Clearing the air...

Here are some wonderful truths about me:

Sometimes, in moments of unoriginality, I use the words of other authors...but, often times I use their phrases in different contexts. For example, Tom Stoppards 'smell of smoke' is different than mine. He refers to the burning of bridges we've crossed, and I am speaking of the smoke coming from a red hot iron. Nothing depressing about that...

Along the lines of red hot irons, I often times find myself doing things to make sure that the brand of such irons remain.

I tell people that I had my tear ducts removed when I was young and that's why I don't cry. The truth is, I just pick weird times to cry. Like when the janitor runs out in front of the plane in The Terminal. I use the term cry lightly because it is usually confined to a few tears...but man does it feel good when it happens. What a release.

I also like to tell people that I have small feet because my mom used to wrap them up when I was younger so they wouldn't grow as quickly...that way she could save on the cost of buying shoes. Truth is...never happened.

For the most part, I don't think anyone makes better cookies than my mom. That's not to say that I don't like the cookies that other people make and, in some instance, some people can do it better than her. Luckily, she won't be reading this.

I hate the feel of fleece.

I was once told that I was 'emotionally detached'. The real truth is that I often times allow myself to get too attached but I don't consider it a bad thing. Some of the most meaningful friendships I've ever had have come from such attachments.

I used to have a yellow blanket with it white pieces of yarn.

I like my alone time but would gladly sacrifice it for some good conversation of just about anything...it's not the subject matter that is important but the person you're talking with that counts.

I used to have a variety of stuffed animals. I was the proud owner of a pound puppy, a cabbage patch kid, an penguin and a carebear. I had the blue bear with the storm cloud on it...that's either where my love of rainstorms came from, or my grumpy disposition.

Against my better judgment I find myself hoping for the long-shot...I always root for the underdog, the Dark Horse (James K. Polk), or the outcome that is least likely to happen. At least it keeps life interesting...even if it ends in disappointment.

There are things I would like to do but won't and should do but don't.

This list could probably go on forever...but I'll save it for the sequel.