Rotten Humor
10 Things You’ll Hate About Me
Hitting every pet peeve with 7.9623000 lightyears of sugar
You’ve been hacked. I’m not as delightful as I seem! In fact, I’m pretty terrible. I’m about to tell you why. If this goes well and you need someone’s face to tear off about it, just talk to Rusty Shackleford (aka Randy ;). It’s all his fault. He made me do it.
So with further ado, here is a list of ten things that might make you mad, or sad, or downright disgusted. I’m hoping for at least one, but all three would be mighty fine.
You see, it matters to me that you use that little twitch. You know the one, that tiny face muscle that upturns and vibrates slightly while your brain registers, “Ugh. She’s the worst.”
It also matters to me that I can’t see it. I’m just saying that people hate all the time, for no reason. Here’s the reason. Use that twitch for something real. I give you permission to hate this article.
What is your favorite drink?
If I were to wake up one morning and coffee was dead, I would hate my life. If I were to wake up one morning and all of the red wine in the world had been dumped into the sea, I might travel to that sea and drown myself in it.
But if I were to wake up one morning and all of the water in the world was gone or not potable, my mornings would be literally numbered. I wouldn’t be so dramatic as to kill myself, so I would die a horrible body-shutting-down-with-dehydration kind of death.
I drink water constantly. I carry it with me wherever I go. If I forget my water, the first thing I do when I get somewhere is buy water. It’s just math. It must be my favorite. *raises a glass of water* Cheers!
What is your favorite color?
I’m a very moody color-lover. For example, tans make me feel natural, earthy, and connected, whereas blues make me feel intentional, capable, and intelligent. But my power color is always in the spectrum of red.
I love deep maroons best. For all you nail polish knowers out there, I’m going to answer this question a la OPI.
My favorite color is one of these (they are different, but just): Malaga Wine or I’ve Got the Blues for Red.
If you were to win the lotto, name the first three things you would do with your money.
- I would buy myself the new Lenovo laptop I saw in the store yesterday.
- I would search for and buy a summer home. Something a bit more removed from city life and more Northern. The house would be cozy and semi-cabin-chic, with practical and decadent views and stylings. It would have a fabulous wine cellar in the basement and preferably be lake- or ocean-front.
- I would fill the wine cellar.
What is your favorite cuisine?
I thought to answer this question by middle-of-the-roading all food. Like a subpar server who says when you ask them what they think is the best thing on the menu and they say, “Everything is good.” I hate those people. But not everyone hates those people.
I want you to hate this so I’m going to answer this one.
I love American-style Italian food. Give me the rich tomatoey sauces and a hunk of lasagna the size of my face. I would love it if it was from a box. The garlic bread can be, too. Frozen garlic bread from a box is damn delicious.
I also love the ambiance of Italian restaurants. I love the cozy, red-checkered table clothes and homestyle trimmings all the way to the expansive verandas filled with plated carbs overlooking ocean or river views. Give me all of it, with a glass of wine (or four).
One of my second favorite beverages (that’s right, I have two second favorites) is red wine and Italian food LOVES red wine.
Also, sometimes I pee in the shower.
Would you give up your phone or social media forever?
Yes, but you have to, too.
What is one thing you’re really good at?
Being likeable. I’m too fabulous. People love to love me. That’s why I’m writing this refreshing piece in hopes of achieving some balance.
It’s getting a bit too chummy around Medium. It’s time someone stirred things up.
Besides, it’s good preparation for our future together. Let’s get all of this hate nonsense out of the way early, shall we?
That way you don’t look at me 7 months down the road with your bleary reader eyes and get all disappointed that I’m not the perfect masterpiece of a woman that you thought I was. I hope I’m being clear.
Wait, you still love me? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Do you like dogs or cats more?
I grew up on a farm. I’ve seen the remains of a cat that had sliced itself open with its own claws trying to get out of a water trough. I’ve seen lambs freeze to death and stick to the ground in a sheet of ice so that we had to wait for a thaw to move them away from their mothers.
My dad used to take our dogs for “walks” in the back of our property to shoot them for chasing sheep. He’d return and we wouldn’t have a dog anymore. He’d just say they ran away.
We got rabbits once. My sister and I went out into the barn to feed them one night and all that was left of them were their heads.
We had a lot of cats. A lot of cats. Too many with too much turnover.
There’s more. So much more. So many animals were hurt or died on our farm. Some would call it “the circle of life.” I came to hate that circle.
Today, I remember my young love for all animals in color and grieve those early losses as I feel safe to do so.
I love dogs and I love cats. My current babies are dogs.
Bella Jo was my first real pet. When I got her, I fell in love as if it were the first time I had ever had a dog. I vowed to treat her a million times better than what I grew up seeing.
I have kept my promise to her and all of my pets since.
Are you a coffee drinker?
YES. It’s my second second favorite beverage.
What languages can you speak?
I speak English.
I am also fluent in refrigerator box.
Growing up, my family didn’t believe in any country outside of middle Michigan. We weren’t supposed to leave ever. We didn’t go as far as to say the world was flat, but as far as my family was concerned the rest of the world ended at the perimeter of Gratiot County.
As a kid, I just wanted to believe in something. I was highly creative and imaginative, but I lived in a home that was chaotic, abusive, and unsafe.
One day, I decided to leave. Somewhere between the ages of 5 and 9, we got a new refrigerator. I moved into the box and lived in it on the dining room floor for months.
It was fabulous. I put twinkling lights inside and taped magazine pictures to all of the walls. My box travels took me away to a place where I felt safe.
I slept in a sleeping bag and only came out for meals. No one in my family understood, but that was okay. They didn’t speak the language there.
The naturalist in me is chiming in. Before I leave this question, I have to admit that I am also fluent in wind, earth, fire, water, wood, and stone. I feel these things. They speak to me and I respond. My pockets might be full of pebbles right now.
Can you use chopsticks?
I’m an American. I can absolutely use chopsticks. I learned as a child in the Chinese restaurant that my family rented for our family Christmas party.
You read that right. We celebrated Jesus’ birth in the same room as a golden statue of a jolly fat buddha that all of the cousins kissed for luck.
We ate rice by the bowlful with our bare hands. We stuffed ourselves to the gills with egg rolls. I drank sweet and sour sauce out of our table’s squeezy bottle. We pocketed the extra fortune cookies and used them for communion wafers.
And yeah, I learned how to use chopsticks. When I first learned how I thought I was the coolest. I felt accomplished. I ate everything I ate with them for a whole month, even ice cream.
*author chopstickses a cold scrape-blob of frozen cream*
How you doin?
I’m Brett Jenae Tomlin, The Anxious Enthusiast.
If you love, love, love my writing and want to shout out, “You get it, anxious girl!” You can contribute to my cookbook collection here or join Medium to put your own stamp on the web and the world. I get a little love if you use my link ^^
Don’t call him Randy, but you’ll love Rusty Shackleford’s original challenge article here: