I still sleep with a stuffed animal.
No, really, I do. I have yet to leave that bastion of childhood behind, and I don't think I ever will. Until I start living with someone, or married to someone, I'm guessing.
So why do I hang onto sleeping with a stuffed animal? It's not really for the security of having it "protect" me from the monsters under the bed (for "there's nothing to fear but monsters"), but rather because stuffed animals are supportive. My arms get placed just right if I'm holding onto a stuffed animal -- pillows are just too big for this purpose. Seriously.
I have two favourite stuffed animals for this purpose. One is a blue-purple elephant that Stina won me out of the claw machine at Denny's. Fuzzy One and Stina totally dominate the claw machines of the world, and it is necessary that they prove to each claw machine the truth of that fact. I attempt to convince the claw machines of this fact, but I usually fail. I was thwarted this weekend by the lack of change in Kurt's pocket. Doh!
My absolute favouritist stuffed animal is Arthur. I really should put a photo up of him, but I don't have any. Strange, really... He's been part of my life since second grade.
I got Arthur for my birthday, I believe, in 1987, (or Christmas 1986; take your pick), from the lady that lived with us and took care of us and the house at the time. Her name was Pam. 'Nuff said about her. Arthur is a grey Pound Puppy, one known as a "Rumpleskin" because he's soft and wrinkly, and doesn't have the stiffness in form of a regular pound puppy.
Poor Arthur. Now he's kind of a yellowed grey -- you can still sort of see the original grey if you look near his ears -- and he has no neck. All the stuffing has migrated either into his head or into his body, so if you hold him right, his head just hangs down.
He also has red overalls with rainbow-striped straps. Complete with a hole in the butt for his tail. I used to have a police uniform for him too -- I just remembered that. Poor, poor Arthur...
There are some things I just cannot stand to eat anymore. It's all because my stepmother wasn't too creative in the Saturday afternoon lunch and the post-church Sunday lunch area.
There were only a few things we'd eat for lunch during the weekends. Primarily, leftovers. That usually consisted of overcooked green beans and lasagna. She does make really good lasagna, even though Michele wouldn't agree with me. Her lasagna has spoiled me for every other lasagna. I find other people's lasagna to be too sweet.
The other things she'd make would be things like hot dogs. Cooked in the microwave, no less. We even had a special dish for cooking hot dogs in the microwave. Grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup (and I've always hated tomato soup). Tuna fish sandwiches made with light mayo, celery, and dill. And three-bean salad. She'd make three-bean salad during the week, and since she and Dad were the only ones to eat it, it'd still be hanging around by the weekend. Occasionally, Marty would try to force it down the throats of Michele and me. It didn't work too often.
So when I go home on breaks, this is what I get to eat. Every weekend. I've been eating the same things every weekend for the past sixteen years -- ever since Dad and Marty got married. Then Marty wonders why I don't want to eat what she prepares for the family. I try to find a can of Spaghetti-Os with meatballs instead. Have to have meatballs -- gotta have that fake meat! :o) Usually I try to eat all the Spaghetti-Os first and leave the meatballs for last. YUMMY!
Kurt and I got our photos taken this weekend. We went to Wal-Mart to get them done, since they had this $3.95 advertised special. The lady who was training the lady who was working the camera had had too many cups of coffee that morning... She was WIRED! At first, she was really abrasive. Then she got funny. Kurt didn't like her anyhow, but after a while she amused me. And she did a good job with our photos.