We grew up in a sort of extended type of family. Imagine a huge yard. Really big. Don't ask for measurements, because agriculture isn't my thing, I mean architecture. In the front part of the yard was my aunt's house and ours, the back consisted of a huge vacant area, my aunt's washing shed, a swamp on the side and a couple of trees (not too many), and my grandmother's house. On the side of her house was another vacant area and my uncle's house, and in front, or to the side of his was another of my aunt's (her yard was fenced in, though, so it almost didn't count as part of the extended family thing). Across the road from my aunt with the fenced in yard, was my uncle. He was a rebel living across the road from us all.
All of these people, aside from my uncle living on the side of my grandmother, had children ranging from 19 years to newborn (my mother was a virtual baby machine...she had eight children...EIGHT...can you imagine?). Of course the older ones tortured and stole from the younger ones (me and my sisters), and the much older ones ranging in the almost 18 + department would go over to Joe's Pool Room and shoot pool and smoke (you name it, they smoked it...come on...it was the early seventies for cryin out loud). I longed for the day where I would get to walk to Joe's and shoot pool. Alas, we moved to a different town before I even came close. I missed out on Joe's. Hrmphf. Good thing, I suppose (grumble, grumble, moan, b*tch, complain).
Sometimes, late at night, we'd go and sit on the swamp side of my grandmother's house and tell ghost stories about the rou-ga-rou (a swamp monster of sorts that was a mean ass individual...he didn't stick to his swamp which made him even scarier). My cousins swore up and down that "once, while playing hide-n-seek, they went to look behind a shivering bush thinking to find a player only to find the rou-ga-rou. Their quick wits and swift feet were the only things that saved them. And, of course, I believed every word. Every word uttered. We were even convinced that a hole, which use to house my grandmother's clothesline, was actually a tunnel to satan's den. I swear, I even saw a red light coming out of that hole. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to lie. There was nothing better than scaring the bejeebus out of ourselves, and then lying late at night with the blankets tucked tightly around our feet, and blinking like owls in the dark because we were too "afeared" to sleep.
Yes, those were the days...late nights...ghost stories...and playing tag.
Speaking of tag, Vivienne over at The V Spot, has tagged me. According to the rules of the game, I am to reveal six things about me. I'll play her little game, my pretty, and her little dog too...er...wrong story.
1. While I may not have the best table manners in the world (I will take an occasional book or two to the table with me...but only sometimes), I cannot abide smacking...you know...chewing with your mouth open. A smackface will drive me absolutely bananas. My dad is a smackface, but out of respect for him, I endure it silently (although sometimes it drives me nuts enough to make excuses to leave the room...he's deaf...and he smacks REALLY loud). My little sister was a smackface, though, and I would tell her often time: "Quit your smacking, Smackface."
2. I've only recently started shaving my legs again. I hadn't shaved in years due to the next day pickiness of my legs rubbing together would keep waking me up. The longer my hair grew, the less pickiness. Since I've had 3 babies in the last 4 years, I've had a good excuse not to shave, and trust me, I took that ball and ran with it. However, I decided to try shaving again. I have to shave nightly, though, because the hair on my legs grow way too fast, and I cannot abide the pickiness.
3. My first car was a 1971 Volkswagen Superbeetle. You can find all kinds of interesting facts about the Beetle here. I loved my beetle. love Love LOVED it! It was my first very own car. The seat in the back lifted up and you could hide things in it, and it was just freaking cool.
4. When I worked at Wendy's, the staff would eat the peaches and tomatoes and stuff while prepping the containers for the salad bar. I didn't, though, because I was too paranoid about getting caught. They also ate the fries.
5. I think I'm going deaf, and blind. Although I wear glasses to correct my nearsightedness, I have to hold things away from me in order to read, now. Now, I'm just waiting for dumb. It's coming, I'm telling you, and soon.
6. When I'm embarrassed, even if just slightly embarrassed, my face turns beet red. And I mean beet red. It's hard to control it, actually, near to impossible. Not only that, if I feel the heat going to my face, I blush even harder. I hate it. Sometimes I don't even have to be embarrassed to blush. Take the other day for instance. I was shopping, and as was leaving, I just happened to run into one of our school's former band teachers, Mr. Patterson. He is young, dynamic, vibrant, and the kids loved him (Okay, so he was cute, too). We were classroom neighbors during his time at our school, and would often stop to chat with us (the other fifth grade teachers) when passing by, so I went over and said hello. Not an embarrassing situation, not an excitable situation, but wouldn't you know, I began to blush. Alot. Which of course embarrassed me, so I blushed even MORE. Jeez. How embarrassing.
Okay, so there you have it. Six. Now, according to the game, I'm to tag six others. Deviating a bit, okay, more than a bit, I tag YOU, yes YOU. Have fun. Remember, people love reading about YOU more than YOU realize! We're all voyeurists of some type or another. Go for it!
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