1. Link to your original tagger(s) and list these rules in your post.
2. Share seven facts about yourself in the post.
3. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged.
I was tagged by Sean Bonner.
While I find it incredibly hard to believe that, after four years of blogging in that way I do, a Proust questionnaire, annual 100-things roundups and several memes of the stuff-you-don’t-know-about-me nature, there is ANYTHING that you don’t know about me that’s for public consumption…well, we’re here to find out if it’s possible. And then I’m putting a goddamned moratorium on these until 2010. At least.
1. I have never been diagnosed as such, but I’d bet money I have a touch of OCD, and I’m not a betting woman. My OCD is less about ritual (although I suspect that breaking myself of Check Email First Thing Daily and Frequently Afterwards Disease is going to be rough) and more about random stuff: I become irrationally attached to certain objects, especially those whose value in the real world is minimal. I’m currently attached to a yellow coffee mug made in Italy that came to the States via Cost Plus; if I drink my at-home morning coffee out of anything different, my whole day is kind of “off.” Similarly, I have a bluish mug made in Thailand (also via Cost Plus) that I drink one mug of black Irish tea (Barry’s) out of every morning, just before the coffee. Should these two mugs break before I find replacements I can slowly rotate in, I fear the entire communicatrix operation will grind to an immediate and ugly halt.
2. Speaking of OCD, you’d never know it from the obsessively, almost painfully short way I “groom” my fingernails, but I had 1″-long fingernails all through high school which I kept polished in either “Mushroom” or blood red. (The “Mushroom” was really called “Mushroom”, which is just a disgusting name for a nail polish, if you aren’t coked out of your brains in that ’70s fashion, and you have two brain cells left to rub together.) Remember: there were no computers for normal people then, only mainframes and cards and suchlike, and I kind of gave up typing for the duration. I do remember that putting money in vending machines required an intricate position-toss-bump, which I really should replicate someday for the YouTube if I can find me some Lee Press-on Nails and a machine that still takes change.
3. The actual conversation that happened when I became engaged to be married went (something) like this:
The Chief Atheist: What’s your timetable on this marriage thing?
The communicatrix: Ready when you are.
The Chief Atheist: Okay. Let’s get the books.
Whereupon we each produced our ’80s-licious DayTimers and came up with a date three months from then. (It was 1990, but everything was still pretty ’80-licious.) (Oh, and we had to field the question of whether this was a rush job for a Blessed Reason, and no, it wasn’t.)
4. On the other hand, I accidentally set up two friends of mine, a good friend from high school (and college, come to think of it) and a good friend from my last place of work. They met to talk career stuff, went home together and lived happily ever after, if recent reports hold true. So I got that goin’ for me.
5. I’m a starter, not a finisher. Maybe you did know this about me; maybe I’m the only person alive who’s met me who didn’t know this about me. But it was not until last year, 47 years into the game, folks, that I figured out I’m just not good with details and follow-through. I mean, I can get it up when I have to, but I’m much more enjoyable and delightful and refreshing when left to my crazy devices, and when other people handle the A to B to (etc) to Z stuff. RELATED: I suffer mightily from Eyes Bigger Than Stomach Syndrome, where both “eyes” and “stomach” are metaphorical. The suffering, however, is all too real.
6. When I think about acting again, two things stop me: having to wear contacts, which, as one long-ago friend of a friend put it so perfectly, feels like “wearing potato chips on my eyeballs”; and auditioning. Actually, driving to the audition and parking. Over and over again.
On the other hand, if anyone wants me to be #4 on the call sheet of their sitcom that shoots in Los Angeles, or anywhere else, for that matter, I’m there. Or some goofy, recurring gig on any show. Or their spokesperson for some non-disgusting product or service.
Or hell, give me my own show. Just do NOT put me in charge of anything but my own, crazy devices. And make sure there is a very good Colleen-wrangler on staff.
7. For years, I was the Last-Chance Texaco for gay boys. I used to joke about this, but as I’ve gotten older and late returns have come in, I’ve realized the shocking and astonishing truth of it. I didn’t even go out with all of them; I was just the legitimizing crush in many cases. But there are far too many of them for it to be a coincidence. I chalk it up to my incredible gay-friendliness from a young age (hey! I was raised by almost-show people!) and the unavoidable truth that I’m about as close as you can get to being a man while still being a woman who both self-identifies that way and has the necessary biological and social female cred.
Or who knows, maybe I am just one of those ultra-desirable people whom everyone goes for. (BWAHAHAHAHA! It’s good to start off the day with a hearty laugh!)
And now, for the tagging part: Alissa Walker, Neil Kramer, Dave Greten, Rick Crowley, Danny Miller, Prince Campbell (aka chartreuse), Erik Patterson. Because I love you and you’re monsters of writing and because a few of you have not been writing enough (*cough* Rick *cough* *cough* Erik *hack* *cough* *hocks loogie*) and…and…BECAUSE I CAN, DAMMIT!
Image by kirstenjolanda via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license. And no, cupcakes have nothing to do with anything; they are just excellent, and when I pulled up Flickr to look for an image, about 25 shots of DELICIOUS looking cakes (wedding varieties; various varieties) from this lady in the Netherlands who owns a confectionary shop came up. So there!