Okay, Glidingcalm tagged me in this five things meme, and I’m going to give it a shot. Here are the rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. Share 5 facts about yourself.
3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post and list their names, linking to them.
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.
I’m warning you in advance, I’m going to tag some people who have already been tagged. My world is small. I don’t know that many bloggers.
1. Everything stresses me out. Little things, big things, all things. For instance: this meme, packing my lunch, deciding whether or not to go to the gym, getting ready in the morning, having overdue library books, the movie Groundhog Day, episodes of I Love Lucy. It’s honestly pretty amazing that I made it through college and grad school without ever finding myself in an empty room, eating my tear-stained hair.
2. I ate my first pear at age 24. I think I associated them with the bradford pear tree in my best friend’s yard when I was growing up, and assumed that all pears were rotten and smelled like fish.
3. I left the country before I ever left the East Coast. It was only Canada (though it was Montreal and that seems more foreign because they hate you if you speak English). I eventually made my way across the country, and now I live in Kansas. Which is very far from the East Coast. In lots of ways. Go figure.
4. I don’t shop at Wal-Mart. I haven’t since 2002 (2003?) This started as an ethical protest, but honestly, with the amount of money that I spend at Target, which is arguably just as bad, the ethical thing kind of falls apart. But I’ve maintained my policy quite easily because Wal-Mart stores stress me out (see #1). The last time I went to one in North Carolina, I stepped out of my car and directly onto a dirty diaper. Who wouldn’t be nervous?
5. I am often mistaken for things I am not. Today, a woman at Dillard’s started asking me questions about dishes because I had my registry gun in my hand and she thought I worked there. I don’t. Lots of patrons at the library where I work think I’m a student. I’m not. A woman at my bank asked me if I was a freshman when I went to set up my account. I’m not. I’m regularly carded for alcohol, to see if I’m trying to scam stores by using my parents’ credit card, and sometimes even for R-rated movie tickets. I’m almost 25, people. I have a master’s degree. I am a professional. What’s the deal? I wonder if it’s because I can’t stop wearing bedazzled clothing?