More than you need to know about me...

Old post transferred from my old blog....10/07

Want to watch me fly my freak flag? I am pretty strange... or maybe I should say "quirky". Dave says I am a bit OC(D). Whatever. So here is a list of what makes me click when I should tick. I am adding to it as things come to me, so check back on it for new additions. Might just make you feel better about yourself.
1. I cannot stand for anyone to touch my wrists. I don't even like touching them. Something about the veins being so close to the surface or something....skeeves me out. I won't even take any links out of my watchband to tighten it up. I keep it really loose. Maybe I killed myself by slitting my wrists in a past life, who knows?
2. I cannot watch someone brush their teeth. All that foam and slobber....g.r.o.s.s. I cannot even watch someone brush on TV or in the movies. I am a little queasy thinking about it, actually.
3. I am obsessed with my kids' boogers. It makes me mental to see one in their noses, and until I get it out, it is all I can think about.
4. I used to eat the heads off of matches as a kid. I can still vividly remember the taste. Pica, anyone?
5. My last two little toes on both feet kind of curve in, like quotation marks. It is like my other toes are saying something.
6. I MUST smell my milk before I drink it. I am talking, my nose almost touches it, I get it so close. And this goes for each and every glass. I can drink one glass, and pour a second one (from the same jug of milk), but I have to smell it, too.
7. I love to pop pimples. Thankfully I did not/do not have them, but man, if I see even the littlest whitehead on Dave anywhere, I am all over him with my claws out. If I see a stranger with one, I want to get it for them. It really drives me batty.
8. I am eskeered of storms. I think it is PTSD from Hurricane Andrew. Seriously, like I get all sweaty-foreheaded and clammy palmed. Yeah, it is that bad.
9. I love to sing. Loudly. If you are ever so fortunate to be trapped in a car with me and my JAM comes on, brace yourself. Oh, and I am not good at it, by the way. I dance in the car, too. My poor kids.