me meme

There are a lot of meme’s going around the blogosphere lately, most likely because we are all conflicted between getting stuff ready for Spanksgiving, doing a little bit of work at work because everyone knows that absolutely nothing gets done between Thanksgiving and mid-January, and laying out our lives for the whole literate world to see. Creativity runs a bit low this time of year, so we all look for someone to tell us what to write about so we don’t have to come up with topics between breaks in the holiday madness.

One of my favorites out there right now is the list of things that readers most likely don’t know about the author of the blog. I’ve learned tons. Especially from people who I think are total Stepford moms and wives or are total loser trainwreck bloggers. Turns out that not everyone is as perfect or as horrible as I judge them to be. Hmm.

I put myself out there pretty well, so you already know that I’m a little obsessive but I’m too lazy to be compulsive. And you know I like to do things by the book but you may not know that it is because I don’t always trust my own intuition and innovation. That’s why I like math so much- there is always a right answer and I know how to get to it nine times out of ten. That’s ninety percent of the time. Or nine-tenths. Or 0.9 of each of my attempts.

I’m freaking adorable and wildly hilarious.

I’m a pretty good listener but I’d always rather talk. In fact, I’ll listen to you until you say something that reminds me of something that happened to me, and then I’ll totally monopolize the conversation.

Some of you will be pleased and some will be disappointed that I don’t drink as much booze as I purport to on this blog. But I think about it all the time because everyone knows that whiskey is the solution to all of life’s problems. As I get older my body doesn’t process the poison so well anymore and I end up with a real bad case of the pukes and the poops if I have one too many and that’s never fun when you have a one year old who likes to watch you in the bathroom. But don’t worry, I still drink more than my fair share.

I’ll break the news to you all here because the authorities have already been notified that my little brother is going to be a dad in June. And because I’m a really good sister, I like to tease him about his bastard love child. No, really. Look up bastard in the dictionary. It’s true, just like when I say that your dog is a bitch. I’m not being mean, I’m just telling it like it is.
I show love and support through insults and punches and by stealing milk money. It’s because I grew up in a terribly dysfunctional environment and I don’t know any better. I’m hoping it’s a boy so I can dump all of Jake’s old stuff on the new brat. But I guess a girl would be nice too. I have 1.5 nieces in laws, but it is a lot more exciting when it’s your own brother having a baby. Mostly because there is a chance that the kid will look like me.

I’m not a very healthy eater anymore. I used to be, but I just ate a sleeve of Chips Ahoy and a KFC bucket full of coffee and I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with that until I typed it out for the world to see. Now breakfast is coffee, lunch is either coffee or pizza, and dinner is either pizza or whatever Jake didn’t eat off of his plate. Jake eats a well balanced meal every night so I’m getting a little bit of nutrition every once in awhile. I’m going to try my best to change my eating habits. One of these days.

Before I had Jake I was a size 6. Now I’m a 2, sometimes a 4, or a 30×32 when I wear boy’s pants. My boobs used to be glorious DDs, now they are a pretty nice C but they are kinda lower than I’d like them to be so I have to buy bras that are more expensive than I’d like them to be. But a $40 bra makes a $10 shirt look like a million bucks.
The most I ever weighed was 145 pounds when I was a freshman in college. I got down to about 112 when I was nursing but now I’m a robust 123ish, ten pounds less than I weighed when I got pregnant. Don’t hate. I was actually concerned because of my wacky health problems this year but it turns out everything is fine.

Speaking of health, my cat is sick. She’s old and puking. It’s awful.

Speaking of sick cats, my lady cancer has been cut out and thrown to the hounds and I guess I’m all better. At least that’s what the pathology reports say. I go back for another screening in June. I’m pretty happy that’s all done with, even if I am missing a big chunk of my chassis. Word on the street is that you can’t really tell that anything is gone up there. If you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.

I dress like a 19 year old boy when I don’t have anywhere special to be. I’m kinda butchy sometimes, but I like it. And so does your mom.

I have all sorts of funny in my brain. Believe it or not, the dose you get here is mild and clean compared to what you’ll get in person. Think of this as Ivory Soap, all lily white and floaty and 99.9% pure. I’m practically a sailor in real life. A hilarious sailor. Insert seamen joke here.

I’m a little ADD. Okay, a lot. Writing helps keeps me focused. If I could only get a job writing I’d get a lot more work done in a day because I wouldn’t be here all the time.

I’d like to get a Doctorate in English Literature.

I’m an exhibitionist. I don’t even have proper curtains on my bedroom windows. The bottoms are covered with this faux-stained glass stuff (not as bad as it sounds. It’s actually quite lovely) but the tops are bare naked. To see in you would have to stand on my neighbor’s roof and if you are going to put that much effort into seeing what I do in there, you’ve deserved it.

I’m a chronic nose-picker. It almost doesn’t matter who the nose belongs to, I love it that much.

I’m smart enough to understand British humor.

I’m obsessed with the inner-workings of the US Mail System.

I’m deathly afraid of severed heads and those pointy things at the end of umbrellas. I’m certain that I will die in a firey autocrash as a result of losing my vision in a terrible eye-gouging incident involving a golf umbrella on that block of Sixteenth Street between Chestnut and Walnut where everyone has to walk on the West side of the street because of the construction on the other side and we are all jammed together because there are so many mailboxes and lunch trucks and that homeless guy who sometimes has public sex on his milk crate with that homeless lady who wears that long winter coat all year round to hide her sex-having. It doesn’t hide it well.

Don’t worry, I’ve enlisted some professional insight to my issues.

Anything else you need to know? Just ask. I’ll likely tell you.


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