Number 10 of March, as I used to say, is the day when my Mum, as young as she was, spat me out in a blaze of Glory.
Since today is ALL about me (and don’t you forget it 😀 ) I’m going to continue with the self centered theme and regale you with 10 facts that you don’t know about me.
I can’t wear High-Heeled shoes. I can have them on for maybe an hour, and then I have to take them off. I am not one of those fortunate women who can run and dance in heels all night long. I am much happier in my flats. (It’s not as far to fall down in them)
I have four pieces of jewellry that I don’t ever leave my house without. They are three rings, one of which was my GodMothers, one of which was given to me at my Deb by an Aunts mother, and one was hand made specifically for me by my Nonno. The other piece is my Pandora bracelet, which is looking decidedly worse for wear after the constant wearing of it for three years.
The choice to move to Albury from Myrtleford was literally decided and implemented within an hour. My cousin lived over here and she convinced me do it. By the time the hour had passed I was back in Myrtleford, on the phone to real estates and my Nan had appointments to look at flats for me. I was gone within a week, and have never returned.
I share my Birthday with the one and only Chuck Norris. I believe that Chuck knew he would need someone to carry on with his awesomeness, and so he allowed me to be born on his day. We all know that Chuck Norris is the most amazing person on this world (Hello? He is who wiped out the dinosaurs when he farted!) and no one can be born on his day unless he allows it!
I am not a big drinker. Really.
I get drunk once a year, which happens to be my birthday. The problem with that is that I wipe myself out completely, end up worrying that the VietCong are going to turn my cat into dimsims, and then I need a yellow Tupperware helmet to survive. It is not pretty, but apparently, it’s almost as hilarious as me belting out “Working Class Man” because by this stage, I don’t remember our Anthem.
Bacon. I love bacon. Bacon is the food of Gods. Bacon also causes me to break out into a rash as I am allergic to pork, but I will put up with it for that crispy deiciousness that comes from the flesh of Pigs. Bacon can be eaten with any thing. Want some bacon with your Weet-Bix? Go right ahead. Want some bacon with your lunch? You know, it’s so versatile, you can do that. Bacon is amazing.
I have a cool scar pattern on my knee from when I got a million (ok, so maybe just 100) warts removed as a kid. The scars (there are three in this particular set) look like a wonky, possibly stoned, face.
I also have a hole in my foot which is from the same removal of warts, that is kind of like a party trick. “Oh, you can fit your fist in your mouth? Well I have a hole in my foot!” Cue alternating, Ohhhh, Wow, and GROSS calls from my captivated audience.
I have never done drugs in my life. No shit. The worst thing I have ever put in my body is cigarettes. And I can’t live without them right now. But moving right along, I have never done pot, pills, tabs, powders, stickers, needles. I have never even had a desire to do it. It was sort of expected that I would, I guess, purely because I cam from Myrtleford by a lot of people, but I like knowing that when my kids come home stoned out of their gourd, I can safely lecture them on it. From the top of my very, very high horse.
Today I was given my very first bottle of brand name perfume, By my cousin Renee and friend Beffy. It is a Guess one that I was gobsmacked over.
I also received my first balloon bunch from Meeka, it’s huge and has a 2 and a 5 that are about a metre tall each.
My whole birthday was full of things I had never gotten before. I felt very special to know that little comments I make off hand were listened to.
My uncles nickname for me is Gubba. Those who are Indiginous will know that this means “Slut” in Aboriginal. My grandparents and various family members call me this as well. I still do not know why, and I don’t think I ever will. I have been called that since I was a toddler. And before everyone thinks that my Uncle is mean, please be aware that he has been called Uncle Poofter for about the same length of time. I believe it was one of my first words.
And that is the end of this self absorbed, and possibly drunk, Spiel.