I'm new to your blog. Tell me all I need to know about you in 5 sentences and tell me the top 5 posts that I HAVE to read from your archives. Then you can curse me and pray that I never return to your blog.
You know what though, Heather? I LOVED these two questions and I hope you return to my blog any ol' time you want. You may be new around here, but you still had the insight to LIMIT my answer to five sentences. Now, the people who've been reading me for awhile may scoff at your newby innocence in choosing to limit my SENTENCES instead of my WORDS, because they know all about my penchant for writing sentences so long and convoluted you need a trail of breadcrumbs - no, make that a trail of steel ball-bearings, because they'll last longer - to get back to my original point, if I actually had one to begin with. I am hoping the next time I solicit questions you will have stuck around and been my bloggy friend for long enough to know that you need to limit my actual WORDS, because that's the only way to guarantee I won't keep you sitting here reading long enough to grow 12 inches of pretty hair for Locks of Love. Am I right, Corey?
Okay. Me. In five sentences. (Oh, the PRESSURE.)
1) I'm a big old squooshy, loving, vulnerable heart on legs, and everything that goes along with it -- the good, the bad, and the ugly.
2) I don't hold onto my own opinions particularly tightly -- because I recognize how much I don't know about life, God, this crazy world, or the motivations or trials of other people -- unless you try to FORCE me to change my mind, and then I will stubbornly dig my feet in and NEVER see things your way, period.
3) I am much more deeply fulfilled by the work, pace and home-spunny nature of the role of homemaker, but wish I could still maintain some of the "glamour" involved in my old career(s).
4) I pretty much live in my kitchen, which is the heart and soul of my family's home life.
5) I have a family -- a husband, a daughter, and a son on the way -- who make me love, laugh, cry, hope and believe, and I pray one day God will finally be able to turn me into someone good enough for them (and for Him,) but for now, I just remain in total awe of the miracle this motherhood and wifehood truly are for a flawed, imperfect girl/woman like me.
Posts You Should Read:
How I Feel About Me
How I Feel About Al
A Post That Makes Me Cry Happy and Sad Tears at the Same Time
My Life as a Pregnant Mama, in a Nutshell
In Case You Ever Come to Wonder Who Priscilla Maude Sybil Is
I don't know. Maybe those are the right ones? I just looked and this is my 301st post. And I only got to pick FIVE! I hope they do sump'm for you, Heather. I don't wanna lose you, man.
My dear, lovely, friend-who-likes-to-antagonize-me, Julie (who is the female version of Al, by the way), would like to know:
At what age did you experience your first 'grown up' kiss?
I want details too!
Okay. I'm gonna level with y'all up front here. I don't know, for sure, which of the two earliest kisses I can recall was actually my first, because large chunks of my brain, apparently those that happened to be storing memories of my teenage years and the combination to my locker at the YMCA I worked out at while I was pregnant (and I bet the wet swimsuit stuck in there is smellin' MIGHTY good by now, sorry Y people), were delivered shortly after my placenta when I had Bean. But I THINK my first real grown up kiss was perpetrated by the guy featured in my sad, woeful Senior Prom Story, which is conveniently located under #13 in this post.
The trouble is, I don't know if it was a serious kiss or a mock kiss, because this guy, George, was completely inscrutable when it came to his real, honest intentions and remained so years later when I had a couple of dinners with him. We were both in our thirties by then. But on the evening in question, he may have been teasing me for fun because it'd come to his attention at some point, in the FOUR SOLID YEARS leading up to the moment that I'd been unable to eat, sleep, think or talk without his name escaping my lips in an aching, pining, wrenching, keening hopelessly-devoted-to-you wail, that I might have a slight little bit of a tiny crush on him. (Eyeroll.)
Now George was older than I was by three years, and he was tall, athletic and handsome(to me, anyway), a big-shot in his class because of his completely tasteless but infectious sense of humor, and I was this little gawky nerdlet who weighed 85 lbs. soaking wet, with a bad perm, purple store-brand jelly shoes and a passionate but unfortunate fondness for my late grandmother's extensive
A group of us, including George, had all gone to the movies after a birthday celebration for one of my girlfriends. At the movies, I'd somehow lucked out and found myself seated next to George, with my friend, the birthday girl, on the other side of him. While I held my breath and remained completely motionless for fear of doing or saying something completely inane (which has always been perfectly characteristic of me at any age), George reached out and HELD MY HAND. I sweated and hyperventilated quietly to myself through a large portion of the movie, until several people, including George, got up to go the the restroom, at which point I moved a seat over (into George's seat) and squeaked to my girlfriend, "George was holding MY HAND!?" At which point my girlfriend said, "I know! Mine too!"
Later that night, George drove us all home. Being the skinny little stick that I was, (thank God for my non-existent bummy!) I got to ride in the middle of the front seat next to him. And oddly, although I lived on the other side of town from most everyone in the car that night, including George himself, he dropped everyone else off first and then returned to MY side of town to drop ME off. Which is how we ended up in the car alone, making very VERY small talk, which amounted to him joking away animatedly and my teeth chattering in answer.
When we got to my driveway, he stopped, put the car in park and threw an arm up over the back of the seat so it was ALMOST around me, but not quite. And then he said some more stuff, and my teeth chattered in response, and then he leaned over to me and our faces sortof slammed into each other, and maybe our lips touched? I can't be certain, because I was not in my right mind by this point. And then I think when my reaction was not exactly what he was hoping for, seeing as how I was completely comatose with shock, confusion and gratitude, he reached across and opened the passenger side door for me from the inside and said, "Good night, fair maiden" and I said, "ARGHLADDALADDAAWAAGGLWIGGADOO," exited the car in silence, floated into the house past both of my parents, and fainted dead away, fully clothed and shoen, on my bed.
So you tell me. WAS that my first kiss?