Lucy Lime

No, not ‘tagged’ as in graffiti’d, but ‘tagged’ as in an online friend of mine has completed a survey or meme and has now tagged me to do it. I’m it!

Ellia at greenbeanbaby has tagged me and here are seven, lovely (and hopefully interesting) factoids about me. I will try to make them new and different from anything posted on this site previously.

1. I recently cut two feet of my hair off! Actually, thinking back, it was in June, right before my Las Cruces trip. Wow, time flies. Anyway, I remember the exact moment it was decided that the hair needed to be off. My husband and I were rollerblading on a Thursday evening. My super long hair was whipping in my eyes and mouth. We live in Corpus Christi, a very windy place, and even with it pulled back, it will attack you. It was also hot. I have thin hair but am blessed with TONS of it. In fact, people assume it is so very thick until they touch it. It traps heat well. Too well.

Hubby said, “Just cut it off!” And cut it off is what I did. The next day I marched in a salon and the gal took 24 inches off. I wanted her to take more but she told me I better “live in it a while” so I didn’t hate it. I don’t think I have ever had cutter’s remorse! When I got home, hubs took a razor and swiped it down to about 1/2 inch on my head. A true pixie cut!

2. I have crafting ADD/ADHA. I get super excited about a craft and pour my heart and soul in it.

Then, I find another craft medium and get sucked in.

I am not too impressed with the new, trendy crafts. I do not like to indulge in things that I know tons of people are doing. For instance, at every craft fair, I will find the same array of jewelry makers, greeting card/scrapbook designers, scarf knitters, and baby item crafters. I know loads of artists who do all this stuff but very few who offer something novel and exciting to the respective craft. I will try a craft, and revisit many for the sheer joy of it, but unless I feel I can expand or enhance the craft somehow, why continue? Why continue to make beaded necklaces that anyone with access to a Hobby Lobby can make? If I can’t funk it out, LuLi-style, I must move on.

3. I hate country music. No, I HATE country music. It puts me in a poor frame of mind and depresses me. Not sure why, it is not just the cliche idea that in that genre your spouse leaves you, your dog dies and your truck gets stolen…it is something much more. I remember the early 90s when my parents would listen to nothing but country music and go as far as to take line dancing lessons with their friends. My parents were not ‘hicks’ they just hopped on the bandwagon that everyone else was riding. I think it was around that time when country adopted a pop feel and crossovers started. It was in vogue, if you will. It was also the time when my parents started to truly provide a source of embarrassment, sans their lack of musical taste, and I was that angst-filled teen. Country music takes me back to that special time.

Although I am sure that there are intelligent people with tastes leaning toward country music out in the world, I have been hard pressed to find such an aficionado who thoroughly know what the word means. Please know, I am not intending to insult such characters, I have yet to find one I truly relate to. It seems like our values and lifestyles can be identified by our musical leanings.

Scathing of me, I know.

4. I LOVE my ex-husband. AND his wife. In fact, if I had the divine ability to select for myself a brother and a sister, Jesse and Gabi would be them. (My friend Chrissy would be my sister, also.) Jesse and I got married quite young. I was 18 and he was 21. Why are parents did not intervene, I have no clue. I guess the old idea that youngsters do as they please, with or without parents’ consent, rang true. Still, I would not trade it for anything.

I think I might be one of the only people in the world (at least it feels this way sometimes) to say that I got to grow into my own at the side of my best friend. Our marriage cultivated an irreplaceable friendship. We woke up a realized we were true friends, rather than true lovers.

And now, after over 13 years, there is nothing I would not do for him. Or Gabi. Or their beautiful daughters.

I would give him a kidney if he needed it. AND, I wouldn’t even charge, So there.

(And yes, our spouses are ok with our friendship. They are not as insecure as most would be.)

5. Ever watch Mermaids? In that movie, Winona Ryder is a Jew who wants to be catholic. Truly, she wants to become a nun. Unfortunately, whenever she sees one from the local convent, she gets tongue tied and falls silent. While I do not want to become catholic, I do love nuns but find myself speechless in their presence. No, wait. I giggle hysterically as I run away.

I am dying to talk to one, I just clam up.

6. I can remember stupid details about stupid, trivial things. The important ones I learned in calculus or anatomy and physiology…. I have no idea what part of my brain those are stored in. But, I can recall each outfit, down to the jewelry, shoes, and panties that I wore on every first date with a new guy I have ever been on. I can remember the first time I ate shrimp. I know at exactly which moment I got my first kiss (and all subsequent and graduating naughty milestones thereafter). I remember, verbatim, nasty things that were said to me growing up.

I cannot remember all the books I read. I will read them over and over and they will seem so familiar but my memory must be jogged. I cannot remember all the lyrics to all the musicals I have ever watched until after I hear the songs twice more. I cannot remember how to “tie off” my fiber arts although I’ve made countless things.

7. I am still mad at my mother and father for many things from my childhood, one specifically angering time being:

When they made me eat okra. My mother decided to try something new. It was okra from a can. Anyone who has ever had okra from a can knows how much it resembles boogers. I was never one of those vile children who ate their mucus so this was as close as I got.

Mother served it to all of us and my dad insisted we “eat up.” He further provided some bullshit about it being good for us. Funny, he never finished his and we never had it again. Ever. Yet I still remember this wrongdoing like it was yesterday.

Wow, now that was sort of fun. I am sure it would have been better had I not gone off on my rambles. I suffer from windbaggism. You would think that as a writing instructor, I would know how to edit myself, alas, I do not. Thank you for reading thus far.