OK, I wasn’t going to respond to this Open Call, only because I didn’t figure anyone would be particularly interested in twelve random factoids about moi. But golly, a whole lot of my fellow OS peeps seem to be having such fun with this one, I figure I’ll go ahead and jump in. Besides, I’m beat and banging out twelve bits about myself should be pretty easy...low hanging fruit as it were. So here goes, in no particular order:
I buy Gummi Bear vitamins for my kid but I end up eating them because the woman’s once-a-day vitamin that I take is basically a horse pill that makes me nauseous when I swallow it.
I find the feminine arts (hair, make-up, fashion) stressful. Given that I am a jazz singer by trade, this is a problem. If I had my way, I’d wear an old, white t-shirt and a pair of khakis and sit back by the bass player. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. Chick singers are expected to put their glam on and stand out in front of the band.
With all due respect to Mr. Morrison, I absolutely loathe the song “Moondance.” I used to book a monthly, community music festival here in Seattle and part of my job was to review artist submissions. I can’t tell you how many, many musicians choose to record “Moondance.” I have heard “Moondance” played in almost every style possible: smooth jazz, Latin, rock & roll, polka. Enough already. It was an overrated tune to begin with. No, you can’t have one more “Moondance” with me.
My dream is to travel with my sons. First on the list are New York City and Spain. (Anywhere in Spain.) With any luck, by the time I would ever actually have the money to travel with them, they’d be older and mature enough not to rip on each other 24/7. Who needs The Bickersons for travel companions?
The stillbirth of my first child, a boy, changed me forever.
We have an imaginary bulldog named Ruckle. He snuffles a lot and sometimes jumps on the sofa and messes up my newspaper. But he’s a good boy and cute as the day is long. Sometimes my son Enzo and I take him for walks around the neighborhood.
Prior to my divorce, I could have never in a million years even imagined the possibility that I could be homeless someday. Now, I can.
I am uncomfortable around paper cutters. They make me nervous.
I hate driving. I hate traffic jams. I drive all the time-every day even-but I hate it. It used to be that I would get stuck in a soul-murdering traffic jam about once or twice a week tops. Now, it’s once or twice a day or even more. I snarl and gesticulate. I don't like being in my car. If I could ride the light rail everywhere, I would.
You know how sometimes a dog can get really frisky and silly right after a bath and go a little crazy, running around really fast? That’s how autumn makes me feel, especially when I’m vibing on the bright colors of the turning trees. I get all fresh and silly inside.
I love my president. I still believe in him. I don’t understand why detractors would expect he would be able to correct everything so quickly. As for the haters, they can bite me. They had their eight years.
I love the vocabulary of teens. I use the word “dude” far more than I should probably admit here, and yes, I sometimes call other women “dude.” About a year ago, my teenage son referred to someone as a “douche bag” and I loved it. I have now wholeheartedly embraced “douche bag” as my descriptive term of choice when someone is …..well, a “douche bag.”
So that's my twelve. If I were to do this tomorrow or the next day, it would more than likely be twelve different random things. At any rate, this is probably more than anyone would want or need to know about me. Thanks for the call, HeidiBeth!