That darn Jane…I’ve been tagged. I’ll make this quick and to the point. OK I won’t…I mean really, when have I ever done that? Since I’ve just been tagged again by the lovely Donna Fontenot I thought I’d do this one on my music blog, especially as some of these have a musical bent to them.
1.I think w is a vowel. Seriously. It obviously IS a vowel. Sure, it has to be combined with another vowel to become a vowel, but I think that’s good enough. I don’t care how stupid that belief is, I’ll freaking argue it until the day I die an awful death. See how the w in awful is a vowel? Um, and it’s a vowel in the word vowel too.
2.I have a massive teeth fetish. OK that doesn’t mean that I like massive teeth…I just really like people’s teeth, especially when they’re a bit jacked up. Yes, I like a busted up grill. When I saw The Raveonettes live (well they WOULD be live if I saw them, we’re not talking about Kraftwerk) in Seattle in 2007, I already had the big pants for the lead singer. However, when I noticed that he was missing a tooth (and not a prominent one), I loved him even more. Even Ciaran‘s nonstop comments about the hotness of the girls in the opening band couldn’t annoy me enough to stop focusing on him. On the lead singer of The Raveonettes, not Ciaran for god’s sake. I think Bowie looked much better before he got those puppies fixed, actually. I will go ahead and tell you that I draw the line at a total lack of teeth or a mouthful of rotten ones, so you won’t see me with my tongue hanging out over Shane Macgowan or Shaun Ryder. Now I really want to head back to England soon…
I like him better this way
3.I once attended the birthday party of a pig named Mr. T. He has since taken the big dirt nap. Well, actually, he’s been stuffed and is standing guard over his owner’s store according to my sources, who, knowing a pig named Mr. T, may be a bit questionable. Because of Mr. T, I have never stopped wanting to own a large pig who could wear a tutu and accompany me about town. Who’s gonna mess with someone walking a pig??
4.My first “date” with my husband took place at a moonshine joint where the proprietors had caged an opposum (I refuse to call it a possum) and were poking it with a stick to make it hiss, which it did with great showing of scary teeth (again with the teeth.) On the way back home, Jay’s uncle sang gospel and swerved a lot. Oddly, this didn’t put me off.
5.I used to hide in the basement, make lots of noise, and wait for my Grandma to come check on things, placing my hand over the light switch so that I could grab her hand and scream when she came down the stairs. Even though I did this regularly for about 10 years, she never caught on. I also dropped pennies in her mouth when she was asleep and once ate one of her menthol cigarettes.
6.When I got my first car, I immediately drove it to Greensboro, where I live now, and bought a Smiths bumper sticker at the record shop, like you do when you get your first car. I came back home, went inside and had a Chef Boyardee pizza most likely, then listened as my dad told me how the idiots who’d sold us the car had put a damned bumper sticker with their name on it on my car, so he’d ripped it off. I went back the next day to replace it. In fact, I bought many others (Corrosion of Conformity, Sisters of Mercy, Christian Death, Death in June, etc….those were my dark days people!) and a lovely rubber bat which I hung from the rearview mirror. A few weeks later, my dad’s car broke down and he had to drive my death rock Mazda to work for a few days, dressed in his tweed suit and heading into his insurance office. He said he got a lot of odd looks. Served him right really.
7.I have an utter inability to be rude to someone in person. I can be a bit snide online, but if I have to look at someone, there’s just no way. This excludes my husband, of course, although I imagine he’d never admit than I am anything less than perfectly charming all the time. I’ll cuss someone out in my mind but when that person’s asking if I am ok, I will lie through my teeth because my absolute worst fear is being rude to someone, whether or not it’s well deserved. There have seriously been maybe 5 occasions when I have been outright rude to someone in person. I will admit to saying seriously rude things about men who take yoga and wear those large Hammer pants, and I’ve been known to refer to hippie stores as PMS bongo shops, but never to anyone’s face! God almighty I’d never do that. I even have to invent stories for why I won’t buy those stupid candy bars from the kids who hang out at the door to Marshalls, because just saying “no thank you”, to me, feels rude as all heck. I’m about to undergo therapy for this.
Now for my next trick, I’ll tag 3 unfortunate people…yes, I’m supposed to tag 7 but considering I’ve been tagged twice, I have to break it down because honestly, I don’t have that many friends.
Gene Wicker Jr. (yes, again)