I hate it when people try to predict what I’m going to do or say. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped in that box of predictability.
I don’t like the feeling of being trapped.
I hate it when people try to tell me what to do even more. If you try to tell me to do something, there’s a 50/50 shot I will choose to do the exact opposite thing just to piss you off. If I am asked to do something (kind of politely), I totally don’t mind.
I also forget what someone may have asked me to do almost constantly. In these cases it’s not that I don’t want or care to do it, it’s that I was already thinking about what I’m going to do after what I was just asked to do.
I listen to the music you and your friends do. But I also listen to the same music as your parents. And sometimes, the same music as your grandparents.
Actually, I might sing the music your grandparents like.
I can’t focus easily on things unless I find them fascinating or important to me.
A conversation between you and me? Totally important to me. My Biology lecture? Kind of important, but I still fell asleep every time. My Biology reading homework? I bet the dog would really like to go for a walk right now. Maybe I should take him. Then I’ll make seven batches of cookies. I guess I don’t have time to finish reading this before I go to bed…
The only way I can get through doing homework that I can’t concentrate on is to listen to music. Not “modern” music, because I’ll sing along. Not opera, because I’ll sing along. Not Mozart, because it’s fucking predictable and even though there are no words, it’s just violins, I’ll sing along.
To do homework, I have to listen to “The Rite of Spring” by Igor Stravinsky.
You know this. It’s the dinosaur thing from Fantasia. NOT Fantasia 2000. The original. From the 1930’s.
Now you know why I get along so well with the elderly. I am one of them.
I don’t like to mix my foods prior to putting them in my mouth. This is probably the chief reason I don’t like gravy (other than maybe just a taste). Dipping sauces are okay. Stirring the cheese from the top of the refried beans into the beans at a Mexican restaurant? NOT OKAY. Unless they are solely yours and you don't have to share.
Mixing happens during food preparation or after the food has left the plate. For instance, I love macaroni and cheese with peas. Seriously. It’s amazing. But the peas either get mixed in the pot with the mac and cheese or I put a forkful of peas in my mouth with a forkful of pasta. There is no mixing on the plate.
I haven’t run a mile since I was probably ten. I used to love running. I’d do it all the time. Now, running a mile again is my exercise goal.
I sweat like a whore in church when it’s hot outside (since the sun is shining, I think NorCal is finally gearing up for its regular 1 billion degree summer). This doesn’t work out well for me because I also prefer opening the windows in my car to running the air conditioner.
As a result of this unfortunate side effect of my random German genetics (why could I not get all the Cherokee genes? Seriously. I’m just stuck with the straight hair and high cheek bones while my brother gets to have the brown hairless skin that only sweats when he’s outside, doing something manly*), I hate sweating.
I’m learning to be okay with it. But only in very specific situations. And only if I get to take a shower afterward.
I have a love/hate relationship with spicy food. I love it. And it hates me. More specifically, spicy food hates my tummy. Jalapenos, which used to be one of my favorite foods on the planet, are murder on my gut. Sometimes I still eat them. Those are the nights I have to sleep sitting up and gripping a bottle of Tums.
It’s only worth it while I’m actually consuming them.
I’ve wanted to write a book practically since I could read. I just have a really hard time sticking with a project that long. Even big crochet projects I wander away from for a few months. Then it takes me a little while to figure out where I left off. And what hook I was using, since (obviously) I needed the hook I had been using for something else during my break from the project.
I also really like green grapes and sharp cheddar cheese. Together.
This doesn’t even come close to being a list of all my strange little habits. This is more like a spoonful of them.
But I did realize one thing while writing this.
I am so eccentric, I have to be rich by the time I get old. Or I’ll be the crazy 75 year-old woman walking her cats through the McDonald’s drive-through in a stroller to get them a filet-o-fish.
*My brother felt the need to point out that he sweats when he's not doing manly things, too.
*My brother felt the need to point out that he sweats when he's not doing manly things, too.
I take the eyebrow hairs I pluck and rub the ends of them against my face sometimes. I'm not sure why. I also cannot tolerate having to stop to do something in the middle of mealtimes. It makes me inexplicably angry when I have to get up in the middle of eating. I also generally do not like being touched when I eat, like a dog or cat. And I absolutely love pickles, but only by themselves, and only kosher dill.
ReplyDeleteI'm kind of the opposite; I have an easier time eating if I do it while I'm doing something else. It's really hard for me to just sit down and eat a meal. I like fried pickles. But only just-made. The eyebrow thing is pretty weird. But that just means you're unique. Thanks for sharing your uniqueness!
ReplyDeleteI'd share my eyebrows with you anytime... >:} Actually, it used to be a terrible habit, and left me looking like a chemo patient sometimes. It's called something like trichillotomania, impulsive hair-pulling, and I'd do it to eyebrows, eyelashes, and new hairs on my head, and I guess it includes things like constantly chewing nails and picking excessively at acne, dandruff, or scabs. Thankfully I never got to the pattern-baldness stage, where you're actually pulling out hanks of your own hair on your head, or off of your arms and legs. It's something I usually do when I'm stressed, or not paying attention, or both. I still catch myself pulling on my eyebrows every now and then, but I stopped biting my nails after 15 years of the habit. :3 I just hope I never look like a crack addict in public, always picking at myself.
ReplyDeleteBaha Sounds... Awesome? I've actually heard of that before (though I have no idea what it's called). I think it's fabulous you were able to stop biting your nails. That's a really hard habit to break. I don't think you need to worry about looking like a crack addict in public in the future. You already do. :p
ReplyDeleteNow I just need a Pink Victoria's Secret jogging suit that looks like it was dragged through the mud, an SUV from the late 90s, a sloppy bun, and an eating disorder. Sweet. :P
ReplyDeleteNah. When you're on crack you don't need an eating disorder. The crack takes care of that for you. The rest of it, yes. And maybe, like, seven kids that you use to get money from the state.
ReplyDelete