Got tagged with this delightfully self-absorbed meme by First Nations, which she stole from somewheres. I like it. It's a not terribly clever excuse for just babbling on about myself, which is, of course, my favorite topic for discussion.
I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
I want my father back, you son-of-a-bitch.
(sorry. just kidding. couldn't resist.)
I am a nerd, a jock, a woman, a child, stubborn, a push-over, brazen, prudish, fearless, terrified. I am every living contradiction, both sides of every coin. I am an mystery, surrounded by a puzzle, and wrapped in an enigma. Or something like that. Mostly I'm just messed up. But then, aren't we all?
I want my cat back, enough money to pay off my PhD without accruing any debt, and an olympic gold medal. I also want my own single scull, to be painted black with lime green trim and named the Millenium Finch. It will be parked in my private boat house at the edge of my property on a quiet river, next to which sits my cozy house with it's huge fire place and big bay windows, surrounded by herb and vegetable gardens and rose bushes. So not much then, really. Oh, and I want thinner ankles.
I wish the fashion industry would realize that there are just as many women who are taller than average as there are shorter than average (hence the definition of "average"), and produce trousers accordingly.
I hate religious fundamentalists, windows that only open 3 inches, and the current exchange rate.
I love beagles, flowers, rowing, loud music on sunny days, spooning, all the usual stuff.
I miss flat roads that go in a straight line and intersect at right angles. Also root beer, Miracle Whip, graham crackers, ranch dressing, Vernors, Oreos, Jell-O pudding, good pizza, and proper tomato soup.
I fear being ordinary. Also global climate change.
I hear the nightclub across the street, and the hamster wheel spinning. And seagulls, the omnipresent whine of the fucking seagulls. God how I hate those eerie, mournful seagulls. Go ahead and add them to the list of stuff I hate. Oh, and there goes a siren.
I regret giving up rowing my sophomore year of college to take a job.
I wonder how much farther along I'd be in my rowing career if I'd kept up with it then. My coach at the time was a retired Olympic coach, and he said I would go all the way. But I needed the money.
I am not a girly girl.
I dance in the kitchen with my mother, in a club when i am drunk, and anywhere i feel happy.
I sing off key and with great enthusiasm, to remind god that he should have given me a better voice.
I cry as a form of emotional release. Any emotion; fear, sadness, joy, you name it. Tears are liquid emotion, feeling concentrate. When the buildup gets too, well, built-up, crying is the pressure release valve. I do it a lot.
I make with my hands things grow. Plants, scarves, cocks, etc.
I write because I don't know how not to write.
I laugh* at Herebe's quips, Monty Python's everything, bad actors who take themselves too seriously, but most of all myself. I laugh at my rediculous life. It's the best defense against madness. (*I added this one to the meme, but I felt it really needed to be there.)
I confuse pretty much everyone who meets me. I like it that way.