Lil’Sass, who I’m guessing was being funny when she called me Hillary, tagged me to bring you up to speed on random factoids of information regarding yours truly. Oh and they truly are little factoids, or nuggets o’ info because as you’ll see in #5 and #6, well. . .you’ll see.

Evidently, there are some rules I have to follow, too. Here we go:
1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

1. I never say “I love you” to my brother unless we are being sarcastic. I know it’s weird, but it’s something we just don’t do. I think it’s understood that we love each other, that we’d take a bullet for one another. I mean, when I call him a douchebag and he calls me a dumbass, it’s all good, it’s all love.

2. I have to sleep with one foot hanging out from under the covers. That foot can’t have a sock on it, though the covered foot can, but it’s not mandatory. Even in the dead of winter, under layers and comforters, the one foot exposed to the air provides me with the perfect body temp. Additionally, I’m a stomach sleeper and I think if I were to be photgraphed from above, I’d look like the number four. I’ve got my left arm tucked under me so my left hand rests on my hipbone, my right arm is slack to the side, as is my right leg. My left leg is kind of tucked under the right leg, until it’s time to stick that foot to start the cooling process. It’s so bizarre to actually put this in writing, so I can only imagine what reading it must be like.

3. I don’t perspire like a lady, I sweat like a man. Rivulets down my back and beads along my hairline. When I sweat and then start to smell myself, I think everyone who is in a 10 mile radius of me can smell it. No, it doesn’t smell like roses, either. It’s like garlic and onion and hotness (heat, not my ridiculously good looks) and just essence o’ me. You would think one wouldn’t mind one’s own scent, but I mind, I mind a lot. I walk around at home in a tank top and don’t put on my real clothes until I’m almost out the door because I don’t want to funk them up before I leave the house. I mean, really, I sweat standing in front of the microwave. I tried that clinical strength Secret and my body shrugged it off like, “No big whoop. What else you got?”.

4. I don’t like cheese. I mean, I’ll eat a pizza, lasagna, baked ziti, mozzarella sticks (I’ll eat anything fried), but I won’t eat grilled cheese, cheeseburgers, cheese and crackers, ham and cheese on rye — you get the idea. I don’t know when it started or why. It’s not like I had a bad experience with cheese. I just don’t get the allure that turophiles seem to find in vast abundance whilst inhaling slices (or is it chunks) of Gruyere — which, by the way, I can’t even pronounce.

5. I have a short attention span which. . . oh, pretty bird on the window sill. . .

6. I rush through things and then have to repeat them because I didn’t pay attention the first time. I think that’s a function of the fact that I never have enough time to do all of the things that I want to do, have to do and should do. So, as a result, I do it all really fast so that I can get it all in, but end up not really enjoying it, not remembering it, or having to do it (be it read, listen, whatever) all over again. I kind of eat that way, too. Yikes, what a disgusting picture I just painted there.

Who to put on blast. . . .Let’s see, let’s see. . . Heads up LibbY, PK, Kendall, Mary, Tiffany and Kris! Have fun!