Friday, March 7, 2008

And the tagging continues?

Okay so I'm a bit slow to get to all my homework (yeah thanks for that, Danni!), but here goes.

Here are the rules:
1. Link back to the person who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. Share six unimportant things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your blog entry.
5. Let the tagged people know by leaving a comment on their blogs.

Six Unimportant things about me. Hmmmm. Only six? This might hard....

1. When I was little, I lurrrrrved my sister's Fashion Plates. You remember the little plates with the embossed outfits on them? You chose a head plate, then a torso plate and a bottom plate and then you put them all in this little plastic box contraption, arranged a sheet of paper over the top, closed the lid and then used this special black crayon to rub over the paper, revealing your model and her outfit on the paper. Then you coloured it all in. Voilé! Fashionistas beware! I was set to take over the world with my dazzling array of combination outfits. The flariest tweed fabric flares. The flickest Farrah-flicked hairstyles. The most pigeon-toed (must have been fashionable in the day) legs. SO cool.

2. My little toes are puffy. They are like two bits of puffed rice. And the toe nails? Well... they are just demented.

3. I can't stand holding a bag of cornflour. URRRRRGHHHHH *shudders like Sideshow Bob stepping on a rake* It's almost worse than nails down a blackboard to me.

4. I can play the recorder. No, like, seriously super-well. Yuh-huh. I started out with all the other seven year-olds in grade 2, on their plastic recorders, and then all of a sudden - without asking me - I began going to the music teacher's home for proper private lessons. I upgraded to a *woooooh* wooden descant recorder. And then, before I knew it, I was aged eleven, still going to weekly recorder lessons, promoted to the treble recorder (by now I was in love with my two recorders and the richness I could put into the music in front of me), doing extra-curricular recorder duelling with my music teacher's extended group of students (children and adults) and uh, generally getting jiggy wi' it. On the recorder. I even got to play the bigger recorder again, the Bass, although me little fingers hardly reached. I would try and practice stretching them on my desk at home, so that the following week if she let me play the bass again, I might this time reach all the holes to actually play the damn thing. But oh, the sound it made *swoons* It was truly beautiful. My teacher taught me (heh! fancy that) what it is to love the recorder. Stop laughing!
Did music exams each year (total of four, I got A's and a B - the most nerve wracking things, I'd have to study music with my teacher beforehand, then go the piano accompanyist's house and do a couple of practices - all the while kinda not really aware of what I was doing and why I had to go into the scary big music room at some academy-type place, unsure even of which suburb I was in ... hey I was only 8, 9, 10, 11... you get the picture).
And then just as I was really getting into it and was aware that I was doing these exams each year and mini concerts n' stuff, my music teacher said she could no longer teach me any further. She had taught me all she knew. I was twelve. She strongly recommended my parents send me to the Victorian Conservatory of Music in the city. But seeing as the thought of me having to possibly get myself in there on my own scared the pants off of me, and more pressing the fact that it was probably really expensive, I never went further. Which kind of sucks because I wonder sometimes now just how far I could have gone.

5. I had a dog named Sheba when I grew up. Doesn't everybody have at least one dog called Sheba in their lifetime?

6. I got sick once (it only takes once) on mixed nuts at Christmas time and it took me years - if ever - to work myself up to eating peanut/mixed nuts again. And scorched almonds. Mum used to put out bowls of nuts and chocolate coated sultanas... and white Christmas *blegh* I gorged myself on them, at age about 6 or 7, because I was a little piggy and boy oh boy, was I siiiiiick.
And I also did the same thing in later years with cream, ice cream and, most strangely, battered sausage on a stick.
Always happened when I had eaten my fill, then pushed the limits by just eating more - as little kids do if you let them - and urgh.... well, suffice to say, I have several permanent psychosomatic food aversions now, whereby if I eat them I am instantly, vomitously ill.

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