Less of a meme and more of a youyou

[hackthis_archive]

(gacked from obsessedmuch)

I know very little about some of the people on my friends' list. Some people I know relatively well. I read your fic, or we have something else in common and we chat occasionally. Some of you I hardly know at all. Perhaps you lurk, for whatever reason. But you friended me and I thank you.

But here's a thought: why not take this opportunity to tell me a little something about yourself. Any old thing at all. Just so the next time I see your name I can say: "Ah, there's so and so...she likes spinach."

I'd love it if every single person who friended me would do this. Yes, even you people who I know really well. Then post this in your own journal.

My personal goal is: to get over my writer's block, write my Obscure Santa thingy, and perhaps do something illegal this weekend.

I aim high.

Comments

[serialkarma.livejournal.com]

Up until a couple of years ago, I had a reputation amongst my friends for leaving my bras in inappropriate places.

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Tell me more.

[serialkarma.livejournal.com]

I just read your *six fucking pages* of comments. Good god. Buy a wrist brace.

Okay, the bra thing:

It started because I hate wearing bras. Hate them hate them hate them. And I don't technically need to wear one, I'm that flat. Seriously, there are men with bigger boobs than me. So when they start to bother me, I take them off.

Anyway, it all started in high school, summer before my senior year, when my three best friends and this guy who was kinda-sorta dating one of them, stayed over at my house and we drank all the liquor (we always had a fully stocked bar). Lots of stupid stuff happened (which is another story), because we were 16 and drunk, and the next morning we're all sitting around hungover in the living room and Squeak, the guy (yes, that's what we called him), saw something sticking out between the sofa cushions, reached down and pulled out my bra, much to my mortification and everybody else's extreme amusement. My father was also there, by the way.

You'd think I'd have learned, but no. I didn't learn until a few years later, in college, over the Fourth of July. My friends and I all crashed at my friend N.'s boyfriend's place the night of the fourth. A couple days later N. calls me up and asks if I might have left a bra at her boyfriend's on the Fourth. I said no. She asked if I was sure. I said I thought so. It turns out that her boyfriend had called her up that day to tell her she'd left a bra at his place. She said no. He asked if he was sure. She said definitely not. Then she wanted to know who's bra he had and why. His MOM had apparently found a bra while picking up his dirty laundry, washed it, and put it on the bed with the rest of his laundry, assuming it was N's. Luckily at this point I already had a reputation, so it didn't take much to figure out that it was probably mine, or there could have been a few more tense moments. After that, any time I left a house or a room or anything, all my friends would inspect the entire room to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. They still do this when I go visit them.

Um. Yeah. And people wonder why I think I'm ADD.