My dad named me while my mom was still under after an emergency C-section. I was supposed to be “Angela.” Thank you, Dad. I’m just NOT an Angie.
I’ve lived in Texas, Colorado, Arizona, Oklahoma, Kenya and California. Most of my growing up was in Tulsa, OK (hey, y’all!) and I moved overseas when I was 14.
I gained 45 pounds my first year in Kenya. I’m a stress eater.
I spent the next 10 years taking it off.
The women in my family have large thighs. These are hereditary. We call them Lanham Legs (my grandmother’s maiden name). Mine don’t bother me at all.
The women in my family have flat butts, which makes it surprisingly difficult to keep your pants up.
Next month, I will celebrate my sixth anniversary. I still haven’t been married to my husband as long as we dated.
You know how they say oysters are an aphrodisiac? No. Tequila. I don’t drink tequila unless I know there is a possibility of getting laid later.
My first dog’s name was Fluffy and my first house’s address was on Joplin St. Combined, they make my porn name “Fluffy Joplin.” This is possibly the least sexy name ever. Unless you’re into body hair.
Fluffy got eaten alive by army ants in Yuma, Arizona. I will never have another outdoor dog.
At the first “word of faith” congregation I ever visited, it was prophesied that I would be the first woman President of the United States. I’m still chuckling over this one. Do you know how bad I would be at being President?
I’ve always had closer guy friends that girl friends. I’m usually more interested in what the guys are talking about, and fight getting glassy-eyed when I’m hangin’ with the chicas. This bothers me a lot, because I love my girlfriends. I just don’t get them all the time.
Both my parents are ordained ministers. I love that I was brought up in an egalitarian household in which women were recognized as leaders.
My mom is the biggest over-achiever I’ve ever met. I’m okay with it. And so is she. Aggressively okay.
I dropped acid once. I swore off hallucinogens of all stripes as a result. I won’t give you all the gory details, but suffice it to say that bag ladies and hat pins are the stuff of nightmare.
Pastor’s daughters are notorious, and I was no different. I’m convinced that if we hadn’t moved overseas, I’d be dead or the mother of a 15 year old.
Two of my ex-boyfriends are gay.
I’m a Democrat, but I regularly vote for candidates in both parties. Except right now.
If Hillary Clinton wins the Dem nomination for President, I may change affiliation. Not because I don’t like her (I do), but because there’s no way in hell she can win, and if my party can’t recognize that, they are just as stupid as the Republicans say they are.
Until recently, my folks were staunch Republicans. [Diabolical laughter.]
I think I’d like to be a parent someday, but the idea of it is still really weird. I mean, one minute (I mean, forty-eight minutes — sorry, babe!) you’re having sex, and nine months later there’s a for-real, imago Dei human being on your hands. I don’t get it.
I have serious issues with how the Church communicates with its youth about sex.
The first time it happened was during the 2004 election. There was a TV in my hospital room on which I watched the returns, and I felt so crummy already, and I just cried and cried. I thought the world might be ending.
I have experienced what they like to call a “call” to be a pastor. I’m fairly certain this will never be in a church.
Sometimes when I think about one of my pets dying — particularly Hazel, the cat I’ve had for 7 years — I mourn in advance.
I smoked my first cigarette at age 11.
I remember the first cigarette I had as an adult. It was with Chad, my sophomore year of college, and we were visiting his folks in T.O. We took a late-night drive to the teen center, and he had a pack of Marlboro Lights. That first inhale nearly sent me into nirvana. It was like coming home. How sad is that?
I love to swear. I never knew how much until I gave it up for Lent this year.
Before I went to APU, I wanted to major in theater or journalism. Long-lasting music-borne friendships notwithstanding, either one of those would have been a better choice than music. Oh, well.
I have a brother who is 19 months younger than I, and I don’t remember him ever not being around.
Once when I was twelve and he was eleven, we got into one of those crazy pubescent rage-y fights when neither of our parents were home. It ended with somebody’s shoes getting flushed down the toilet, but I don’t remember if that was him or me. Twenty years later, I’m a little fuzzy on the details.
I learned to read when I was 3.
I went to kindergarten in Yuma, AZ, where most of the kids were new to English. After about 3 weeks, I announced to Mrs. Hollenbeck that I could no longer be expected to waste my time tracing the letter “D.”
My family had a 13″ black and white TV with rabbit ears the whole time I was growing up, and we were allowed to watch 5 hours of TV per week. We had to sign up in advance.
Ash and I haven’t had TV for six years.
I watch LOST streaming online every Thursday and have been known to bittorrent Battlestar Gallactica.
I would rather read than do just about anything. I actually considered giving up reading for Lent, but decided there’s no way Jesus would want me to suffer that much.
I look forward to going to work every day. I used to think people who said that were just being polite, but apparently there’s something to the whole “do what you enjoy” thing.
I’ve been working on a novel on and off for 2 years. I recently started turning it into a screenplay, and I think it works much better — I’m pretty good at dialog and pretty bad at descriptive prose. Which sucks, because my favorite writers are prose writers who paint pictures of light and mood and action and communication without any of the characters ever saying anything.
When we first moved to Kenya, I thought for weeks that the big black birds that flew around our house at night were actually big black birds. The Swahili word for “bat” is ndege usiku, which means “night bird.” What a rude awakening.
I don’t like it when people argue for the sake of arguing. It’s amazing I’m still such good friends with Michael.
Writing ad copy makes me want to put out my own eyes with a sharp stick. But it pays a lot.
I think evolutionary psychology is a crock of poo. I mean, if these people are right, I should feel sexually attracted when men try to dominate each other. (We call this “d-ck-swinging” where I come from.) Instead, I feel really annoyed.
In order of preference: pinot noir, syrah/shiraz, malbec, cabernet, zinfandel, chianti, merlot.
My hair and nails grow mutant fast.
This is the real reason my hair is different every time you see me. It’s not that I’m cool, it’s just that it’s easier to change it than keep it the same.
My Honda Accord has almost 200K miles on it, and it’s still goin’ strong.
I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 18.
I’ve been in 2 really bad car accidents. (I was driving in only one of them.)
I have resuscitated someone.
I had to look up the spelling of resuscitate.
My wedding cost less that $5K, mostly due to Gretchen and her mom.
I will try any food once.
I will eat whatever is put in front of me if I am a guest at your house. “Thou shalt honor hospitality” was the 11th commandment in the Hawkins home.
I walk on the beach every morning, and I don’t take it for granted.
I started going gray when I was 16. I haven’t seen my natural color since.
I still find it surprising that other people of the Christian persuasion aren’t as into theology and Church history as I am. Man, talk about a good time!
I still find it surprising that many people of the Christian persuasion aren’t often interested in other religions, except to find out how to evangelize their adherents.
I love my friends’ kids.
I like the word “vim.”
The shortcut in MSWord for the thesaurus is Shift + F7. I must use it at least 50 times a day.
The weird thing is, I have a fairly expansive vocabulary.
I have a 3-inch scar on my left side, right around my waistline. It would be so awesome if it was from donating a kidney, but it’s from falling out of a closet when I was 5.
I’ve never had braces.
I have a freakishly accurate inner clock, and a fairly reliable inner compass.
My brother taught me to drive.
I learned to drive on the right-hand side.
I have a scuba license.
I once safaried on the back of a camel named Rebekah.
I love to cook, and I usually make up my own recipes. This has more to do with laziness than with culinary creativity. I just can’t be bothered to measure.
I once threw up so hard I burst a blood vessel on my eye. The next day, Chad said, “Wow. Nothing like marring your best feature.”
I was hungover from Bartles & Jaymes on an empty stomach.
I love that Ash’s affectionate name for our dog, Lucy, is “Silly Bitch.” Lucy seems to love it, too.
Breaking it down with my husband over a bottle of wine beats out reading on my list of favorite things to do. Thirteen years later, he’s still really, really interesting.
I sometimes feel that I overwhelm people with information. I don’t mean to, but I know some stuff, and it’s hard not to inflict it on you.
I don’t gather information just for the heck of it. I love to learn new things, but I’m more interested in connecting new info to info I have already. I’m big into the connections between stuff.
I don’t remember what I got on my SAT. I think it was probably in the high 1100s, because I don’t do math.
I listen to NPR religiously and support them financially. But, man, I hate those twice-annual membership drives.
I’d like to see a Charlie Rose vs. Terry Gross interview-off.
I lean toward preterism, but call myself an “end times agnostic.”
We’ve lived in our condo for almost three years, the longest I’ve lived in any one place in 17 years.
I am unflaggingly hopeful about the future, which can be annoying.
I can sit through hours of bad church music and only 5 minutes of a bad sermon. I get all wiggly.
I tend to think the best of people, even when they screw up a lot. For the most part I think this is a good approach to life…but occasionally people are just a–holes, and I have a hard time admitting that.
I have a deep prejudice against indie snobs.
I think if everyone lived for 6 months in a place where they were in the racial/cultural minority, we’d all have a lot more grace for each other.
I tended bar for three years.
I’m mildly annoyed when people turn “bartender” into a verb: “I bartended for three years” or “I’m bartending Friday night.”
Bodily functions don’t gross me out. I just don’t see what the big deal is. Everybody poops.
I don’t let my pets sit on my lap while I’m on the toilet because that’s creepy.
You know how sometimes you get a song in your head that won’t go away? I get the same things with random or made-up words and phrases. Last week it was “Martin Luther Vandross.” I just couldn’t shake it.
My least favorite word is the C-word that rhymes with “blunt.” It’s the foulest, most disrespectful word in the English language. It even sounds foul and disrespectful. I can’t think of a single scenario in which it’s okay to use this word. (Please…this is not an invitation for suggestions.)
I’ve been in one fist fight. I was in third grade and I cold-cocked a fifth grade girl for calling my mom a bad name. At church.
My first kiss was in the baptistry. At church.
I adore anything Joss Whedon touches.
I prefer salty over sweet. Beefy jerky is King of Snacks.