That latest meme
Dec. 12th, 2003 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakenguyOkay, I like this:
I know very little about some of the people on my friends' list. Some people I know relatively well. Some of you I hardly know at all. Perhaps you lurk, for whatever reason. But you friended me and I thank you.
But here's a thought: why not take this opportunity to tell me a little something about yourself. Any old thing at all. Just so the next time I see your name I can say: "Ah, there's so and so...she likes going barefoot."
And just because I'm a completist,
As a small child, Disney villains used to *terrify* me. I remember laying awake in bed at night with the covers over my head, listening for the "clop-clop, clop-clop" sounds of the Headless Horseman riding up the driveway.
I'm adopted. When I finally met my natural Mom a few years ago, part of me was selfishly disappointed that she wasn't either rich or part of European nobility.
Through high school and college and a few years afterwards, my daydreams were one continuous narrative, based on an analgram of D&D characters and plotlines and whatever books and movies were influencing me at the time. It was always there in the back of my head, rich and vivid. I thought it was how daydreams just _were_.
While I like the theory of clowns and occasionally think that being part of a clown troupe would be a Good Thing, in practice nearly every clown I've ever met has given me the creeps or made me very sad.
I have three scars on my left hand; two cooking-related injuries where a knife slipped, and one long shallow cut made moving a chair which just never healed for some odd reason.
My longest scar, the only one that ever needed stitches, was given to me by my sister when she put her scissors in a plastic bag, twirled it over her head like a bolo, and clouted me in the lower lip. She was five years old.
There was a time when I thought seriously about trying to make a living as a face painter.
When I was six or seven and riding in the back seat of the car on a trip through the woods, I saw a UFO. It looked like three grey balls linked together, just floating in the air. I yelled and tried to get my parents to stop the car or at least *look*, but they just told me to be quiet and kept driving. I still have no idea what it was.
For many reasons, I've decided that I should have a tattoo of a turtle on my left shoulder. I just haven't a) found the right artist, and b) found the money for it..
I know very little about some of the people on my friends' list. Some people I know relatively well. Some of you I hardly know at all. Perhaps you lurk, for whatever reason. But you friended me and I thank you.
But here's a thought: why not take this opportunity to tell me a little something about yourself. Any old thing at all. Just so the next time I see your name I can say: "Ah, there's so and so...she likes going barefoot."
And just because I'm a completist,
As a small child, Disney villains used to *terrify* me. I remember laying awake in bed at night with the covers over my head, listening for the "clop-clop, clop-clop" sounds of the Headless Horseman riding up the driveway.
I'm adopted. When I finally met my natural Mom a few years ago, part of me was selfishly disappointed that she wasn't either rich or part of European nobility.
Through high school and college and a few years afterwards, my daydreams were one continuous narrative, based on an analgram of D&D characters and plotlines and whatever books and movies were influencing me at the time. It was always there in the back of my head, rich and vivid. I thought it was how daydreams just _were_.
While I like the theory of clowns and occasionally think that being part of a clown troupe would be a Good Thing, in practice nearly every clown I've ever met has given me the creeps or made me very sad.
I have three scars on my left hand; two cooking-related injuries where a knife slipped, and one long shallow cut made moving a chair which just never healed for some odd reason.
My longest scar, the only one that ever needed stitches, was given to me by my sister when she put her scissors in a plastic bag, twirled it over her head like a bolo, and clouted me in the lower lip. She was five years old.
There was a time when I thought seriously about trying to make a living as a face painter.
When I was six or seven and riding in the back seat of the car on a trip through the woods, I saw a UFO. It looked like three grey balls linked together, just floating in the air. I yelled and tried to get my parents to stop the car or at least *look*, but they just told me to be quiet and kept driving. I still have no idea what it was.
For many reasons, I've decided that I should have a tattoo of a turtle on my left shoulder. I just haven't a) found the right artist, and b) found the money for it..
