8 things

CG has tagged me to post eight things about myself. I’m supposed to tag eight people to do the same, but I’m not sure I even have 8 blogfriends to participate. What’s a girl to do? Make more blogfriends! And in the meantime it would be cool if LOST, Spill, Rayette and anyone else who’s so inclined did 8 things. Or just tell me 8 really deep things about you some time we’re together (you probably would anyway).

Anyways, here’s my 8:

1. When I was a little girl, sitting in the living room with my family at our house on 51 Cherry Place, listening to records, I’d beg for the song “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. My Dad would put it on and everyone would sing my name over the main refrain. “Co-leen, Co-leen, Co-leen Co-leeeeeen, I’m beggin of you please don’t take my man.”
2. When our cat Ben (whom we called “Gentle Ben”) died, the concept of mortality blew my mind. I gathered a big bunch of his gray hairs from the spot where he used to sit on the couch and put them on my Barbie bed. It had a canopy. (I always wanted a real canopy bed). It was some kind of bizarre medieval death ritual, yet somehow it soothed me.
3. I’m a late bloomer, in every sense of the word. Physically – I didn’t get my period until I was 14. Our family doctor said it was common for girls of Irish descent to take longer. I felt like a freak. My boobs didn’t start showing up until my sophomore year of high school. I remember changing in the locker room, feeling ashamed of my flat, boyish chest. But it all turned out okay and now I have a kickin’ bod (if I do say so myself). Emotionally too – I’ve taken a while to open up in relationships. I never had boyfriends in high school, college, or the entire decade of my 20’s. I had crushes, dates, obsessions, but not relationships. I had no idea how men and women had relationships. I always felt like there was some big secret no one was telling me. That’s changing now too — I had to work at it, though.
4. I’m obsessed with Ellen DeGeneres. She’s 100% authentic. Hilarious. Good heart. Good tunes. Good duds. So fun and wacky. I just adore her.
5. I am a girl with brothers. One older, one younger. My brothers are the two best men I know. Being around them makes me feel really good. I feel so blessed, loved and protected in their company.
6. I speak Italian and Spanish.
7. When I was in high school and part of college, I struggled with acne. I was totally ashamed of my bad skin, but could never really talk to anyone about it. Even at home with my family, I would wake up and make a B-line to the bathroom to put on cover up before I’d face anybody. My junior year of college I went on Accutane and it got a lot better. Now, as an adult, I have good skin. I thank my lucky stars ever morning when I wash my face that it’s clear. It was painful to hide like that all those years.
8. I love children. I’ve always been a caretaker of kids. A babysitter as a girl and teenager. I coached a girl’s soccer team during grad school. Kids look at me and know we’re simpatico. I meet them in their world – I don’t make them come to our cruel one. I’ve missed kids the past few years. Living in the city, being of what’s typically considered to be child-bearing age … it can put you in a funk. You look around and you see your friends and all the people around you becoming mothers, parents and you worry that you might not ever get the chance. A dear friend once told me I’d be a really great Mom – that I’d dress my kids cool and teach them to skateboard and that I have a lot of patience, which is needed to be a good Mom. It was one of the most awesome things anyone’s said to me.


Leave a comment

Filed under love, music, zen shit

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s