I haven't really posted anything about me yet so I thought I would give it a go. Here are five things about me that might make you realize just how sad and pathetic I really am.
1. I get terrified walking down stairs. I'm good going up them, but I freak the fuck out walking down them. I have this fear that I'm going to trip and fall all the way down. It made my vacation to NYC very tricky what with all the stairs to and from the subway.
2. (Count how many ball jokes you can come up with here.) I know how to juggle. I taught myself because the owner of the dance studio I went to asked me if I would for the opening act. I got really good at it and even taught my dad how to do it, too. The night of the recital came around, and I was ready to go. I walked out on stage with my balls out (1) and noticed that the stage lights were ridiculously fucking bright. I tried to juggle, but I couldn't see where the balls were to catch them (2). I was all the way upstage when I dropped one ball (3), and it rolled right off the stage. I tried to improvise and just juggle with two when I dropped the second ball (4). I'm pretty sure I just stood on stage looking like I was about to cry for the rest of the opening. It was a really great moment for me.
3. I think that everyone has a little bit of OCD in them, and I have one, too! I run my nails from one hand under my nails of the other hand. (Oh, God. Does this make sense? I think I'm sounding a little crazy now.) Anyways, when I start the nail process, I have to do EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. of my nails or I cannot rest. I have had people honk at me at red lights because I wouldn't go until I was finished with my nails. Fiancee is already used to this little habit. He knows when he's trying to hand me something to wait until I'm done with my nails.
4. I used to pretend I was a dog. I would walk around on all fours, fuck with the family dog, convince my family to pat me on the head and bark. The whole damn she-bang. And I was twelve. My parents should have known something was wrong with me right then. They love telling this one, and I have never brought a boyfriend over that didn't hear that story. And after they tell that one, I have to pull out a story about one of my family members to even it out. Our family dinners are never over until someone has left the table in a huff and slammed a door behind them. I promise we love each other. Sometimes.
5. I snuck out of my house on a weekly basis when I was fifteen to go meet my boyfriend who lived down the road. We made out a lot. After our make-out session, my mouth was sore, and my face was covered in spit. It was super romantical.
*I just had to add that I noticed someone found my blog by googling "fuken sexy very small girl". Um, hey, whoever that was? You have most definitely got the WRONG girl. I am absolutely fuken sexy, but small? Notsomuch.