Hmm … Ladybughugs over at Send Chocolate tagged me for a meme. I haven’t done one of these in about a thousand years. I’m still oddly ambivalent about memes (could I just make up my mind already?), but I’m gong to do this one. As usual, I’m not going to play by the rules. I’m not going to tag anyone, I’m not going to post all of the rules, and I’m not going eat my brussel sprouts … oh, wait. Scratch that. What I am going to do is list six random things about myself.
So here goes:
- My NaNoWriMo novel is a fictionalized (way fictionalized) telling of AC’s life story. It’s getting kind of interesting, trying to stitch together all the pieces I know with the gap-filler stuff I have to make up. Very interesting to see how I imagine his interior life … and how much more understanding I am of him on paper than I ever have been in our actual IRL relationship. (Hmm … gotta think on that one a bit …)
- I have Journey’s Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’ in the “Guilty Pleasures playlist of my iPod. I have always loved that song, in all its uber-cheesy glory. My friend Mrs. B used to be a bar tender. I’d go hang out with her until closing sometimes and we’d go by snacks at the all night grocery then walk over to the all night pool room to eat yummy sandwiches, shoot pool and crank up the jukebox. That jukebox was full of all sorts of classically awful-fantastic songs by the likes of Journey and Cher (oh yes, Halfbreed and Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves were on there!). The place was run by an eternally silent, young-ish Asian man who paid us not the least bit of attention. Two young women shooting pool at 5am and dancing around the table, sometimes singing at the top of their lungs? Par for the course, apparently.
- I have an annoying number of food allergies: apples, pears, plums, nectarines, apricots, peaches, cherries, almonds, carrots, walnuts … I eat some of these things anyway and suffer the consequences. How not? Who can live without apples, without cherries?
- I had my first full-body massage two years ago during a trip to Jamaica, and can I just say … what the hell is wrong with me that it took me so long?
- When I was 15, I was able to buy alcohol in liquor stores, which made me quite popular when my friends threw parties (um, Ma Chère Mère? Ingore that, k?) … but after I turned 18, I started getting carded.
- When I read War and Peace, I discovered that sometimes a famously daunting book will make smarmy men leave you alone. Some jackass sat next to me on a bus one afternoon and leaned over me asking, “Are you reading a romance?” I gave him what my 18-year-old self thought might be a withering glance* and showed him the cover of my book. He changed seats! After I finished that one, I started carrying Ulysses around with similar effect.
And there you have it. Uh-oh, now that I’ve started down this slippery meme-slope, there’s no telling what will happen next!
* I have since learned that I have nothing even vaguely resembling a withering glance. My mother has an excellent one, and Fox has a pretty fabulous one that I like to call ‘the face of beligerence,’ but I can’t quite flex my muscles correctly. I’m still working on it.