Rules of the game:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules.
3. Share 6 non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4. Tag at least 3 people.
5. Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting on what you did.
(2) I like to move. As in, change domiciles. The project-organization, new-digs, and fresh-start aspects appeal to me. Discounting a few too-brief-to-really-count stopovers and 3 summers in 3 different towns with my parents, I tally 19 lifetime moves within 9 cities. DH and I aren't planning to pull up stakes, or hoping to. But if the need arose, I'd have little trouble embracing it.
(3) I was a Secret Shopper for 3 years in the early 1990s. My beat was the local Jiffy Lube circuit, and I got reimbursed for mileage, oil changes, and any car maintenance the JL folks hawked. The reimbursement made the gig worth it, but the scripted dialogue I had to throw in and ultra-long evaluation forms were annoying.
(4) I doused my junior high basketball coach's clothes with perfume. He wasn't in them at the time. But perhaps I should back up a bit. I had a mad crush on Mr. M (not his real initial; let's pretend it stands for "Mine"). And no other earthly reason to be involved with the team. One afternoon I overheard Mr. M arranging to meet a date after practice. Panic! No way did I want him seeing other people. Soon, a friend played lookout as I stole into Mr. M's dark office. I spritzed his date-night street clothes with Jontue borrowed from another girl's gym bag. Got his crisp yellow oxford and brown leather jacket but good.
This was so out of character that nobody even suspected me. I totally got away with it. I did feel guilty, though. Quite! But that was tempered by knowing that I'd helped Mr. M see that his date was all wrong for him. Turns out that she'd had not one flicker of a sense of humor about the situation. So, although Mr. M stressed to the team that he was NOT happy about the stink or invasion of his space, he chuckled about things working out for the best. Teenage heart crimes pay!
(5) Sometimes I have a teeny-tiny touch of that phobic urge to hurl myself down a long flight of stairs or, say, off a cliff. The feeling isn't so much "I want to jump" as "Gee, I hope I don't jump." It's very fleeting but there.
(6) Junior year of college, a good friend and I went clubbing every night for a month. We thought of it as a sociological experiment. We'd noticed during normal social habits (weekends & occasional random weeknights out; pretty typical) that certain people were out — and seemingly everywhere — every single night of the year. We wondered, "How do they manage it? How do they go to school/work/come up with the cash?" The only way to truly study it, was to try it. We set ground rules: Keep up with homework, stick together, drink very little, and spend as little as possible. We didn't start with a 30-night run in mind, but along the way we just kept going 'cause we needed more "data" . . . and it was a blast. We got in good with all the local bouncers/bartenders and learned a heap about the "regulars" we tracked. It was a pretty good lesson in not judging books by their covers — and in the clear benefits of balancing work and fun. My grades actually got a boost that semester. But, oh, the relief when we stopped the madness.
That made 6. The meme rules require me to tag other bloggers, so I say "You're it!" to Opus #6, Sarah at SarahMania, and my parallel-universe buddy Lisa. No pressure whatsoever, though. Do it if you want, please don't if you don't!
Back tomorrow or the next day with a topical post.