This week’s Wednesday Blogging topic is ten random things you didn’t know about me. Which is going to be difficult, because I’m pretty much an open book on social media. But I’ll try.
I cry every time I hear the song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas. In part because I am an epic Disney nerd, and it reminds me of the beautiful Walt Disney quote woven into the movie Meet the Robinsons. But mostly because my BFF Jill and I are coming up on our twentieth friendiversary in September, and we trade that song back and forth as a little friend note on Spotify. It reminds me of how much I love her, and I get choked up.
Literally nothing on this planet scares me more than the looming spectre of my own mortality, and WebMD isn’t helping. This one is a little odd, for someone who spent the last four years battling suicidal thoughts, but I am terrified of dying. Every little ache or pain I have, I attribute it to some possible disease I’m surely going to succumb to before my time. So I get on WebMD’s symptom checker, find out I have every possible cancer, and then stay up all night panicking.
Whenever I need a lift, I watch YouTube videos of turtles/tortoises humping things and each other. These shelled bastards are apparently full-time horny, and indiscriminate about their sexual partners.
This one is a boot.
This one is a bag of trash (this one is gold for both the fact that this turtle is humping a bag of trash and the inquisitive child in the background whose mom provides hilarious off-the-cuff answers).
When I was younger, my friend Holly and I used to have weird shared dreams. I don’t believe in most supernatural stuff, but my friend Holly and I used to have frequent dreams wherein we could call each other the next day and know what we said to each other in our dreams the night before. It was never, ever important stuff.
I’m actually a pretty good singer. Not at karaoke or anything, that’s just for fun and generally ends in tragedy. But I’ve received both classical training and musical theatre training. I’m a bit rusty (haven’t had a class since 2008), but I do try to practice and keep up on my skills. I’m a lyric mezzo with a high tessitura. I’ve done solos in a few musicals and have a fucking excellent amount of Sondheim in my personal repertoire.
I believe I have been messed with by aliens. Not in a funny, quirky, hey guys, I’ve been abducted way, but in a really disconcerting way. I was fifteen, riding in a car with my friend Holly and her parents when all four of us saw a really bizarre thing in the sky. It was dark, so we couldn’t see the actual object, but there was a crazy bright light– the intensity of the light on the cop car that shines right into your fucking side mirror when they pull you over, but a bluer white– that would dart forward, disappear, then reappear a distance behind its position when it disappeared. We figured this meant some part of whatever this aircraft was had some rotation to it. Anyway, the next day all of us distinctly remembered seeing the object. But we couldn’t remember getting home. All of us were “missing time” from just after we saw the thing to the next morning, and all of us had slept in our clothes.
If something can be cooked on the George Foreman Grill, I will cook it on the George Foreman Grill. Even if it seems wholly unadvised, I will try. I have cooked swordfish on the George Foreman Grill.
Due to a misunderstanding regarding change of address and voter registration, I did not vote in the 2000 election. To this day, I am convinced that I am solely responsible for George W. Bush’s presidency.
Speaking of Presidents, I spent my thirteenth birthday at the White House and The Pentagon. My uncle was in the US Air Force, and he was on a flight that was awarded the Mackay Trophy, which, if you’re unfamiliar, is a BFD. They received the award for “extraordinary resourcefulness and unusual presence of mind during an unprovoked attack in international airspace,” and you can see the info here. My family got to travel to Washington, D.C., for the ceremony and fun stuff like meeting congress people and generals and stuff. On my birthday, we toured the White House, then the Pentagon, where the ceremony was held. We even got a special Air Force escort who had a lot of impressive decorations on his uniform. Even though it was basically an amazing birthday already, my aunt and uncle were worried I would feel like my birthday was overshadowed, so they got me a cake and presents and we had a party in the hotel room.
I have really ugly feet. They’re like a horror show of thick and peeling dead skin, malformed toenails, weirdly bent toes and corpselike discoloration. Mr. Jen says he loves me in spite of my feet. That’s how bad they are. They are such a nightmare, I wouldn’t show them for my Jenny Tries column about foot scrubs. They’re just hideous.
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