7 Random Things About Me

This one goes out to Estee, my randomness rival. Someday I aspire to be nearly decapitated by a ceiling fan or maimed by a flaming lawn mower but, in the mean time, here are some things that you probably already know about me but tried to forget.

1. Each morning when I get up, I must find the perfect shirt to wear. I do not know what shirt it will be until I try it on and inspect it closely in the mirror. Some days, I go through 5 (or more) shirts just trying to find the perfect shirt. Once in a while I get it on the first try. Rarer still is the "night before perfect shirt prediction". It is the perfect shirt because I cannot wear any other shirt; I must wear the perfect shirt, of which there is only one. That day. Until the next day. When it will be a different shirt. Both my husband and old roommates can attest to the piles of "rejected" shirts that litter the floor once the search has ended. And God help me if the perfect shirt is in the hamper.

2. All iPod play lists must have cryptic and arbitrary titles such as: "strap on your helmet" (biking music), "hippies on a treadmill" (oldies mix for the gym) and my personal favorite, "club Lysol" (techno music to listen to while cleaning the house). On a recent car trip I had very difficult time deciding between "yellow stripes down the middle" and "are we there yet?"

3. All cleaning is best done after 11:00 PM. There is a very sound reasoning behind this. Many of you may be familiar with the following phenomenon: you spend the day cleaning the house and once you are done you decide to relax in a bath or perhaps go to bed early with a book. When you wake up in the morning, there is stuff everywhere, a sink full of dirty dishes and dirty clothes on the floor. It is as though the laundry waits until you are in bed to reappear from its hiding place under the bed. The dishes go into the fridge get food on themselves and then jump into the sink. Books and magazines leap from the coffee table and the entire contents of the pantry appears to have engaged in an edible version of musical chairs. If I do not start cleaning until late at night, I can catch the offending dishes and laundry in the act. I can replace books and magazines as they hurtle towards the carpet. I can fling the pantry door open and bellow "AH HA!" at which point the canned goods sheepishly return to their assigned locations.

4. I have a gigantic head. I mean, really, it is like a watermelon. I can't find hats that fit. Once on a trip to Disney land, I had to go to 7 different souvenir shops before I could find a hat that fit to take home. It's embarrassing. Don't even get me started on headbands; it is like trying to put a rubber band around a beach ball.

5. French fries taste better on the burger than with the burger. It is a documented fact. (Documented by me.) Here is my procedure for eating a hamburger: first, take the top off the burger. Second, place French fries lined up, in parallel, on top. The ends of the fries should not stick out past the bun so be sure to select fries of the appropriate length OR "trim" the fries first by munching off the end. Finally, place the bun back on top of the fries and enjoy. I'm told this is intriguing to watch.

6. Many people have told me that I am like a walking version of Trivial Pursuit. The sheer volume of random crap I know that has nothing to do with *anything* is mind-boggling. For example, a team of physics graduate students recently disproved the widely accepted idea that a duck's quack does not echo. I have a co-worker who regularly says to me "WHAT?!? How could anyone possibly know that off the top of their head?" But I do. And all that useless crap taking room up in my brain is probably why I couldn't tell you what I ate for lunch yesterday. Or what color socks I have on right now. Information on duck quack echoes just seems more important.

7. The thing that has caused me the most shame and humiliation in my life to date is my utter inability to keep houseplants alive. I can kill them within hours, not days of bringing them into my home. This is problematic for two reasons. First, everyone else I know seems to be very good with houseplants and second, I am a FRIGGIN BIOLOGIST! I have a master's degree in environmental science for crying out loud. My husband says I have a black thumb; specifically, the black thumb of death, on both hands. I think it is pretty much hopeless.