There’s this thing called a meme (pronounced \’mēm\), the bloggy equivalent of chain email, which was the emaily equivalent of a chain letter.
Chain letters. Remember those?
I hated the “chain” concept in all its evolved formats and yet was 1) curiously fascinated by the individual psychology and sociology of them and 2) terrified by what could potentially happen to me if I chose to ignore the instructions to fold a $1 bill into an origami crane, tape it to a recipe card with my name appended to the bottom of the list of names and email it to the first 41 names on the list.
I know what I just wrote doesn’t make sense. It never made sense to me either.
How do you email origami?!?!
Blog Meme Has Become Facebook Me! Me!
I bring up memes because #000000 is the new black, Facebook is the new blog, and the Facebook 25 Things About Me Note is the most recently evolved format of the meme.
You’re rolling your eyes. You’re saying, “Sarah? That 25 Things thing is not the ‘new’ anything. Um, sooo January 2009 and since this is teh Internets, that’s the equivalent in human years of, oh, I don’t know, netscape? Over it.”
Yes, I know. I know. But hey, you’re the psycho talking to me in your head, and I’ve never been one to deny that I operate on a time continuum that parallels the 405 freeway at rush hour(s).
(By the way, I was thinking more along the lines of icq.)
The reality is, I’ve been a little more than absent from my own Delicious Life and needed a sexy “remember me?” way to burn a hole in the blogosphere upon re-entry. For some reason, a long list of things about me, myself and I posted on my blog would be considered navel-gazing, but in a sadly pseudo-social setting like Facebook, listing not ten, not 20, but 25 Things About Me is totally a kosher way to “get to know one another.” Basically, I’m just using Facebook here to take some of the self-indulgent sting off.
And maybe I am still terrified of chain letters, and because I was tagged at least 5 times with Note, I am freaked out enough to post this as my last ditch effort to reverse the curse of never getting married that I brought upon myself when I stubbornly refused to send those 18 postcards with $1 attached to them when I was eight years old.
The words? They come slowly, awkwardly. It’s been a while, so please lube up to your elbows and be gentle.
25 Random Things About Sarah
- Big, Fat Liar. I lied about my weight on my driver’s license. It says 105. I am not telling you which way I lied.
- Hite. I am almost always wearing 5″ heels, which means I almost always stand at a towering 5’7″. However, 85% of that is torso and 25% is my unusually large head, specifically my fivehead. This means I am: 1) afflicted with the classic Asian long-waisted Blowpop-head physique that also strangely cross-ethnically-pollinated only Giada de Laurentiis, but b) clearly not blessed with the stereotypical Asian quantitative intelligence, and lastly) seem to also suck at engrish because I can’t get parallel structures and run-in lists write. (** as a side note, I have been using the term “fivehead” for I-don’t-know-how-long, but definitely long before Vince Vaughn (hot!) called himself a fivehead in this interview with Esquire.)
- Let Your Seoul Glow: The home perms that rendered my baby fine, baby thin hair into an unexpected combination of Asian afro and gheri curl (wait! how can afro and gheri curl happen at the same time? I don’t know! But it can!) that I had for most of my elementary and middle school life is probably one of the top 5 contributing factors to my image issues (as implied above) and probably the top contributing factor to my fear of any further chemical treatments to my hair except Rogaine.
- Illegally Blind: At -10.00 in both eyes, I have the worst vision of everyone I know, possibly attributable to genetics, but more than likely the result of an entire childhood of nights disobediently reading Choose Your Own Adventure and Nancy Drew books under the covers with a tiny flashlight. I am not a viable candidate for lasik.
- In N Out. I fall in love very easily. I fall out of love very easily. I almost never say, “I love you” in either or any situation except ones that involve football players who went to Tennessee and now play professionally for the Colts.
- Motown Cowgirl. I tell people I was born in Detroit because association with: Eminem, a certain brand of techno, and the source of this country’s industrial tragedy – and did I mention Eminem? we lived seven miles from Eight Mile Road! – is far more interesting than the regular reality of being born in Grosse Pointe, even though that’s a movie that stars John “Sarah J Gim Stalks Me” Cusack (haven’t seen that movie though – see below). I have also lived in multiple suburbs, school districts, neighborhoods and subdivisions of each of Buffalo NY, San Antonio TX, Cincinnati OH, Apple Valley and Berkeley.
- Wesssiiide for Liiife. My entire family now lives in southern California, which means I will never move away from here. Unless someone pays me 700 baillion dollars. Per day. For a job doing nothing. In Chicago or San Francisco. The reality is, I will likely never move away from the Westside of LA, and if we’re getting technical, I will probably never move out of this building because the rent is illegally low, and let me confess to you that I have not physically left my apartment in 4 days.
- Oranges. The fragrance in the air when someone peels a ripe, room temperature orange is one of the greatest things to happen to olfaction since Acqua di Gio. I am fond of, in fact, almost all fresh citrus fruit, particularly pink and Oro Blanco grapefruits that have been peeled, segmented, and skinned of their thin, segmentatory membrane (I believe the foodie term for this is “mutha effin’ peeled to the good sh*t.” Or maybe “supreme.”). However, other than actual fruit, I do not like citrus-, particularly orange-, scented or flavored foods. I will order a mimosa and ask them to “hold the orange juice,” pluck out the orange and yellow skittles, starburst or other rainbowed candy, and gag at the thought of cranberry-orange baked goods that seem to always pop up around the Holidays. Given all of this, my undying affection for Orange Tic Tacs remains a mystery.
- Ugly Betty. Though there is a bullet point on my resume that says “Managing Editor of a Fashion and Style blog,” I have zero sense of style, which is the exact opposite of my younger sisters who are twin fashion plates. The entirety of my wardrobe is varying shades of black, white and brown because I was told all earth tones match one another. The only place I have any variation is in my underwear drawer. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
- With the Lights ON. I am not afraid of the dark, and yet I sleep with the lights on, which makes absolutely no sense because I wear a sleep mask. I suppose I like the idea of knowing that I could see everything if I were to be awoken suddenly from slumber in the dead dark of night. But since I am basically blind without corrective lenswear, I can’t see a thing with or without the lights on, so in essence I am a fool.
- Beauty and the Breast. I spend more money on acrylic nails than any other beauty maintenance because I bite my fingernails down to the lunulas. This may change if I follow through on threats of getting a boob job. I doubt I will because I’d rather spend thrice the money on a set of veneers.
- (Diet) Coke Addict. I have an addictive personality — not addictive like “Sarah, you have such a great personality, I’m addicted to it!” but addictive like I am prone to addiction (is there a different word for this? oh yeah, “psycho dependent”). I used to chain smoke. I once-and-for-all quit that habit using Nicorette, but then I chain chewed Nicorette. I broke the chemical addiction by switching to Dentyne Ice, but then I chain chewed Dentyne Ice to the point where the strongest, sinus-clearing flavor, Arctic Chill, had the same effect on my sinuses as… nothing. I still have the Dentyne Ice problem. Sometimes it’s Trident White, and other times it might be Eclipse. That makes it sound like I make an active, conscious decision to spice up my addiction with different brands, but I just buy whatever is on sale, as long as it’s chiclet style gum in blister packs. I am shocked that gum companies still make gum in the stick format. I am also a recovering Diet Coke addict.
- Hire Education. I have an MBA. I have mixed feelings about that particular degree because education is one of the most and least important things about a person. When it’s important, I have a graduate degree. When it’s not important, it’s an MBA. I have never gotten a job because I have an MBA.
- OMdoG. Though I have always wanted an English Bulldog that I could name Queen Elizabeth, I never considered myself a “dog person” because what the hell is a “dog person?” I just wanted a dog. Then I got a dog that is the exact opposite of a bulldog. Daisy is a four pound beast who is the boss of me. I’m still not a dog person because again, what the hell is a dog person?
- Mindcircus. My memories from early childhood are few and far between, but I do have one very clear memory of my kindergarten Circus. I wanted, with all my heart and soul to be the tightwalker who got to wear a bright blue ballerina-like outfit and carry a tiny frilly parasol. Cute-as-an-alliterative-little-button Becky Bailey got the part. I was the elephant. The f**king elephant in my kindergarten circus. My image issues and I will never forgive you, Becky Bailey.
- Puck You. Perhaps it was to make up for that whole elephant thing that destroyed my kindergarten ego, or perhaps I was just too weird and nerdy to play sports, but I was in every dramatic production put on by my high school. My moment of glory was playing Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream my senior year. I thought I was living the movie Dead Poet’s Society.
- Oughtta Be in Pictures. I had headshots done some time around the 2nd or 3rd full year I was in LA because I honest-to-God thought that was normal for people who live here. I still have the pictures locked in my super safe secret place that I’m not telling you, but just don’t look in the putty-colored Hon file cabinet in my closet because it’s locked.
- Book Worm. When I was probably too young to be left alone without Child Services arresting my parents, my Mom would drop me off at the Public Library and leave me there all day, unsupervised. I read through entire book series, wrote book reports for myself, and kept track of every single book I read on 3×5 index cards. I can’t remember where my Mom was going (to play tennis with her friends?) and I certainly don’t recall my little sisters being at the library with me. She probably took them with her because they were cute enough to show off. Just like Becky Bailey.
- Staycation. My ideal vacation is going to a big city, staying in a luxury hotel, sleeping in, shopping, eating well, and going out every night. I don’t consider a remote tropical island getaway a vacation unless I’m there for only a half-day as part of the overall vacation as described above. And there is no sand on the beach. Because really, I don’t mind the beach. I just hate sand. Of course, all of this “travel” has to be done on land because I don’t fly on airplanes, and when it comes down to it, my real ideal vacation is just staying at home and reading about travel via the internet.
- Obsessive Compulsive. I have an unhealthy obsession with: making lists (if I could, I would write every blog post on The Delicious Life in outline-numbered list format and I can’t tell you how much I secretly love doing this post), mangoes in any format, nachos, flamin’ hot anything, chewing gum (did you read #12?), nachos, sashimi, hot cock, potato chips, quarterbacks, coffee, excel spreadsheets, Clorox disinfecting wipes.
- Jock Jams. I am carrying Peyton Manning’s love child. Obviously, he will deny it when you ask him about it because he’s technically married to his high school sweetheart. I am also carrying Andy Roddick’s love child. The combination most certainly makes me a wonder of reproductive science. And of espn.
- White on Rice. White baseball hats, bright white Colgate smiles, and the faint smell of fresh laundry on guys do things to my insides that I can’t explain. Well, I could, but then this blog would lose its PG rating. I also crush hard for glasses and southern accents.
- Film No. I used to think I hated movies until I had to defend my hate. Then I realized that I didn’t hate movies; I hate going to movie theaters. It’s expensive, loud, dark, dirty, distracting and worst of all, maneuvering for seats gives me unnecessary stress. I like watching movies at home, but DVDs are expensive, too. So basically, I don’t hate movies. I just hate spending money. I’d rather read a book. From the library. My current favorite movie is Little Miss Sunshine.
- At the Speed of Late. I am always running at least 15-20 minutes behind. I would have said “almost always” with the argument that 90% of the (not on) time I am late, but 10% of the time, I am actually early. However, blessed with impatience and easilyboredness, if I’m early, I will kill time in a neighboring bakery and by the time I realize I’m lost in a bin of glitter, it’s 15-20 minutes late. So, no matter what I do, how far in advance I plan, how much I overestimate packing, gas, traffic, and parking, I will always be late.
- Will Work for Food. I consider myself a professional food blogger even though I don’t get paid, my blog is only marginally about food, and this is the first original (non-recycled) post I’ve written on my blog since September 2008. I also very rarely cook and can’t bake to save my loaf.
So there you go. I should be getting $2,000 in one dollar bills in the mail now and will be married by next Tuesday.
(By the way, I’m not going to tag anyone by name because I wouldn’t dream of putting that kind of pressure on anyone, but if you’re so inclined, I’d love to hear at least one or two, maybe even five random things about you. Throw then into the comments.)