Those of you who have been floating around the KuKd/TTC blog-o-planet for a while know that every so often, we talking-blogheads occasionally get awarded certain...um...awards by one another. It's actually a cool and amazing honor to be recognized by a fellow blogger in this way, and kind of makes me feel all glowing inside like an elementary student who just got a shiny star sticker on her quiz. Even though I dig such awards, I'm a terrible award recipient, because - rather than being grateful and doing what I'm supposed to do with those awards - which primarily involves posting answers to a certain question - I sort of let the awards sit on my "to do" list until it's pretty much too late to do'em. Same with most things in my life.
A common theme of a lot of these awards is that you get to list random things about yourself. To pay homage to the dusty and neglected heap-o-awards sitting around on my computer, I thought I'd crank out a few of these random tidbits. Which is hard - trust me - because I'm not the most exciting person and don't have any more juicy random tidbits than anyone else out there. Still, for what they're worth, here's a short and not very exciting list.
1) Personal Spacebox = Zilch.
A while ago, Murgan posted something about the general discomfort and irritation she feels with random people coming up and touching her pregnant stomach. Well, that post - coupled with my own husband's recent stitches in the crook of his right arm (will explain in sec) - gave me the sudden epiphany a few weeks ago: I have zero sense of personal space. Which is to say, I'm the exact opposite of Murgan. Anyone - I mean any old whoever - can come up and touch my belly, play with my hair, give me a bear hug, grab my ass - whatEVer - and I couldn't care less (unless, of course, it's an obviously sleazy person like the stringy-haired, pee-scented dude who sometimes sidles up next to me at the bus stop on 240th street).
Kevin's arm stitches are a case in point. I keep forgetting that they're there, those still-raw-and-painful arm stitches, which means I tend to accost his right arm without thinking - even when he loudly shrieks FUUCKKK! every time. I should learn by now. But I have no concept of space between humans, so I don't. Ah well, he's used to it.
2) Clean Gene= Zilch.
You know that gene that humans have - or at least, I've decided based on wholly unscientific research that most normal humans have - that causes us to feel uncomfortable and disturbed when we are surrounded by dirtiness? That gene that compels us to clean the house? I don't have that gene.
Which is to say, our house can be in a state of total disarray - dishes piled up, trails of my clothing and belongings scattered everywhere and left in piles in the bathroom, dust gathering on the floors, spaghetti sauce stains on the walls near the stove - and it's practically invisible to me. Kevin shakes his head in disbelief when I tell him our house looks fine . Likewise, I react the same way - shaking my head in disbelief - whenever Kevin vacuums the floors or washes the sheets. Frankly, I don't see the point of doing such things - because I simply don't SEE any dirt on the sheets or floors. I could go months, even years, without washing sheets or vacumming floors.
I don't have that Clean Gene.
3) I was covered in human shit when my husband fell in love with me.
Well, not exactly but pretty darned close - and somehow the first two random tidbits above seem like a nice segue into this. You might know this story already, but in case you don't, here's the nutshell version:
Boy meets girl while teaching English in Uzbekistan ("Ickistan," as the foreign service workers called this drab post-Communist country). Boy and girl are still "just friends" when they get completely trashed on cheap Uzbek vodka one night with a group of fellow Americans. Girl is squatting over a pit toilet to pee, foot slips as she's standing up, and entire leg goes "SPLOMFFFF!!" right into the heap of Uzbek/American-mixed human feces (yes - Uzbek pit toilets are THAT FULL -to where as you squat, you know your butt is like 2 inches above the top of the waste heap).
"GAHHHHHHH!" screams drunk girl.
"I'll save you!" screams gallant knight-boy, who rushes to her side and pulls girl, covered in human shit from toe to hip, from the toilet. Within a few weeks, boy and girl have kissed (with tongue!), and soon they're dating. Girl knows long before boy does: they'll get married someday, as soon as he realizes she's the one for him. Afterall, where on earth will she find another guy willing to go out with her after such a "shitty incident," no pun intended? Eventually he does, and they do. :-)
That's all, folks.