I’m not a saint, and I’m not a sinner. I would consider myself to be a normal person, perhaps airing on the side of kooky. But, for some reason unknown to me, like most normal people there are things that I find myself routinely lying about. But we all do it… right?
Five big untruths about @mediocreMayme:
I’m not 5″8. I think once upon a time, briefly, I was 5″8. But, my posture isn’t the best and last when I checked I was closer to 5″6.5-7 than I was to 5″8. Now, after spending most of my adult life going around telling people (when it very occasionally pops into conversation) that I’m all five-feet-and-eight-inches tall I can’t bloody well shrink again. what would people think? Fair enough, right? However, I can’t for the life of me begin to justify why I then go on to sometimes pretend I’m 5″9. Perhaps just to see if anyone will actually believe me (they don’t).
I didn’t listen to cool bands when I was young. I know I was a kid in the 90s and I love to pretend that I capitalised on that, but I don’t really think I had any scope of who Nirvana or Oasis were until like 2000. And, I definitely didn’t fully appreciate them for a good 2-3 years after that. And, even though my Pa has a kick arse taste in music that I’ve been subjected to in every school run since I was 4, if I’m honest until I was 15 it was nothing more than background noise to me. I was way too busy vomming everywhere due to having such severe motion sickness, or being the little shit who was downing Calpol straight from the bottle whilst Ma’s back was turned.
It does not take me fifteen minutes to get ready in the morning. I don’t think I’m a particularly high maintenance person. (I say that, and even as I type it, I think I’m probably that HORRIBLE type of human who is incredibly high maintenance but doesn’t actually realise it… let’s not dwell) It’s just, I’m not a morning person. It takes me a long time to do anything in the morning. I hit snooze a minimum of three times. It then takes me fifteen minutes to actually peel myself out of bed. Twenty minutes to get my coffee and brush my teeth. I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am about the fact that it most definitely does not take me fifteen minutes to get ready in the morning.
I’ve never knowingly watched a horror movie. But, like I don’t wanna seem like a sissy, so I pretend that I’ve seen the big ones, you know, with the well known plots. The Shining, Carrie, The Blair Witch Project, etc. It’s all faux. I’ve never seen any of them, and I very much hope to never see them. (I have, however, been duped into watching horror films that I didn’t know were horror films… Most notably when my Ma tricked me into watching the Birds. Scarred for life, Ma).
And, finally… Every cultural reference you think makes me cool I probably learnt off the Gilmore Girls. (some spoilers) Anyone who knows me well, knows that I adore the Gilmore Girls. And, I watched it through my formative teenage years, right? So, what do teenagers do best? Oh yeah, get weirdly obsessive about things. Not only did I watch every episode, every re-run, and cry when Jess and Rory didn’t actually end up together, but I also googled the shit out of anything I didn’t immediately recognise. This taught me a whole lot about some really bloody brilliant books, and whole bunch of cool music (from the Dead Kennedys to Sam Phillips) courtesy of Hep Alien (aka Lane’s band) and the generally awesome soundtrack. As well as introducing me to a pop culture smorgasbord from which I’ve built up my own personal tastes and style. I also think it might be the reason why I talk so fast and so loud. And, it’s definitely the way I found out how Sylvia Plath killed herself.
Now, the big question is… can we still be friends?