I could write about how I am struggling, really struggling, not to shout at my mom for telling me how to raise my kid. I could also write about my current anxiety levels about everything, a situation not made better by my mom's revelation that P's left foot turns in significantly when she walks. Instead, I'm going to focus on a meme, because at least that's light and jolly. I don't have to worry about people dying, or my child's seemingly gimpy foot.
Becky, a woman fond of thick black eyeliner, Berlin Wall-sized bangs, and acid-washed jeans (KIDDING), tagged me for this meme awhile ago, or at least it seems like awhile ago but probably isn't because she writes about 3 posts per day. Run-on sentence. I seem to think I've done it before as well, so I do apologise if I'm going overboard on the whole I'm-so-fucking-quirky-it-hurts thing.
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Be sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.
I'm not so much for tagging, because it makes me feel like it's a popularity contest - who do I pick, and what if they don't know I tagged them because they don't read me anymore? I can't take the crushing blow of rejection, particularly at the moment. I'll just get all teary and listen to even more Iron & Wine, and my husband will blame all of you. I'll ponder the tagging aspect as I write.
On with the meme already, jesus...
1) Thanks to childhood fears, I still cannot expose my bare feet from underneath a blanket, nor can I allow my bare feet to venture even slightly under the bed. I do know nothing is likely to bite them, tear them off, or even lick them, but it still ain't happening.
2) Growing up, I had a deep fascination with the paranormal. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that I read every single in-print book on the subject. It was less about aliens and crop circles, more about ghosts. I even made my parents drive 2 hours out of the way during a driving trip through New England so I see a haunted theatre in Maine, a building I read about in my bible of the time, The Ghostly Gazetteer. Oddly, this interest didn't extend to actually wanting to be involved at all with ghosts, I was terrified of the notion. I used to get stomach cramps from nervousness whenever a Ouija board was produced at a party. To this day I enjoy reading ghost stories and watching programmes about them, but show me a Ouija and I'll throw up in your lap.
3) I briefly dated a guy in high school who had a threesome with one of my good friends and a girl two years younger than us. He apologised profusely as if that would do any good, and my friend cried and told me it "just happened", a likely excuse. You can see how people accidentally find themselves in the midst of a threesome with no clue as to how his penis got inside her, or how you ended up making out with some skank. I don't know about you, but I hate it when that happens.
4) I'm a major curtain twitcher. P's window provides the best view of the street, so I can regularly be seen peering out, just being a nosy bitch. During my maternity leave a guy in one of the flats opposite killed himself, and I spent two and a half hours standing at the window watching all of the relevant parties filter in and out. I see fights often after the clubs let out, drunk men glassed, and police with TV crews arresting the inebriated. Whatever will I do when I no longer live in a city?
5) I'm a realty addict. I spend hours perusing real estate websites and looking at pictures. I spend most of my time on www.mls.ca given the eventual move to America's Hat (again, kidding, I just love that expression), and, no lie, can spend at least 4 hours looking at hours. I also look locally, as well as the area around my hometown, just for fun. No, I really did say fun. Laugh if you must, but I have a cracking idea of the real estate market in Ontario, the south of England, and southcentral Pennsylvania. These are qualities which can get you far in life.
6) I don't drink, and won't get near The Dude after he's had a drink because I can't tolerate the breath of someone who has been drinking. My Dad is a recovering alcoholic, and when I smell stale alcohol on someone's breath I flash back to being young and in denial of my Dad's problem. I can't think of a smell worse than that of alcohol on someone's breath.
I'm going to break the rules and not tag anyone. I'm sure it will all keep going without me.
I'm off to spread my joy now.