Ten Things About Me

That you probably didn’t know.

When I saw this post going around, I quietly hoped I wouldn’t get tagged in it. Not because I don’t want to play, but because I’ve been blogging on this site for a couple of years. Anything worth mentioning about me, I’ve already shared in some way. I couldn’t think of anything to mention, let alone 10 things. Wouldn’t you know it, I got tagged twice in the same day. Thank you to J. Brandon Lowry and Terijo for pulling me into the fray. Honorable mention to Classical Sass whose tag got me the morning after.

Heres 10 random things I haven’t yet told Medium about myself. (Or at least haven’t mentioned a lot)

“Ribbon” made of chicken-wire and plaster bandages

I even had some success with my sculptures. I joined a bunch of group expositions. The local art school still has one of my bigger works on the grounds. And when a photographer needed to make promotional shots of a newly published poet, he had him pose with my sculpture. I will admit that was flattering.

I haven’t created any 3 dimensional object in 7 years. Honestly, I do not miss it. When I was sculpting, often literally as I was sculpting, I would still get stories in my head. I didn’t think much of it, there were always stories in my head. Frankly, I lived with the assumption everybody always had stories in their heads. Now that I’m putting those stories on paper, I haven’t had an idea for a sculpture pop up even once.

Simply hiding under the covers when my bedtime story got scary wasn’t enough. If I didn’t hide, I would run around in excitement. But she wasn’t allowed to stop reading. I get scared easily but I love every second of it. Watching television was the same thing, I would hide behind the couch or watch peeking from behind the door, yelling angrily if someone wanted to change the channel for me. I stopped hiding as I got older but it took me well into adulthood to learn not to get up and pace around when any sort of story got exciting. I still get the urge, but I can control it now.

Diving is simply amazing. Underwater is the closest we can get to exploring an alien landscape. Everything is different, but the thing that surprised me the most when going SCUBA diving, is the sounds. Before getting my certificate I imagined it to be quiet — maybe “blup” every now and then. As you descend and the sea seems to close up above you, it is quiet, for perhaps a full second. And then a world of sound comes at you. Strange, unidentifiable sounds, some man made and some not, and they all sound closer to you than they really are. It’s then you realize how out of your element you really are.

I would say that the sounds underwater was the most unsettling thing about getting my certificate, but that honor goes to the emergency ascent, an exercise where you have to leave your air tank at the bottom of the sea and swim up to the surface, slowly exhaling as you go. Your mind keeps waiting for you to run out of breath, but the air in your lungs expands as you get closer to the surface and that breath out never stops.

I took lessons twice, and I aced my theory. But when it was time to take the test, I chickened out both times. Just the thought of going out in actual traffic gave me a panic attack. That’s not hyperbole, I got panic attacks regularly when I was younger. People try to tell me I will do fine on the roads. That’s not what I am afraid of. I trust myself in a car. I don’t trust everyone else. How many complete incompetent idiots do you encounter in your average week? And the vast majority of those drive cars.
It doesn’t help that I live on the corner of a crossroads where some sort of accident occurs every other month. Currently the street is littered with shredded pieces of tire, the aftermath of a blowout. The driver of that car was asking for a blowout though, acting like he was in a drag-race, burning rubber for the hell of it. That’s the sort of people I would share the road with…

Although, I have been really considering taking lessons again, since public transport keeps getting worse and I have my panic attacks much more under control now. It comes down to deciding on the lesser of two evils.

That sounds exciting doesn’t it? Okay, so it’s a little bit misleading. What I am doing, is binge watching/listening to Critical Role’s Dungeons and Dragons Campaign on YouTube. (it’s still considered a binge, if you watch a single episode a day, but an episode lasts between 4 and 5 hours, right?)
I’ve not played Dungeons and Dragons before, but I’ve recently decided I might want to. And so I started researching the game and how to play it. Between videos on the “Satanic Panic” of the 80s and things with titles like “Top 5 mistakes players make when creating their D&D character”, I found “D&Diesel”

I clicked because I’m a fan of Vin Diesel. By the end of the video I was more fan of Matthew Mercer, the Dungeon Master. I love how he describes fight scenes, something I was struggling with so much, I haven’t finished any of the classic fantasy stories I started. Give me a couple of months listening to this wordsmith, and I’ll be able to tackle those with as much confidence I bring to my erotica.

I like cooking and I own a lot of cook books. But I have never followed a recipe exactly as it is written down. I don’t know if I’m just feeding a need to be unique or something, but I’m always making substitutions and additions without even trying the original. There’s cinnamon and apple juice in my pancakes. There’s garlic in my onion soup. There’s Gouda in my lasagna.

It’s not really a problem though, my friends and family like my cooking. At least, that’s what they tell me.

The nondescript social media I use has a limit of a thousand images you can post to it and I have once again hit that cap. Some of the images I have on there are memes, and there’s a few pictures of other things, but a lot are pictures of myself — usually showing off a new dress, or earrings, or something like this:

Shhh. I’m incognito.

Yeah, I’m vain, I’ll admit it. I’ll also admit to this point being an excuse to complain about no one noticing I posed for the image for this story, or no one caring enough to comment on it. Excuse me while I attempt to soothe my bruised ego with a steaming hot cup of coffee…

Both remembering them and thinking them up. If you’re reading anything of mine and I’ve named the characters, you can be sure I made use of a name generator. In real life, I can often tell you everything about someone I’ve met and recall our conversation almost word for word. But I couldn’t tell you their name.

If you could look into my closet right now and see the shoe collection I have, you’d think: “Really? No one could ever tell.” And that would be fair. I like buying shoes. But only because I can’t really go out in public without them. The truth is I hate wearing shoes almost more than wearing a bra. As soon as the opportunity presents itself, my shoes come off. If I can go a day without wearing shoes, I will. Even if that confines me to the house. I choose to walk over the gravel in the yard barefooted rather than wear shoes.

It’s true. From a very young age I was a superb swimmer. At 5 years old I was scouted to get into a training program with an eye towards the Olympics. I did win some gold medals in speed swimming. But my parents were reluctant to force me into that life-style. We moved to Aruba by the time I was nine, and instead of speed swimming I wanted to go into synchronized swimming. Unfortunately I wasn’t as good at that. But it was so much fun! I swam in shows at the local Holiday Inn hotel for a few years.
Later on I tried to become a swimming teacher for kids. I quit the course, because the technique changed on me. The old way — the three-step stroke — was so ingrained into my muscles, I just couldn’t master the newer, two-step stroke. The window for professional swimming had closed. I can’t say I’ve got much regret, only fond memories.

Now I need to tag some folks myself. Eh, is there anyone left? Sorry if you already did this Jeffrey Field Stuart James Dave Araki Randomly Me ThunderPuff (here’s to hoping) Sarah Goldsmith Nicole Willson Tommy Paley

Writer of fiction, blogs and erotica. Frequency in that order. Popularity in reverse.

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