Ah, taxes are done and paid and probably wrong, but I don’t care anymore, I just don’t. Too many maths make Hoody something…something…
Anyhoo, back before Uncle Sam and Step-Daddy Earl Ray got their hands in my pockets, I was actually GIVEN something:
That there award comes to me courtesy of the amazing bluzdude, who is being rewarded for his generosity by promotion to the Royal Court as my “Official Mirror Spirit” (you know, as in “mirror, mirror, on the wall…”). Thanks, hon! Never let it be said that I cannot be bought!
Now, the rules are thusly: Post the picture, thank the sender, then list seven (YIKES!) interesting facts about myself. Now, I don’t know that there’s much left I haven’t shared about myself, but I’ll do my best: Let’s talk about scars, shall we? Chicks dig scars, right?
- I was never in a street gang, but I have in fact been “jumped out.” For some reason, the twin girls who lived down the street from me growing up decided to celebrate my move from grade school to junior high (they were a little younger) by beating the fuck outta me with baseball bats. Fortunately for me, they chose ALUMINUM bats, and the recoil time gave me room to run before they’d got more than a couple licks in. Stupid bitches. WOODEN bats are the way to go.
- No scars from that particular incident, but my lower back is a veritable palette of bad decisions. First, there was the huge bite mark from my uncle’s miniature Shetland Pony (twice as mean as catshit, that little fucker was). For some unknown reason, he decided to chase me down one day and bite the fuck outta my back — I sweartaGAWD, it felt like he hit spine! This is the origin of my theory that miniaturized animals are proportionately meaner than full-sized ones.
- Once that healed, I somehow managed to get a Brown Recluse Spider to decide that my bedroom window was an excellent place to have her little spider babies. Yes, I know we’re not supposed to have them here in Wes’BYGAWD, but believe me, we do. As you may know, brown recluse venom makes your skin… kinda… melt…. yeah, it’s really gross. Thank Goddess it was just the babies or my ass might have completely disappeared!
- And as a final insult, I had a wireless microphone battery pack pretty well catch fire with me wearing it… causing the finishing touches to, you guessed it, the small of my back. I don’t need a tramp stamp, I EARNED this shit!
- But wait, there’s more: I had to wear an eyepatch through part of kindergarten because I fell on my fool head and bashed myself in the eye on the edge of my Dear Sweet Grandparents’ (DSM’s folks) coffee table. There’s still a little dent if you look close.
- Same kindergarten, I had a nosebleed so bad they had to cauterize (yes, burn) it shut… resulting in an enormous black booger THAT I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO PICK AT. Dammit, I wanted to pick it!
- The latest really good ones are the ones I got when a horse threw me through a barbed wire fence — it wasn’t her fault, she was in heat and no one had thought to inform me of that — but they’ve almost faded off my shoulder. I was the most badass girl at church camp after that, though.
So there’s my seven things you may not have known (or wanted to). This particular award doesn’t come with pass-along directions, so I’m throwing it open to all of y’all: What’s your best scar/wound story?