Another Award, Yasssss!

There’s this awesome award going around called The Dragon’s Loyalty Award (I mean, dragon. I rest my case.) I’ve been nominated by the lovely Precarious Writer (The blog’s name alone should motivate you to check her out.)

So, I have to share seven different facts about myself (rules follow at the end of the post.) All right.

So, if this were C.S. she’d write a bunch of deep, interesting writerly stuff, and she’d probably mention Malala, because Malala is awesome and we need to help her change the world. 

But I’m crazy and superficial, so, without further adue:

 

1. I’m Batman. No, seriously, I am, and this lame assface here is Bruce Wayne.

2. I cannot stand Nicki Minaj. Or the Kardashians.

3. I wanna braid Brock O’Hurn’s hair.

4. Imagine Dragons is one of the best bands out there. Ah, look at that! Dragons again. I’m awesome.

5. My best friend looks a bit like Amy Schumer. But maybe that’s because she’s white and blond, and all white and blond people look the same to me.

6. Does anyone feel like nachos? I always feel like nachos.

7. Tina Fey is my spirit animal.

Now, I’m supposed to nominate 15 people. That’s a lot and I’m lazy, so here’s ten:

LUNA!

Mah POTAHTO!

DEAR MEN OF LA!

REBBIT 7!

THE OPENING SENTENCE!

THE PROFESSOR!

ANETTE!

DEARLILYJUNE!

GHOSTPUPPET!

PRAJAKTA!

 

Anyway, here’s more Brock for you.

So.Much.Hair…

Here are the rules for the award!

The Dragon’s Loyalty Award is meant to acknowledge those who regularly read and comment on your blog. The rules for it are pretty simple:
–Show off your achievement by displaying the award.
–Link back to the person who bestowed this award upon you.
–Nominate up to 15 of your regular readers (less than 15 is just fine, though).
–Let them know that they’ve been nominated.
–Share 7 interesting facts about yourself.

(I just wanted to be able to cross off all the items.)

MEMORIES OF A TOMBOY

When I was eight, a friend from school invited me to a Halloween party. I was psyched. Brazil is known for Carnival, football and women, but definitely NOT Halloween parties, which is stupid if you ask me. Halloween is like Carnival with candy. I mean, seriously, Brazil, get a grip.

Anyway, I was running around and screaming like a crazy person, because the girl was quite popular and I was a total nerd. Please keep in mind those were the old days, when being a nerd was equal to having leprosy. 

Then I started freaking out. What costume should I choose?

Now, I was a really weird kid.

You know how most girls played with Barbies and My Little Ponies? I had Mutant Ninja Turtles’ action figures (Leonardo and Michelangelo actually), and I kindda had a crush on Leonardo. That’s how weird I was: I bordered awkwardness.

On a side note, I think my childhood must have been a super fun experience for my Mom. But let’s skip puberty, what do you say?

Okay, we both know I will address puberty at some point, but please nod and keep reading for the time being.

Anyway. While I dreamed of defending Gotham city from the scum that infested it, other girls prepared for motherhood with dolls that pooped and peed, which is so insane that I can’t even. I mean, how screwed-up is that? At some point in time, some dumb-ass sitting in a high chair thought that, “Girls need to be prepared for their one and only role in our society: being mothers. And mothers looooooove cleaning poop, right? Of course they do.”

You, sir, are an asshole.

But I digress.

So, I told Mom what I wanted for a costume.

“What about Poison Ivy?” she said. “You could go as Poison Ivy.”

I shook my head, arms crossed.

“Okay, I know: Batgirl. She’s so pretty, sweetheart.”

Head shake again.

“How about Catwoman? She’s powerful and strong.”

“Moooom,” I whined.

Mom breathed out in exasperation. “Fine.”

***

That night, the popular girl’s Mom heard the doorbell ring. When she opened the door, she came across a figure.

A symbol. A myth.

“Oh, and what are you supposed to be, dear?” she asked, bending over her knees.

I spread my bat wings wide and said in a low voice, “Lady, I’m your worst nightmare.”

I never returned to that house again. It might have been the fact that I propped myself on a table in the corner, and watched everyone from the shadows for the rest of the night.