I have been tagged by Rogue to tell you five things about myself, and behold, here are those five things! (I hope I haven’t told these stories already.)
1. I absolutely can not ski. I suppose it’s not just skiing; I mean, I am hilariously uncoordinated and without athletic talent. Skiing, however, is the worst of the worst. As much as I love snow, I thought I would really like skiing, but it turns out that no, in fact, I do not like skiing. What with the clumsiness and the fear of heights, I should have known, but the fact that skiing is not for me did not really become clear until after my second (and last) ski trip. In seventh grade I had gone skiing with my best friend, who had just moved to Tennessee from Colorado a couple of years before and promised to teach me. After getting stranded when she got onto the chair lift and I somehow…didn’t, and then after riding the chair lift up by myself, frozen with fear, and after falling while trying to get off the lift, and after falling multiple times (once directly in front of the snow machine, how fun) while trying on my own to “ski” down the hill, and after finally walking the rest of the way down, dragging my skis dejectedly behind me and sniffling, EVEN AFTER ALL THAT, I somehow thought that a second ski trip would be appropriate. I suppose by tenth grade the painful memories had faded enough that I believed my boyfriend when he told me he would teach me everything I needed to know and skiing would be oh-so-easy and safe and fun and oh, how I would JUST LOVE IT. The only major improvement on this second trip was that, when I was again unable to climb onto the chair lift, my boyfriend didn’t ride up without me, leaving me to fend for myself. Even so, when we rode up together, I still fell on my ass trying to get off the lift — right in the path, of course, of the people on the next chair who were also trying to exit. There I was, flailing around in the snow in my puffy pink snow outfit, horribly embarrassed and starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I had made a terrible mistake. It took us probably an hour to get down the hill, as I kept falling every thirty seconds. At one point, I was sitting on my butt in the snow, a lost ski sticking up about ten feet away, where it had conveniently landed like an emergency flare, and my boyfriend was doing his best to get me up so we could “ski” the rest of the way down, except whatever action he proposed (Did I want to get up and ski down? Did I want to walk down? Did I want to keep sitting there?) I could only wail back “Nooooo!” Finally he asked what, after all, I DID want to do, to which I sobbed “I don’t KNOOOOooooow.” As much as I would like to forget this horror, I never could, because the boyfriend in question loved repeatedly telling that story to everyone who would listen, even twelve years after the fact. Never. Skiing. Again.
2. When I was about sixteen, I decided I wanted a belly-button piercing, but I knew that my parents would never, ever allow it, so I did it myself in my bedroom one night with an ice cube and a safety pin. It looked pretty rad for about a week (I was using the safety pin as jewelry because I was apparently, like, so punk rock) but it soon “rejected” because I hadn’t gone deep enough. Alas.
3. My first kiss was in kindergarten — there was this boy, Jared, and I had long known I was completely in love with him. One day, our teacher announced that Jared was moving away to Florida, and the class had to say goodbye to him. We sat in a circle on the floor, Jared at the center, and went around, each taking turns saying our goodbyes. When it was finally my turn, I decided that this was my chance and I had to seize it: I got up from my spot, walked up to Jared, told him I loved him, and kissed him smack on the lips, right there in front of God*, Mrs. Dombroski, and everyone. I later learned that one of my friends was incredibly mad at me for doing it, because she had been in love with Jared, too, but her turn had already come and gone and she hadn’t thought of kissing him herself. Oh, kindergarten drama. I continued my path of forward behavior with boys in sixth grade, when I asked the object of my crush to the Sadie Hawkins Dance: the morning announcements that day explained about the dance, and how it was the girls’ chance to ask the boys out (oh, antiquated tradition; as if we couldn’t ask boys out without the safe cover of Sadie Hawkins), and I think it was less than ten minutes before I had happily arranged my first-ever date to my first-ever dance**. At the dance, I asked him to “go with” me (what we called it at our school, though we never exactly went anywhere), to which he said yes. Regrettably I am not at all that bold anymore.
[*It was Catholic school.]
[**Public school, finally. Oh, how I loved public school!]
4. I hate games — I don’t just mean, like, you know, mind games, but recreational games. Monopoly, poker, badminton, drinking games, bets, dares, charades, hearts, ping pong. I hate games. Do not even come to me asking me to play a damn game, what with all the winners and losers and competition. Not happening. Even when you win, games are awful; case in point: the time I finally won a round of Presidents and Assholes* that I had gotten sucked into playing at a bar (everyone else wanted to play and lord knows I hate to stir the pot) and one girl was so mad that I had beaten her that she threw a handful of popcorn at me and then dumped some more of it in my beer. [This leads to 4b; I hate popcorn. Seriously, the kernels and the skins and the butter and the horrible squeaking sound when you bite it! Shudder.]
[*This is a horrible, horrible game.]
5. I never watch those YouTube videos everyone posts. Sorry! They look and sound bad, but more than that, they are a more annoying species of “link posts,” where you will not understand the post without clicking on and reading eighty-seven links. (This is why I’ll never be able to read political blogs; they are about 90% links, 10% recycled ideas, and no original content, but that’s a kvetch for another day.) YouTube videos are similar in that, to understand the post, I have to go look at other content, but it’s worse because there’s the waiting and the skipping and the adjusting your sound. It’s just never worth the trouble.
I am now meant to tag five people, but let’s just say that you can do this meme if you want. Yes, I mean you. You there with the face.