20 Reasons Why I’m Weirder Than You! (corpgent’s W/O)
Apr 14 '03
The Bottom Line Get the pumpkin coach ready. He invited me! He invited me!!!
Would you give me the honour of participating in my w/o "20 things about me"? It would be such a pleasure for me and the other members!
Thank you kindly,
George aka corpgent
On April 4, I finally had the pleasure of getting to know George (aka corpgent). While caught up in a wild & crazy IM with him, he emailed the above invitation to me. It’s taken me all this time to figure out what I wanted to say, but at least you now know—I didn’t crash the party!
So you think you’re strange? There are a number of reasons why I’m probably a lot weirder than you are. Read on.
1. I was the firstborn to my struggling, middle class parents in December 1952. My birthplace was Richmond, Virginia, and the outskirts of Richmond remained my home until just over one year ago. (This sounds innocent enough, right? Keep going.)
2. My growing family. Two and a half years later, my mother gave birth to my brother. Six years after that, brother number two was born. Growing up with two male siblings in a neighborhood full of boys is perhaps the main reason I’m majorly warped to this day. (It gets better….)
3. I thought I was a boy. Yeah, yeah, I used to enjoy playing with my dolls. But more times than not, you’d find me in the backyard climbing trees, throwing dirt clogs, or down by the pond looking for frogs and praying mantis eggs. I distinctly remember when my female hormones finally kicked in. One evening, when I was about 12 years old, I was wrestling one of the neighborhood boys in my yard. Suddenly, I felt I’d prefer having his arms embrace me rather than twisting my wrists up over my head. I never played with the fellas again after that first, single surge of emotion.
4. OK, I admit it. Farts are funny. A throwback to my childhood days, I reckon. All those boys—all those sounds. My mother couldn’t stand the word "fart." She preferred using "break wind." Now what, may I ask, sounds more descriptive than that?!! (Thanks, Miss Elaine, for giving me the guts to reveal this side of myself.)
5. I have a terribly unclean mouth. OK, Mom, you can wash my mouth out with soap now. I never could understand why she threatened that so often. After all, children learn through example. I come from a long line of good people who can also be quite hotheaded. Granddaddy, my uncles, and yes, even my mother…all of them are/were some of the nicest folks on earth—until they got mad. Then expletives flew from their mouths like bats from a cave. They didn’t stop with just one "damn." Oh, no. It was like a chain reaction of "goddammittohellthatsonofabitch!" About the only word I never heard them use was the "F" word. I picked that one up later, probably on the schoolyard.
6. I was an "underachiever." Nope, not proud to admit this at all. For the record, I was a very high achiever in elementary school. In fact, looking back, I’m pretty certain I was "gifted," at least in spelling, English, and art. As grade levels progressed, I found myself so bored in history, science, and math classes that I let my mind wander. I daydreamed a lot. I pretended to be doing classwork, when, in actuality, I was creating an addition to my “underground” comic strip, "Greaser, The Farting Man." (The kids from high school still wonder to this day why I never did anything with that strip.) My grades dropped so low, I barely had enough credits to graduate. I didn’t go to college, and that’s one of my biggest regrets. My biggest regret, however, is never having done anything with my cartooning ability.
7. I never did drugs. Good ol’ clean cut Katy. I never did drugs of any kind. Didn’t even try pot. It’s hard to imagine someone from my generation who actually made it to adulthood without doing a little "experimenting," but I had no desire to try it. I think it had something to do with classmates I always considered having half a brain, who later took to saying things like, "Hey, wow, man…wanna get stoned?" I can’t explain it, but their sudden change in behavior just kinda grossed me out.
8. The world’s biggest wussy. Not many people are bigger wimps than me. I run from bullies, I avoid controversy at all costs, I’m scared of airplanes, and I’m terrified of spiders. I really, really hate spiders. There’s just something about all those creepy legs…
9. Underneath the wuss is a dark, intolerant me. A lot of things happen in my daily life that make me want to beat the crap out of somebody. If you’re rude, thoughtless, and/or lack good manners, I just might wanna beat the crap out of you.
10. If I’m driving in traffic and you cut me off, I’ll want to beat the crap out of you.
11. If I’m in the left lane driving nearly 15 mph over the limit and you tailgate me, I’ll want to beat the crap out of you.
12. If I smile and hold a door open for you and you fail to thank me, I’ll want to beat the crap out of you.
13. I live upstairs from the meanest old bag on earth. My second floor apartment is directly above a witch, known around the complex as "Cat Woman." She’s a disgruntled, heavyset, bitter, unfriendly old hag who’s never been married and lives alone with her cats. She’s lived in the building since the complex was new and thinks she owns the place. Neighbors steer clear of her, as she’s been known to screech at them from her windows when they do anything that upsets her. More than once, I’ve been on my balcony, watering my hanging plants, when a tiny bit of water spilled onto her patio below. She storms out, bellowing, "You’re OVERWATERING AGAIN!!!" at the top of her lungs. Her tone of voice is so nasty, I just meekly run back into my living quarters to avoid a conflict. But I really, really wanna beat the crap out of her.
14. Have I considered anger management courses? No. Why should I? Didn’t I just tell you I’m too much of a wuss to act on my emotions? For once in my life, though, I’d really like to find the courage to tell someone what I really think.
15. I got egged! Yes indeed, it happened to me. I was 14 years old and walking through the neighborhood with my best friend one night. A car full of redneck idiots drove up alongside of us, hollered something from their windows, then—BAM!—something that felt like a brick smacked my outer thigh. The greaseballs sped off as I hobbled over to someone’s lighted porch to inspect my aching leg. There it was…nasty, raw egg and bits of eggshell all over my jeans. I’d been targeted. A black bruise and lump the size of a softball remained for weeks. Did we ever find out who egged me? No, but I’d like to have beaten the crap out of him, too.
16. Just call me George Washington. I cannot tell a lie. I’m probably among the most honest people you’ll ever meet. There’s just something about lying that gets to me. I can’t do it, nor can I tolerate dishonesty in someone else.
17. I can forgive, but not always forget. Back to the wussy side of me, I get hurt easily. I don’t care what someone says, if they attack me verbally (either to my face or behind my back), it gets to me. People have sometimes apologized to me for something they said. In most cases, I forgive them. Forgetting is something else. I don’t forget. Their words hurt me. I carry the scars for life.
18. I’m a "pear." We’ve heard it said that people are either shaped like an apple or a pear. I just happen to be the latter, which means when I gain weight, it all goes to my hips, thighs, and butt. Years ago, I was nicknamed by two different guys I dated. When your boyfriends call you "Bucket Ass" and "Dinosaur Legs," it does nothing to help your self-esteem. I’d much rather be an apple.
19. My rack. A writer around here named Kenny is apparently enamored with my rack. Not long ago, he mentioned it on his profile page. He referred to it as "nice." To him I say, "Well, darlin’, we all know 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' I happen to be the beholder of these bazongas, and let me tell you, they ain’t nothin’ special. They’re so UNspecial, in fact, I just might write a review about 'em some day." (Not that any of you other readers gives a rip, but I thought I’d clear matters up for Kenneth.)
20. I’m just one big walking, talking conflict. Let’s take a final look at Katy. I thought I was a boy, but later learned I’m a girl. I’m smart, but nearly flunked out of school. I’m sensitive and honest, yet I have a potty mouth. I’m a big fat wussy who wants to beat up annoying people. Yeah, I’m conflicted all right. I’m so conflicted, sometimes I wonder if I’m not manic. At 50 years old, I still have no earthly idea who I am or why I’m here. But I LIKE me. I hope you do, too. And if you don’t, well, I just might wanna beat the crap out of you.
Here's the list of everyone who participated in this fun and extremely successful write-off. Thanks, George, for allowing me come to the ball!
NOTE: If anyone finds a glass slipper, size 10, it’s mine.
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Epinions.com ID:
katybrighteyes
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Member: Katy
Location: Virginia
Reviews written: 13
Trusted by: 148 members
About Me:
Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see. ~MarkTwain
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