Ten Kinda Sorta Interesting Things About MeI did a similar meme last year, but the delightful Ms. Robin Slick tagged me for this one, and if you know Ms. Slick, you know that one does not ignore requests from the venerable Mistress of Pain. (I‘ve no idea what the hell that means, but it sounds good.)
Anyway, check out her most excellent blog. She spawned two talented, on-the-verge-of-being-famous kids, and is close, personal friends with Neil Gaimon. Well, maybe not “close,” and perhaps not all that personal, but he did post in her blog comments once.
I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry ‘bout that. Freaking strep, a.k.a. Max the Amphibious Monster, is rearing its ugly head once again, and I feel just awful. I’ve come to the conclusion that Amoxicillin is not in fact a true antibiotic, but merely a placebo made of gelatin that is prescribed under direct top secret order by the Bush administration to those of us suspected of leaning to the left. Very funny, you bastards. Time for me to find a dissident doctor.
On with the show, then…
1) I’m terrified of clowns, Pat Robertson, and wasps. They all disgust me.
2) I don’t drive.
3) As a young child, I would hear voices. Seriously creepy, deep baritones that sometimes sang the Happy Birthday song. Along with the voices, I experienced visual hallucinations that included ghostie-like beings and warped, Daliesque, wall-melting visions. The Satanic chorus disbanded around the time I turned eleven, as did the melting walls. Thank god for small favors.
4) I’ve always found dictionaries and thesauruses comforting yet exciting, and have used them for entertainment purposes since childhood. I love words, the sound, the look, the taste. Yes, I said taste. Many words, though not all, produce a distinct taste and feel in my head. The word “though,” for instance, evokes hot, roasted potatoes.
5) I read people like a book. Cliché, but true.
6) The science of psychiatry fascinates me, always has. By my mid teens, I’d already delved into Freud, Jung, and Arthur Janov‘s “The Primal Scream,“ and surmised that Freud was a dirty, misogynistic freak, Jung‘s “collective unconscious “ makes a hell of a lot of sense, and Janov’s screaming banshee method is just plain old weird.
In my next life I shall be a well-known psychiatrist who is worshipped like a rock star.
7) I feel a totally inappropriate, completely ridiculous, bordering on delusional connection to Elton John, Neil Young, David Bowie, Stephen King, and Bill Clinton.
8) I could eat an entire box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes in one sitting, with or without milk. I rarely buy them because of my gluttonous infatuation.
9) I quit college in my second semester because one of the profs accused me of plagiarism. I suppose she believed that anyone sporting funny hair and black leather couldn’t possibly write a superb paper. I proved her wrong, then turned on my Doc Marten heel and left the building, never to return. A similar unfortunate incident occurred in sixth grade, and because I obviously had no choice but to stay, I instead wrote a vengeful story starring my teacher and her murderous serpent-hair.
10) My mother and I were accosted one night by a crazed old lady wielding a (maybe) fake gun. Long story short, I was eight, it was nighttime, and we were waiting for my father to pick us up from my ballet recital practice, which had taken place downtown in the Xerox Building. Crazed old lady, long white hair whipping about her shriveled kitchen witch face, ran up to us and held us hostage, right there outside the Xerox Building -- security guards were maddeningly unaware of the situation as they were walking their beats inside the building, visible to my mother and myself through the thick glass block wall. They couldn’t hear our pounding. The old lady claimed to have a gun, and repeatedly threatened us with the conspicuous bulge pointing at us through her cloth handbag, all the while babbling incoherently and raging at unseen people. Occasionally, in moments of seeming “clarity,” she wept while explaining that her husband had run off with some whore, and she felt as though she was losing her mind. (Ya think?)
My father eventually drove up to the curb, which was a good fifty feet away, and my mother grabbed my arm, whispered, “Now! Run, Lori! Run!” but I was glued in place. Wouldn’t budge, couldn’t budge. It was the weirdest feeling I have ever experienced to date. So Mom was forced to yank me by the arm as hard a she could, and with me flying at her side, we sailed through the concourse, over the ten million stairs, over the sidewalk, and into our car. The old lady had given chase the whole way, and once my mother and I were safely locked in, my poor, confused father, obeying my mother’s hysterical screams to “hit the gas, Bob!” pushed pedal to the metal, and away we went, old lady draped across the hood. The sudden jolt caused her to fall off, but she wasn’t hurt, as we saw in the rearview mirrors that she’d risen like the ghoul she was, and scurried away. I had nightmares for weeks after that.
All bow before me now.
ADDENDUM: Eeep! Forgot to tag! Okay, I’d love to see the fine and funny hot Southern mama from Give Me the Booger answer this.
Also, my good friend Ms. Olivia….
And I’d love Theresa Boyar to answer this, but she hasn’t updated her blog in some time, so she must be busy. Plus, she might beat me up for bugging her.
Alan from Wind Reader might do it, but he’s kind of uppity now… Can’t hurt to ask, though. (Just kidding, Alan. Not.)
I'm too shy to E-mail an advance warning or leave requests on blogs, so if the above darlings should happen across this, please indulge the old whore, 'kay?