Anywho, the meme involves posting Ten Things I Bet You [My Faithful Readers] Didn't Know About Me. Which at first sounded easy, and then I realized as I started brainstorming that there is far less to write than I thought. First of all, I tell you folks a lot about myself. I'm
And now that you have all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts going through your heads and wish I had an even better filter, here's the PG list:
1. Back in college, I was the official copy editor for a small gaming and publishing company run by my then-boyfriend/now-ex and two of his high school buddies. The problem was that the main guy, a doofus by the name of Ryan, was so controlling and illogical and idiotic that we all Got The Hell Out after only a few things were published. We did put out an actual role-playing game system, though. My (maiden) name is on it as both copy editor and author of the short story in the back of the book. And no, I'm not gonna link it. Tough cookies.
(Also, this may give you further evidence of just how much of a geek/dork I really am. Heehee!)
2. I was temporarily non-geeky in high school with my one moment of Athletic Glory when I was the All Star floor hockey goalie in the high school intramural tournament. I was a lowly freshman, but I Rocked. My team won the Championship, and then I was chosen as one of the goalies for the All Star game--and my team won again!
And then my knees went kaput and any chance at fame and fortune via my athletic prowess went kaput along with them. Sigh. What might have been...
3. You'd think that with my apparent willingness to face down (literally) a hard rubber ball rocketing towards me and my daily obsession with the Intarwebz and my sensation of panic/nakedness without my cell phone (ooh, did you like that segue? I rock transitions, yo!), I'd be all excited over fancy-schmancy phones like the I-phone and Droid and whatnot. You'd be wrong. I have fought the cell phone upgrade issue tooth and nail since, well, forever. I only agreed to GET a cell phone ten years ago when my POS car broke down on I-75 just after I'd driven through that lovely 25-mile section with all the signs saying Prison Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers and then I had to walk into town to call a tow truck while thanking the God I wasn't even sure existed at the time* that the car had sputtered to a halt right by an exit to Podunkville**, Michigan. I got the most basic, barebones phone I could, and ever since then have been accepting technology upgrades with the greatest of reluctance. You have no idea what a big deal it is that my current phone has a camera. And when I tried to download some ringtones lately, my service informed me with the snottiest of possible text that my phone was simply too old for that application, thankyouverymuch you antediluvian weirdo you. I have no Intarwebz access, no *shudder* touch screen, no fancy apps. And as I watch with dismay the increasing signs that Wanda*** may not be surviving her multitudinous mishaps for much longer, I'm dreading the inevitable reality that they just don't make them like they used to. You know, CELL PHONES FOR DUMMIES.
4. So maybe I'm a technophobe in some weirdly specific way. It's not my only fear. I am afraid of heights, which I think is a very sensible fear, but not so sensible is my overwhelming terror of praying mantises (mantisi? mantisusses?). OVERWHELMING. We grow 'em BIG out in the wilds of West Africa, peoples, and many a time I would go outside at night to feed the dog, turn around, and realize that my way back in had been cut off by a monstrous alien being clinging to the screen door. IT WAS LIKE THEY KNEW. And I'd swallow a shriek (because that could have alerted it to my presence and then it could have ATTACKED OMG OMG OMG) and creep around the corner and run like hell to the front door. I remember one particularly horrible night when apparently two mantisussesses were IN A CONSPIRACY because when I got to the front door THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE OMG OMG OMG OMG. Upon which realization I threw caution to the wind and screamed for my daddy to come save me, which he did, because he's Awesome like that. He only chuckled a little bit, even.
SEE???? Terrifying!!!! And, um, I may never be able to read this post again. I couldn't even bear to make it bigger because OMG OMG and do you have ANY idea how much courage it took to LOOK for this damn photo?????
5. Now that my shuddering is subsiding--I am not all Fear and Trembling. I admit I enjoy a good adrenaline rush. Despite my fear of heights, I love rollercoasters. And I have a semi-secret lust for motorcycles. Not the monstrous practically-an-automobile-on-two-wheels types, but the FAST ones that are sleek and sexy and *swoon*. Don't get confused and think this translates to an automatic lust for bikers, mind you. It's the machine that catches my eye and makes me sigh (Ooh! poetry! Kind of. Meh. I'm not much for cheap rhymes.) I have yet to properly ride one, however. Maybe. Someday. It's a Bucket List item, that.
6. I think I have a secret desire to be a Badass. I mean, I'd totally be a Biker Chick. The hot kind who (wo)mans her own machine, mind you, not the Backseat Eye Candy or My Old Lady sort. It all goes along with my love of smartass snarkiness, I suppose. Which (ooh, another Look At Me Go segue!) translates into the classroom, too. You'd think that with my love for being the Queen and Goddess of the Classroom, I'd be all for the suck-ups and kiss-asses, but here's the truth: they annoy me. Really, they do. I just want to shake them and tell them to leave me alone, for Pete's sake! I mean, by all means bring me
7. I am afraid I may have, once upon a time, been the suck-up in my classes. I don't know. (Lauren? Was I?) I certainly was occasionally the Teacher's Pet. Sigh. These days, I'm the annoyingly snarky smart one who thinks she knows more (and occasionally does) than the teacher. The truth is I dislike taking most classes. I'm not like my mother or MTL, who adore learning. They're both the lifetime student sort--MTL even says that if he won the lottery, he'd quit working and just take classes full-time: not for a degree, but just to take classes that interest him. Now, it's possible there might be the occasional class that would intrigue me, but realistically I'd rather learn on my own from books. When it comes to the classroom, I'd rather teach than be taught. I'm depressingly stereotypical that way: you know, the saying Teachers make the worst students? Yeah. That's me.
8. Really, this probably just means I'm controlling. And being in front of my class, leading discussion, interacting with the students--those are my strong points as a teacher. My weakest point? PAPERWORK. Oh dear little gods and graces, I HATE PAPERWORK. And I'm very very very bad at keeping up with it. I'm almost always late getting it done. I know, the irony and hypocrisy of it all. I'm afraid I take the ostrich approach: hide my head and pretend it doesn't exist and perhaps it'll miraculously Go Away.
What I really need to do is locate some of those handy Brownies, only the kind that will do paperwork instead of housework. Anyone know where I could find some?
9. Despite this atrocious lack of paper-oriented organizational skills, I have a little bit of OCD. Just, you know, not in USEFUL areas. I can't be all OCD about getting paperwork done or cleaning the house or organizing my classroom or tidying my desk or lawnwork or anything like that. Oh no. I have to be OCD about things like at which number the radio volume is set, or whether written letters and numbers have the lines touching instead of leaving annoying little gaps OMG FINISH THEM OFF!!!!, or getting stuck cracking my shoulder/knuckles/neck/whatever until I feel like I've "completed" the process (whatever that means), or all sorts of annoying little things. Oy. And now I'm twitching all over the place because just mentioning that third one is making my various body parts need cracking and moving and ahhhhhhhhhhhh I'm such a weirdo.
10. Along with the touch of OCD comes a slight superstitious tendency. I don't like stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. When I say that I hope something doesn't happen, I knock on wood (I use my head if nothing else is available). And I carry a lucky rock. Well, when I say rock, I mean lovely rose quartz crystal, a sort of faceted cylinder with a pointed top. When I'm anxious, I'll clutch it in my fist and rub my thumb and fingers over the sharp ridges and feel it warm in my grasp. It's very soothing.
As for the lucky part...well, that would be telling. YOU DON'T DISCUSS LUCK.
I know. It's silly. But there you go.
Betcha didn't know all of that, did ya? Whew. So much for being lazy.
And since I'm curious, and I didn't tag them last time, I want to hear from
DraftQueen (Ha! Tagged you back!)
Although, in line with Pants with Names, any of y'all who want to join in, please feel free! Because obviously, you don't HAVE to be tagged to play along.
*Time of quasi-belief, not time of God's existence, OBVIOUSLY, people.
**Not its real name. Come on, people, keep up with the snark!
***That's my phone's name. No, really. She's lovely and red.