This is Nadya

Lately I’ve received some colorful spam email from considerate visitors to my blog who wish to offer me such necessities as penis enhancement potions and anabolic steroids. I thought that since they were pushing such personal products on me, they should at least get to know me better first. A bit of an introduction might help them learn useful tidbits about their target audience, such as the fact that I do not actually possess a penis and thus have no need of enhancing one. So here’s a bit of help from yours truly, a few scraps of my messy identity.

My recurring dreams:

Dream One: My teeth are falling out. I have this dream at least once a week. The plot varies but the conflict remains the same. I’m losing a tooth or teeth. When I wake up, I run my tongue across both sets of chompers to make sure all are accounted for.

Now and then I wonder what the tooth dream means, and why I dream it so frequently. My best friend read somewhere that this sort of dream is quite common. She believes that it has something to do with anxiety over having said too much to someone, or a terror of having one’s words misinterpreted by others. She may be right – I regularly lie awake at night fretting about the nonsense I have said over dinner with in-laws, during a run-in with the neighbors, or to a colleague in the hallway. This unease happens most often after an encounter with someone outside my exceptionally exclusive inner circle. My collection of confidantes is small because of this pernicious angst over being misunderstood, this fear that I am a misread and misquoted text. Of course, I see most individuals as arcane epics, replete with vague allusions to characters and experiences and worlds that lie far beyond the borders of my ability to comprehend. I venture to guess that I am not alone in my “nobody gets me” anguish.

Dream Two: George Clooney and I make wicked love. No ambiguity surrounds this dream, no hidden meaning. Ladies and gentlemen, when you dream that you are having sex with George Clooney, it means nothing more than the obvious and understandable fact that you want to have sex with George Clooney.

Dream Three: I am forced to repeat high school, specifically the math and science classes. I just threw up a little bit in my mouth while typing the words. Ugh. I hated math and science! I think the meaning behind this dream is that I have done something awful and God’s preferred method of castigation is to force-feed me a little taste of hell. Maybe the dream is meant to punish me for having impure thoughts about a certain Oscar-winning actor? Perhaps I’m on to something here….

My injurious vices (this is not a comprehensive list):

The Twilight books and movies: Yes, I know they are bad writing and worse cinema. But they would not be vices if they were not embarrassing and inimical to one’s brain cells.

Doughnuts: Big squashy ones with chocolate frosting. I’m devouring one right now. I have to get rid of the nauseating flavor of high school memories. Have I ever mentioned I teach at a high school? Hmmm, some irony there.

YouTube: I could search YouTube for hours. And, um, sometimes I do. EVERYTHING’s on YouTube! I live for funny videos.

19^th Century British novels: The really long ones that only a masochist would read and reread. I love to lose myself in Bleak House and Our Mutual Friend and Vanity Fair and Middlemarch. These books possess the status of holy books for me. They have changed my life and shaped my soul – and not necessarily in positive ways. ;)

Take-out: My poor husband works incredibly hard to support my weakness for restaurant goodies. I have a rather neurotic relationship with food, and I suffered from anorexia during most of my teenage years. I’ve maintained a healthy weight for some time now by keeping a guarded distance from the preparation of my meals and by allowing myself any food that I crave.  This is all a bit indulgent, but I figure at least it’s food and not crack.

My pet peeves (again, not a complete list):

I hate the words literally, loin, vulva, scrotum and darling (esp. when darling is used to describe objects, such as “What a darling house!”)

And I loathe the non-words yourguyses, irregardless, and chillax.

I do not allow anyone, including Hubby, to touch my face. No idea why. Kisses are fine but hands on the face are not cool.

It upsets me that even though I don’t watch TV, I know who Kim Kardashian and Snooki are.

My eye twitches when people ask me if I speak Mexican. I've got nothing against Mexicans but they, like myself, speak Spanish, not Mexican.

A Few of My Goals:

I’d like to publish a trashy trade paper romance novel with a scandalous title like Throbbing Love. It just sounds like fun.

I’d like to be one of the outtakes on American Idol. :)

I want to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I want to learn to belly dance.