1. I consider myself to be actively exogamous.
I want to breed with someone from another country, someone outside the genepool of the cultures / communities I was raised in. I want them to be taller, healthier, stronger and smarter than I am, and especially than the average person I meet is-- maybe it's just that I work foodtail in a tourist town and people think it's okay to be horrible to someone you're never going to see again, but I don't want my kids to not know what coconut is, or to think that strawberry ice cream has to be neon pink, or to scream and scream and scream because they're too dumb to know how to do anything else. Currently, I'm all about Swedes and Scots, with the added benefit of a Swede being that I could possibly get to live in Sweden, which is quickly starting to sound like some sort of promised land. I also have an enternal attracktion for Asians with English accents, and Native Americans who have that on-the-res way of speaking. That last one might be Racial Guilt, but they're still hot.
2. There is a mole on my ankle that I catch every time I shave, and I use it as an excuse to not shave.
I really don't like shaving, though I do like hairlessness, and don't like the feeling of wind through my leg hair. I keep telling myself that when I get my second book published (the first one will pay off debts), I'm going to use the advance to get my whole body lazered. Anywhere there's hair I don't want, which is more and more frequent as my hormonal imbalance gets worse, I'm going to get it zapped. But until then, I'm stuck with shaving alone (Nair doesn't work and makes me break out, Smooth Away only works on the straight parts of my legs, I can't figure out threading, and waxing hurts too much), and I always hit that mole and get blood all down my foot. I'm pretty sure it jumps out at me. I'm also pretty sure that more than half of it's mass now is scar tissue, since I've been shaving and cutting it for... sixteen years. God, as long as some of the kids I work with have been alive.
3. I have a latex allergy, and it makes things awkward.
Most obviously, and probably the first thing that came to mind when I said 'latex' and 'awkward', there's the sex issue. Uncomfortable doesn't begin to explain it, and it was many a year before I figured out why it was so awful sometimes. And suck it, whoever decided that non-latex alternatives have to be so damned expensive. But less obviously, there's all the other little things that latex is in, like, say, underwear. Sometimes, in the summer, especially, when my skin is extra tender and all my pores are open, I'm alergic to my underwear and my bra, and wearing clothes is a horrible punishment that I've sort of gotten used to but still don't like. This is probably why I spent big chunks of my childhood in the smallest amount of clothes I could manage, and why I'd cry until my mom cut the elastic out of all my dresses. And other things: I can't wear the gloves at work, so I have to wash my hands at OCD levels, which damages my skin in other ways; If I leave even a covered hairtie on my wrist for more than a day or so, I break out and itch so bad I can't think; band aids eat away at my skin and are used only when the bleeding won't stop; Ace Bandages don't help at all, and give me exema on top of sprained limbs.
4. I'm half-convinced that the world is going to end while I'm here to witness it.
The other half is convinced that I'll live through it and I'd better have some survival skills so I don't die of my own stupidity after surviving the apocalypse. Because how lame would that be? I've got mental lists of everything I should stockpile, if only I had the money for it (I want to rent a storage unit and fill it up with camp cots, army rations, chemical heating pads, water, shampoo, feminine products, soap, toothpaste, canned goods, waterproof matches and so on). And the result is that I've been learning basic cultural things that we've almost lost, things that actually aren't that bad an idea for people to preserve: things like making jam, saving seeds and sustainable gardening, generating power off the grid, crocheting and weaving (and I'm trying to learn how to spin yarn), papermaking, sewing, canning, wild plant identification, and things like that. I'm comforted by the fact that I watch all the post-apocalyptic movies and have frameworks to work around in alot of circumstances, and that I've watched enough Discovery Channel to have a basic to fair understanding of how to canabalize tech to make anything I need made.
5. I'm addicted to roses.
I finally got one to grow, and better yet, to produce flowers, and now I want a dozen more plants, a hundred more. I want a whole rose garden, and a retirement spent breeding new rose varieties that I can name after science fictional women (Aryn Sun would be a kick ass rose, hardy and adaptable, while Chiana would be nearly colorless, but almost impossible to kill and Sam Carter would be unassuming, a blonde-yellow, and very dedicated to being a rose (and being secretly dangerous wouldn't hurt the namesake either)). I wear a wonderful rose-scented perfume. I eat lychees because they taste the way roses smell. I spray my face with rose water, use a rose-water facial soap (which gets bonus points for being from Sweden, see how this all ties together?), I bought rose jam and know how to make it, and I love turkis delight because it's rose-flavored. I make my own rose-scented tea. I'm considering naming a kid Rose because it's not already in the family, it's not very common these days, it's my favorite flower, AND it's my favorite companion on Doctor Who, so it has alot in it's favor. I'm obsessed. But I hate that dusty, soapy sort of roseness that's associated with old ladies, and I hate the color that's called 'dusty rose' and is actually the pink version of beige, and I hate things that are decorated with masses of roses in an attempt to be 'romantic'; all these things are insults to actual roses, and I'll be happy if I never see any of them again.
And I think five is enough for now. This will likely be the first of a series of five random neroses and facts and details, as I build this wayward blog into something all about me. Everyone should have something devoted to themselves; it's amazing for self-esteem.
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