Things you may not know about me at this moment in time:
I watch Daredevil, the Netflix series. (And no, this is not a sponsored post. Since I work with Netflix, I just find myself suuuuper aware of their programming and it becomes my go-to for unwinding in short bursts. Another thing you might not know about me: I believe it’s possible to “unwind” in “short bursts.” That right there might speak more about my psyche than anything else on this list.) Anyway. Daredevil. It’s an action-heavy episodic show of the superhero variety. It’s also exceptionally dark. And ridiculously violent. I hate dark violence. But I cannot help but watch it. I am compelled to watch it. It is so good. It gives me such anxiety. And P.J. always- always– says he’ll watch it with me only to fall asleep right after the opening credits, leaving me to panic in [relative] silence until he’s jolted awake by my shrieks of “The Russians! Oh my God, the RUSSIANS!”
I’ve always liked light n’ fruity drinks. Coladas, ‘ritas, sours, fruit-infused beers; anything found on a girls’ night chalkboard, imma drink it. But this past Christmas, my Mom asked me if I wanted to have a little bourbon (which, for the record, is an out-of-the-ordinary offer) because someone had dropped off a nice bottle, she had enjoyed a smallish glass the other night- which, she reminded me, she really doesn’t do- and it was actually pretty good. P.J., obviously, offered up the fact that he knew how to make a Manhattan. What he neglected to mention was that he knew how to make a killer Manhattan- so much so that it became My Winter Drink from that moment onward. And then it became My Spring Drink. And now it’s Summer, ha HA. I love bourbon- I love it- but it’s the musical equivalent of playing only bluegrass, country, and 70s folk- and then suddenly busting out the German death metal. It’s a bit of a departure, that’s all.
I think tiger lilies are the most romantic flower, ever. I do not care if they largely grow as weeds. Back in 1994, I happened to be home when my older sister (then 16) had a guy she was dating show up with a bunch of tiger lilies he had gotten for her on his way to a soccer game. (HOW COOL IS THAT, 14 year-old me thought. SOMEONE WILL DEFINITELY HAVE TO DO THAT FOR ME ONE OF THESE DAYS.) I guess what I’m really trying to say is, my unrealistic expectations were set for me at a very tender age.
Also: I adore being a mother, but I am one thousand percent
not going to read this book that my daughter wrote.
Now, opposite time! I have an incredibly high pain tolerance but an intense fear of actual, imminent pain. I’m extremely competitive but not really athletic enough to back that up. I will eat raisin bread by the loaf pan(s), but raisins by their lonesome make me gag. I believe in the fairness of the “basket weave” maneuver of slowly letting everyone merge into traffic- but if you pause even one second longer than necessary at a newly turned green light, I will run you over with my car twice.
And because there’s loads more I could offer up (and because I’m starting to feel self-conscious about my quirks), I’ll make this deal with you: tell me one thing about yourself I may not know and I’ll match you, info for info. Fun, right?
(Totally inadmissible in court, right?)
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