I'm it, apparently.

No,  your eyes are not deceived by the time stamp. It is Friday night (no, now it is Saturday morning...), and here I am; d.w. crashed a while ago, having managed to stay awake for six hours, during which she puked eight times. Yummy.

OK, so the weirdgirl "tagged" me on her blog yesterday. I therefore feel compelled, in the name of blogosphere etiquette (as well as not wanting to be an asshole and alienate my small but growing readership), to acquiesce to peer pressure and comply with said "tag." And besides, I really like her blog and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to be mentioned. So here goes, six weird facts about me:

1. I met d.w. on an outdoor orientation trip before college, skinny-dipping in a creek. A very cold creek. Which takes some guts, believe you me. What, too much information?
2. Though not 17, I am indeed a dancing queen. Oh yes, I feel the beat from the tambourine.
3. Before I can fall asleep, I need to make sure the blanket is oriented the right direction, and that its corners are in the right place. Everyone needs a neurosis or two, right?
4. I shop on Main St. instead of at Wal-Mart. I always buy Seventh Generation. I go organic and local as much as I can. And I absolutely LOVE driving. Ain't hypocrisy sweet?
5. Somewhere along the line (actually, right here and here and here) I became a cat person. And I've never cared much for cats.
6. The dear wife's Grave's Disease led to manic depression, a complete thyroidectomy, and the physiological roller coaster of hormone replacement. And she still managed to maintain a higher GPA than me. Bitch.

So I guess I'm expected to pass along this amusing little exercise in procrastination? OK. The following may consider themselves "tagged", but I release myself from all responsibility if this isn't your "thing":

• Papa Bradstein, fellow expectant father and Bay Area expatriate.
• Christian at winberis.com, only because he hasn't posted since January. Come on, Officer Sommelier Good Guy, the wine world waits for no blogger.
• Megan at integritty, but she has a real blog that qualifies as more than just a narcissistic time-suck, unlike this one, and probably won't be interested.

On a side note, is this some bizarre blogosphere intiation / right of passage / let's-play-a-joke-on-the-new-guy kind of thing? Or am I just being paranoid?

I must say, I can't quite shake the feeling I had when I was 13, going to a midnight Rocky Horror showing in the Mission or Castro or someplace with a couple of friends, all of us by day budding captains of industry attending Town School for Boys, by night suckling at the teat of self-satisfied privelage. Not sure whose idea it was, but I'm guessing one of us wanted to build his alternative street cred, at least among the Renaissance Faire / technical theater / wannabe-S&M-lite-while-hanging-around-the-mall-food-court crowd.

Anyway, upon entering the theater my friends and I were grabbed by several rather large women (I think) in their best Tim Curry attire, who proceeded to write "VIRGIN" across our foreheads in bright red lipstick and parade us around in front of an auditorium filled with over-sexed drunkards. Humiliating and emotionally-scarring to be sure, but I felt like part of a club when I left. Not a club to whom I plan on paying dues, but a club nonetheless.

Wow. It sure is odd what triggers repressed memories. Thanks, weirdgirl. A little catharsis was just what I needed.

Comments

[the weirdgirl]

Thanks for playing! And, this is really weird and maybe it's because I'm in the Bay Area too, but I just had a similar Rocky Horror flashback. Though sans the "virgin" lipstick branding, thank goodness.

Two other weird coincidences: I have the same thing about blankets that my hubby Keen continuously thwarts. I was diagnosed with (possible) Graves Disease while I was pregnant (I'll have to email d.w.).

[zygote daddy]

Got this from sis via email:

FF the GB,

My response to your six facts:

1. Yes, that was too much info.

2. It warms me to the depth of my soul to know that you have outed yourself as a dancing queen :)

3. I think some things are just genetic.

4. Black sheep can only be black for so long. Pillsburys love to drive...and drive stick at that!

5. Somehow you, like Christian, got over growing up around Princess (the cat, not the sister). I'm still working on it.

6. Women are smarter than men. That's not weird, it's just a fact.

That's all! (oh yeah, except way to bring back Officer Good Guy slash learn how to do that cool little strike through font thingy on your blog. very high tech)

Oh, and who knew about the rocky horror thing...that very reason is why I have NEVER been dumb enough, in all my 23 years, to go to rocky horror. I to this day don't know anything about it, except that it's a midnight halloween tradition with ridiculous costumes that don't strike me as remotely sexy and it plays after my bedtime. Maybe the bedtime thing is actually the reason I've never gone...

Either way, good blog!

Love,
sis :)

[dutch]

that's so weird. my friend had a similar experience at the Eagle Tavern during a performance of AC/D/She (lesbian ACDC cover band, I think) when a guy on stage asked if there were any virgins in the house and, as a joke, her friend pointed to her. They dragged her up on stage, while 300 shirtless hairy bears shouted VIRGIN VIRGIN VIRGIN at her. poor girl is still traumatized.

[Kristen]

Shrinkage... Doesn't she know about the shrinkage?

Sorry, felt a Seinfeld moment there with #1. I love 7th Generation and Main Street as well (hence my run-in with da pimps).

[Papa Bradstein]

Cripes. It took me awhile, but I finally got to it. . .as for me, I think that I fell asleep during Rocky Horror. Whatever. The thing is, I don't recall. I was much more into dancing to Stop Making Sense and the TAMI Show, which also showed at the Varsity in Palo Alto, usually before Rocky Horror. "Dancing" is probably generous. "Manically, spasmodically flailing" is probably closer. Maybe why I fell asleep at the midnight show.