Honestly, do you really want to know these ten things about me?
Apparently there are sparkly strings attached to the very lovely and luscious literary award bestowed upon me by blogging beauty, a femme d’un certain age.
Part and parcel of praise from peers — the “Sugar Doll” — is the requirement to reveal 10 things you don’t know about me.
The Terrible Ten
Well here goes.
- I first attended college at the age of four. No, I was not enrolled; my mother was. She brought me to class with her several days a week. I loved it. Thus began my lifetime affair with learning, and also with art, as she was studying art history.
- I am claustrophobic in large crowds and jammed elevators. I always thought this was due to my diminutive stature. However, I just had an epiphany. I believe my claustrophobia may be tied to the fact that my parents lost me for awhile at the 1964-65 World’s Fair. No kidding. This is amusing (in retrospect) since my mother would not permit me to cross the street alone at the time, yet somehow, I was allowed to wander off in a crowd of, you know… like… a few people.
- I drank vodka for the first time in Soviet Russia at the age of 16 while bathing in the Volga. I do not drink vodka often. I do not bathe in the Volga often. I also drank kvac (pronounced “kvass”). Clearly, both intoxicants immediately impaired my judgment as the Volga is a bit… muddy. Perhaps we need potato alcohol for this month’s half drunk writing challenge in which I will participate. However, if my laptop continues its recent nervous breakdown, I will need to be 7/8 drunk in order to write anything audaciously and (in)appropriately (un)worthy, while in my teenager’s wreck of a room, draped over his dilapidated desktop.
- I believe in telepathy or ESP or whatever you’d like to call it. An unpredictable and unsettling sixth sense that I have on occasion possessed. I have known things before they happened, I have physically felt the sensation of specific events taking place miles away, and I once saw someone’s past in a dream. I have no need for these eerie experiences to be explained (or to occur too frequently); I’m fine with a bit of mystery in life.
- While likely no surprise, I will divulge that my first kiss – (le premier baiser) – was with a Frenchman. I shall also confess that my first encounter of a more proximate nature – (est-ce que j’ose le dire ; le premier baiser?) – was with a Frenchman. Both were lovely. My first proposal of marriage, however, came from an Iranian friend of my grandparents when I was 12. It was a serious proposal, which I can only attribute to the appeal of my pearly white pointy glasses. Very Winnie on the Wonder Years. The offer was declined on my behalf, politely.
- I like to date tall men. Preferably, very tall men. I once dated a famous man 7’4″ tall. Count the number of digits on one hand. (Not blue, but yes, a clue.) That is my approximate stature. Please note — I only went out with the aforementioned 7’4″ man one time. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane. Oh, eh oui… He was French.
- I am a third generation jax player. And a damn good one. I am also a third generation multilingual scrabble player. And a damn good one. My sons make it fourth generation on the scrabble, and I am loathe / proud to say they’ve been known to beat me. Unfortunately, I forgot to teach them jax. It’s not too late, is it?
- I cannot play golf, but I have an outstanding putt. And I don’t mean putt-putt either. Grown-up golf. I grew up learning from a master (really), putting in the living room into a flat, metal dish-like contraption. It is one of the few childhood memories I have of doing something with my dad.
- I had recurring dreams from as early an age as I can recall. Several of them lasted well into adulthood. One of the more vivid and frequent was the ability to fly, which is undeniably common. In my case, I followed a very specific route through my neighborhood, gliding unperturbed around trees and past a reservoir, on to the elementary school. Glorious.
- Talk about a desire to transform dreams into reality… When I was a kid, I was convinced that if I could rig the right habit and combine it with will power, I could fly like Sister Bertrille in the Flying Nun. I did realize she was actually Gidget (um, Sally Field), but I was her size and so I thought, Hollywood trickery aside, it had to be possible. After several failed attempts, I concluded that the problem stemmed from the fact that I wasn’t Catholic. I did not, however, convert. Instead, I have spent a lifetime dating tall Catholic men, frequently French, who can scoop me up in their arms and carry me about like the voluptuous and saucy waif I like to think I am. Same effect, no?
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Now I know a little bit more about the mysterious Big Little Wolf.
How you can create a beautifully written “get-to-know-you” list is beyond me. Are my aspirations too high if I aim to write somewhere near your caliber someday?
While you feel we do not need to know these items, thank you for sharing as they fill out a picture of you that forms from your writings.
I played Jax every Sunday at my grandparents house after church! And that flying nun thing? I couldn’t get enough of her but was too young to understand why 😉
Boy this brings me back.
You gave me a morning smile, scrambling to get the mother duties done (and around the fact of laptop nervous breakdown)… Thank you Amber.
Aspire to getting someone to pay you for your writing. That’s what I’d like for Christmas! People used to, just not anymore in this economy, it seems… but here’s an 11th item:
Deep in my heart, I’m the shorter, bustier, dark-haired version of Pollyanna. Can’t help it. It’s my nature. (And she had all those cool prisms, besides. What’s not to love about that?)
Oh, you forgot one: “I can tell people 10 things about myself and turn it into literature” — albeit unpaid prose.
These were wonderful. Let me see, is there a French man theme threading through here? Or is it just me who sees this???
It was grand. Now, forgot to mention this as well, you’re supposed to pass your little pink shiny award on to other worthies. I chose only you, but you can choose (I think) ummm, let’s just say more, but not more than 10 or something.
I should re-name my blog so I can incorporated “crazy” into it someplace.
Gosh, I’ve never had my name in a hedline (correct spelling btw). It’s quite thrilling.
Tishxoxo
Thanks for revealing these little bits. They might seem random, but I believe that it is the little things, the apparently inconsequential flourishes on us that make us who we are. Thanks for the color!
This is hilarious. You do love your French men, don’t you. Was the famous tall guy French?
Did you know most vodkas these days are made without potatoes? A bartender at Le Boulevard in San Francisco told me that.
Le Beoulevard is a French restaurant, btw…
I, too, was certain that I could fly. I even tried a few times. Ouch.
If I told you who the famous tall French guy was, you’d be amused. (I will have to do some vodka research when I am next in San Fran. Hmm. хорошая русская водка (good Russian vodka) – at a French restaurant. That could be good for some half-drunk multilingual scrabble.
Did you know that Dostoevsky would lapse into entire passages that were in French? (What a relief, when wading through the original Russian… )
I’m with Ambrosia. Whatever you write is just beautiful, even if it is a list. I enjoyed reading these. Thanks.
I, too, went to college with my mom. It definitely set me on my path. Your list was the anti-Ambien!
Thanks for sharing these little glimpses into your life. I Thoroughly enjoyed reading them all. 🙂
I adore you. I just met you. But I adore you.
So lovely. The way you turn a “list” into a work of art. And congrats on the Sugar Doll. Well deserved. And now I will have to check out Tish! I will never get caught up out here in blogville (and my house will get lost under the piles–oh well).
Seven feet tall????That is a whole lot of man!
Your list is as wonderful and surprising as you always are. I am not at all sleepy. Your list is like Vodka and Espresso in a Tall glass.
I like the ESP thing. I keep trying to use the force to move stuff! 🙂 My first kiss was with my Neighbor when I was 12. I didn’t know until the next day that that meant she was my girlfriend. HAHAHA. Kids. I am claustrophobic also.
I’m off to google, “famous, tall French men.” Got to figure this one out.
As always, your writing is brilliant!
I sure missed this! Seriously, summer! LOL!
You are the exact same height of my younger sister. She hated being that height. I always envied her.
Love jax. So much that a colleague thought that’s what I’d named my son, rather than his actual name, Jack. Can’t wait to teach Jack to play Jax!
I, too, am a third-generation Scrabble player. Serious, competitive Scrabble. Card table-overturning Scrabble.
My favorite part? “I’m fine with a bit of mystery in life.” Hear, hear – for me, mystery in life is a fundamental truth. I guess that’s how I’ll live with not knowing the identity of the seven-foot-tall Frenchman!
Let’s hear it for the scrabble addicts! (As I think about it – it has to be two years or more since I last played. Ghastly! Virtual scrabble??) 🙂
So you do that Teresa-Real-Housewives-of-NJ table throwing thing over Scrabble? (Cool.)