On occasion (okay, frequently), people ask me how I turned out the way that I did. I went from a fairly intelligent, halfway normal band geek to a lunatic writer whose random obsessions include afroed exercise gurus, superhero eyebrows, anything sparkly and/or undead, and potatoes.
Hey, I like potatoes. One year, Slayer got me a bunch of Christmas gifts with the theme Things Carrie Likes. They included a book of poetry, a calendar with dancing cats on it, sparkly lip gloss (not undead, though), and a potato. I spent days trying to figure out what that lumpy thing under the tree was.
Anyway, how did I end up like this? I did my junior high science project with one of the guys who helped build the atom bomb. (True story.) I'm a statistician, for god's sake. I've been thinking about it a lot, and finally, I think I figured it out.
My entire personality, all of it, can be traced back to one thing. I feel compelled to prepare you for this thing, because it may be emotionally scarring. Do not drink anything while looking at this thing. This thing may give you nightmares. Contact your doctor immediately if you exhibit any strange symptoms while looking at this thing.
Are you ready?
My mother did that to me. ON PURPOSE.
The teeth are bad enough, but orthodontics have been kind to me. That haircut, however, is unforgivable. It made me the woman I am today. So to all you parents out there: DO NOT give your children horrible haircuts unless you want to screw them up so badly that they accidentally run over things with the lawn mower because they are too busy making up zombie haiku. Take them to the hairdresser. You won't regret it.
Just looking at those bangs traumatizes me anew. I think I need to go lie down. Maybe I'll make up some zombie limericks this time to soothe my troubled soul.