50 Things

I smoked for 25 years before I quit this year.  My sister is to blame.  For the smoking, not the quitting.

I lived in the South for 13 years before coming back home to Illinois at the end of 2014.  I should’ve come back MUCH SOONER.

I believe the biggest lie ever told by any human ever is “people are nicer in the South.”  No, people just don’t tell you to your face in the South.  You can bet your ass they’re talking some rude shit where you can’t hear them, though.

When I was 39, I took my sister to Myrtle Beach for a night because she needed it. We split a fifth of vodka between us, and I’ve been broken ever since.  I don’t think my tolerance for liquor will ever again be what it was in my twenties and thirties, and it breaks my heart.

I have green eyes.  Who they’re attributed to varies with my mother’s mood.  Sometimes they came from Grandma and sometimes from the sperm donor.

Of all the books in all the world, I love the books about books the best.

BUT if you asked me, I’d tell you my favorite book is The World According to Garp. (Except when it’s Jane Eyre, Beloved, Ready Player One, or A Prayer for Owen Meany.)

My husband wears the cheapest cologne known to man and I seriously cannot get enough of the stuff.  I mean, he could wear it to bed if he wanted to.

I have four biological nephews and two biological nieces, but when you include the “by marriage” ones, the numbers go to eight and six.  All three of my brothers (and I, of course) are step-parents.

I’ve had to dye my hair since I was 29.  My mother just started dying hers this year…she’s 65.

I’ve always wanted red/auburn hair, but I’ve never had the cojones to go for it even though I’m almost certain I could carry it off.  I have the freckles and complexion of a redhead, and my mom and brother were both redheaded when they were young.

I suck at eye makeup.  I mean, I SERIOUSLY SUCK.  I have no doubt that this is because…

I have ZERO artistic/drawing ability.  You’d be lucky to get a well-proportioned stick figure out of me.

I have never in my life known what to do with my hair.

I’m the boobless wonder.  And it seems even worse when I’m fat because people who make fat clothes assume the people who wear their shirts have boobs.  I definitely do not.

But I do have good legs.

And I know how to walk in high heels.

And my husband is such a giant that I can wear them and still be shorter than him.

I love that more than I probably should considering how much I pride myself on not giving a good goddamn what people think.

I grew up on country music and I still love it.  I call it my guilty pleasure, but really, I don’t feel guilty at all.

Elton John makes my heart sing.

I may never recover from the losses of DeForest Kelley and Leonard Nimoy.

Yes, I am a Star Trek fan.

But Star Trek: Enterprise should never have been made.

I’ve watched enough Star Wars to understand the pop culture references; however, I have never been one to watch them repeatedly.  I won’t admit this to my real life friends/family because I don’t want to be shunned.

I watch every single Harry Potter movie in marathon fashion at least twice a year.

My husband is more than happy to do this with me, but he also makes a yearly habit of rereading the books a couple times.

I’ve only read through the entire series once, but I’m sure I’ll do it again someday soon.  Right now, there’s just too much other stuff I want to get through.

For example, I have all these “classic” books that are perpetually guilt-tripping me from my bookshelves.  I mean, one has to be able to say they read War and Peace at some point in their lives, right?

I own The Sims 2, 3, and 4, but I only ever play the second one.  I could give you a much more detailed explanation for this phenomenon than you could possibly ever want.

Once upon a time, I wrote femslash fanfiction.  And if you ever tell anybody that, I will deny deny deny until my dying breath.

And actually, that may not be the worst of it:  I ran an online repository for fanfics in my particular fandom.  If you were writing or reading fanfiction related to that show in 1999-2002, you were probably familiar with it.

I still carry the shame, in case you couldn’t tell.

I was in band from 5th grade up until my graduation from community college.  Our high school band trips were some of the best days of my life, and it breaks my heart that none of the children in this newest generation of our family have carried on the tradition.

My sister and husband were also band geeks and would say the same of their own experiences.

I was also a choir, drama, and theater freak.

Chorus freaks and band geeks are still my favorite people in the world.  I feel like we somehow have a shared history, whether they’re 9 or 90.

Sometimes I also feel that way about people who read more than they probably should.

I love that there’s an adult coloring book craze sweeping the country, and I’m saddened by the fact that I have not (yet) participated.

I keep looking for the perfect pens.  When I find them, my first coloring book will be a cussing one, because…

I LOVE PROFANITY.

I hate horror movies.

For years, if I even heard the music, I had to go put a Jesus show on television until I stopped feeling sick.  (You should find it particularly funny that I still have this inclination when I see something horrific, even now that I’m Jewish.  Then again, Jesus was Jewish, too.)

For 13 years, I lived in the land of Cheerwine, Sundrop, and Krispy Kreme.  Now I’m back home in the land of Ski.

The people here are taller than I remember.

My step-daughter says that’s because they’re corn-fed mutants from Catholic hell.  (I know it’s hard to believe, but we are not blood-related.)

I’m 5’7, which I’m pretty sure is average around here.  (Step-daughter is ridiculously short and pretty pissed about it.)

I spent a year living in Las Vegas.

It’s the only time in my life that I’ve lived in a place where I couldn’t hear the trains passing 24/7.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I’m beginning to wonder if my future career should have something to do with writing.

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