Tagged.

Jessica of Folk and Fairy (see link on the right) tagged me. Because talking about oneself is the ultimate self-indulgence, and because I just finished typing (and vomiting) for two weeks straight, I must oblige. While gorging myself with chocolate, my second-favorite indulgence, of course.

The rules:
Link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Here are seven random things about me. (Although, I kinda feel that this is redundant, since this blog is FILLED with random things about me.)

1. I become legitimately angry when people don't wear coats in the winter. Are they making some sort of statement by eschewing proper attire? Like, "I want to prove that women's bodies must be displayed not only in summer, but throughout the year! That's how much I love objectification!" Seriously, people. Dress for the weather.

2. Often I have more compassion for animals than people. Perhaps because they don't speak. And they're never under-dressed.


3. I hardly ever read a book chronologically, a quirk that irritates Mike endlessly. Usually I give the first and last chapters a skim; if I determine the book is good, I'll then proceed chronologically. If not, I will stop reading. If I have to read the book for class, I'll locate the sections that deal with a major character/theme and read only those.

4. I hardly ever read a book completely. Even if I love it, I'll still skip parts that don't seem important. I blame this on Dorrance Publishing and the hellish year I spent reading manuscripts there.

5. My last name is now Holohan. How random is THAT?!

6. I love domestic work that most women my age view as a chore/pastime of grandmas. This includes cooking, gardening, and sewing. Basically, I like making stuff. And then consuming it.

7. If I was EXPECTED to do any of those domestic activities, a la fifties housewife, they would immediately lose their charm. I only like grandma stuff because it seems kinda counter-cultural. I like to announce that instead of bar-hopping on Saturday night, I whipped up some bread pudding, ate it all myself, and then sewed myself a new bag. (See what I mean about consumption?) If I were actually living in the fifties, I'd be smoking Lucky Strikes, wearing leather pants, and driving a motorcycle, NOT sewing poodle skirts, cooking pot roast, and cultivating peony bushes like Mrs. Beaver.

M'kay, now I'm supposed to tag seven people. But because I'm not into rules, I'm not going to. And the whole "tagging" thing smacks of that '80s friendship bread phenomenon--you know, that jar of yeasty, goopy stuff your mom would tote home from church and then pass on to other unsuspecting acquaintances after she had baked several loaves of mysterious bread? Bizarre!

So, I'm approaching this version of tag the same way I approached tag during recess: great! I got tagged! now I get to sit down while everyone else runs around for another half hour.

Never fear, though: there will be plenty more self-indulgence here at marianne schmarianne in the future.