1. I hate phones. Hate 'em. I avoid returning calls, making appointments or ordering pizza until the last possible moment. Every time the phone rings, my stomach flips. I don't recall a single telephone trauma to cause this reaction, but there it is.
2. I was on the very first high school cheerleader squad in Spain, back in 1975. We were even in the newspaper (according to Coach Pharms) but like an idiot I didn't bother to save a clipping.
3. I snore like a freakin' freight train. It started nineteen years ago after I had my first child. Maybe I grew an extra tonsil or something. Speaking of tonsils, I had a tonsillectomy when I was six, but the doctor claims they grew back.
4. I am a chronic interrupter. I tend to jump into conversations, trying to finish other people's sentences. Maybe it's a result of being a middle child.
5. I'm told I'm a pretty good cook. I love to craft meals on the fly, using a snippet of this and a dash of that. No two pots of chili are the same. I think my friend Mary Anne knows my obsession because she feeds it with gifts of exotic spices and weird cooking utensils. However, I can't bake to save my life. I burn everything. It's the oven's fault, not mine.
6. I'm on a perpetual quest for the perfect purse. For some people it's watches, for others it's flashlights or shoes. If I have a purse of every size and colour, I'm in Heaven. Call it a fetish.
I'm supposed to tag six more blogging pals, but I'm sure they've already done this meme. If I start tagging strangers, they'll wonder who the hell this Chumplet stalker is. So feel free to yap about yourself in the comments.
Painting - Dick Tracy Phone by my kid, Beth Turnsek
11 comments:
Right on! Phone haters unite! Let's have a conference call to schedule our first meeting.
Though it seems to me that if you didn't hate phones, you could really be good at #4 on your list. There is no worse productivity killer than the telephone.
Count me in among the phone haters! I much rather see you in person. Than I can spend hours listening and chatting. I love conversation that's in person.
:-)
I'm with you and the others. I hate phones. The people wondering around with one of those gizmos in their ears, yapping at invisible people, drive me nuts. :)
I am not fond of phones either.
So I think we have a trend here. Writers hate phones. Those nasty things.
We're definitely on to something here. Whenever the phone issue pops up on writers' blogs I visit, they all say the same thing. To me the phone is an unspeakable intrusion.
And you cook like my mom. She swirls around the kitchen throwing weird stuff together and at the end - art! Me, I look for the easiest and fastest way out.
I hate me the phone something fierce. And I snore too. Sometimes, worse than my husband, which is saying alot.
Another phone hater here. Shudder! The only reason I have a cell phone is to check my e-mail and calendar. Only a handful of people even know the number and thank heavens they know never to call unless it's REALLY important.
Also, we share #5. Nothing I cook ever tastes the same. I use recipes as an outline and never do them as written. And baking - that's what bakeries are for.
I hate phones too. In fact, it's not unusual for me to leave mine at home when I go out!
Count me among the phone haters, but I'll bet I'm the only one here who keeps the ringer turned off 24/7... voice mail is my best friend.
And I know Bernita is the only one besides myself who does not have a cell phone.
Chumplet, I'm also with you on #4.
#5? I'm a gourmet cook... but prefer my meals planned with military precision and every needed ingredient present - no cooking on the fly for me.
Just saw you'd entered the BookEnds contest! Good luck! That's a lot of entries to sort through this week. I wonder if they'll have the thriller contest any time soon?
I had a cell phone but only gave the number to my family. Man, they harassed me every second! "Where are you, Mom? Can you pick up some pop, Mom?"
Josie, I'm a sucker for punishment, entering all those agent contests. But I like the feedback.
I really had to cut my opening at the knees to fit anything in that made any sense.
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