Seven

I was tagged by my imaginary friend, Blabber Mouse, to divulge seven random and weird things about me in the blogger's version of a chain letter.

This private hell for me is two fold. For one, I hate chain letters. Nay, hate is too panseyass a sentiment. I loathe chain letters. And I loathe them from experience. In my youth I copied prayers, xeroxed poems and wrapped up dollar bills, socks, dish towels and whatever else my conscious harangued me to. Wouldn't want some one in Flippin, Arkansas stranded at the dirt bike rally after dark without my socks to keep them snuggly warm. I waited in post office lines for hours-- hours that I'll never get back-- clutching soft little packages and over sized envelopes. My guilty conscience, back then, was mammoth-esque in scope and I had about as much gumption as an albatross. I was an obedient little Girl Scout and did not break a single chain, and for my trouble I was rewarded with a sound night's sleep. But did my wishes come true? Nyet.

Only once did I see the fulfilled promise of a dream. I did get, in fact, one dishtowel, once. Not the twenty I'd been promised, but I did get one. And it was fugly. Never received any socks and was never shown the money ("$500.00 in two weeks!" they said).

Each and every time time I participated in a chain letter I was forced to take inventory of my friends. Could I trust them? Would they follow through and meet a deadline? Did Dawn, from the marching band, count as a friend even though she was two grades older? Would Debby from tap class do the chain even though she goes to another school? I sat down to assess. Tina would probably break the chain because she has too much homework with all those AP classes. Kelly wouldn't send it on and wouldn't give a damn. I always admired her moxie-- why couldn't I be more like her? Becky and Julie probably already got the letter from Sally, who'd sent it to me. Did I have twelve friends left after that? Should I go out and make more so as not to break the chain? The pressure was awesome.

At some point in my thirties, I started deleting chain emails with a vengeance. Laughing in the face of fate, I dared bad things to happen and do you know what? Bad things did happen. Puppies were run over and governments were toppled but I was fairly certain that none of it had to do with me or the fact that I'd broken a few chains. I was a Bonafide Chain Breaker and I reveled in my new found defiance towards the guilt ridden world of chains.

Now I am free to forward and delete as I feel fit, letting little more than whimsy and the moon's gravitational pull on a wave chart to guide me. I am a chain email atheist. Yes, they happen, but they're not responsible for holding the cosmos together and neither am I. It's nice, this new found freedom. It allows me to consider who my gullible friends still are and that superstition can still have a powerful grasp on even the most rational adult's reasoning and psyche. And that once in a while, it's good to be bad.

But this one I'll do. Just this once.

1. I don't have pierced ears. Never have.

2. I once tap danced and played "I Want Your Sex" on the sousaphone on MTV wearing a purple sequined dress.

3. I once stopped myself from asking James Brown for his autograph for my mother because he was on his way into the bathroom and I thought he deserved his dignity. I've since come to realize that he didn't and that I should have gone for it. Mom would have loved it.

4. I am a spectacular parallel parker. Truly Olympic.

5. My old college ex-boyfriend is a former Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Another one for the books.

6. I have a collection of 16 wisdom teeth, given to me by various friends, that I hope one day to make into a dazzling charm bracelet which should go nicely with my old mouth retainer that I made into a brooch and wore to art openings in the eighties. It was, at the time, the most expensive piece of jewelry I owned.

7. I Still shine the occasional moon, but it must be at the right moment, must be done with panache and must be for an appreciative audience.