I’ve been tagged. Twice. According to Vikki and Alexandra, I’m supposed to present five random things about myself to you. I’ve been avoiding this prompt only because this blog solely consists of random things about myself. Am I to select my favorite five? Or five older facts that you may have missed in the early days of this blog? Must I generate five new random facts all at once as opposed to the slow, methodical (read lazy) way I’ve been parsing them out to you over the years? Am I supposed to inject my blog with Clomid and produce multiple follicles of random facts all at one time leaving me emotional and sore? Fine. FINE!!
I insist that anyone replacing the toilet paper in my house do so with the paper hanging over the roll as opposed to hanging underneath. And when I go to someone’s house and go at someone’s house and the toilet paper hangs from underneath, I occasionally switch the roll so that it hangs properly. If I like you enough, I switch it. Otherwise, I leave it alone and feel bad for you because you don’t know any better.
The best thing that I learned in college was how to read palms. I was taking a Spanish conversation class. Es la verdad. We had to present a 10-minute speech to the class. While my colleagues chose topics such The Basque Region of Spain and Goya the Painter, I decided that it would be much more fun to talk about palm reading, not to mention a cunning plan to distract my teacher from my inferior grammar as she inspected her hand.
Back in the day, smoking was the great equalizer. You could take a smoke break from work and find yourself outside with the CEO of your company, smoking a fag and shooting the shit (not to be confused with smoking a shit and shooting the fag). As we all grew up and quit smoking (publicly), there were fewer opportunities to rub shoulders with the higher ups. But when those holiday parties or town hall meetings came around, I was armed, not with a lighter, but my uncanny ability to expose a person’s soul via the lines and shapes of the hand. Palm reading has been the perfect ice breaker ever since college in all situations.
If I don’t feel like outing myself at a party as a palm reader and risk being stuck standing in a corner all night while guests line up waiting for a reading (that has happened more than once), I amaze and astound with my tongue tricks. And yes, that does make me a really good lesbian. For the record, I can also launch spit bubbles from my tongue, but I’ll save that video for another time.
THE WAVE (video attached)
When I was 14, my mother, without my knowledge, submitted an application on my behalf to the Miss Illinois Teen Pageant, feeder to the Miss USA Pageant (the hooker one as opposed to the wholesome one). And because they were happy to take registration money from just about anyone, I was selected to participate. I wish I could tell you why I did it other than to experience something completely different. I’ve always been a collector of experiences with little regard of my own dignity.
I wasn’t the least bit concerned about what the pageants represented or concerned about the fact that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I did not know how to “do” my hair and make up or prepare answers for the interviews or make best frenemies with the other girls in the hopes that I could at least snag that Miss Congeniality title.
As God is my witness, I would show you photos of the entire thing if I had them; the satin, teal evening gown with the ginormous satin, teal flower at the waist, the pink – hot pink – skirt suit I wore for the interview, the one-piece gray bathing suit with pink polka dots that looked like a large preschool girl’s bathing suit with a ruffle round the top and hot pink high heels shoes to match, AND the bumble bee costume that my mother sewed for me to wear during the dress-to-represent-Illinois competition. Chicago Sting soccer team (1974-1988). There were many bees. Sadly, and I say that void of all sarcasm, my mother has all our childhood photos and refuses to part with them.
I am an atheist, so the whole “as God is my witness” thing is meaningless to me. So you’ll just have to take my word that I would show you photos if I had them. After all, in a previous post, I showed you this one:
As the rules dictate, I am tagging five not so random people to share five random facts about themselves.