Nothing to See Here…

I already threatened, warned, teased you back when I posted the first batch that there would be more. So - well, you’re the one who came back here voluntarily, don’t go trying to blame this on ME.

Here is the next batch. And I should warn you - Donny Osmond IS featured prominently.

13~ In 4th grade, in Miss Warner’s class, I sneeze-farted. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life at that point (oh, I’ve since surpassed it by quite a bit). Many, many years later, I ran into Richard Peterschmit, a guy who I went to grade school with. He asked me “Remember that time you sneeze-farted in Miss Warner’s class?” Can you fucking believe it? Sheesh. Guess I’m saddled with that sneeze-fart baggage for LIFE.

14~ When I was 12, I broke my arm. A neighborhood kid, Frankie Peterschmit, was chasing me with a live water bug. At the time, there was nothing I hated more than water bugs, especially live ones. In my attempt to elude Frankie and the evil bug, I fell and broke my arm.

15~ When I was 16, we went and watched a band play because I knew the drummer. The lead singer, Shane Peterschmit, chose ME to make goo-goo eyes at while he sang and we took off together after their set ended. He wanted to go skinny dipping but I was too chicken.

16~ When I was 5, I stole this little rubber ball from the pet store. It was a pink hollow ball with a hole in it. Inside was a bell (the bell was bigger than the hole, so it stayed in). I gave the ‘hot’ ball to my sister’s guinea pig, Spanky (in case you were wondering, Spanky’s last name was Peterschmidt). Spanky used to take her sharp rat teeth and lift that ball up by chomping down on the edge where the hole was. Then she’d drop it. This would make a thump sound and the bell would ring. Spanky would do it over and over and over. It was like The Telltale Heart – a constant reminder of my misdeed (which, surprisingly, didn’t stop me from shoplifting like an effing BANDIT when I got a bit older).

17~ In spite of all that, I grew up to be a non-stealing adult. Fortunately, I stopped stealing while I was still Catholic and so I’ve gone to confession and had all that wiped clean from my record. I haven’t stolen anything in many, many years. Oh, except maybe my husband who was living with another woman, Julie Peterschmidt, when I met him (but but but she had given him his ring back and they were no longer even sleeping in the same room and, after all, she just didn’t UNDERSTAND him!)

18~ I worked for 8 years for the most eccentric weirdo ever. His name was Bob Peterschmidt. My coworkers and I tried to slip him sedatives a few times, that’s how bad he was. Every time Bob would go on a diet, we would all do our best to bring in doughnuts and candy and junk food and leave it out all over the office in order to sabotage him (hey, we were passive aggressive meanies - we got back at him however we could). He was so weird, one time he came out of the bathroom having just remembered something critical he needed to do and said “Linda, will you go flush that toilet for me.” Yeah, right… Flush your own flucking toilet, Bob.

21~ My favorite color is purple and so is Donny Osmond’s and that’s why I LOVED him when I was a little girl. I might have married him if only his name was Donny Peterschmidt.

22~ I own about 80 pairs of CFM hooker heels, including ones that look like suede hiking boots and ones that look like pink ballet slippers and ones made out of blue jean material and thigh-high ones and ones that lock around the ankles and many, many more. My husband can’t stop buying them. Most of them have never been on my feet. If I die, he’ll need to marry someone who wears a size 10. He’s a great guy (aside from the shoe fetish thing). If you wear a size 10, you really ought to consider him. I don’t mind helping in the pre-screening process now, while I’m still alive. I mean, who knows, I could fall off those things and break my freaking neck at any time. I really ought to have my affairs in order.

23~When I’m in a car, if any part of my body is touching the door I have constant thoughts about the door popping open and me falling out. But I realize how crazy it is to be so worried about it so I force myself to continue staying in the door-touching position just so I don’t give credence to those thoughts, which is totally stupid since I could abolish the thoughts just by not touching the door (in other words, I’m CRAZY).

24~I have five daughters and their names fit a pattern. The pattern wasn’t planned from the beginning but became clear to me after my 3rd. When pregnant the 4th and 5th times, I was obsessed with finding the perfect names to adhere to the pattern. The girls are named: Katie, Amber, Sarah, Jadyn, and Raena. To me, the pattern is so obvious. To others? Not so much.

25~ If I would get pregnant again, the little girl would be named Hazel. Possibly Hazel Peterschmidt.

26~ I’m positive it would be a little girl since I already have five of them. My husband says that my death-star eggs shoot down all his little Y swimmers (think Star Wars and Hans Solo and those guys who worked for Darth. My egg is the death star and his Y swimmers are Hans Solo, but really, if they looked like Harrison Ford, I think my eggs would let them in, right?) If we ever did have a male child, he would be named William Hunter and we would call him Hunter, or maybe Peterschmidt.

25~ I swear I’m done having kids but I still think about what I would name one if it was, you know, left on my doorstep or something. If you have a really cute one, email me and I’ll give you the address of my doorstep, ok?

26~I did a pretty tame amount of drug experimentation in my younger days and hated most all of the stuff I tried. Except mushrooms. I loooooooooooved mushrooms and would really like to do some again someday. Don’t make me go to Amsterdam for them – someone here hook me up, OK? Where the fuck does a 40 year old white overweight suburban mother who is in the PTO go to score some acid??? Will someone please tell me that? (I’m JOKING, here, people. I don’t need the DEA breaking down my door because, frankly, my husband isn’t that good at fixing broken things in my house).

Stay tuned for the next edition of 100 Things About Linda Peterschmidt next week.