I Got Tagged! I Got Tagged! I Got--
The lovely ladyelleth has tagged me for a Weird Things meme. Funny thing is that I was thinking today that I haven't done a meme in forever and that I would like to do a Weird Things meme because there are plenty of weird things about me to proffer for public amusement. Elleth must have read my mind. (Hopefully, it was longer than a drabble.)
So here's the rules:
Each player of this game starts off with ten weird things or habits or little known facts about
(Yes, I just copyedited the meme instructions. Note to self: #11. Copyedits meme instructions.)
- When I was a kid, I used to pretend to be someone called "Bob Cole and the Little Police." Bob Cole was a contractor who did some work on my parents' house. I have no idea where the Little Police come in. There was a dance that had to be performed after the pronouncement, "My name's Bob Cole and I'm the Little Police." If ever I get a video camera, I will perform it and post it on LJ. Hey, I skated in front of a couple hundred people dressed as a bellydancer one year. I have no shame.
(For the record, the bellydancer fact does not count as a weird thing. I have pictures of that; I'll post them maybe once I figure out how to use the scanner!)
- I love vinegar. I will drink shots of vinegar straight after dinner sometimes. Vinegar on fries and spinach is delicious. If I have a bottle of apple-cider vinegar on the table with me, I can't resist. I drink a shot of it. Bobby finds this immensely disgusting.
- I still sleep with a stuffed animal. The progression of stuffed animals has been thus:
Age 11 through 14: Golden. When I was 11, I badly wanted a Golden Retriever puppy. Unfortunately, my parents did not share my desire. So I thought I'd prove my passion to them by creating my own Golden Retriever puppy. Unfortunately, I didn't have any sorts of materials that even began to resemble a Golden Retriever, so I got creative. I took an old shirt of my dad's and stuffed it with one of my old bathrobes and called it Golden. No, it didn't resemble a dog at all, but I slept with it and took it on vacation for four years. I still have Golden; my cousin Jamie asks after him occasionally.
Age 14 through 20: Footyball. Footyball was--doh--a stuffed football or, as we Americans would say, soccerball. I once entertained the notion of playing footy/soccer, except that I was afraid of the ball, so my sister and mom got Footyball for me. He went everywhere with me; I have pictures taken on vacation in Florida where he's in the background.
Age 20 through present: Nelyo. Nelyo is, of course, my stuffed unicorn. Bobby bought him on a whim in a Candy Kitchen in Ocean City because I picked him up and went, "Awwww ..." Bobby and my family talk to him. He talks back. He's a mean little bastard, though, and would sooner pin his ears than look at you. He's been known to pee on my friends who tick him off. (People on my flist will vouch for this, greenknight33 and yuanrang.)
- When I was about eight years old, I had a pilgrim costume that I wore constantly. I would come home from school and put it on straightaway and wear it for the rest of the day. I think I wanted to be Laura from Little House on the Prairie. Anyway, this got out at school, and some kids picked on me, but I didn't really care too much. I still wore my pilgrim costume just about every day. I still love wearing costumes. When Bobby and I "firepit" at night, if it's the least bit brisk, I'll put on my full-length red cloak. Bobby will say, "Dawn! It's 80 degrees outside!" I don't care. Any excuse to wear my cloak.
(I can't wait to finish my Elven dress for the Ren Fest this year. I can hear Bobby now, coming home: "Uh, Dawn? Why are you wearing an Elven gown? And are those prosthetic ear tips??" Erm ... of course not ...)
- I can't touch my food when I'm eating. Most people I know push their food around with their fingers. Ummmm ... I need a knife if I'm eating anything that uses a fork. I'm trying to convince Bobby to my line of thinking on this. I give him a knife even when he claims he won't need one. It hasn't had much of an effect so far, though.
- I will only drink dark beer. Bobby makes fun of me for this. He claims that dark beer--like Guinness--tastes like drinking a loaf of bread. We play-argue over whether dark or light beer is better. I call his "pansy beer" and he calls mine "loaf of bread in a glass." Personally, if it's the same color going in as coming out, I'm not keenly interested. If you hold it up to a lamp and can't see the light coming through on the other side, I'm game. Plus, I love bitter drinks: bitter beer, black coffee, tea brewed so strong that it's cloudy. Despite being a confectioner and making homemade ice cream as a hobby, I'm not fond of sweets. Now bitter ... when I was younger, I bit my nails, and my mom put a bitter coating on them that was supposed to break the habit. I liked the taste of the coating so much that I ate my nails down to the quick and licked it off the parts that I couldn't bite.
- I can measure my stress levels by the number of bleeding wounds on my fingers. When I get stressed, I start biting the skin around my fingers, and I will bite it until it bleeds. (Despite being blood-phobic, if the blood is coming from around my fingers, it doesn't bother me. This from someone who can't listen to the Incubus song "Blood on the Ground" without getting woozy.) Right now, I have no bleeding wounds on my fingers, though I have a scab that practically has "Seven in '07" written on it.
(For the record, since I just said that I am a hobby confectioner and ice cream cook, I never touch raw ingredients with my bare hands. See #5. I suppose that being restaurant-trained just makes that feel taboo.)
- When I was about three years old, I nearly drowned. My older cousins were supposed to be watching me in the pool. "Oh, cool, look at Dawn trying to swim!" they said as I thrashed and struggled facedown in the water. Yeah, guys ... I was drowning. My dad pulled my out, and the water was knocked from my lungs. I still wonder if those few minutes without oxygen might have done something ...
- When Bobby and I were 15 and Sharon was 13, we had a "band" called Gravel Factory. Gravel Factory had a guitarist (me), bassist (Sharon), and drummer (Bobby). Unfortunately, Gravel Factory was very broke, so Bobby played Tupperware containers for drums and we had a $10 microphone that we splurged for at Montgomery Ward. (Remember Montgomery Ward? Ah ... the good old days!) Gravel Factory played exactly one concert. Since my cousin Jamie brings it up nearly every time I see her, I will write about it here, though I'd just as soon forget. (And judging by the things admitted in this meme, I am difficult to embarrass. Yet I'd erase this "concert" from my past, if I could.)
It was a New Year's concert. I'd had my guitar for exactly three days. Bobby didn't play his "drums" luckily but sang instead. We performed for our family at my parents' New Year's party. We played Dave Matthew's Band "Ants Marching" and sang *omg* the Spice Girls "Wannabe." *ouch* Only I didn't have any music or tabs for "Ants Marching," so I just played the two or three chords I knew in my extensive three days of experience and winged it. And I can't sing, so I don't imagine that we did any favors for "Wannabe" either.
Oh, we had an original song too that we played called "No Time." I still remember the very provocative and thought-provoking lyrics:Driving down the highway,
All alone, with no phone,
His friends are gone
And his family's safe at home.
He will be thinking, "Why am I here?
Could this be?
Everything bad that could happen
Has come to me."
Would you take time
For this poor and misguided man?
All that he needs is a friend
And a helping hand.
But you just cannot please
All of his demands.
He would stand strong
He would not go
Into the night
Without a fight.
If you are asking what the f*** that even means, that makes ... well, four of us!
This might also explain why I generally avoid writing poetry.
- I can usually tell when I'm about to have a few "crazy days," i.e. become hypomanic, insanely productive and wildly creative. I can almost feel the disorder start in my thinking. (I guess the degree in psychology is good for something!) I start thinking about all food as living things. Not just meat--which I don't even eat to begin with--but everything. I think, "This chocolate bar probably doesn't want to be eaten." I start to feel really bad, so I have to change my thinking quickly or else not be able to eat at all without really upsetting myself.
Yes, I know, that is freaking weird. But I never promised anything less!
Well, then, now that I've embarrassed myself and a few beloved family members to boot (sorry, Bobby, Sharon ... Nelyo) then I will tag some people to
So this meme's victims are ...
dracoena ... as my newest LJ friend, this is your welcome-to-Dawn's-LJ-let's-humiliate-our
hrymfaxe ... just because. >:^)
ann_arien ... because I miss you. :(
ssotknapsack ... so you can get revenge on me by telling your flist lots of embarrassing things that you used to do with your sister Dawn.
talban ... just to see if Jenni will post in his LJ for him.
nienna_weeper ... because you always tell the funniest stories and I'd think you could come of with some really good ones for this.