Maniac

I’ve been tagged by Lawyerish, by way of Martha (do you read those two? If not, you should. Go there now. After you finish here, of course), to list my obsessions over my lifetime. So, am I the last person, like ever, to get this meme? And, as Martha accurately asked, how the hell do you SAY meme anyway, and what does it stand for? I doubt that it’s “meem,” like I want it to be, but “meh-may” just sounds stupid.

Anyway, it’s a welcome distraction, because I can’t bring myself to communicate with anyone since we got an erroneous $12,000 bill from a certain terrifying government agency. One of our banks made a mistake and lo! a $12,000 bill made its way to our mailbox today and I have only recently begun breathing again without the assistance of a paper bag after we discovered the root of the problem. If I’m wrong, I shall eat my toes one at a time after stringing them on a necklace. I am not Richard Hatch, I swear.

But anyway. Gah, I was obsessed with so many things throughout my lifetime. Let’s start with knitting, shall we? I was way – WAY – into knitting at one point, to the point where I would dream about yarn and knit my way through the hardest of times. I put in so much tireless effort into knitting, you would think that I would have a house full of hand-knit things! Socks! Booties! SWEATERS!

You would be wrong. I never progressed beyond scarves, and I have a dangerous overabundance of them. I tried making a sweater once, but I ran out of the proper yarn and ended up thinking that I could just sub a different yarn for the arms, when in fact, YOU CANNOT. I ended up with a giant sweater that was supposed to be a turtleneck, but instead resembled an off-the-shoulder cowl neck with veryvery tiny arms. And so ended my career as a knitter.

Erasure. Yes, I loved and wanted to marry – MARRY! – Vince Clarke. And you know what infuriates me? I could have, if I’d only put in a little effort! And um, he liked me and I liked him and all that, but whatever. Leave me to my fantasies. He’s married to some totally normal woman and he lives in Portland (Maine! New England!) which means that I totally could have had a chance if I’d been willing to do a little stalking. And you know, I believed the rumors that he was gay? Wrong! I was so, so wrong. Later, this obsession transitioned to Depeche Mode where I spent a long – LONG – time trying to convince my mother (at the age of 14) that I should get a tattoo of “DM” on my arm in electric blue ink. It didn’t go over so well, like, at all, and let’s all praise Jesus. Because while I still love Depeche Mode, do I really want them tattooed on my ARM? In electric blue? For ever and ever, amen? Uh, no. And as usual, my mother was right.

Jason Bateman. Before “Arrested Development,” our resident hottie was on a show called “It’s Your Move,” followed by “Valerie” with Valerie Harper. And I loved him. We were totally getting married. I actually wrote in my diary that I wanted to bring him home and introduce him to my mother, and then I would go to meet his mother and then – THEN – we would be betrothed (I said “betrothed.” In my diary. God.) and then would get married and make out, which was all married people did. God, he was adorable, and frankly, he still is, is he not? Who wouldn’t want to make out with him? I was also obsessed with Chad Allen of “Our House,” but I can’t bring myself to talk about it, except to mention that the pictures I had of him on my walls from Teen and Tiger Beat displayed what horrendous acne he had, and Jesus, did they not have AIRBRUSHING then? Oh Chad.

Flashdance. Jennifer Beals. Jonniker. We were synonymous, in my mind. I watched the movie over and over and over again and when I couldn’t watch it anymore, I listened to the soundtrack over and over and over again. Michael Sembello! Kim Carnes! Nude women! Welders! I had no idea what it was really about, all I knew was that they were dancing! For money! In bars! I informed my mother on about 100 different occasions that I wanted to be a flashdancer, and to her credit or detriment, she indulged me and bought me a set of shirts that said “Flashdancer!” on them in glitter, which I promptly wore with hot pink legwarmers and teal plastic dance pants and whirled around the living room for hours and hours and hours on end while channeling Alex the Welder. I was maybe 12, so even if I was a Flashdancer! there wasn’t much to flash, except maybe to a pedophiles, which is, um, gross and I can’t believe it just crossed my mind. So, um, Flashdance. Rock on.

The Golden Girls. This obesession lives on, my friends. Bar none, hands down, this is the best show ever to be on television, and if anyone – ANYONE – tells me differently, I will hunt you down. Blanche. Rose. Dorothy. Sophia. I do not lie when I tell you that I have every single episode on VHS, and am in the process of collecting them on DVD. And worse? I have every single episode memorized. Toss me a line! I can finish it for you. And, in case you were wondering, my favorite character is Dorothy. I know! I know! Most boring EVAR! But I think that’s why I liked her – boring, simple, sarcastic – but entertaining in a droll sort of way. Responsible! Immune to foibles! My exact opposite, in other words. Sigh.

And with that, I’m out. I need to go search for more documentation of the most ridiculous proportion to figure out how to explain why in the name of Christ we’re not supposed to pay an inordinate sum to the government. This is a lame, cheater of an an entry, and I apologize.

But I will totally pay it forward! Yes! Erica, you’re up! Yesrie, you’re up! Lara, you’re up! And Jen! You’re up too.

*Michael Sembello. Bring on the legwarmers.

24 comments July 24th, 2006