Today, a meme, given to me by Tony the tagger.
7 Things About Me, Random and Weird (and mostly uninteresting)
I don't tag, but do it if you wish. It's kind of fun.
It's been a while, but Flashback Friday has returned.
For the occasion, I've created a meme. (I don't chain them, but feel free to copy to your own blog, if you'd like. Be sure to leave me a comment to let me know you did, so I can go check out your answers!)
If it's possible for you to remember the following events, in 15 words or fewer, describe your experience with them.
Oops. I forgot yesterday. Here are the answers to Tuesday's puzzles:
The lines are parallel. Something about white boxes next to black ones creating an optical illusion...eh, I don't know.
I haven't done this in ages, but I saw a meme at Tony's that I thought might be a fun way to spend a few minutes. Apologies if it was much more interesting to put together than it is to read.
I saw the following meme at TJ's blog and was drawn to it. You highlight in boldface those things that you have done during your life. I won't tag, because um, I learned my lesson.
I think what I find most interesting about this particular meme is what people haven't done. There are definitely a few I'd like to before I'm sprinkled on the pine grove.
I got tagged by Glenn, and this time dammit, I'm gonna respond with an unwarped sense of punctuality.
8 things (I'm pretty sure) nobody (I know) knows about me
Once, in early pubescence, I was playing volleyball at the lake with some people I didn't know. I wore my favorite swimmers, a pair of tight, sky-blue, square-cut swimshorts with a blue and white striped band around the high-hitting waistline. I loved these shorts and wore them all the time, even as I began to outgrow them...which I was, apparently, for the crotch was certainly not made for growing adolescents. After the game, I walked back to where my family were perched on the lakeshore. Feeling something unusual, I glanced down. To my profound horror and embarrassment, my lily-white nuts were stuck on top of the blue fabric like a fried egg in a Dr. Seuss illustration. Somehow, probably during the course of the volleyball romp, they had worked their way through a small rip in the crotchline and had popped their heads out for a glimpse of the outside world. Suddenly, I remembered being slightly confused about how funny some of the folks on the other side of the net had found the game. I just thought they were drunk or high. Little did I know they were laughing at my rocks.
I was a pyromaniac as a little kid. I cracked the toilet bowl in our scullery (we called it the utility room) by setting a paper grocery bag on fire, and when it got out of control I threw it in the toilet. Jesus, it burned hotly, like my passion for James Caan would in a couple of years.
Although I have been a performer for over 20 years, I used to suffer from stage fright to an almost paralyzing degree. People never really knew, saying I always looked so calm. That's probably because I was paralyzed. A couple of times it got so bad that in the minute or so before I was to begin my solo, song or aria, my throat constricted and I nearly fainted from panic. Somehow, it always cleared up during the final few seconds and I was able to get on with it. I still get nervous, but no longer to that point.
I have a third nipple. Oh wait, I wrote about that in my blog already. Rats.
Okay then, I come up in an Amazon.com name search (my legal name, that is). Like I'm famous.
I have never cried about my paternal grandmother's death. I think I was all cried out by watching her slow demise from Alzheimers, or whatever the real senile dementia was that turned her from a vibrant, loving woman with an amazing, undiscovered soprano voice into a small, helpless, white-haired husk who spoke, laughed and wailed like an infant. She really must be in a better place, so I smile now, although I miss her terribly.
I once caught a partner (not saying who) biting his toenails while watching Oprah. I quietly tiptoed away and had a slug of vodka, or two.
I very often laugh about this one morning when Mark, Zane and I were camping with friends. I really can't divulge details, but there were no musical instruments involved. You know what I'm talking about, Mark.
The one time I went deer hunting while growing up in Arkansas, I crawled up in a big oak and sat cradled in its branches the entire cold, wet, drizzly day. As a young buck, I desperately wanted to be included in some male bonding experiences, but I didn't want to shoot anything. And I certainly didn't have the nerve to tell Dad or Grandpa that. We all split up to hunt on our own, so no one knew. I explained the lack of used ammo by telling them I didn't see a thing all day. But I did practice my lines for the school play, and I was awesome, thank you very much.
A few years ago, I fell in love with a married Afghani cab driver in Tucson. No, not in that way. You see, I was temporarily blind while healing from my LASEK procedure, and I was feeling incredibly helpless. Mark was in Australia, and the buddy who was to look after me during my immediate follow-up visits to the ophthalmologist lost his calendar or something. When he didn't show to take me to the Doc's the day after the surgery (and, by the way, the pain was nearly unbearable), I was at a loss as to what to do. Because I was completely blind, I couldn't see the numbers on my cell phone to call anyone, and no one was picking up at the one or two landlines I knew by heart. I decided to call a cab to take me the 20 miles to my appointment, but I realized I had no cash in my wallet. Of course, I couldn't see to use the ATM. I spent nearly $20 on directory assistance getting numbers for cab companies and finally found one that would take credit cards. The cab driver who showed up was simply beautiful...at least in my mind. He escorted me from my door to his cab, helped me in and out, took my hand and walked me all the way to the reception area on the 5th floor of the building, and then he waited for me at no extra charge during my appointment. I got some good drugs while I was there. I was so high by the time he got me back home I was ready to marry him. He declined, however, stating he was flattered but that his wife and three children might object. I agreed and opted simply to tip him...heartily.
I never responded to Brian's meme in May. Sorry, Brian. I feel bad about that, but the only reason I didn't do it was that I didn't know other bloggers with whom to pay it forward. (Still don't, but you'll see at the end of this post that I am trying to deal with that.) For those of you counting, you'll see I added two items (including this one) to the meme. That's to try and make up for being a slacker.
A relatively new blogger, I (still) don't know all that many people to tag with this meme, but I'll go with the following people. Sorry if I don't know you well enough to realize you're on the Do-Not-Tag registry. Anyway, if you're keen, my pals, please describe eight things that no one knows about you and post it in your blog. Then tag some other folks. Here we go: Kevin, Patrick, TigerY, Adam, Theresa, E and Rod.