Nov
14

Ocho.

I have been tagged by the delightful (delightfully FERAL) Feral Mom, who knows firsthand the desperation and flop sweat of NaBloPoMo. And so, may I humbly present…

THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL 8 THINGS ABOUT ME:
1. On the first day of school, in sixth grade, I wore a Hypercolor t-shirt. It was purple, and turned orange in response to heat. I took the first day of school seriously, and for days I’d had my school supplies organized, my backpack packed, and my outfit chosen from my array of never-worn back-to-school clothes. I remember looking at myself in the mirror before leaving for school and thinking I looked HOTT.
At lunch time, I stopped in the bathroom, and saw, to my horror, that my shirt was still purple…except for two small orange circles, one over each of my just-developing breasts. Part of me died that day, and still haunts the bathroom of Falcon Heights Elementary School.
2. I have a long-standing terror of people touching my bellybutton. Even I won’t touch it, or wouldn’t. Pregnancy seems to have made it both shallower and less sensitive, and now I occasionally brush my finger against it—cautiously. But woe betide the person who makes a move toward my midsection.
3. I am related to Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Noah Webster. Webster is my mother’s maiden name—she is the great something granddaughter of Calno, The Most Foolish Webster, the one who left his coddled existence as a Connecticut heir to go West and live off the land. Driving through Hartford is always a bitter experience for me. I WANT MY CODDLED EXISTENCE BACK!
4. I am something of a prodigy of air percussion. I play the air maracas, air tambourine, and air drums. I also play an excellent air blues piano, and have dabbled in air flute and air oboe. When Scott and I were first dating, I used to play a plaintive air violin to the opening credits of Everwood for him, and I am fairly certain that this is what drew him so inorexably to me.
5. Speaking of my (formidable, obviously) musical talent, on the piano I can play any song I have heard…but I can only play it with my right hand. Chords are entirely beyond me, by which I mean I am too lazy to learn them. Lately I mostly stick to “Eye of the Tiger,” “Private Eyes (They’re Watching You),” and the theme from “Facts of Life.” I also take requests.
6. To get out of gym class, I used to dislocate my own index finger by pulling it gently out of its socket until it began to swell.
7. When I was young, I had a hamster named Cuddles. He was sweet-tempered and lovely, with silky beige and white fur. Alas, children are fickle, and at some point I was caught up in the excitement surrounding a new, popular sort of hamster: the Siberian. I asked my mother for a tiny Siberian hamster and she very sensibly reminded me that I already had a perfectly good rodent spinning fruitlessly on his wheel in my bedroom. So, I did what any enterprising youngster would do—I faked Cuddles’ death. I set him free in my closet, and told my mother that he had died, and that I had disposed of his body by taking it to school in a plastic sandwich bag and throwing it in the bathroom garbage. Thus I got my much coveted Siberian, who—unlike Cuddles—bit. He quickly died, as my pets were wont to do. For months after Cuddles’ emancipation I would find chewed clothes and the occasional piece of hamster feces in my closet, but there was no sign of the animal himself.
UNTIL! One day, about a year later, I was in my brother’s room, mucking about with his Fisher Price castle. I opened the dungeon door…AND OUT STUMBLED CUDDLES! I gave him the welcome befitting a returning hero and placed him in the now vacant hamster cage, where he happily lived out the remainder of his days.
8. I have never had a Pop Tart, owned a video game, eaten bologna, or thrown up from drinking too much. I have, however, been handcuffed (though not arrested) for possession, worn a white velvet catsuit during a high-school stint as a model, and eaten an entire box of Velveeta Shells and Cheese in one sitting. That last one I have done several times. I live on the edge, you see.

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |