The Number Eight

I was tagged last week by the lovely Painted Maypole to do the 8 Things About Me Meme that's been zipping around the blogosphere lately.

Voilà de quoi il s'agit...

Huit Choses de Moi

1 I studied (and I use the term loosely, very loosely) French for ten years at school, from grade two through grade eleven. Plus a sociable refresher course at the University of Edinburgh in 2003 while pursuing an LLM degree (Master of Laws). And I'm still not fluent, not even close. And I won't even talk about my atrocious accent except to say that when I asked for directions the last time I was in France (Bordeaux) --in French!-- the man replied that he didn't speak English. Arrrgggghhh!

2 Because one of my majors at University, English/American Literature, required the study of a foreign language, I opted for Latin, a language where my pathetic accent wouldn't be an issue. I remember nothing of those courses, nusquam!

3 Speaking of the LLM program, I did everything but write my dissertation: I went to my classes; I did some of the reading; I participated in class discussions; and I wrote half a dozen term papers. Heck, I even got decent marks on the darn things. When it came time to write the actual dissertation over the summer, though, there was just too much stuff going on for me to focus on it: my dad was diagnosed with cancer in May; he started treatments in June; G and I got engaged in early August; my dad died unexpectedly in mid-August; my mom melted down; and then G and I realized we were pregnant in early September with MF. So, in spite of several very generous extensions by the University, I never wrote it, even though I kept telling myself, and my adviser, I would. In fact, just this past week I recycled my box full of research I had compiled for it. Sarbanes-Oxley research materials be gone!

Funnily enough, I don't regret not writing it too much, because I got these instead:

4 A few months after graduating from University, I shattered my left elbow in a freak accident and ended up in the hospital for six very long boring weeks. Flat on my back in traction. Fun times.

5 I have a lovely white eight inch scar on my left knee from open knee surgery back in 1994. I also have a number of pale white scars around my knee cap from three arthroscopic surgeries on the same knee, two before and one after the open knee surgery. More fun times.

6 Whenever I talk about 'my dad' here, I'm technically referring to my late step-father, a man who became my dad in every sense of the word. I haven't had any contact with my 'real' father –let's call him 'BioDad'-- since 1994. Yes, that would be thirteen years and counting.

7 When my mom remarried, my sister and I changed our names to our dad's last name. We were young adults at the time and had to jump through some legal hoops to do it, but it meant a lot to us. In fact, if she hadn't married him, there's a reasonable chance neither my sister nor I would be speaking to our mother today. We've always had a rather 'interesting' relationship.

8 I didn't change my name when I got married. I like who I am. Finally.

I'm now supposed to tag eight people, but I suspect coming up with eight people who haven't done this meme already will be an impossible task. So I'll tag three IRL friends, if they're feeling so inclined and they have the time:

1 Chennette;
2 Lilandra; and
3 Betsy.

Bon chance!