Unspectacular Quirks

A friend of mine recently reminded me that as a writer it is important to keep writing. Even when one finds themselves dominated by the common domestics of life, lacking simple motivation, or suffering from a case of maddening block. He was absolutely right. I had forgotten that it is imperative to keep the penball rolling in order to sustain and cultivate a personal literary occupation.
I dutifully attempt to write something everyday. Not out of any obligation but for a fervent need within me. Like prayer, it comforts my heart. Admittedly there are days when I pen only a to-do or grocery list. However, those lists are usually accompanied by clumsy doodles that even a six year old wouldn't claim. But those doodles, to me, represent some form of emotional articulation.
Lately I have found myself busy with summer fun, chores, and a new series of leisure reading I'm addicted to. There are several projects started in my notebook that are only evolving a few lines at a time due to my afore-mentioned preoccupations. Luckily for me Tashabud shared an exercise to compose and publish my 6 unspectacular quirks, so here are only six...

1) I am always making noises and singing. In the shower, we all know acoustics are amazing for singing. They may even be better for burping. I do both nearly every time I'm in the shower. There is a time and a place to act like a lady, sometimes I just have a hard time getting there. Besides I have the right to act like a lady or not in the privacy of my own shower. Anyone who who has spent any duration of time with or near me is aware that I am rarely quiet or still. Silence on my part is usually a warning to those who know me. Aware that being bubbly and noisy can irritate people, I try to keep it in check but I am who I am, and my friends love me anyway. I have had several roommates share with me how quiet it seems after I have vacated. Some of them even miss it. The singing and noises.

2) I sleep in a hammock. I recently abandoned a bunch of furniture for the 2000 mile move, and one of the things I dropped was my bed. I've had a queen size bed forever and I didn't think it would be practical for moving in a new town with few acquaintances and even fewer friends, a.k.a. occasional moving helpers. Mom thinks its just weird, and Dad wouldn't waste the time to think about it. Luna loves it and so do I! Its big enough for two and way comfortable for one. Besides, if I'm gonna live on a boat someday...

3) I am a Jeep girl. I love jeeps. I have been a jeep girl all my life and have the hotwheels toys to prove it! Some of my earliest memories are playing in the back of my dad's bright yellow willy's frame while he's busy in the garage. I bought my first one new in '04. Dad wouldn't let me have one when I was younger due to my wild-child nature. He's a smart dad. He even bought me an RC jeep that looks like mine for my 26th birthday. Gosh, I love my dad! Just to clarify, by jeeps I'm referring to jeep wranglers, not jeep cherokees, and definitely not the barbie wranglers with the square headlights! I don't know what the design team was thinking when they put those into production. Thank goodness they came to their senses and brought back the rounds!

4) I don't like celery unless it has hotwing sauce on it. I don't know why but I've always hated celery. It just tastes gross! When I went to Fire on the Mountain for the first time a couple years ago, I had no choice, I actually had to eat some celery. To sample their numerous fantastical sauces you are offered slivers of celery. They wouldn't let me dip my fingers in the cups so I bit the bullet and the celery. It wasn't so bad drowned in fantastical sauce, and the weird thing is that now I sometimes crave celery with classic hotwing sauce and some bleu cheese! But I still can't stand it with or in anything else. Thank you Fire on the Mountain for broadening my horizons and the kick-ass hotwings. You can also get fried snickers and twinkies there. The cooks don't like to do the snickers cause they can get messy or something, so tip 'em! Fire on the Mountain is a must if you're ever lucky enough to visit Portland. (The one on the left coast.)

5) I won an international drinking contest. As I have matured, this is not necessarily a point of pride but a little fact about me none the less. I was in college, and the majority of my mom's family had picked Puerto Villarta, Mexico as the destination to celebrate one of my grandparent's comemorable wedding anniversaries. We were all gathered at the resort's fiesta, when all of a sudden, my brother pushed me up on stage. I was already drunk and didn't realize what he had volunteered me for. The host introduced all of us ladies and explained the rules. There were around a dozen of us up there, different ages and nationalities. Needless to say, well rehearsed due to previous competitive challenges with stupid frat boys, I kicked some ass. As I was awarded my prize, a litre of Cuervo, I promptly informed my dad, "See, I did learn something in college!" My uncle then proceeded to win the men's drinking competition, no joke. I often wonder just how proud my grandparents were that night...

6) My conversation style is extremely scattered. At least when I write I can focus. Conversation with me is hardly ever focused. Once I even ended up getting a date with my new supervisor during the interview. I just talked my way into the job and into a new boyfriend. There is really only one other person I can have a comfortably fluid conversation with other than my mother and that's Joe. Mom and I communicate like mother and daughter should, naturally and lovingly. When something is really important, and needs to be shared that particular conversation, one of us will say, "Wait. I need to tell you, before I forget and we get to talking about other things..." Come to think of it, we do housework like that too. Dad once referred to mom's method as "kangaroo housework because she's always jumping from chore to chore or project to project." I recently realized that I also possess this talent. My father loves my mother and I very much, I know this. But no matter how much he loves me, I'm aware that conversations with me can at times get to him. Either because I can't stick to the subject at hand or because I just talk too much. I really try to keep the phone conversations with him short out of courtesy, but again, I am who I am, and he loves me anyway. Just like a dad should. As for Joe, we just communicate well. As I remember, talking to him was always easy, natural, comfortable. I'm sure we've started more conversations than we'll ever finish and that's ok. I never feel like I have to try and focus when we talk. It wouldn't be fair to say he's scatter-brained too, but his erratic subject variation rivals mine. Conversations with other friends, I attempt to focus, not always successfully but if I keep practicing eventually I'll get it. Or we'll get to be so old that it won't matter 'cause we won't remember what we were talking about anyway. Cheers!