Apparently I’ve been tagged, and not like some rogue migratory bird suspected of Avian Flu, but tagged in the sense that I’ve been forced against my will to divulge five things about me that you didn’t know and that you didn’t ask about either. I would have preferred the passing of a torch, but I suppose a baton will have to do. . . . .
1) I hate being nominated or called out for public entertainment. I don’t mean like being tagged for a blog or anything, but more like for comic relief at a social gathering. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love to do jokes and impersonations, but there is always some drunken jack ass at a party who wants me to “do that voice” or “tell that joke” for a crowd. Nothing makes me feel more like a fucking ass than people putting me on the spot for their enjoyment. One of the components of humor is spontaneity. You kind of shoot that in the ass the second you herd a group of people together and beg me “to do that one skit where you talk like your Scottish, and you’re drunk and really angry and you rant about golf and then all those other characters come in, that one’s hilarious. Yeah, do that one.” See, now I’m in between a rock and world peace, because if I don’t do the skit or tell the joke, I’m an asshole, or chicken shit, or anything else you won’t remember calling me come tomorrow. And if I do perform said skit, it won’t be nearly as funny now that everyone knows what’s coming. Don’t be a jerk. Let me relax and have a couple of drinks and trust me, the jokes will come. They always come.
2) I’m a hopeless romantic. I can probably thank my plethora of sisters for that. I can already feel the testosterone seeping out of my testicles as I write this, but I enjoy watching romance movies and romantic comedies. I’m a sucker for an epic love story like The Notebook (a must see by the way), or What Dreams May Come, or even Forrest Gump. And just for the record I hated Titanic.
3) I love chocolate. I know this doesn’t help you out much, but we aren’t really here for you now are we? This is about me, so it’s imperative that you know the degree to which I adore chocolate and its many forms. Let’s not misconstrue my affection for chocolate as some weird food fetish, because I definitely don’t see the sense in wasting perfectly good chocolate to rub all over somebody’s crotch. That’s just nasty. Now, whip cream on the other hand . . . . .
4) I also love candles. (I would have paired this one with number 3 and actually have given you 6 things about me, but my OCD forces me to number things methodically and inhibits my otherwise strong urge to associate things that normally wouldn’t go together.) I don’t eat candles, but I love them nonetheless. I try to hide my addiction to candles behind the fact that I’m a massage therapist, but the truth is I would probably still have enough candles to light the Vatican for a week even if I weren’t an MT. I would marry Pier One (or at least whoever makes the candles).
5) I’m practically bi-polar and my inherent desire to stab random people worsens if I don’t eat every two hours. It really sucks I know, not only to suffer from chemical imbalances but to also have the metabolism of a cheetah. I have to constantly shove food in my face, and frankly I’m tired of eating. Being hungry means that I have to find food, which seriously conflicts with my genetic predisposition to be lazy. So, basically I can’t go out in well populated areas for extended periods of time without being happy and well fed because otherwise I’m just a hungry, bi-polar cheetah looking to kill the next idiot who mistakes my furious countenance for one of inviting conversation. If you ever invite me over, and you want me to be funny, have some damn food. For those of you mathematically inclined: food = happy.
Well, there you have it. I’m going to assume that you’re supposed to tag someone else at this point, and I nominate my girl bitty. Thanks to La Cubana Gringa for forcing me against my will, again. But come to think of it, I kinda do like it rough.