Me, Me, Me Again

Pants Party has tagged me to tell you five (more) little known things about myself.  I can tell you that I do not mind at all the request to chat more about myself.  I rather like writing about myself; in fact, you are probably sick of it all, but guess what suckas?  Here is some more:

1. Although I grew up in Tennessee, California has always been something of a second home to me.  My dad’s family is from the Bay Area, and my mother, who grew up in New York, moved out there in the 60s when it was trendy, all flowers in her hair and reading about Buddhism and shit. (Later, her mother and brother moved to California, too, so eventually everyone was out there.) My parents met and got married in Berkeley before moving to Louisiana and then Tennessee.  As a kid, I spent a lot of summers in San Jose with my grandparents and always thought about moving to the West Coast when I grew up.  Apparently I miscalculated somehow and ended up in Zembla, where the natives feel superior not only to southerners (as does the whole country, pretty much, damn Yankees) but also to Californians.  Oops.

2.  I have written a lot about this elsewhere, but not as much here on vox, so allow me to tell you that I have some unhealthy obsessions with food.  I do not like to touch it, especially if it is sticky, crumbly, or oily, and I hate the idea of food being stuck on or in my teeth or on my face.  The sight of food on someone else’s face makes me want to die a little bit inside, especially if it is ranch dressing and it is on a person’s lips, or if it is pudding and it is stuck all over their tongue and they insist on speaking and revealing the bepuddinged tongue to the world.  *Shudder*  I call this phenomenon “Puddin’ Mouth,” and I consider it to be a serious crime against humanity.  The only thing worse than Puddin’ Mouth is Jam Hands.  Ew.  Jam Hands.  I’m certain that my current obsession with bento (pretty, neatly-arranged foods I don’t have to touch) is a function of this issue at large.

3.  I was once arrested, but it’s not on my record any more.  I won’t tell you what for, because it was totally lame and embarrassing, so don’t even ask, dude.

4. I had the Worst Trip To Paris Ever.  Well, OK, maybe the Nazi invasion was the Real Worst Trip To Paris Ever, but mine comes in a close second.  My Then-Boyfriend (plot point: we met in Germany and he didn’t speak English) took me as some kind of romantic gesture, but all we did was fight the entire time, which was of course entirely his fault because I am perfect and easy to get along with and completely non-offensive in every way.  Ha.  Name a Parisian landmark and I can detail the fight we had there.  The best was one probably in the gardens at Versailles (fine, not technically in Paris but close enough) where, in a fit of fury, I lost all ability to speak German and resorted to screaming the word ASSHOLE at him loudly enough to probably ruin all the other visitors’ idyllic little afternoon strolls.  Sorry, Other Visitors to Versailles.  Really.

5.  One of my mother’s many nicknames for me growing up was “The Ice Princess,” because she thought/thinks I was/am cold and heartless and unemotional.  Personally, I think this speaks more to her inability to make use of logic or reason and her resulting characterization of logical people as “heartless” than it does to any particular flaw in my character (see above re me and how I am practically perfect in every way just like Mary Poppins).  The thing is, I kind of like the whole “Ice Princess” thing.  One day, when I am a rich and fabulous (but please, not famous!) literary critic, I will buy a little house in some rocky, icy coastal region where there are fishing boats and lots of sweaters, and I and my small, besweatered hound dog will hide out up there being cold and logical and anti-social.  Sometimes I will have all my friends to visit –hey, maybe that includes you there— but mostly I will revel in my generally icy nature.  Take THAT, Mother.

And this has been Five Little Known and Perhaps Disturbing Facts About Me, courtesy of The Meme That Will Live Forever. Would you like to be tagged?  Then consider yourself tagged.

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