memememememememe

Ok. Finally getting around to my five things.

1. I really dislike hugging. Unless you are my s.o. or possibily some attractive celebrity I want to touch.
2. When I was little (elementary school age?) I was terrified every night that I was going to be killed. I would try lying really flat and covering myself, head to toe, in a blanket in hopes the intruder(s) wouldn't notice me. When I wasn't doing that I would sleep on my side, but only my right side and facing the door because I reasoned that I'd rather wake up, first see my killer, and then be stabbed in the chest than suffer a sneak attack and have a knife plunged in to my back. I couldn't sleep on my left side, regardless of whether I was in my bed or elsewhere, until I was about 12.
3. My second and third toe on both feet are kind of webbed. My mom says it's one of the first things she noticed about me when I was born. I prefer to think of them as 'growing from the same stump' rather than webbed, but man, I can swim like a fish.
4. I've never smoked a cigarette. Not even a puff.
5. I had lice something like 3 or 4 times in sixth grade. Now I think it's totally weird when people say they never had it, but they probably also didn't have a best friend at whose house they slept over all.the.time and who a)didn't know she had lice b)didn't admit she had lice even after you gently suggested she might want to get checked since you'd gotten it c)continued her reign as nice lice lady until your fed up mother finally called the school and insisted they send her ass home until she got rid of that shit.

A Day That Shall Live in Infamy

Let it be known that on this date, December eighteenth, two thousand and six, I successfully completed my first EVER attempt at car care. Yes, yes I've taken the car to get inspected or have the oil changed and hatnot but today I actually changed my headlight bulb all.by.myself. And yes, my boyfriend conveniently provided some graphic instructions on ho to do this, but I didn't even use them!

Lest you think I am actually good for anything, however, I'll have you know that in fact I actually changed TWO bulbs, one on each side. That, you see, is because I switched out the working bulb the first time. Whoops.

Shhh.

Were I to inexplicably begin blogging again today, this random Wednesday in December, rather than say, the logical choice of January 1st, I'm not sure what I would write about, and this, my friend, has been the lame lame reason for my absence these many weeks.

I could tell you that I just signed on for the first time in ages and switched to some newer! better! version of Blogger, even though I have no idea what the difference is.
I could tell you that other than this unnoticeable formatting alternation, nothing much has changed with me lately. Same job, same friends, same tendency to go to bed before 10:15 every night and same ability to be surprisingly okay with this and the lack of interesting blog fodder it brings.

But you wouldn't want to read about that would you?

Or I could be a little more specific and say that I psyched myself on that whole 'life' thing and somehow this paralyzed me and kept me from telling you anything at all. I could explain how I got all wrapped up in this idea of writing for real, for people--well not directly, I don't want to write necessarily, but I have narrowed my ideal career down to something word-related. And making that minor, minor decision threw me in to a bit of tizzy what with that whole overwhelming sense of self-doubt we women often seem so predisposed to. Because if I write anything, anything at all, I'll judge it, you'll judge it, and what if someone down the line judges it? And what if we all hate it? And what if I somehow allow your/my/our poor opinion of it to ingrain itself in this pretty little head? And what if I then let this eat away at my confidence night by night (but only before 10:15) until I have totally, unreasonably convinced myself that I am wholly incapable of ever doing anything word-related ever. Better to just stop with the word use than risk it, huh?

And I don't pine for the blog, or at least I don't allow myself time to pine for the blog (instead opting to fill my evenings with Top Chef and Dr. 90210...and sometimes a good book) but I do think its a good exercise. Particularly if I ever want to get this word-related dream job I have so precisely picked out.

So if I were to start writing here again I would try and quietly pick it back up. And I'd promise not to beat myself up for not posting if I get busy, or the boyfriend visits, or I decide to embark on the marathon that will be watching season two of Lost. I would also resolve to: make an effort to write here frequently and more openly, enjoy writing here in that manner, hit 'publish' already and get over it (and assume you will too) when I end a sentence with a preposition or begin with a conjunction, and never again write another post in a ridiculous, hypothetical manner such as this..