Sarah Taylor-Spangenberg
“Please allow myself to introduce, um… Ah… Myself.”
Trivia question, right off the bat: What movie starring Mike Myers is that line from? Please and thank you.
I like trivia and I’m full of useless information. My husband tells me I’m “over-emotional”. I will then cry, shake my fist, pull a bunch of odd faces, tell him that I’m a woman, and then I tell him to piss off. It’s always better to be pissed off than to be pissed on, at any rate.
I have a very odd sense of humor. I used to perform in a cover band, what feels like a lifetime ago and I’m still a total rock star in the car. I haven’t sold my expensive microphone. It’s still wrapped up in its pretty leather case, buried in the bowels of my closet. American Idol, here I come. Before I get too old, anyway. I promise I’ll make the cheesiest faces and flash my fingers when they “announce my number” to vote. On that note, vote for me.
I’d love to have a friend with Tourette’s Syndrome. I could then be myself out in public and no one would bat an eye. They’d say, “Hey, there’s that guy/girl with Tourette’s and their psycho sidekick, Sarah.” If any of you have Tourette’s; or know someone with Tourette’s, please email me. I promise fun times and companionship.
Random noises at the most inappropriate times are the greatest.
I smoke cigarettes and don’t want to quit because I will gain weight. How’s that for self-esteem, fellow feminists? I’m a word-nerd that lacks a necessary amount of math skills. I still count on my fingers.
To sum myself up in a few randomly-chosen interests:
Weekends. Red nail polish. Red wine. Cooking. Event planning. Music that takes me places. Good friends. Long rides in the country. Giving compliments. Receiving compliments. A lot of them. Holidays. Old books. Architecture. Rain, grass, leaves and rocks. Playing guitar very, very poorly. Reminiscing about when I was a young lass. Diamonds. Comfy beds and cozy pillows. Record players. Antique shops. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Secret smiles. Doing laundry. Candles. Log cabins. Corduroy jackets and patterned scarves. Undergarments that make me feel like a lady, even if I’m in sweats. The night before a big vacation. Hollywood gossip. “Old” Hollywood. Unpaved roads. Hot fudge. Steaming chamomile tea. Walks in Autumn. The number 6. Buying makeup. Lots of it. Extra-fine rolling ball pens. Old sepia-toned photographs. The smell of leather. Lavender oil. Vintage aprons. Black and white pictures. Foreign films with subtitles. Quaint cafes. New England and New Orleans. The smell of new books. The smell of old books. Willow trees.
In closing, I hope you like me around here. I’d like to stick around. In the words of my equally insane but poetically-prophetic father: I hope I fit “like a finger in a bull’s ass”.
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You sound fun.
Why the number six?
I’m not really sure, to be honest. It always just seemed to be a nice, even and concise number. Plus the number six has always been lucky for me. It’s also aesthetically pleasing, just to look at. :)
Spiritually the number six represents harmony,balance and enlightenment. A powerful number!
Aha! I knew I loved it for some innate, subconscious reason!