1. I sometimes have a misguided notion about what the general population finds cool. Earlier this week my daughter and I went to hear the author Nancy Etcoff, author of Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty, speak about her research. I’d seen Ms. Etcoff on Oprah a year or so ago and immediately rushed out to buy her book, which I found extremely thought-provoking. So, when I had the chance to hear her speak I was beside myself with excitement. I rushed my daughter out the door an hour before we needed to leave because I was certain that the auditorium would be jammed to capacity, and that finding a seat would be difficult. I was stunned to find myself in a final audience of about 30 people, and most of them were students who were required to be there. I wanted to scream, “My God, people, it’s meet the author night! Aren’t you excited?” Obviously not. This leads me to my next imperfection…
2. I talk WAY too much. Before “Meet the Author” started, we were all standing around in the lobby of the university arts center waiting for the custodian to unlock the auditorium doors when low and behold Nancy Etcoff entered the lobby through the side door where I was standing. I didn’t recognize her at first because her hair was much longer than it was in her book cover photo. After a few seconds, she extended her hand to me and introduced herself. The conversation went something like this.
NE: Hi, I’m Nancy Etcoff
ME: It’s great to meet you. I’m Sprinkles, I loved your book!
NE: Thank you.
The conversation should have ended there, but NO, I’m unable to shut up.
ME: Did you have dinner in town?
NE: Yes, at the Pink Sunset, it was really lovely.
ME: The food is great there. Isn’t this a cute town? I love your boots! Are they Manolo Blahnik’s? You mentioned Hugh Jackman when you were on Oprah. Have you met him? What does Oprah smell like? Are you staying in the area tonight? (At this point, frightened that she’s met her first female stalker, she says a very politely, “Well, it was really nice to meet you,” and moves on.
3. I have celebrity crushes. While my husband is the true love of my life, I must pathetically admit that at nearly 47 years of age, I have a ginormous crush on both Hugh Jackman (mmm Wolverine!) and Alexander Skarsgard (Eric from HBO’s True Blood series). My husband has told me that I have his full permission to have an extramarital affair with either, if I ever have the chance. I’m a “have my cake and eat it too” kind of girl, so I’ve devised the perfect fantasy, Hugh, Alex and my husband will be “brother husbands.” (You know how that fanatical Mormon sect has their “sister wives?” This is roughly the same concept.) We’ll all live in a big house and I’ll take turns spending the night with each. It could happen. Now, it might take a disaster of apocalyptic magnitude to bring us all together (like I’m the only living female left on the planet), but it is within the vast realm of possibility.
4. I dance in my car. Not only do I dance while I’m driving, my daughters and I have specific routines that we have perfected while on various long road trips. So if you see
3 women in a red Yaris doing the upper body version of Lady Ga Ga’s, Telephone, you can be pretty certain that I’m the driver!
5. Speaking of “Sister Wives,” I love trash TV. I have seen every episode of MTV’s 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom and I’m not even remotely ashamed of this. Maury, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and many, many shows that require a lowered intelligence quotient and a penchant for low class drama are on my viewing list. I do, however, draw the line with watching Keeping up with the Kardashians and The Girls Next Door. A girl’s gotta have some standards!
6. I’ve been known to write fan fiction. Oh, my God, it looks so nerdy to see that in print, but last year, after finishing Charlaine Harris’s Dead in the Family, I knew I couldn’t wait for the next book in her Sookie Stackhouse series to come out. So, for my own entertainment, I wrote an entire 230 page, sixteen chapter sequel to it. My oldest daughter and her best friend, the only people in the world who have read it, deemed it as delectable as if Harris had written it herself. (Note to Charlaine Harris who, according to her website, does not want people writing Sookie Stackhouse fan fiction: This book is tucked away safely on the internal hard drive of my now very, virus-infested, dead laptop. If I were ever able to access it, I would never ever think of trying to publish it in any way shape or form, so please don’t bring legal action against me for indulging in my own personal guilty pleasure!)
7. I laugh at bathroom humor. Yes, it’s the lowest form of funny, but I defy you to keep a straight face whilst I spin my personal yarn of being trapped in a filthy gas station bathroom with explosive diarrhea, no toilet paper, and no tissues in my purse. The three checks and the few deposit slips that were in my wallet were the only viable wiping materials I possessed. They seemed to do the trick, but when I flushed, the toilet clogged and flooded the entire bathroom. This would be the part of the story where most sane individuals would flee to the safety of their car and drive off, But, as I was about to abscond I realized that my name, address and phone number was neatly printed in the left hand corner of each page of my makeshift toilet tissue. I won’t bore you with the gory details of the rest of that story, but it does involve two pens being used as chop sticks.
So there you have it. My flaws are out in the open. I’m sure there are quite a few more, but for the sake of length, I’ll stop here! I hope all of my readers have a fabulous first day of April!