crude obsencities at the top of her lungs while beating up another little girl screaming the same things. I had to drag them apart and I shoved them in the bathroom and slammed the door. She proceeded to scream...oh, should I type it? No, I think not. It truly was awful. So....in any case, I also got into a major disagreement with the principal and then came home and got majorly sick. So.....as I turned on my computer in hopes of brightening my day (or, rather, evening), I read your entry and laughed myself silly. Thanks Brie. I truly think you may have kept me from killing myself tonight. No, not really, but nearly. I love your skin peeling fetish! I too like doing that. But it grosses me out when I see others doing it...but for some reason, it doesn't gross me out when I do it to myself! How weird. I'm whiter than snow right now, as it is clowdy, gray, wet, rainy, and a high of 55 degrees here in good old Seattle. Sucks. I need some ultraviolet rays VERY soon or else I may just become invisible. Oh wait...that's what I want anyway...to be invisible! Yippee! Now I can achieve my goal!

Abby said...

I am so jealous of all you peely people! I seem to have a rather severe case of psychogenic excoriation, and I'll take any microscopic imagined blemish on my skin as an excuse to attack. (Yeah, it's humiliating the next day when I look like I have a severe and untreatable skin disease!) But my jealousy comes from the fact that I don't peel. I don't usually burn, and when I do, my skin sometimes gets kind of flaky in places; but there's no way I could peel it off in increments bigger than, say, a square millimeter or so each--and that's so tiny that it really can't be classified as peeling... augh!

Abby said...

Also, I voted--I want you to write another installment in the series! As for the unresolved anger... I don't think a person could ever fully resolve such a thing with conventional therapy--thus, the many joys of Blog Therapy.

Emily said...

In response to the comment left on my blog for the "Match.com?" entry...

No, there were no strong feelings towards Tony. He's nice, and everything, and would be a good friend, but it wasn't like, wow, I want to date him.

b said...

Abbs,
On the poll - what I wrote, in hindsight, actually makes me laugh, because if I have "unresolved anger toward the mental health industry," how the hell is it going to get better in therapy, which, obviously, is submerged in the mental health industry itself? Well, I do like my T, she's pretty neat - maybe she can help? But I agree: blogging gets it out, baby!

Penny said...

I believe through years of observation of my husband and Bries's Dad that she comes by her fetish of picking and peeling naturally or genetically. That is all I can say in case he reads this!!!! And I do not think that he would say he loves it but he has to do it.

Keely said...

Ha ha! You're blog is the best, Brie. I can't stop laughing at your implausable scenarios. I can totally relate.