This is a new category — stories and musings. I’m adding this category because sometimes there’s stuff I want to tell you about, but there’s not a direct relation to you taking some action in your career, or relationship with food, or de-stressing or anything like that…. sometimes, stories just want to be told. And even without an intended relation to your life, take (or leave!) whatever you want from said story or said musing. Off we go…
10 things you probably don’t know about me.
I fell asleep Monday night, exhausted and happy.
And, I woke up at 2 a.m. and COULD NOT go back to sleep. You know what I mean — mind racing, thinking of tons and tons of random stuff, and something that kept making me giggle is the first time I went to the hospital.
And then, I started giggling, thinking about how similar that was to the third time I went to the hospital.
So, I decided to write a post about things you probably don’t know about me.
#10: My first real date… so embarrassing.
It involved a brush with death (how epic).
I had a crush on this guy (which also led me to joining the cross country team — which could be it’s own item, lbh) when I was a freshman in highschool.
He asked me to go to Carraba’s (remember that place? enormous portions? “Italian,” but, not precisely?) and I, of course, said, yes. I borrowed clothes from this girl who totally had cooler clothes than I had (they were also way too big).
We went to Carraba’s (he was a sophomore, and could drive) and upon leaving the restaurant, I grabbed one of those starlight mints that restaurants sometimes have by the door. You know, next to the toothpicks.
We got in the car, and he started driving me back to my house, which meant taking a really steep, really windy road.
I was feeling nervous and self-conscious, and wanted to occupy myself with somethings we drove, so I put the mint into my mouth.
I choke on the mint. I try to cough up the mint.
I cannot cough up this mint — I’m trying as if my life depended on it (and while my life actually did kind of depend on coughing up the mint, mostly I reaaallllly did not want to tell my first ever date that I was choking in his passenger seat).
As my lungs begin to burn for oxygen, I start hitting his arm and making the universal choking symbol. He sees me choking, says, “Oh, my God!” and lets go of the steering wheel to give me the Heimlich Maneuver (as we run off of the very steep, windy road).
And, I cough up the mint.
That, my friend, was my first. Real. Date.
#9: The third time I went to the hospital.
(This trip to the hospital is not unlike the first time that I went to the hospital — which we’ll get to, shortly.)
I was at my friend, Caroline’s, house after our 8th grade dance.
I had a bobby pin in my mouth while were were talking and laughing about the night…
She says something really funny, I start laughing hysterically… and, I swallow the bobby pin.
But it lodged in my throat instead of going down into my stomach.
Which means that I couldn’t swallow again, or else it would be in my digestive system, and this meant surgery (according to her dad, who is a doctor — she ran and got him very quickly… but not until after she called someone from our class, and and told them I’d swallowed a bobby pin… THANKS, Caroline).
Her mom drove me to the ER. We had to stop every few minutes so that I could open the car door to spit out the excess saliva in my mouth… since I couldn’t swallow again and have the bobby pin go down my throat (and have to have surgery).
When we got to the ER, her dad just grabbed this hook-like thingie and stuck it down my throat and pulled it out. Caroline said, “Well, I could have done that back at home.” She totally could have.
We, of course, went to Steak and Shake for Jamocha shakes, as … a reward for me swallowing a bobby pin?
On Monday, my best friend’s brother (who wasn’t even in our grade) had found out about my trip to the emergency room, based on Caroline’s one phone call — and presented me with a whole new supply of bobby pins.
#8: I am a bluegrass musician
Well, basically, I am. I currently am not performing at any theaters near you (or, near anyone else, for that matter). I play the guitar, but mainly I play the banjo. I played with some folks in college for 3 years. We have one CD.
I looooove the banjo. (Maybe I will pick it back up again.)
#7: Hi, Music. I love indie… but I love country more (shame face).
I really, realllllly like country (even slightly more than I love hip hop — which is really saying something). And I like country definitely more than I like Fleet Foxes, or Monsters of Folk, and definitely much more than Grizzly Bear, who I totally don’t get, at all.
(Translation, for non-hipsters: Hipsters (who are rolling their eyes right now at me for calling them that — sorry, guys!) are into indie music, and those are indie bands that all hipsters would definitely know about, and esteem as you and I might esteem, oh, Randy Travis, or the Rolling Stones… they are established. The very indie canon!)
(Further Translation, for non-hipsters: So it’s basically as if I just said, “I like boxed wine more than bottled.”)
#6: The most embarrassing thing that I’ve ever said in an interview.
Interviewer (who was also really adorable): “What kinds of things do you do for fun?”
Me: “Oh, I love to travel.”
Interviewer: “Oh, me too. In fact, my great uncle discovered Machu Piccho.”
Me: “That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to go to India.”
#5: The thing I miss most on a daily basis is….
Two days do not pass without me pining for G.T. Dave’s Kombucha. It disappeared THE VERY DAY my friend mailed me my own starter (don’t stress if that makes no sense — basically, the thing that lets me make my own kombucha at home). I’m so sad.
#4: The third time I went to the hospital.
I was 7, and was practicing gymnastics on a mat in the “kid’s den,” as we called the room, still in my unitard from gymnastics practice earlier that day.
I did my second back-something-or-other (may have been -handspring, or -walkover, or -flip) and broke my arm. It felt like my arm was crumpling (shuddddder). It’s the only bone I’ve ever broken.
#3: While I’m obsessed with quality, I’m also obsessed with a deal.
I love nice stuff. Not in a, “Woo, what a cool label,” kind of way, but in a, “This feels good against my skin! What a complete high quality photograph of some flowers! It will last forever!” kind of way.
But I refuse to spend much moolah on stuff, too. So, there you have it — a life lived in semi-luxury, but at a deep discount.*
*Which, invites the question… is it really luxury, if it’s deeply discounted? Hm…
#2: I will take no more — and, no less — than one shower per day.
If I’m going to exercise, I don’t shower, all day, until after I exercise. If I am getting on a plane that day, I don’t shower until I get to my final destination (because, I know I’m going to want to shower once I’ve walked barefoot through two-or-more-airports, sick).
And, I don’t really know why I live this way (efficiency? saving water? conserving the good shampoo?).
#1: The first time I went to the hospital.
I was around 4-years-old. I had a 6-year-old sister that I liked to impress in, literally, any way I possibly could.
I tried out a lot of experimental and dangerous, but potentially impressive, activities on a regular basis throughout my childhood, just watching for the right reaction (like the time I climbed to the edge of the third-story roof to get that thing that fell out of my sister’s window and into the gutter.).
That day, we were sitting in her very yellow bedroom together — she was on the bed, and I was on the floor, at the foot of her bed, watching her.
Next to me was my sister’s musical notes set. This musical notes set was pretty cool. There were these the musical notes that were magnets, and they came in this magnetic box. When you opened the box, you saw that the inside was lined with blank sheet music. You placed the magnetic notes anywhere on the sheet music to write your own music (and don’t think for a second that at ages 6 and 4 we had any clue what music we were writing when sticking magnets on the inside of a box).
Well, the magnetic musical notes were small. My sister was watching. What else would anyone do but stick the notes up their nose? So, that’s what I did.
I swiftly stuck a magnetic musical note up my right nostril.
My sister loved it! She started laughing, so I stuck another magnet up my right nostril. And another, and another. Until, my sister was laughing so hard, and getting so excited, that my mom came in to see what this was all about. Ruh-roh.
My mom knew, as all mom’s always do, that something was up.
She asked my sister, “What’s going on?” My sister dutifully reported that I was sticking magnets up my nose.
My mom, horrified, ran to fetch a flashlight, and upon shining it up my nose and seeing precisely zero musical notes, picked me up and grabbed my sister’s hand, and my dad drove us all to the hospital.
When we got to the hospital, the ER doctor asked, “There’s one way to know if the magnets are in her system. When she walks past the refrigerator, is she drawn, against her will, right to it?”
My mom saw no humor in this.
But, the musical notes? They were never seen again.
Maybe that’s why I love music so much today — it’s (literally) a part of me.
What we’ve learned today….
I don’t even know. But I’m totally going to do this again.
In the comments: What are some things I don’t know about you?