You know how some people are afraid of clowns? I'm afraid of cowboys.

And spiders. The husband can distinguish The Spider Scream from any other scream.

The person who invented divided plates should be knighted and sainted. I can't stand for my food to touch. (not my only "food issue" -- I also can't eat anything that's really mushy/gloppy, and I don't eat coconut because the sound it makes when I bite it squicks me out.)

On my desk at work, I have a stuffed Edgar Allan Poe doll (with detachable raven!) and a stuffed Dory (the forgetful fish from Finding Nemo)

Numbers are NOT my friends.

I gave an inner squee of delight when a rather conservative sort visited my office, looked around, and literally took a step back.

more to come as I think of them.....

this is SO me

My ring tone is "If I Only Had a Brain."

My circle of real life friends dubbed 2006 The Year of the Weird. We threatened to have "I survived the year of the weird" tshirts made, but never did.

Call me a raving feminist, but it makes me crazy to be addressed as "Mrs" instead of "Ms" -- my marital status has no bearing on my ability to do my job, thank you very much.

I'm convinced that the stork who delivered me got lost, refused to stop for directions, and eventually got tired and just dropped me off with some folks. Surely I wasn't meant to be here.

You probably wouldn't guess it from my closet full of black, but I love hot pink socks and am always on the lookout for another pair.

When we had been married for about two years (you know, that point when most "normal" women start getting baby fever), I got puppy fever. We had to move so we could be in an apartment that allowed dogs.

I should be working on my planning and performance report right now.

I've hung upside down from a seatbelt -- ice storm, flipped vehicle, don't recommend.

I went to a makeup class a week ago, and I still haven't tried out "smoky eye" -- What's wrong with me???

I use way too many dashes and parentheses.

The 71 in my screen name isn't the year I was born. It's the year Jim Morrison died. I was born in 69. Can you imagine what people would think if I called myself odd_duck69?

I've started a tradition of doing something completely appalling for my birthday every year. When I turned 34, I got my navel pierced. My parents still don't know. 35, I got the third hole in my left ear. In a way, that was more daring than the navel because it's in plain view. I was fully expecting one of my bosses to pitch a fit. 36, the husband took me to a Kid Rock concert. And had to admit that he enjoyed it. And volunteered to go to the next one. 37, I quit the job with the boss mentioned above. 38, (this January) I let my inner Goth out to play after keeping her chained up like the mad woman in the attic for far too long. I have no idea what I'll do for 39, but I'm considering a tattoo for 40.