I've always sucked -- like big-time, industrial-strength vacuum sucked -- at tag. I'm a decent runner, endurance-wise, but slow. So I would perpetually be it, and my friends would get bored of the game and move on before I realized what had happened. The only reason I'm OK at it now is that my tag partner's legs are half the length of my own.
But here's a tag game I can participate in. Blog tag. Yay! Although, maybe I shouldn't be too happy, since I still have endurance (read: I'm long-winded) but I'm still slow (I was tagged a few days ago. I think that's rather a long time to be "it."), and I don't rightly know who to tag next, since most of the bloggers I know have been it already. But here you go anyway.
I got tagged by dirt, who is actually very clean, and whose online name I wish I had claimed first.
1. Write your meme (described below).
2. Include the rules in your post (though you may reword them in your style).
3. Link to the person who tagged you, then link to the seven (7) random people you have tagged.
4. Let those seven (7) random people know they’ve been tagged by commenting in their blog. Also say something nice about the post so you don’t come off totally random. Say, on a blog about a dog’s death, you might not want to come in and go, “Hi! I’m all smiley and stuff! You’ve been tagged! Go to my blog! Yippie!” Instead, you might begin with, “I am so sorry about your loss!” Wait, maybe use a period there.
And now the meme:
Share seven (7) random and/or weird things about yourself.
* * * * * * *
1. Some things I've done: Won a school and then district spelling bee (and was eliminated one place shy of advancing to state; I cried); fired a gun (actually, a Glock, a 9 millimeter, and a rifle, and I wasn't too bad); hiked the Grand Canyon; dove off a cliff; been lost in the wilderness; and met Walter Cronkite, Jesse Jackson, Janet Napolitano and Bob Schieffer in the same day (I worked at the third 2004 Presidential debate).
Some things I've never done: Completed a cartwheel (I can do roundoffs, but not cartwheels); had a short haircut, tried drugs of any kind (I'm not as noble as all that ... I never wanted to, but more than that, I just never really bothered. Except for alcohol, and an incident with Tequila and Jell-O shooters that I'd just as soon forget.); participated in a physical fight (though I was "participated at" once or twice); whistled using my fingers in my lips; understood what those numbers they shout before "hike" mean in football.
2. I used to work with and around explosive powder. It is much, much less exciting than it sounds.
3. I am a science fiction and fantasy nut. I have never, ever come across sci-fi or fantasy stories, in any form, and not felt compelled to watch/read/listen to them. I am aware that there is good narrative and bad in any genre, and there is quite a bit that is quite bad in this one, and I think I am OK at distinguishing between the two (for instance, if Battlestar Galactica and Mansquito were to air simultaneously, I think I would be able to choose rather quickly). But I take it all in anyway (even Mansquito). I have read tens of thousands of pages, at least, of stories that take place in fantasy worlds. I often find them more instructive than "real-life" stories. I also quite like a number of webcomics, though I am trying to avoid them right now for fear of losing untold hours that I should be spending writing my own, nonfictional material.
4. I am an idiosyncratic sleeper. (My husband might use a different phrase, and not just because he doesn't use words like "idiosyncratic." I'm not sure, but I guess it might rhyme with "trucking train in the glass.") I've gotten better though; I used to be a constant sleep talker and sleep walker. I once woke up eating a danish. Another time, I woke up in the middle of taking a shower. I routinely awoke at various locations, into early adolescence, only to spend a good few minutes figuring out where the hell I was. Sometimes I would transport all my bedding to my new campsite -- I would wake up sleeping on my pillow, under my sheet, in the kitchen hallway, for instance. My mother installed a high lock on the front door, for fear I would walk out into the desert in the middle of the night. I would talk all the time too -- although that may not be surprising, seeing as how my father was the king of sleep talkers. (He once told my mom, very urgently, to Anchor the eggs! Another time he spun an elaborate story about high chairs and a trapeze routine in the living room. She alternated between messing with his head -- "Can you tell me more about that?" -- and groggy annoyance.)
Lately, my nuances are less dramatic. I cannot sleep unless my middle is covered, but my feet and from my chest up have to be uncovered. I can't sleep if my head is facing the open end of the pillowcase. And if the mattress feels like it's sliding away from the wall, I have to get up, get my husband up and vigorously slide it back against the corner. But he gets me back. It seems the sleep-talking torch has been passed to my spouse. Some recent gems from him: "If we get a unicorn..." "Now that's what I call a big check." "He won't stop tickling me." "They need to be at either end of the clothing rack [this in his most official retail-manager voice]." "How many alligators do we have to handle?" And a ton of others.
5. I don't know how to dress myself. Seriously. I stress very, very much about this occasionally, like at social gatherings and when I'm about to interview someone, or when I accidentally catch my reflection in a window, but generally just ignore it, since my five-year-old, my equally-fashion-oblivious husband and my computer don't much care. I've found that slightly form-fitting, solid-color tees and khaki pants of not-too-tight cuts work pretty well, so that's pretty much what I wear out of the house. Every single day. I own two pairs of shoes: a pair of sandals and a pair of sneakers. I don't desire any more shoes. I went through a brief phase where I tried to get "into" shoes, because it seemed the image-conscious, "girl" thing to do. But I just wore the same sandals every day anyway, and all the other shoes I purchased -- the chunky-heel shoes (they were really popular, but I can't remember the name of the shoe), the rose colored strappy shoes, the red party sandals -- sat gathering dust. I haven't bought shoes in about a year. Now that my trusty sandals are worn clean through, I will. But only when I find the same kind. I also don't know how to do my hair, or my makeup. I haven't worn makeup for over a year, now. I'm very put-together, very groomed. Just not done up at all. I kind of wish I could go on that show, What Not To Wear, where they show you how to dress yourself. But I kind of think that would be more lame than not knowing how to dress myself in the first place. I could ask my mom, but she's never been able to dress herself either.
6. I am the absolute most disorganized person on the planet. With big things and little things. I have lost opportunities, money, all kinds of stuff because I can't stay organized for longer than a nanosecond. And I really, really try. I have about 140 pages written on my manuscript; good, solid, pages; but the story stops and starts again and changes angles and comes back around on itself so many times even I can't follow it all. And the manuscript is in pieces -- e-mails, Word documents, Wordpad documents after the Word documents got corrupted and turned into a bunch of rectangles, notes to myself creatively titled "notes" every time, so I can't distinguish among them. I just this morning put it all together, and it's going to take a lot of finagling and organizing before I know precisely where I am and what more I need to write. I would prefer writing another 140 pages to this organizing step.
But ... for some reason, I never falter with my son. I always know where his stuff is, where he is, what time things are where he's concerned, the names and ages of everyone he's met and where they rank in his estimation, the relative merit-rankings of his favorite shows and what day/time each one plays, how much of this or that we have left, but only if it's something he needs/wants. I figured this newly acquired ability to organize things, born of necessity since I won't allow myself to be an incompetent parent, would bleed into other areas of my life. It hasn't. It looks like parenting might be the only thing I'll ever really, truly be pretty OK at. I think I can deal with that. But I really wouldn't mind being organized, if only long enough to finish this project.
(Well, that one wasn't very random or weird. Sorry.)
(Only one more. W00t!)
(W00t is the only online-ese, acronym-type word I like. I hate all others. "BTW, I'll CU L8R, AFAIK. CTN, coz POS. But FWIW, I think ur PHAT. TBC, ur BFF." (If you readily understand this, please please find something to do, and I mean IRL.) I mean, what the freaking hell? What is wrong with talking? Or even typing, but in whole words, never mind whole sentences.)
(These don't count. They're parenthetical, after all. (Even double-parenthetical.))
7. Since it's a semi-theme among some recent memers, my person to do:
Actually, my husband and I are quite happy, and don't really mean it with our lists. But my theoretical person would have to be either Michael Shanks (Daniel Jackson, on Stargate SG-1) or Tahmoh Penikett (Karl Agathon, Helo, on Battlestar Galactica). I told you I'm a sci-fi nerd. But come on. Sci-fi guys are hot lately. Plus, my husband favors Tricia Helfer, and all her varied Number Six incarnations on BSG, so it's all good. Not like I have anything to worry about. I mean, Trish and I are practically doppelgängers. Except for her flawless skin. And height. And body. And supermodel/acting career. And huge fan base. But our hair and skin color are pretty much the same, and she's from Canada, and I used to live near Canada, so yeah, there you go.
Like I said, I'm not sure who to tag. I would've tagged dirt, but there's no tagbacks, on the playground or the blogosphere. A couple of others have already been tagged; one even twice. And most of the remaining bloggers I know have strictly business blogs. But here are a few, some fairly new to me but a pretty good bunch. Check 'em out if you get the chance.
Hotash, who takes seriously awesome pictures.
Daniel over at Singin' & Singin'.
Leigh at Sanity Not Included.
David, who happens to have my favorite name, at his family blog.
Sphincter at Sphincterhood, who definitely gets points for the best blog name of the day.