I swear like a fucking sailor.

Somehow, only one of my pairs of boxers shrunk in the wash, without me realizing it. When I put them on, my first thought was, “MY PACKAGE HAS GROWN BIGGER”.

Hellooooooooo insomnia.

I hate my laugh. No, really. It’s a combination of my mothers’ laugh (a sort of gaspy, light, heaving) and Mike’s laugh (short bursts of falsetto squeaking). Someone once told me that it’s what she liked about me, but I think she just associated it with my sense of humour.

I’d be screened out of the Average Joe tryouts because I’m not absolutely, totally oblivious about my own dorkiness.

Sometimes I’m too tired to really think, and my eyes are too tired to focus on anything, so I decide to take a shower to refresh myself. I expect to think about what needs considering while I’m showering, so that I can come back to my computer knowing exactly what I need to. I usually end up not thinking at all while losing myself to the pressure of the water flowing over me.