Several weeks, er, probably months ago, dearest JJ “tagged” me in this millenium update version of chain mail, called Meme. I’m assuming as in “It’s all about Me…Me.” Probably because people who have blogs are usually the type that don’t mind talking about themselves, you are supposed to, well, keep reading and you’ll see. Carrie and Anti-Blog Man already did theirs. Don’t worry, Jim. I won’t “tag” you. I know you are already scrolling to the bottom to make sure your name isn’t down there.
The Meme Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts. 2. Each player starts with eight random facts/stories about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1. When I was on a mission trip 8th grade in the middle of the Arizona dessert, I threw up 32 times in 24 hours. The poor girl next to me counted. I had to throw up in a big coffee can that was continually cleaned out and sprayed with Lysol. To this day, the smell of Lysol spray makes me a little nauseous.
2. At the end of my junior year in college, we lost the television reception in our dorm room. My roommate Kelli and I liked having some background noise, so we watched the movie “The Wedding Singer” continuously–and I mean continuously– for about 3 weeks.
3. I am freakishly obsessed with the covers on our bed. I frequently wake up in the middle of the night to straighten them, even walking around to the bottom or Trent’s side to tug and pull to make them even.
4. I only like one of my feet. The other one bothers me greatly.
5. Each night at bedtime, I sing a medley of three songs to Carson. The first two are always the same: “Oh What a Wonderful, Wonderful Day” and “You are My Sunshine.” (Two verses of each.) The third song varies.
6. I cannot stop eating Kettle Corn, especially the good stuff you buy at a fair or market. Seriously. Until it is gone or someone forcefully removes it from my grip, I’m absolutely out of control.
7. This one is really long, so will take up stories 7 and 8. When Trent and I went to Europe, we got totally tricked into staying at a “Bed and Breakfast” in Rome that turned out to be a normal apartment of a single woman. She wasn’t home when we said we were going to arrive, and when she answered her cell phone after three tries, we figured out through bad Italian (me) and bad English (her) that she left a key for us at a gelato shop down the street. (Uh, thanks for telling us.) However, none of the workers had any idea what we were talking about. Finally, after we pestered them on and off for a couple hours, they found it in an envelope in the back room and we got into the house hours after we had arrived. We finally went to sleep without seeing or meeting our hostess, and were awakened at 1 am by banging on the door and the doorbell ringing. We didn’t feel comfortable answering the door in the middle of the night in a foreign country at someone else’s empty house, but finally relented to stop the banging. It was her. We had apparently locked her out. She just said hi and walked into her room. The next morning, we were startled again by a strange moaning noise coming from the next room. Yet it was just the tiniest bit melodic and became repetitive. Then we realized: she was “singing.” To a voice lesson tape teaching scales. It. Was. So. Bad. I am not kidding you. It was like out of SNL movie. Or candid camera. We were doubled over, clasping our hands over our mouths to squelch the laughter that was threatening to burst out. That’s the best memory I have of that particular stay. Ask me later about the “art” in our Florence B&B–the same place where you weren’t allowed to flush toilet paper down the toilet. Lovely…
I don’t really want to “tag” anyone, for fear of revenge posts, but if I WERE to choose people to write their Meme’s, it would be: