This is week 0 of LJ Idol and we need to write an introductory piece about ourselves. And here's mine! These introductions are not being judged, BTW.


When I was a little girl, introductions were easy. Photographic evidence will show that I was an adorable, blonde-curly mop of a little thing and dropping a curtsey to friends of my parents got me immediate admiration. I knew how to shake hands, and the “please”, “thank you” and “how do you do?” words seemed to be all adults were looking for when introduced to a pretty little girl. Then school came along and complicated matters tenfold.

Teachers, and I am including my husband here, are horribly socialized and perverse creatures who torture new classes with getting-to-know-you games. Unable to sustain social lives themselves, they throw together a near-lethal mixture of a fear of meeting strangers and a fear of public speaking [and we all know that public speaking is one of the big fears], and call it “making new friends”. Since when was forcing a cheerleader to spend fifteen minutes “getting to know” a math geek making new friends? Or in my case, why, every single year did I, with my head full of books, poetry, and daydreams, get paired up with a girl who had superior physical development in the boobular region and no compunction in teasing me for my lack? Introduction? It was more like hell.

As I got older, my social skills improved. I still disliked introducing myself intensely, but I became much better at asking the sorts of leading questions that drew out interesting answers from my partner. And they got more interesting the further I moved away from home. One year in Medieval Latin class my partner was a genuine Kentucky hillbilly, a la Jed Clampett; that was one of “making new friends’” finest hours. And the very next year, in the subsequent Medieval Latin class, I met a student from Vancouver whom I married two years later. Introductions definitely have their place, and should not be dismissed entirely!

But I have, probably on purpose, digressed from the topic at hand: introducing myself. I could tell you the facts, I suppose. They’re dull, but they have the advantage of being true, and I am an honest person. My real name is Allie [short for Alison], age 45, I’m happily married to that man in the second Medieval Latin class, and we have three children ranging in age from 10-18. Our household also supports a German Shepherd and a Niger Uromastyx lizard, who is neon orange with a spiky tail. I kill houseplants as apparently my thumb is black instead of green, hate washing floors and gardening, read everything in sight, love taking pictures, chocolate, the smell of rain and fresh laundry, and I sell glasses in the optical department of a major department store.

Somehow I don’t think that the bare facts elucidate me very clearly. They tell you nothing about the fact that I’m bipolar and about the long struggle I’ve had with medication, hospitalization, and finding a mental health professional who treats me like I want to be treated. Nor do the facts tell you about the long difficulty I’ve had wresting control of my life from my parents who still think that they should be able to run my life. Nor do the facts tell you of the joys – small and large – that I’ve experienced over the years – the satisfaction of a really good book, the deep pleasure of watching the long leafy strands of weeping willow trees in the breeze, the utter delight of seeing the first crocuses poke through the front lawn after another long, hard Canadian winter, the awe at holding my newborn child, moments old, the love and safety I always feel when cuddling up to my husband, the scent of a lilacy spring, the dog greeting me at the door, wiggling his little doggy bum. Colombo’s “just the facts, ma’am” way of life would never have unearthed the true nature of any of the individuals he interviewed.

I feel fairly satisfied now. I’ve told you everything you need to know, without going into details about my criminal record or my sexual perversions. Ooh – or that. And I look forward to meeting you all. And thank you for listening.