Six Random Things

I was never very good at Tag. I was usually the smallest kid in the group, so would end up being It forever until someone took pity on me and let me tag them. Sarah tagged me on the Six Weird Things Meme, so I'm gonna be a good sport about it, even though I'm petulant and sullen and kinda glowering at all of you for this entire post. I kicked at the leg of the table, just for effect.

I'm not sure exactly how this works. Am I supposed to mention six things that no one in the world knows about me? Because that would require soul searching and careful thought and might generate an arrest warrant or two. Can I just say six things that the blog world doesn't know about me? Because that would be pretty easy, plus it could be six things I'm not horribly embarrassed about, like the fact that I'm turtle-slow and always sucked at Tag.

Hmm. Woo hoo! One down, five to go.

2. I'm a great big dork when it comes to money. I record every dollar that I spend. I can tell you how much I spent on groceries in March 2003.

3. $175.94. I had to check, but it didn't take very long. This was when I still split costs like groceries and utilities with Bump, so it's less than I spend now. Beer/Alcohol category for that month: $93.66. Dining Out: $223.35. Ah, the good ol' days of two incomes.

4. I type using a dvorak keyboard. My computer translates the regular qwerty keyboard to the dvorak configuration, so I don't need special hardware. When I type the "u" key, for example, the computer registers it as a "g." The dvorak setup is supposed to be faster and more ergonomically correct, but I doubt there is much difference - it's still the same dummy typing - I am neither faster nor more accurate (as I hoped I would become) with the dvorak keyboard. It really messes with the IT guys, though, which is a barrel of laughs and makes it all worth it. The weird keyboard is also a strong form of security - even if someone knew my password, they would have a tough time entering it.

5. I consistently type "blogpost" instead of "blogspot" when creating links to other blogger accounts. I also mistype "Representative" nearly every time I type it. (Which wouldn't be a big deal except that, you know, I work for the House of Representatives, so it comes up pretty regularly. Dammit. That paragraph nearly wore out my backspace key.)

It's difficult to strike a balance somewhere between "booooring" and "this is not the woman I thought I married and I want a divorce right now and I'm suing for custody of Lumpyhead and I'll win based on the content of this post alone," you know what I mean? I think I may have gone too far toward boring. Plus, I kinda cheated on #3 and #5, they're just continuations of #2 and #4. I'll try to make this last one a juicy one.

6. I lied to you, Internet.

Okay, it's not really a lie, but rather a failure to come up with the right word. I feel like I've left you with the wrong impression, and I've wanted to fix it for awhile, and this is as good a chance as any.

I called myself a widow in a previous post, but John and I were never married. We were together for six years, and planned to get married eventually, but never got the chance.

Since there's really not a term for someone who's lost their significant other, I didn't know what to call myself other than widow. I also find it hard to explain the relationship I now have with Doc and Nana V, so I just call them my in-laws, even though - officially - they're not.

Calling John my "boyfriend" seems wrong, too. "Boyfriend" seems so, I don't know, junior high. Or casual. I was young, but too old for a (titter, titter) boyfriend. I lived with John; he wasn't a guy I'd been dating for a few months. We shared a life.

When I was in labor with Lumpyhead, the nurse asked about the relationships of the people in the room. She pegged Bump as "husband," then left the "and . . ." hanging in the air for us to fill in. I pointed at Aunt Bob and said "sister" and pointed at Nana V and said "mother," and left it at that. Aunt Bob and Nana V looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded at the nurse.

So there you go.

Was that too much of a downer? Okay,

6A. I have a tattoo.

White trash? Me? From way back.

It's a fleur-de-lis, on the shady side of my soft pale underbelly. It's strategically located between 1) the flabby rolls of wrinkly skin that remain when one's beer gut turns to pregnant then shrinks to lactation-induced pseudo-skinny and 2) my left hipbone which hasn't been visible since puberty but is sticking out again. How can my tummy be this fat when my ribs jut out? It makes no sense. And don't get me started on the creepy hair.