Six Weird Things
Hmmm. Steph tagged me with this one, and I must say: I found the task of actually LISTING six weird things to be fairly difficult. Don't get me wrong: I'm terribly weird. Or, is that "wonderfully"? Anyway, I'm a strange dude. But, I don't really...I don't know, DO anything that's altogether peculiar. I can't turn my eyelids inside-out, or take a shit while running at full speed. I suppose I can wiggle my ears really violently, and I can raise only one eyebrow in a haughty yet disdainful kind of way. But those things can't REALLY be that weird, can they? I mean, I read Jenn's blog, and one of her answers was that, even though she's a tall woman, she really enjoys wearing tall spikey heels. Now, that's weird; I've never heard ANY woman say before "Oh, I prefer 3- or 4-inch heels!" So, I think of myself generally as a pretty mild customer. But, for the sake of the blog, here we go: my six weird things.
1. For all intents and purposes, I am immune to nicotine. I was a full-time smoker for about 12 years, spanning the summer I turned 17 until...well, 12 years later. Duh. Anyway, I finally quit in the late-90's, and I didn't smoke ANYTHING for a year. I finally gave in and began having the occasional butt with my non-quitter friends, and you know what? I can do it. I can actually treat cigarettes like most people treat cigars: I enjoy the taste & the feeling, it's a little "guilty pleasure" that I can occasionally indulge...but I don't get hooked on the nicotine. I don't know whether this is willpower or what; my father-in-law SWEARS that if he had even ONE cigarette, he'd be back up to a pack a day. Not me; I have my "smoking friends" that I get together with every so often, and I can have as many as maybe 8-10 smokes in a day with those people (depending on the amount of alcohol involved)...but when it's time to go home, I don't jones for a light-up. Go figure.
2. I have no interest in heavy metal chix. This, despite the fact that I wholly embrace the whole heavy metal/poser look myself. During the 80s I had a big poufy mound of permed hair (a la David Coverdale), and I wore Kiss jerseys (yeah, I said jerseys!) with the sleeves cut off. Usually the midriff cut off as well. All the chemicals were frying my hair, so I moved over to the always-attractive mullet look (a la Joe Elliot). Yeesh. Finally I've just grown out a long, silvering ponytail, but through all these metal hair looks I've remained pretty devoted to studded belts, pointy-toed slouch boots, and band t-shirts. Women, though? Huh-uh. I like 'em smart, well-dressed, and gorgeous. I never had any interest in chicks who bleached out their towering fuck-me hairdos, and who wore stiletto heels with fishnet stockings and all all that metal-whore accoutrement. Hell, I took the VALEDICTORIAN to prom! I'm basically into two types: the old-skool Hollywood glam look (think Drew Barrymore) or the nerdy-but-hot bookworm look (think Sandra Bullock). When I found a woman who was BOTH? I fuckin' married her.
3. I am full of shit. I know you think I mean that figuratively...like, "Oh, I'm such a bullshitter!" Nope. I am LITERALLY full of shit...which I excrete in copious amounts several times a day. This is why, early on into our Mexico trip, I was alarmed to find myself mildly constipated...'cause, that just don't happen with me! I can sit on the toilet sometimes up to four times a day, and I'm not just killin' time in there, trying to get to the end of a chapter: my bowels are walkin' and talkin'. I poop more than anyone I know...maybe more than any TWO people I know. Aren't you glad to know that??
4. I talk to myself. Kind of...a lot. As I've been accused before of being a little distant emotionally, of not really "giving" of myself, the only possible defense I can think of is that I've ALREADY worked out my emotional rubbish...just, to myself. Or, rather, WITH myself. I'll carry on elaborate conversations with myself, usually in the car on my daily commute. I'll play out both sides of an argument, I'll try to think of every possible outcome to a decision I need to make...I'll usually even mix it up with the folks at NPR, causing me to have to turn the radio OFF so that I can make my point out loud without having to shout over the reporters. I think this is #7 in an ongoing list of "Ways That I Display Only-Child Syndrome."
5. I have really thick, dark, gross ear wax. I guess I just have it comin' out both ends, don't I?? Yeah, I'm a 2-Qtip kind of guy, and what I pull out is about the same color and consistency of Bag Balm. In fact, when I'm feeling particularly frisky, I'll offer my scrapings to Tess for just that purpose. In spite of this, she let me knock her up. I always knew she was perfect for me!
6. I enjoy shopping. This belongs on the growing list of answers to the question "You know how I know you're gay?" (Other items include an aversion to sports, kissing my friend Mike, and thinking Johnny Depp is hot.) But, seriously: I love to shop. Heck, I even kind of like GROCERY shopping, but really I'm most happy if I can have an excuse to head out to some clothing stores and buy stuff...then maybe to the comic shop, out to lunch, to an antique store, maybe stop off for some new shampoo and conditioner...you get the idea. Whatever. I'm doing the economy some good by spreading cash around. So, stick it.
Okay, that's my list. I'll split the tags here: Mike and Kat, you're it. Spread the wealth.
1. For all intents and purposes, I am immune to nicotine. I was a full-time smoker for about 12 years, spanning the summer I turned 17 until...well, 12 years later. Duh. Anyway, I finally quit in the late-90's, and I didn't smoke ANYTHING for a year. I finally gave in and began having the occasional butt with my non-quitter friends, and you know what? I can do it. I can actually treat cigarettes like most people treat cigars: I enjoy the taste & the feeling, it's a little "guilty pleasure" that I can occasionally indulge...but I don't get hooked on the nicotine. I don't know whether this is willpower or what; my father-in-law SWEARS that if he had even ONE cigarette, he'd be back up to a pack a day. Not me; I have my "smoking friends" that I get together with every so often, and I can have as many as maybe 8-10 smokes in a day with those people (depending on the amount of alcohol involved)...but when it's time to go home, I don't jones for a light-up. Go figure.
2. I have no interest in heavy metal chix. This, despite the fact that I wholly embrace the whole heavy metal/poser look myself. During the 80s I had a big poufy mound of permed hair (a la David Coverdale), and I wore Kiss jerseys (yeah, I said jerseys!) with the sleeves cut off. Usually the midriff cut off as well. All the chemicals were frying my hair, so I moved over to the always-attractive mullet look (a la Joe Elliot). Yeesh. Finally I've just grown out a long, silvering ponytail, but through all these metal hair looks I've remained pretty devoted to studded belts, pointy-toed slouch boots, and band t-shirts. Women, though? Huh-uh. I like 'em smart, well-dressed, and gorgeous. I never had any interest in chicks who bleached out their towering fuck-me hairdos, and who wore stiletto heels with fishnet stockings and all all that metal-whore accoutrement. Hell, I took the VALEDICTORIAN to prom! I'm basically into two types: the old-skool Hollywood glam look (think Drew Barrymore) or the nerdy-but-hot bookworm look (think Sandra Bullock). When I found a woman who was BOTH? I fuckin' married her.
3. I am full of shit. I know you think I mean that figuratively...like, "Oh, I'm such a bullshitter!" Nope. I am LITERALLY full of shit...which I excrete in copious amounts several times a day. This is why, early on into our Mexico trip, I was alarmed to find myself mildly constipated...'cause, that just don't happen with me! I can sit on the toilet sometimes up to four times a day, and I'm not just killin' time in there, trying to get to the end of a chapter: my bowels are walkin' and talkin'. I poop more than anyone I know...maybe more than any TWO people I know. Aren't you glad to know that??
4. I talk to myself. Kind of...a lot. As I've been accused before of being a little distant emotionally, of not really "giving" of myself, the only possible defense I can think of is that I've ALREADY worked out my emotional rubbish...just, to myself. Or, rather, WITH myself. I'll carry on elaborate conversations with myself, usually in the car on my daily commute. I'll play out both sides of an argument, I'll try to think of every possible outcome to a decision I need to make...I'll usually even mix it up with the folks at NPR, causing me to have to turn the radio OFF so that I can make my point out loud without having to shout over the reporters. I think this is #7 in an ongoing list of "Ways That I Display Only-Child Syndrome."
5. I have really thick, dark, gross ear wax. I guess I just have it comin' out both ends, don't I?? Yeah, I'm a 2-Qtip kind of guy, and what I pull out is about the same color and consistency of Bag Balm. In fact, when I'm feeling particularly frisky, I'll offer my scrapings to Tess for just that purpose. In spite of this, she let me knock her up. I always knew she was perfect for me!
6. I enjoy shopping. This belongs on the growing list of answers to the question "You know how I know you're gay?" (Other items include an aversion to sports, kissing my friend Mike, and thinking Johnny Depp is hot.) But, seriously: I love to shop. Heck, I even kind of like GROCERY shopping, but really I'm most happy if I can have an excuse to head out to some clothing stores and buy stuff...then maybe to the comic shop, out to lunch, to an antique store, maybe stop off for some new shampoo and conditioner...you get the idea. Whatever. I'm doing the economy some good by spreading cash around. So, stick it.
Okay, that's my list. I'll split the tags here: Mike and Kat, you're it. Spread the wealth.
posted by Animal at 7:27 PM
4 Comments:
I just want to say that I'm glad I'm not the only one who has conversations with Day-To-Day or Prairie Home Companion.
Please post an addendum regarding 'only-childisms' and I'll chime in. :)
I had no idea conversing with NPR was a symptom of Only-Child Syndrome. Shit. We might have enough people to do a study on this.
stu has an older brother and he's ALWAYS talking to the radio.
great list, animal. it made me chuckle.
#6 cracked me up! I have a feeling my son is going to be one of those guys that people wonder "Is he or isn't he?" when he grows up. More to come on that subject on my blog.
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