Friday, March 7, 2008


Time for another edition of the continuing eight facts about me (in my sad and egotistical attempt to get to 100).

#52- If you look closely at the the inside of my right calf, you will see a faint white outline about three inches long, curving slightly almost to form the letter S.

For half of my 16th year, I was headlong into a long-distance summer romance with a big city boy who sent me heartfelt letters and saved up his allowance and part-time wages to take Greyhound rides to visit me.

I went to visit him for a week, only to find not the romance promised, but rather days spent in his basement watching TV with only hints of the sunshine behind the curtains.

However, a group of us did go on an day-trip to a lake. Rather than going to the public beach, it was instead decided we would sneak through a hole in a chain-link fence to some private section of the beach.

As the sun dimmed, we traipsed back up the gravel road. I was last to crawl through the fence, and as I squeezed through, an exposed section tore through my skin.

The wound was cleaned as I gasped in the car ride to McDonalds.

My boyfriend looked down at the seeping cut, and remarked "It looks like an S. Now you'll never forget me."
His name was Steve.

And now, despite the cruel way things ended, and not having seeing each other in ten years, when I trace the line down my leg, I am forced to think of him.

#53- I shed an absurd amount for someone who still seemingly has a full head of hair. Long brown strands end up embedded in clothing and food, almost if by osmosis. It wasn't so bad when I lived in a carpeted apartment, as most of it could be easily vacuumed away. But now that my floors are all hardwood and laminate, a broom won't remove them that easily, and a weekly Swiffering revealed near living dust bunnies in every corner, made up of Princess locks. There are even a handful of hairs somehow adhered to my bathroom ceiling (did I mention that I'm 5 foot 3?)

#54- Despite a semblance of maturity, I have a ridiculously juvenile dirty mind. I giggle frantically when sportscasters use terms such as "penetrate the zone". Today, whilst in my neuroscience class, I became fixated on the fact that the pituitary gland looks an awful lot like a pair of testicles.

#55- I wanted to be a writer when I was in the fifth grade. Whenever we had a writing assignment, while the rest of the class would write a few pages, I would write a tome of several chapters, which would then be read to the class instead of a regular fiction book at reading time. Before my family moved away, I entered in what seemed like a prestigious children and teenager's writing contest. My piece was a tale of a famous pop star's (I still remember her early 90s name-- Stephanie Silvano) dog who was kidnapped for ransom, told from the point of view of the dog. It was entitled "Dognapped", and included such dramatic scenes as the distraught dog being brought into a bar (which I had my mother describe to me), and such well-crafted lines as "This is a bar? The whole time I thought he was talking about a candy bar!"

Genius. I know.

The actual award ceremony was held after we'd moved hundreds of kilometers away, but my father was able to attend, as he still had some job tasks to finish up before he completed the move. I waited with desperation for the news of my placing, and exploded with questions when he walked in the door.

He proudly, with a hug, handed me a third place certificate.

I started to sob. Everyone assumed it was tears of joy. And though I played along, they were really tears of disappointment.

#56- Again, when I was 16, I also was privy to another scar. I decided that the ideal way to express my originality was to get my bellybutton pierced. Unfortunately for me, the fact that it was still relatively rare, and that I lived in a small town, meant there was only one possible body piercer in town. She was crude and tattoed, and told me, despite my insistence that I was not currently sexually active, that I would have to have sex doggy style for the next week.

She also used an earring gun on my belly button.
(Which soon afterwards became against piercing regulations.)
It hurt like hell.
And became an infected mess for nearly 6 months.
Once it healed, and I was able to proudly show my bejeweled navel at the beach, I was left with a little circular scar around the initial point of puncture.
The worst was that, by the next summer, every other girl had it done-- minus the telltale earring gun scar.

#57- I went through a rather unfortunate tomboy stage pre-adolescence, accompanied by the mandatory short, moppish haircut that belied my true gender until puberty reared its ugly head. The unfortunate aftermath of this phase was a number of highly unflattering family and school photos strewn about the house. My best friend, who also spent a year with an unseemly henna'd red mushroom cut, and I thus decided to make up a story about our adopted brothers, Pedro (me) and Raoul (her). We told anyone who asked that Raoul and Pedro were preferred to us, and we were thus shunned from family photos for a few year period. However, in the 7th grade (aka. when we both had moved onto badly applied makeup), Pedro and Raoul sadly were infected with rabies, and, in solidarity, jumped off a bridge.

This was all meant in fun, of course, but it was comical the one time a boy I was fiercely crushing on grew exceedingly silent when I solemnly told him the tale, and looked at me with such pity.

"I'm so sorry."
"Uhhhh... I was kidding. You know rabies is curable, right?"


#58- I believe that mashed potatoes are approximately equivalent to heaven. I had planned to make chicken satay last night, but a sudden mashed potato craving led me to taking the Duke and I out for dinner to a local pub merely because of their mashed potato side dish. It may be my destiny to die from carbohydrate induced shock.

#59- When I was 13, a friend and I made a pact to hold off on shaving her legs. She then broke that pact, but forbade me from doing the same. I think this was in part because she was highly invested in being the pretty one, and me remaining the dowdy sidekick. I hoarded razors, eagerly awaited her family holiday. When she returned, she bemoaned my now hairless legs, whining "They were so beautiful and feathery!"

Coincidentally, upon her absence, I also had my first "boyfriend" ever, who I secretly kissed in a tent, went to a hockey game with (eek! my first date!), and never saw again.

Essentially, I hurried through the steps of entering adolescence when she wasn't looking.


Half-Past Kissin' Time said...

I love the mood of this post; unhurried, funny, introspective (obviously). Or is it just because it's Friday that I feel that? :)

The scar...Couldn't you instead think of something else that starts with S when you see it; like Sexy....or Sasquatch. Um...maybe not Sasquatch. (You'll think of something.)

Before I read #54, I looked at the drawing and thought, "Those look kind of like balls," so I guess that makes me an immature little pig, too!

#55 My 6th grade teacher did that with my writing, too. What a great lady; she really encouraged me. The poor kids had to sit through it, but I don't remember them or their reactions; only my pride.

#56 "I was not currently sexually active" (emphasis on currently). That cracked me up, whether you meant it to or not. It really caused me to stop and think, "What does she mean by 'currently'?" Funny.

Thanks for getting my weekend off to the right kind of start (I have a bag full of school work to get back to) I appreciate the diversion, if brief :)

Ant said...

I'd forgotten about these (though I'm still holding out for the more interesting languages "oito" or even "восемь" might be nice...)

The last one makes me think of the Seinfeld scene where George is constantly ruing the fact that "we had a pact!"

Some crazy scars (and a lack of missionary at 16 - goddammit!)

Therapeutic Ramblings said...

Those are great!

I took a class on human sexuality, and I think my prof. really enjoyed making us watch some crazy research videos from Europe circa 1972. The videos were about the physiological response of both the male and female orgasm. It had close up cameras, creepy researchers in white lab coats, and uninhibited Europeans doing their solo things on screen. Nothing says fun like an 'au natural' 1972 vagina on a 12' projector screen.

Anonymous said...

This only just cements my love for you, dear Princess.

Incidentally. You could change S to Spunk and think of me. Just a suggestion.

Also, you have some of the most entertaining anecdotes. I love learning about you.

lfar said...

Hahah I loved the last story, and the image of a young girl sprinting down some stairs wearing an ill fitting bra, splashing nail polish, and holding an invitation to a slumber party.

Clueless Cat said...

Great facts and little stories! I loved them all. :) It's funny how the little things make a person who they are today, regardless of how small or seemingly insignificant. Every experience leaves its impact.

Ok, didn't mean to get all thoughtful there but it just happened. :P

Psychgrad said...

I seem the shed a lot too. It doesn't help that I'm blond and I wear black pretty regularly.

re #54 - I think most sports are just a massive coverup to allow men to touch each other.

Surfergrrl said...

You still owe me humiliating pictures of yourself, goth girl! :) I showed you mine, now show me yours! :)

Hope said...

I love learning all the random stories you tell once in awhile. The one about the writing competition is is sweet it hurts!


Deutlich said...

I have a horribly juvenile dirty mind myself.

Seriously. It's an affliction

The Ex said...

I love these so much! I feel like I know like an ounce more. Did you have to have stitches for your S-Cut?

Tin Ma'am said...

the pituitary gland looks like balls... hmm. I have to say that it is interesting to me... and only a little ironic.

Tina Vaziri said...

Too funny, and they do look like testicles... I wish I had never gotten my navel pierced. I took it out several years ago but that pierced hole will never close up.

Michelle & the City said...

i have a belly button ring scar too. oh the mistakes we make as teenagers :)

brookem said...

I shed like like crazy too! It's kind of out of control. And I have a belly button ring scar myself! Blah.

I love all these gems you shared!

Crushed by Ingsoc said...

I can't eat mashed potato, it makes me retch.

I like the imaginary brothers story.

You should keep a dog, you'll notice your own hair less, when every item you own atttracts dog hair! :)

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

That first story is very similar to one I have about injuring a girl in a motorcycle accident. She will always have a scar that reminds her of me.

Not good.

I don't shave my legs either, idf that's any consolation

lisachelle said...

this post is why I love reading you! it's so honest and funny! You bring a little light into most days.....

Anonymous said...

Yes, mashed potatoes are heaven. Such yummy fluffy heaven. They're like yummy clouds from heaven, light as air.

I might have a slight obsession with mashed potatoes :)

Sheila said...

OK, I am still laughing at #54!!

I love Potatoes mashed, baked, fried, in stews... I love potatoes and therefore could never ever be on a carb free diet.

Valerie said...

Whenever I think of mashed potatoes I think of when I was living in my old apartment, and my boyfriend and I had some friends over for a cookout. I was making some mashed potatoes in the kitchen (DAMN GOOD taters! They were the best I ever made), and I asked my friend to watch them for a bit while I went outside to check on the meat. You would've though I had asked her to change my (nonexistent) kid's shitty diaper. She gave me the ugliest look, like, "How DARE you ask me to do ANYTHING!!" She had been play fighting with her boyfriend (I HATE PLAY FIGHTING!!!) and had knocked a glass of tea all over my cute Pottery Barn rug, so needless to say, I was already unhappy with her.

Why, oh why, must I have this mashed potato connotation?

Yoda said...

I woke up Fri morning with J's hair in my mouth. She has long brown hair, which I swear is everywhere!

I love it how you remember convo from so many years back. I have trouble what happened y'day!

Yoda said...

And yes, who the frack is Otto???

EF said...

Princess, you went there with pituitary! Given that it does influence the sex of male or female, I guess it should somewhat look like testicles or perhaps ovaries.

the frog princess said...

mmmm... mashed potatoes...

I totally would have cried over third place too. Perfectionism's a bitch, ain't it? :)

Maxie said...

I totally am with you on the shedding thing- My hair just falls out! I don't know what's up with it.

lawyerish said...

This was such a cute post!!!

Also: that picture is totally balls, no matter what it says.

Chele said...

i love #54, i always giggle when words i affiliate with doing the nasty is mentioned. penetrating, is definetly one of them

Abbey said...

Based on #54, you might understand my entertainment in the pronuciation of Regina. Apparently, Candians don't find it nearly as funny as I do. Those in my office refuse to pronounce it properly unless we are speaking to the client. I however love it. "So, I hear that Dick loves it in Regina." :)

eric1313 said...

I too frown on leg shaving, but I did go through an eyemake up phase back when I was a long haired burnout. Like Alice Cooper meets Marilyn Manson, only with a better smile! ;)

Smiling doesn't work with the goth look, you know?

I forgot to say the other night...

Chris Pronger is an evil shit! Back in the 2001 Stanley Cup run (the last one that my Wings won...), he ran at Yzerman's back. That was right after Y-zer had returned from a surgery where the docs sawed the top of his shin off to rotate it ninety degrees so he would have some cartiledge (ouch!). He is still the only pro sports person to have this surgery and still seriously play. But did the vile scum called Pronger care? No! He ran at Yzerman's back intending to smash him into the wall and player benches that he was facing. Only one problem--Yzerman has eyes in the back of his head, so he side stepped the wicked Pronger, and the vile shit managed to ram the wall with such force that he tore 3 ligaments in his own knee and put the final nail in the St Louis Blue's coffin that playoff. Not that they weren't going to go down. (That was the same one where we shut down the Avs in back to back shutouts to stave off elimination in a game six then cap off the win in game seven, but that's a whole other story...)

Who says there isn't poetic justice in hockey?