|not my own idea, but hell...
||[Feb. 23rd, 2005|10:11 pm]
|||||"If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler On The Roof, in my head||]|
10 (or fewer) things I've done that you most likely haven't (in attempted chronological order):
1. Stood in a toilet bowl, resting your arms and head on the seat.
One of my earliest memories. Happened at the daycare I went to since shortly after I was born. Someone decided they were too lazy to take the 2-year-old me to the bathroom, so they let me go by myself. I got there and thought, "I'm a big girl, so I'll use the big girl potty." As the title suggests, this was a bad idea. Now when I go to the bathroom and people ask "What's taking so long? You fall in?" I sometimes reply "Yes, but not today."
2. Spent some of the most formative years of my life in Louisiana without becoming racist.
Not that I'm saying everyone from Louisiana is racist. It's just that most of the people I was around (not by choice, mind you) were, and it disgusted me, so I'm pretty proud that I didn't let them drag me over to the anti-dark side.
3. Been pretty much called a slut by a therapist.
When I was all of 15 years old. I was going to her for counseling about my self esteem issues. We were discussing the coffee bar I hung out at, and I mentioned that when I left, I usually went and hugged all my friends first. She said, "yeah, I can see you exhibiting that kind of promiscuous behavior." I told her I was better.
4. Gotten gallstones to get out of a trip to Louisiana.
And I was only 18 years old. I couldn'd decide if that waws my body hating me by giving me the gallstones, or loving me by getting me out of the trip. But it worked--I had surgery shortly before we were supposed to go, and the trip was cancelled. Boo hoo.
5. Slept through both high school and college, graduating cum laude from both.
I was going to do this as two list items, but the explanation's pretty much the same. I don't remember a single class for which I was awake all the time. If I go to my high school reunion (unlikely), I'll have to walk around hunched over, with my head on my arm so that people will recognize me. Might have to stick to the corners, as well. Every semester during college, I went around to all my new profs, introduced myself and apologized in advance for sleeping in their classes. I gave them free rein to humiliate me in the ways they deemed best, so they were okay with it. But yeah, I'm pretty proud of that one. (And we'll conveniently ignore my school and my major, as I don't feel like arguing the validity of my accomplishment, which I could do, but, as you might infer from the accomplishment itself, I'm pretty durn lazy. Thanks.)
6. Gotten, at the age of 21 or so, hand-me-down shoes from a 5-year-old.
Not kidding. Two pairs of mary janes. From a 5-year-old. I wear a size 2. In kids' shoes. Not women's, not men's, but kids'. Saves me a lot of money.
7. Gotten a dwarf hamster a hysterectomy.
What? She needed it. And if you've been reading my journal long enough, you know that I generally like animals better than I like humans. A former neighbor of mine used to introduce me as "the girl who had the audacity to get a hamster a hysterectomy" and at least one friend of mine still uses that incident to describe my character to people. She was our little Guinemavere (Guinevere, with an extra syllable inserted to connote endearment).
8. Given a piggyback ride to the president of the company.
It was after the last Xmas party we actually had, or at least the last one I was invited to. And we'd started drinking. And we got it on film. And I still didn't get a promotion or raise or anything. Dammit.
9. Shown my parents a piercing that doesn't generally get seen.
I'll spare you the commentary, except to say we've always had a very open family.
10. Survived a cohabitation with the antichrist for more than 3 years.
My cat Zeke is 15 pounds of evil. Cat's got more issues than National Geographic and Readers' Digest combined. My parents won't allow him in their house anymore. My vet has threatened to neuter him again if necessary. My other cat, Miles, is traumatized beyond repair, I believe. But I myself have survived and I think subdued him, as regards his relation with myself. We still have the occasional argument over whether or not I really need my skin, but I'm still here, with skin mostly intact. I'd like to see anyone break into my place and get out of there alive. The thing I fear about him getting out of my apartment is not what happens to him but what happens to those he encounters. But, for all this, he's still a mama's boy. I can't lie down in my apartment without him coming to snuggle like he's my girlfriend--his head on my shoulder, his body facing and pressed up against mine, and a paw resting on my chest.
Sho nuff, I made it to 10. sumbitch. And now I'm tired of typing. Bye, now.