So I totally stole this idea from another hockey wife but I just loved the idea. I think it's a fun way for any readers to learn more about me without me having to come up with a million different topics for different blog entries. I will be posting everyday for the next 10 days.....as long as I don't totally forget, which is completely possible.
The rules for this blog challenge for me (if you don't follow her and haven't already seen them) are as follows:
Day 1: 10 secrets
Day 2: 9 loves
Day 3: 8 fears
Day 4: 7 wants
Day 5: 6 places
Day 6: 5 foods
Day 7: 4 books
Day 8: 3 films
Day 9: 2 songs
Day 10: 1 picture
Without further ado, here we go!
I was a "unique" child growing up. At least that's what the shrink told my parents. I guess I've been a little "off" my whole life (which would explain how I can manage to date a goalie, haha). From before I was a year old until I reached double digits I would have night terrors almost every night. Apparently I screamed "don't touch me" and other similar things. My parents were worried someone was abusing me when babysitting me so they brought me to a child psychologist to try to figure it out. That's when she told them I was having night terrors, I wasn't being abused, and I was just a "very unique child". Haha, thanks Doc. I also used to sleepwalk on a fairly consistent basis, and somehow always ended up searching out our dog. One Christmas my parents and grandparents were setting up my Rainbow Brite kitchen set for the next morning and I walked right into the room. My grandparents freaked out and my parents just laughed. "She won't remember this in the morning." Then they sent me back to bed, and I freaked out when I saw the kitchen set for the first time the next morning.
You couldn't catch me when stealing bases if you wanted to. I played softball for a large portion of my life, only stopping at 16 to concentrate solely on volleyball. Coaches learned very quickly that I needed to be behind a fast runner in the lineup because I was going to steal a base. I wasn't the best hitter, and certainly not a power hitter, but I also almost never struck out. I walked a lot, and I was fast enough to reach first even on infield hits, so I was on base all the time. I loved base running. There was nothing like taking a big lead off first (or second) and staring down the pitcher or catcher as I slowly walked back to the base after a pitch, daring them to try to throw behind me to catch me off base and get me out. They did it more than they should, and I always took the next base. My dad was always an assistant coach for my teams, ask him, he'll tell you. I was hell for other teams, and I loved every second of it.
I have undiagnosed OCD. I know a lot of people say that they're OCD, but I have someone who was diagnosed with it tell me I was worse than her. I also took a test in college for a friend's psych project, and came up off the charts for OCD. I still know that doesn't always mean anything, but when I do explain to people things that I do, they all think I'm nuts, and they'll often try to secretly test me. I always catch them. I'm not of the things have to be clean OCD, but things better be in their place and organized the way I want them. My closet is a prime example. I will count how many of each color shirt I have and then figure out how they need to be organized. For example, black will be every 4th shirt, blue every 5th shirt, purple every 6th and so on. Unless it's a special occasion I wear whatever shirt comes up first in the closet and put it in the back when it's washed. That way I don't wear the same color too often. It takes me hours to figure this all out every time we move or I buy new clothes and have to rearrange, but I simply can't live with my closet not being like this. When I got a syllabus in college I divided up the work by how many days I had to do the assignment. 3 days to read 90 pages? I read exactly 30 each day. It kept me from doing no work one day and nothing but work the next. I never did work after 8pm, which was a rule I had for myself. I pulled one all-nighter in college and that was studying for two finals the next day. I'm very scheduled. And that's not even close to everything. Some things are worse.
I'm a TV-a-holic. I don't watch the crime shows, because honestly, how many can you put on that are all the same? Everything else though, I'm watching. I will give any show a chance, and the DVR is always filled with my stuff. I can't get enough. I'll even sit in front of the computer and watch stuff online that I couldn't DVR. It's bad.
I grew up in a haunted house. Well, I can't say for sure it was, but too many weird things happened for me to not believe that. And most of it centered around me. One time I was playing solitaire in my room and left mid game just to grab a glass of water. My mom and brother were in the living room watching TV and I had to walk past them to go to the kitchen. I filled the glass and went straight back to my room, and my mom and brother were exactly like they had been when I'd walked through the first time. When I got back, the cards were in four piles, by suit and in numerical order like I'd finished the game, but I hadn't and my mom and brother didn't have time to go in and do it and get back out to the living room in the 2 seconds it took me to fill a glass with water. Loud bangs that would shake the house came from the attic, but nothing had ever fallen over. I heard footsteps coming up the basement stairs when I was home alone one time and grabbed my brother's hockey stick and waited for someone to come out the door. No one came out, and there were no footsteps going back down. I was the last to leave the house every morning for school and always had to lock up. We didn't have automatic garage doors at the time, and I remember struggling to lock the garage door one morning because I couldn't line up the lock. It made me late for school. When I came home the garage door was wide open, but no one was home. Both of my parents worked half an hour away and didn't come home for lunch because of it, and my little brother didn't have a key and got out of school after I did anyway. Nothing was stolen or even moved, the door wasn't damaged so it had to have been unlocked to be opened, and that freaked me out. A shirt I knew was coming for Christmas wasn't under the tree, and my mom remembered wrapping it because my dad commented on how much he didn't like it while she was doing it. They searched the house and it was nowhere. The day we were going back to the mall to get a new one my mom woke up and found it, still wrapped, half sticking out from under a chair that had been looked under, and moved when the decorations came down, and it hadn't been under there before. No one in my family claims to have put it there. At least a dozen Christmas presents have gone missing and have never been found.
Secret # 6
I'm superstitious, but only when it comes to sports. I won't list everything, but when I played volleyball I had little things I had to do, and they differed depending on the situation. It had been 7 years since I've played a game and I realized halfway through the game I played in last night, I was doing them again. I also have certain things I have to do when Mike plays. It doesn't calm me down at all, and I don't even know how any of them started, but I have to do them. The other girls make fun of me all the time, but I can't help it.
I have panic attacks. Geez, all these weirdo things with me, I should probably be seeing a therapist. I don't always know what's going to cause them, and sometimes they just start for no reason. I'll start to see black spots, and it'll get difficult to breathe. Usually I can stop them because I've learned to realize what's going on almost immediately. That doesn't always happen though. If it goes full blown I'm in trouble. Next thing I know it feels like everything in the room is suddenly super close to me, but the second I try to touch something the entire room feels like it shoots away and I then can't reach anything. The best way to describe it is a scene from the movie Poltergeist. The kids are under attack and the mom is trying to reach them, and suddenly the hallway extends and it feels like she will never get there. That's what happens to me. Very few times has it gone further, but sometimes I'll throw up and I've even passed out once because I was hyperventilating. It's a horrible feeling.
I'd much rather eat ethnic food than American. People call me a picky eater all the time because I don't like to eat things that they eat regularly. I don't like Taco Bell, so I'm picky. I hate ham, so I'm picky. I don't put condiments on things most of the time, so I'm picky. I'm not a big fan of cheese, so I'm picky. Well, guess what? I'm so far from picky. I will literally try absolutely everything, except organs. That's where I draw the line. I don't like fish much, but I will try every variety of fish to see if I like one. Turns out I love Chilean Sea Bass. I never would have known if I was picky and refused to try fish. I also believe that if something is cooked right, it doesn't need condiments. If I have to put steak sauce on a steak, it's not done well, and not worth eating, at least to me. I eat every variety of meat, every vegetable there is (except eggplant), almost all fruit, etc. I'm way less picky than half the people calling me picky.
I am science oriented. There is not a creative bone in my body. I am a very logic driven person. I used to get horrible grades on papers in grade school because there wasn't much flow. I simply spewed out the facts. I spent my whole life being told that college professors wouldn't be impressed with any papers I wrote. When I got to college I was repeatedly told how well I wrote. They didn't want all the superfluous crap, they wanted the facts and to see that you understood what you were writing about, and not just bullshitting your way through hoping they wouldn't notice you didn't quite grasp the concept. I love numbers which is why I majored in math (and also, no papers!) and I wish I could have taken chemistry all four years of high school. Don't ask me to draw anything. You'll get a stick figure, and still won't be able to tell what it is.
I'm a klutz. I run into everything. I fall. I hit my head off of things that haven't moved from their position in years. I can't count the number of stairs I've slid down, things I've kicked, or tables I've run into. At work yesterday I wasn't looking as I walked and ran straight into a display in the walkway that has been there the whole time I've worked there. I managed to catch it before it fell and broke, but a couple of guys commented on how I'd be a hell of a football player. I get bruises that I can't explain, because running into things is so common that it doesn't even really register when I do. At least I can laugh at myself when I do it.
So that's my 10 secrets. Tune in tomorrow for my 9 loves!