Random Sh*t People Who Want to Work/Play with Me Should Know Before Proceeding

I update this periodically, so be sure to check back regularly. Along with my FAQs.
  1. If you spend any amount of time with me, you will end up with my hair on your person. There is no escaping it. I am a forensics team's wet dream. I could kill a person and, f*** a hairnet, I could be wearing a Haz Mat suit, and my hair will find a way out of it.
  3. I'm intense. I don't mean to be, it just happens that way. Maybe it's the Asperger's. Some people get excited by it, some are afraid of it, and a lot of people are both excited and afraid. But I promise I don't bite . . . often.
  5. I'm a natural mimic. It's just how I'm wired. So if you speak with an accent and I start speaking with an accent, don't take it personally. And if I randomly cluck like a chicken, well, that's just something I do. (Also: meowing. 'Cuz I like cats.)
  7. I also quote Shakespeare at random. Mostly Hamlet, because that's the play I've acted in most, but also a little bit of Twelfth Night. And others. I used to be a member of a Shakespeare troupe, and I've also taught it, so . . . I quote it often.
  9. I don't clean. Much. Okay, here's the thing: I do dishes because I get skeeved out by food stuck to things. I clean my bathroom because, Jesus people, all that hair. A day doesn't go by that I don't do at least one load of laundry (I love clothes and use a lot of them). But I don't dust because, while I'm allergic to a lot of things, dust isn't one of them, and I figure if it leaves me alone I might as well return the favor. And I don't vacuum because I hate the noise. I'll sweep, though. Because, damn, all that hair.
  11. I don't cook. Which isn't to say I can't cook—I'm from Southern Louisiana, and we learn to cook from the time we can sit in a high chair and watch Grandmama in the kitchen. I'm talking real food, too, like fresh from the butcher, or even (on occasion) going out back and killing one of the chickens. But though I love to eat, I don't much enjoy the process of making the meal. Probably has to do with the chicken thing.
  13. Speaking of food, I'm picky about mine. I'm not a vegetarian or anything. I'd like to be—I love animals—but I know my limits, and I like cheeseburgers. But I won't touch a piece of toast if it's more than slightly browned and isn't evenly spread with butter (sometimes peanut butter, depending on my mood). And I won't touch chicken unless I know it's cooked through. (Yes, I'm hung up on the whole chicken thing.) I'm also one of those people who goes through the cabinets and fridge to make sure nothing's been in there too long. I check expiration dates on things. I'm a little mental about that.

  14. I love to sing. If you're going to be around me, you'll have to put up with it.
  16. I swear. Not as much as one might expect from the daughter of Naval officers, but more than one would expect from the daughter of a pastor. I'm both, so I fall somewhere in between. I figure it's a matter of cosmic balance.
  18. I have chronic insomnia. Both in that I can't fall asleep and I also can't stay asleep. Which sucks because (a) I love to sleep, and (b) I usually have really kick-ass dreams. I actually look forward to them because they are seriously messed up, and I'm always wondering what will happen in the next one. So I take melatonin each night to help me sleep. I tried Lunesta once for about a week, but it turned me into a zombie and I couldn't write. I'll say this much for it: I slept, and I felt rested. But my brain was constantly foggy. So I'll stick with melatonin.
  20. I love flowers (Sherlock has a bit to say about my obsession with my roses) but can't grow them. I've tried. At one point, when I was teetering on that line between adolescent and adult, I said to myself, I will have plants! And I followed all the instructions. But they died. I planted seeds outside. Nothing grew. I bought the kinds of plants you're supposed to be able to forget or ignore. They died too. I bought plastic plants and they wilted. Finally Good Housekeeping and Better Homes & Gardens were starting petitions to prevent garden centers from selling me any more luckless greenery, and I said, What if I hire someone? Enter my gardener. I am now allowed to visit my yard mornings, afternoons, and alternate weekends, but only with supervision.

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