I haven't been tagged in a while, but the brilliant, dashing and boyishly handsome Flenker thought that it was time that you all had more random facts about me, in case knowing that I dress in costumes in my free time for fun weren't enough.
So in honor if it being Monday, November fifth (notable Nov. 5 occurrences: Nixon is elected President- boo!, and both Bryan Adams and Ryan Adams are born, for whatever that's worth), I will give you seven facts about me me me.
#1) I might as well just put this one out there, 'cause if I don't, I'll just end up doing a drunk post about it: Last night, before bed, I thought I saw what turned out in the end to be a nonexistent nosehair sticking out of my nostril. I panicked and grabbed the little scissors I keep in the bathroom. I thought I'd just give the imaginary offender a little 'snip' and balance would be restored in the world.
Instead, I 'snipped' a chunk of skin on the inside of my nose. Blood ensued, and it hurts. And let me tell you- it ain't so easy to get neosporin to stick inside your nose. Nope.
How is this a random fact about me, you ask?
Well, I have found that, if given enough time in front of a mirror before bed, I will find all sorts of flaws and such that I generally like to pick, prod, pluck and now 'snip' into submission. One small zit becomes a sea of 45 red dots on my chin. One stray eyebrow hair results in a plucking frenzy, leaving two spindly brows in my wake.
If I suspect a rogue nostril dweller- I end up with a pair of scissors up my nose.
Damn, that hurt.
#2) I have "odd" eating habits, the most notable one being that I can, and often will, eat essentially the same exact thing for a particular meal day after day, after day, after day...
When I'm on a Quaker toasted oatmeal squares kick, I'll eat it every day for breakfast for weeks, sometimes even a month or more. Same thing with frosted shredded wheat, or oatmeal, or Archer Farms High Protein cinnamon cereal from Target.
Lunch is the same way. My poor coworkers have got to know what a kook I am by now. They see me come in and eat the same damn thing day after day: A piece of locally-raised rotisserie chicken and a cold salad of some sort from Kowalski's Grocery. Every. Day. With few exceptions.
I don't know why I do this. maybe I like the routine, maybe it's another way my control-freakishness expresses itself, maybe it's my self-diagnosed OCD peeking out, maybe I just really really like that ridiculous chicken.
#3) I taught butchery for a while and am pretty confident that- if given a sturdy and sharp hacksaw and several hours, I could still break down a side of beef. I enjoyed teaching it, as I believe that if you're going to eat meat you should see the whole process (I have seen the first steps in this bloody process as well as we raised pigs and chickens growing up, and one of my BFF's family raised cows). Cows are fatty and kind of tedious to butcher, pigs are strangely easy to do and are surprisingly "clean". Chickens are gross, but I still eat them- but I try to eat family farm raised whenever possible. Once you've seen, smelled and worked with a case of factory-farmed chickens you may re-think that chicken salad sandwich at lunch- if you don't know where the little clucker came from, that is.
#4) I've said this before but it bears repeating: I cannot punctuate for shit. I know this and don't care. But I know it probably bothers some of you, so I thought I'd just own it.
Sad thing is- this trait: seems...to" only? get, worse, as, I/ get; older!
#5) At one point growing up, we had at least 15 cats that were "ours", yet now that I'm older I seem to be allergic. Huh. We lived in the country, and country folk didn't know nuthin' 'bout gettin' cats "fixed". Dogs, yes. Cats, no. I think cats were viewed as sort of "disposable", so no one wanted to spend money on them other that a giant bag of cat food from the local feed mill once in a while. We tried naming them all at one point, but we couldn't keep track. I'm horrified to say this, but I'm pretty sure that "controlling the pet population" in our part of the world involved my Dad, his buddies, a case of beer and either a shotgun or a burlap sack.
But now, allergies be damned- I want a cat. And a dog. And I promise to break free of my hillbilly ways and take care of them proper-like. I swear. Plus, I think the cat-cruelty gene skips a generation.
#6) In fourth grade I stole a couple of packs of Pac-man trading cards from this girl named Cindy that was a total brat. Pac-man cards were all the rage and she always had more than anyone else. She was pushy and mean, and I hated her with every fiber of my being.
One day I just went into class when no one else was there and I went into her desk and took them. I then buried them in the field by our house so no one would find out it was me. She threw a HUGE hissy fit when she saw they were missing and everyone thought it was the biggest deal ever.
I don't think anyone ever suspected that it was me who did it and I actually kind of liked watching the aftermath. I especially liked watching Cindy pouting and screaming about her damn cards. I did however, worry for weeks that I'd get found out and shamed for my actions. My parents would find out and I'd be sent to Catholic boarding school like my Mom kept threatening.
I did feel a tiny bit bad.
But I still hated that whiny brat Cindy.
So there you go- a confession. I fully expect the Popo to be knocking at my door anytime.
#7) And, finally- this is where I am sitting right now typing away to you, my lovely little crunchy fall leaves dipped in fake maple syrup:
My desk, in all its messy glory (the light is on because it is an especially gray day here and I seem to be blind lately).
The lamp was $1.95 from a thrift store. I just gave it a new coat of silver paint and a new shade. My pen holder is an old Foghorn Leghorn glass that I don't remember even buying. The girl burning in hell snowglobe was a gift from someone who obviously knows me very well.
There you go! A bunch more stuff about me you maybe didn't even want to know but now unfortunately do.
Next week: Tales from my pap smears! And, Hey! Let's look between my toes! How about we play the game: "What's in Whiskey's garbage?" Or my personal favorite game: "Hey- I don't remember eating corn!"
*Over and out. Day five, Nablopomo.