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I got the number today. As you’ll see above, it’s number Nine!
It’s a number you get when you like someone’s random facts status on Facebook. It’s actually my second. The first one I pretended not to see.
So I thought, okay, whatever. I’ll write my random facts as a blog post and share it on Facebook and be done with it. Lucky you guys. 🙂
1. I’m shy. Most people do not believe that, but it is true. I force myself to be outgoing and I can be pretty good at it.
2. I have a terrible fear of crowds. Malls at holiday time are an absolute nightmare for me. This actually has a name – Enochlophobia.
3. I was very afraid that I was schizophrenic when I was younger. I heard voices, had thoughts that were not my own. I expected my mother to totally freak out when I told her, but it was the opposite reaction. She asked me if what I heard turned out to be true or to happen, and yes was the answer. She told me her grandmother had the same gift and that people would line up for readings from her. She asked my dad to take me to the store for Tarot cards, and I’ve been reading ever since.
4. I have terrible memory issues, and it scares me.
5. There’s not much that a pizza burger can’t make better for me!
6. I am alive now because of the kindness of strangers and of friends. I have had people bring me to the doctor when I needed to go and couldn’t. People have brought food to me when I had nothing. They’ve given me shelter and love when I had none of either.
7. I always wished I was someone else while I was growing up.
8. I really never thought I’d have a child, and if I did, I’d have a horrendous time getting pregnant. I have the most amazing kiddo now, and I was incredibly lucky to have no infertility issues, even at the age of 40 when I had her. My heart goes out to anyone who has experienced infertility. I count my blessings every day.
9. When I was a teenager, I was extremely depressed. The only relief I got from that was working at a local radio station, meeting celebrities who seemed to actually like me, and going to shows. After meeting Iggy Pop (yes, it was a HUGE HIGH POINT in my life) I was invited to go backstage after his show in NYC in the 80s. There were so many famous faces in that party room – among them were Joey Ramone, Matt Dillon, and one of the members of The Police. I was happy, excited and overwhelmed. But I stayed in the corner, quiet. I went to get a soda and that’s when the humanoid from The Police loudly informed me that I was ugly, that I didn’t belong there, and who the fuck did I think I was. In that moment, everything went pitch black. There were silent tears, and as I tried to leave, I was stopped, I was told “oh no. You’re not going to take that” and then watched as the crowd turned on that cruel and awful man. He left, I stayed. I would have ended my life that night – I’m 100% sure. It was such an amazingly brutal verbal attack that I’ve never forgotten it. But because a couple of famous and talented and everyday regular people decided to get involved and to protect me, I was able to hold my head up again and “carry on”. December 9, 1982 was the day this went down. I know that if I had left that night, my 16-year-old self would have drowned in humiliation, loneliness and the awful verification of all the things I had thought of myself. I would not have made it. I am still grateful all these years later.
And that’s all I got for you. Your turn? I’ll give you the number 5. 🙂
Now, I’m truly not super judgmental, but this has always felt to me like a big marketing maneuver.
She’s 16 when she marries him. She proceeds to dress hookerishly. Yeah, I know it’s not a word. And she’s clearly been trying to get some type of career going. I haven’t seen Doug in much of anything for years (but that doesn’t mean anything) so I kinda figured this had run it’s course. I hope none of you are too broken up about this.
Here is a follow up for those of you who are interested. I told you before how it pisses me off to be pissed off. And I was seriously pissed at my husband. Now, there is no doubt I will be again, but for right now, I am okay with him. I told him that I wanted an apology (a real one) and some flowers.
Instead, he bought me a new tablet, and then apologized to me in front of our daughter. It felt sincere and actually made me feel better.
So, all is forgiven….until next time!
Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house: Image credit: “love
So this morning, I hit “inspire me” and this is what I found. It’s a tiny house that looks like it was once a one room schoolhouse. The ghosts that live inside are voracious readers, repeating old lessons from a century before and then discussing what they know to have occured between then and now. There are no children here, just a rural Algonquin Round Table. They don’t live here, it’s too cold even for them. It’s a meeting place for when the peace is deafening.
Big fight with the spouse. I hate that word. Sounds like piss or something. Like a sproutie piss. Sorry. Cracking myself up here.
I don’t enjoy being angry. I try so hard not to go there, but sometimes people WANT to piss you off. That’s purely incomprehensible to me. I like it when people are sort of chill and happy. I try to nudge and prod people away from sadness or anger when it’s useless. I doubt I’m successful most of the time, but I have a plain way of speaking that is hard to misunderstand. My daughter said to me the other day “Mama, its like you love everybody. Except Puffy. You might even hate him.” And I realized that she’s right. Even about Puffy! When someone gets me so angry that I can’t ignore it, it starts to fester in an unhealthy way until I can get some peace with that person. I’ve always been bad at it, not knowing how or if I should act/speak on the anger. Then I find myself in awkward situations where I want to talk and laugh and listen to someone who I’m angry with, but I just get quiet. When and if they sense a change in me, I explain why I’m feeling pissy and usually it all gets to a semi happy ending.
I’m owed an apology, and I hope it comes soon. In the meantime, be good to each other. And tell me how it is for you to be pissed off!
Apparently Quebec had a bustling sex trade during WWII and probably before as well.
Some of them are a little chola – esque, and others look like mamas and still more look a little tough and sad. I’d love to know what happened to all of them after this period of time.
Fascinating article and great mugshots. My theme of the afternoon!
This explains, well, everything about weepy drunks, happy drunks, stupid asses who get drunk and become yet more obnoxious.
I think I’m kind of an awesome drinker. To start with, give me two drinks and I am flying. I’m usually just less shy, slightly more physical and happy.
What kinda drunk are you? Yeah yeah I know you’re not a drunk. What kind of drinker are you?
I love this article, and I’m glad I found this blog. Wanted to share it with you, see what you guys think!
My friend Howie posted this on Facebook today, and I was so completely taken aback by these photos that I really wanted to share them with you.
When you think of photos from that time period, they are awful and hopeless feeling. Naturally. These photos are the opposite, and the text is incredibly heartwarming and interesting.
Growing up Catholic to parents who were older than most of my friends’ parents gave me some insight on WWII and what was happening in the US that many people my age aren’t privy to.
My mother told me about Bund meetings that took place which were rabidly anti-Jew. She also told me that ships would try to come here loaded with people looking to save themselves and their families, but were turned away. Those are things that made her sick. My dad was stationed in the South Pacific during the War.
I want to share this with you, and I hope you’ll consider sharing it as well. We can add this energy to our memories of history and we’ll all be the better for it. In the meantime, I salute all who were murdered during the Holocaust (the Jews, the gays, the handicapped, the wrongly Christian, etc) and those who helped to rescue the survivors.
Melissa Kuch graduated just a few (decades) years after I did, and I have never met her. But her book sounds cool. Also, she sites Carolyn Keen as an influence, and I do hope she understands that Carolyn Keen never existed. 🙂