A “beautiful blogger” and a me meme

Beautiful Blogger Award

Torn between cynicism and seeing sweetness, this time I choose... sweet

The following can be blamed in its entirety on Shiny. Also on the trouble-making dear folk on Twitter who responded to my plea for topic ideas. You know who you are.

Also, THIS POST IS NOT SAFE FOR FAMILY. If you are related to me by blood, or by marriage to anyone related to me by blood, navigate away now. I will never acknowledge or admit to anything herein should you ignore this warning. So just don’t read it. Bye!

What goals, if any, do you have in life?

Travel in a TARDIS, have another baby and do all those baby things again, publish a book (or several), become successful and highly paid as a maternity-focus massage therapist, catch babies (or be in the room when their parents catch them), get professional photos done in which I look smashingly gorgeous, pose nude for art (wait, done that one), own a tortoise, keep chickens, learn to garden, perform cunnilingus (right up there with travel in a TARDIS in likelihood it’ll ever happen — and as its happening is predicated most probably on the death of The Man, I’m ok with that), be on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, give a talk at a conference (without fainting), go for a full year without having a migraine, live to be at least 99, and simultaneously die in a plane/in my sleep/having sex with The Man.

So, y’know, not much.

When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to be a doctor, like my mom. Or an actress — I wasn’t too bad. Well, ok, yeah, I was half bad, but just good enough that I had delusions of professionalism. Other aspirations (mostly later) were linguist, journalist, professional student (almost managing that one, despite, or perhaps because of, never making it through more than one class at college at a time) — but never, ever a mother. Actually, I still don’t want to be A Mother. Though I do quite like having a kid.

First kiss

My first kiss, the one I don’t count, was with another five year old girl under my parents’ bed. I wanted her, as much as a five year old can want anyone (which is more than adults like to admit to, I think) — not that I knew WHAT it was I wanted (I “knew” about sex, but, again, about as much as a five year old can know, and didn’t know anything other than the heterosexual procreative model), but I definitely knew I wanted something.

The kiss I do count, over a decade later (nothing in the intervening years) was in the back seat of The Man’s sister’s car, which he’d borrowed to take me and several of our friends to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Berkeley, CA. For the record, I kissed him first — so, it was only a brush of the lips, but damnit, when you’re 16 and in the back of a car and have just tickled your best friend into submission in your lap, that counts.

Favorite cocktail

This is an interesting one, because I don’t drink. I was raised by a teetotaler and an adult child of alcoholics, we never had alcohol in the house (except for one bottle of rum used — in 2-tablespoon increments — to make our annual Christmas eggnog), and I grew up pretty convinced drink was Of The Devil. Or The Patriarchy. Or, well, something bad. And while I’ve since given up a hard line stance against it, and have even imbibed on rare occasion (and been drunk once, which, to his everlasting annoyance, The Man was not around for), I still don’t drink. I don’t like the taste of alcohol (and I can taste it, in the most minute amounts, no matter what else is in it), with my migraines and mood disorder alcohol would not be the wisest drug to use, and with a family history of and personal predilection toward addiction, I find it most prudent to simply abstain. And given that I get emotional contact highs from being around others who are partaking, I don’t find I’m missing much.

What are your weaknesses?

My ankles. My moods. My rage. My massive ego, and the truly ridiculous self-effacement I’ve cultivated to counter it. My inability to promote myself without either a) 10,000 qualifiers or b) going to unhealthily grandiose places in my mind. My addiction to chai, to Doctor Who, to being addicted. My inability to follow through. My fear of change. My introversion. My extroversion. My self-sabotage. My sedentary middle-class American lifestyle. I could countinue, but this isn’t much fun for me. Moving right along…

First memory

Probably my first memory is grabbing our special pillow and climbing up into my mother’s lap. I only remember that one snippet, and the feeling of love and happiness and belonging that goes with it, but talking with my mom, the pillow was our nursing pillow, and I wasn’t yet two years old, because I weaned on my second birthday. I have several other memories from my early years (including reminiscing with my father when I was about two and a half about “the good old days” when we were driving during the move from SoCal to the Bay Area), and by age four or five have started remembering a narrative of my life with lots of long-film memories.

Best imaginary friend growing up

Oh gods… I hate you two for asking this one. Ok, here’s the thing: I am probably pathologically imaginative. At any moment, I am here, but I am also likely… not-here. And I’m not sure whether this is something that everyone does and no one talks about, or I’m just… fucking bugnut crazy. But anyway. Growing up, I was a, um, pretty big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, so my imaginary friends were Wesley, Data, Guinan, Picard, Troi, and so on. One day I realized that Q felt more real to me than God did. (The next day — or month, or something like that –, though, She tapped me on the shoulder, and we had a little conversation, so that’s alright. But that’s a story for another day.) We’ll not talk about my best imaginary friends of today.


So here’s where I’m supposed to tap three more bloggers and hand them a pretty picture and make them do this too. But, um… no. Though there are a couple people who don’t blog regularly who I would love to see go through this little exercise (ahem, Jenn and Susannah). But mostly I’m ok having this and all other chains end at me.

What’d you think? Any surprises? Anything else you’re dying to know about me? Any good stories this inspires you to share about yourself (please do!)?

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23 Responses to A “beautiful blogger” and a me meme

  1. *sniff* your last goal in life *wipes eyes*

    I’ve three more for you if you should so choose to accept the mission:

    favorite book?
    most memorable vacation?
    place you most want to visit?

    And I’ll accept that challenge – just not tonight ;)

    • Favorite book — Don’t think I could name a single book, but my favorite series is the Vorkosigan saga by Lois McMaster Bujold. It’s possible I over-identify with the manic depressive lead character. And the writing is good, the characterizations fabulous, the plots engaging, and the lines memorable and quotable. Even if she does think birth is ZOMG HORRIBLY DANGEROUS AND PAINFUL ONOZ. Still love it.

      Most memorable vacation — Probably when I went to visit (super conservative and religious) cousins when I was, oh, 10? And got chicken pox. And discovered said chicken pox as we were getting our swim suits on to go to the water park. Have I ever mentioned how much I adore swimming and water slides and all things water parky? Yeah. So they all went without me and left me at home with my grandfather whom I’d probably met twice before in my life and I watched crap TV and EVERY SINGLE COMMERCIAL BREAK had an ad for that water park, and then my dad and brother drove out to pick me up and take me home because I couldn’t fly with chicken pox and it sucked.

      There was probably some other stuff in there too, what with being there for nearly a week before that happened, but that’s what I remember.

      Place I most want to visit — right now? Australia. For the… kangaroos. Yeah, that’s it. Definitely not for the hot flirty chicks and dear friends that it’s killing me I’ll probably never meet. Damn internet.

      • You’ll meet us. Well, you’ll definitely meet me at any rate … due mostly to the fact that one day I *will* get back to the PNW for a visit. I have to.

  2. When you get that TARDIS, you owe me a ride … er, lift. ;) (I debated over whether that joke was too crass to leave in. I’m just tired enough that it seems like a good idea, though…)

    I love that you had TNG characters as imaginary friends. I bow to your utter nerdiness. (I mean that in a good way, btw. Nerd is a compliment)

    My first memory is of my dad’s childhood friend ripping a wing off a fly and showing me how he could “make it jump.” Surprisingly, it took me quite a few years to realize that I probably should be traumatized by something so creepy.

    Don’t worry about the alcohol … Shiny and I can drink enough for the three of us. Ok, maybe I’ll have to lean on her a bit … my tolerance is SO DOWN in these years of motherhood …

  3. Also love the Star Trek imaginary friends. lol My dh is a trekkie and against by better judgement, I was persuaded to watch hours of TNG and all the other series when we were dating (ahh the things we do when newly in love eh?) and that’s just hilarious to me. I still think my dh has imaginary star trek friends, so don’t feel bad. He’s almost 30 :X haha

    My first memory is of me and my twin sister terrorizng our mother when we were about 3.. we overflowed the sink with bubbles and sat laughing as she frantically tried to clean it all up with a neighbor from down the hall. haha

    • I’m not sure whether to laugh or to feel bad for your poor mother. ;)

      I think the worst thing I sat through while dating was An American Werewolf in Paris — but he too admitted it was utter shite, and I got to hold it against him whenever we were picking movies for the next several years, so that’s ok.

  4. All I can say is — I’m glad I’m not the only one who had so many imaginary friends. Mine were different (and far geekier, if that’s possible), but I remember once broaching the subject with a good friend, like “Um, do you ever pretend that So-and-so is really real?” And her shocked denial put me off broaching that subject with anyone else for years and years. Well, ever, actually. So let this be my coming out. I have imaginary friends!

    • I’m not sure it is actually possible to have geekier friends than ST:TNG characters. Except possibly Bill Nye the Science Guy.

      And thank gods I’m not the only one to admit it!

    • Lauren, you are definitely not the only one with so many imaginary friends. I had, ahdn still have, a few. I might also relate to Arwyn’s description of being there yet not being there (not sure exactly what she meant).

  5. My English teacher commented several times on how dreamy I was in high school. I don’t even know what I was thinking about. Now I call my dreams by the term “fantasies” because I take a scenario and explore it. Right now, I think about moving to the Bay Area or Maryland. I have no concept of Maryland, so I dream about the Bay Area.

    I guess this is what I do instead of have imaginary friends.

    I do imagine telling off, correcting, arguing with real friends. Does that count?

    Good post, Arwyn.

    • Rachel, I think everyone does some amount of “what I should have done/wish I could do” fantasizing about real-life situations. But sure, it can count. ;)

      Is it wrong that I want you to move to the Bay Area just so I can meet you when I go home to visit my folks? ‘Cuz I totally do.

      • I’ll add “meet a blogger friend in real life” to the column titled “why I would want to leave my friends and move to Bay Area.” My favorite aunt also lives there.

        It’s such a fantasy–10% chance it would happen.

  6. I am so relieved by all the imaginary friends talk, you don’t even know!
    Also, if you come to Aus, you mustn’t just linger over THAT side of the country.

    • What, you mean you don’t just live all in one city? Well, I’ll just hop over for a day trip then. After all, how far away can it be? I mean, Australia’s pretty small, right?

      (I crack me up.)

  7. I’ve been reading for a bit, shy about introducing myself but since it’s and oportunity to be revealing…
    I imagined myself into TNG quite a lot as a kid, and the novel I’m working on grew out of those fantasies. It’s changed enough so it’s nothing like fic at this point, but it started out as a sort of very bad intrnal fic. Also, when I’m working something through in my head, I often think it out like an interview with Terry Gross or whatever other interviwer I’ve been listening to recently.

    • Welcome!

      I always wished I could make that leap from fanfiction to straight up fiction, but I never really could. Or I tried, but then I psychoanalyzed what I was writing, and was too embarrassed to show anyone else. So I am in awe of whoever can manage that.

      And I love the interview trick. That’s genius.

  8. You can pout and moan as much as you like Arwyn, you had fun writing this, admitt it. I think I should be thanked. Possibly with a bottle of wine. Or a trip in the TARDIS.

    And with regard to imaginary friends, my imaginary friend when I was about four was The Doctor. I think, and this is a hazy recollection, he was embodied in a teddy bear I had. My mum says about this time I also demanded to be referred to as Romana. I wish I could say I’ve changed since then but, not really. (Although I have no recollection of Romana, other than the name.)

    Um, something embarassing I should share…

    Ok, whenever I really like a song, like really really love it and play it on repeat in the car all the time, I subtly rewrite history so that it was me who wrote it and imagine myself playing it for my friends and family and them being all impressed. Also a time traveller. Because I’m pretty convinced that I should play The Doctor. I’d be awesome. Despite the whole problem of my being a woman.

    Basically, deep inside of me there’s a superstar just screaming to get out.

    Phew. There, happy now ;-)

    • I admit NOTHING.

      (I definitely don’t admit that I totally do that too.)

      But I’ll bring you that wine and TARDIS trip anyway. Just as soon as I figure out how.

  9. With regard to your last, I just thought this would be an apt moment to confess that my imaginary friend for quite a while was Reepicheep from the Narnia books. I know I had a lot of others, but that’s the one that sticks in my mind the most.

    There, I confessed it. Now I have the wonderful feeling of a purged soul. ;-)

    • That’s awesome.

      Now go forth in light, dear purged soul, and ne’er allow the darkness of Reepicheep-shame o’ercome thee again!

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