I got tagged for a meme from Sten, which makes me feel far more important than I really am.
Here’s how it’s done:
a. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
b. Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
Wow, see now I always thought that my blog is sort of a shrine to my eccentricites, but hey, if the shoe fits, as they say.
1. I have an anti-foot fetish. You know those people that get their rocks off by looking at and/or touching feet? I know that I do, because I came across a library book wherein someone had painstakingly cut out all of the pictures of feet. Creepy? YES (and no, it wasn’t me who did this. I have neither the time nor the patience, and if I were to do this, I’d probably throw up all over the pictures)
Anyway, so I completely HATE having anyone touch my feet and ankles. I don’t even like to look at them. I have no real reason for this, no skeletons in my closet, but I have placed two very lovely tattoos on them (one large one per foot) to distract from their general ugliness.
Ben seems to have inherited my hideous feet, Dave’s feet remind me that we all do, indeed, come from monkeys, as his feet appear to be the esteemed Missing Link (I frequently refer to them as “Carney Feet,” and ask him if he is able to swim better with the flippers already attached. I know, I know, I’m a real TREAT to be married to), and Alex’s feet resemble Marshmallow Peeps.
It appears as though the problem is, as per usual, with me.
2. I desperately need to start a compost pile in my backyard, but am completely unsure how to do so. I am, however, getting tired of Ben yelling “Garbage POLLUTES the Earth” at the garbage can in our kitchen. My main fear about the whole thing is that it will attract even more wild animals into our yard (the very real fear is that I will then decide to let them into the house to keep as pets. “But DAVE, LOOKIT HOW CUTE STINKY THE SKUNK IS? WHY WOULD I PUT HER BACK? SHE CAN SLEEP IN BED WITH US!”), as well as a minor fear that our neighbors may bomb my house if the smell is too noxious.
3. I am 100% addicted to Diet Coke, especially what I call “Fatty Ones” (which means the Super Double Biggest Super Size at any given place. Well I am aware that it does bear a striking resemblence in both texture and taste to battery acid, and is likely turning my insides into mush, I am in love with it. Let’s put it this way: if my husband were inside of a burning building, and I had to make a deal with God to save him ONLY if I gave up my daily (hourly) Diet Coke, I’d have to think about it. (Dave is also horrified that Alex also finds it’s delicately charming flavor to be most amazing. Yes, I have given my baby Diet Coke. You can call DCFS now, I’m sure they’ll have my file handy).
4. When we BBQ, which is fairly often during the summer months (Dave’s first thought when he realized that we were going to buy a house was NOT “Hey, I don’t have to park 547 blocks from my car” but was “I can get a grill!”), I insist that my hot dogs be charred. Blackened. Burned. While I find hot dogs to be a true delicacy, I cannot eat them if they do not resemble charcoal briquettes. Hell, if you gave a piece of charcoal to me smothered in ketchup (I am a bad, bad Chicago-ian), I can’t be sure if I could detect the difference. Again, I’m sure that my insides are probably riddled with The Cancer, but hey, you have to live a little.
5. I am likely the least romantic person you’ll ever meet. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that I fought long and hard to elope to Vegas and get married by Elvis, nor was I kidding when I said that I argued to have our first dance be the YMCA. I genuinely wanted to dance myself down the aisle to “Jungle Boogie” or “That’s The Way, Uh-Huh, I Like It.” But Dave (who I referred to during the wedding planning as “My Wife”) would have none of that.
Because of this, Dave proposed to me at Tiffany & Co, rather than take me to some elaborate set-up dinner or something. I think he was afraid that I’d laugh (which I have a nasty habit of doing when I am uncomfortable. I have to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing during funerals WHICH I DO NOT REALLY FIND FUNNY AT ALL.) or start mocking him if he didn’t just do it then and there. The floor could have swallowed me whole, then and there, but we made the day of some college chicks who were oogling the rings.
6. I cannot sleep when it is overly hot in my bedroom OR without some white noise. Well, nowadays I have many more issues relating to my sleep problems, but unless it’s arctic in my room AND it sounds like a wind tunnel, I can’t sleep worth a damn. I’ve been known to turn on the A/C in the winter and/or open up a window to the frigid outdoors JUST TO COOL DOWN.
7. Despite being both a health care provider AND a mother, I refuse to buy into the whole antibacterial craze. I do use Lysol on the occasion that someone has spewed bodily fluid somewhere other than into the toliet bowl, and I wipe down the counters on a semi-regular basis with bleach, BUT THAT IS BECAUSE I LOVE THE WAY BLEACH SMELLS. I AM A DAMN FREAK.
I’ll put my kid in the grimy grocery cart holders, sure, I don’t hand him an open package of bleeding meat to gnaw on, but seriously the kid has to develop an immune system AT SOME POINT. Of course I wash my hands after I use the bathroom, use proper protection when handling raw meat, and shower frequently enough (most weeks), but I don’t need to use Purell every time I walk into a room.
I don’t run a daycare (nor would I. Can you imagine that? Hahaha, I can’t.) in my home, nor do I perform patient care on MRSA or VRE infected patients from my living room. So you know what? I’M NOT NERVOUS ABOUT WHAT THEY GETS INTO.
*8* Bonus!!! (because I am a certified idiot, I posted this on the wrong damn day, so you, Darling Internet, are reaping the benefits of my error. A BONUS weird fact about me.) When I was younger, I worked as a hostess in a nice classy restaurant. One day, I glanced at the table I had been instructed to take back to their section, and upon seeing a couple of smaller people, I assumed that they were children. So I politely asked if they would like kids menus.
BUT THEY WEREN’T KIDS, THEY WERE MIDGETS! I INADVERTANTLY ASKED MIDGETS IF THEY WOULD LIKE TO COLOR ON KIDS MENUS!
Oopsies. My bad.
Just like the time I asked the guy with the bad toupee if he’d like to leave his hat up front. AND I WASN’T TRYING TO BE FUNNY AT ALL.
That was ALSO my bad.
I totally had to cut myself off at 8 weird things there, because I am enough of a freak THAT I COULD KEEP GOING FOREVER (I can’t spell indefinitely).
The rules of this meme inform me that I must tag people to do it, but I’m not sure that there is anyone in the free world who has NOT done it yet. So I am tagging EACH OF YOU to delurk (I promise, I won’t bite.) and tell me ONE weird thing about yourself. Or make fun of me BECAUSE I AM A DAMN FREAK. Whatever. I’m not picky. Just looking for a distraction until my doctor calls me and informs me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my hormones, just my head.
Come on, help Poor Nervous Aunt Becky out.