Tag Me Stupid. Six Weird and Otherwise Unknown Things About Me

I think I may have done this meme before. It is the meme that will not die. Which, as an arsy academic interested in social-networking theory, I think is rather interesting, ack-chully. But I digress. And as there are many many disturbing and odd things about me, it was not hard to rustle up another list that would no doubt alienate a good portion of my readers.

Here you go, Jenni:

1. I have translucent eyelashes. If this season's look was "Powder with a red wig" I'd be drop dead. As it is, I have had a psychotic attachment to my mascara wand since the mid 80s (when it was then "Electric Blue" and for a short while "Hot Pink" the latter of which is not a good look for a teenage girl with peachy bleached out hair. Nothing says "I am riddled with conjunctivitis. And acne. Will you be my friend?" better.) If you ever meet me--whatever time of day--it is highly unlikely you will see the naked truth of my soft-boiled egg eyes. Instead, it will be softboiled egg eyes with a nice spiky frame of max-factored lashes. Even at a 9am "cardio buffet" class--because, seriously, 3-ways mirrors.

2. I have a Wrinkly Flesh Apron. This is not weird in and of itself (especially for an 11 week postpartum lady like m'self). But yesterday, as I bounced around the fully-mirrored room with the fine ladies of my kickboxing class and watching that thing flap around like my own personal hula-hula skirt, I felt weird.

3. I have a big fat brown birthmark on my left bum-cheek. It is trés erotique. Recently my son asked me if that was "poo-poo on my booty-butt."


4. There's a monster under my bed. Well. There isn't. But for some unfathomable reason, I cannot let my hand or foot dangle down when lying in bed. If I do this accidentally, my heart actually races and I snatch it back before whatever is under there can yank me by the foot and drag me into its monstrous lair.

5. I can take a man down at 100 feet with the force of my boob-spray right now. If I was a superhero, I'd be The Lactactor.

6. I don't puke. Not since I was 11 years old. I actually developed a pathological fear of puking which meant that any time I felt I was going to chuck-up I would "talk myself down." This was all fine and good until the College Years when a night on a toxic medley of beer, hard cider, and you-name-it-I'll-drink-it-slash-snort-it would have me just begging my body to let it go. Nope. Those were some hangovers. You'd think that contracting salmonella some years later would have broken the stalwart. But nope. Now I often dream of the relief of a good yak.

And now for the evil tagging....

Her Bad Mother. There must be something weird about her she's not told us.
Mom-101. Oh yes I did. Uh Huh.
Motherhood Uncensored. What? You think having an infant and a billion small business ventures to run exempts you?
The Mike Stand. For old time's sake, buddy. For old time's sake....