25 Random Things About Me
25 Random Things About Me
I like to chew gum.
I can make my gum make a popping sound as I chew it.
My dad can do this and so could his mom. Inherited talent.
I am all about Smartwool socks. Merino wool is where it’s at for me. Accept no substitutes. I was not paid to say this.
I was devasted recently to find Ibex Clothing no longer exists. Again, merino wool.
I FOUND my favorite Ibex wool hat, the one I thought I’d lost, the one I searched the house and cars high and low for, the one I scoured the Internet for, trying to replace.
When I cough or sneeze, it sounds just like my mom to me. I like that.
I DO NOT like to get up early. EVER. Sometimes it seems like a good idea the night before. It never seems like a good idea the moment of.
I like to sniff my dogs—their paws, the space between their ears and eyes.
I was recently a bit relieved to find out that “cute aggression” is a thing. Someone is researching it. It’s that feeling you have (well, I have it) when something is so cute you just want to squeeze it. Really hard. I tell my dogs I’m going to squeeze them til they squeal. I felt the same about my babies. I DON’T squeeze them that hard but I want to.
Bhakti Chai, Boulder-made, and the only chai worth drinking. IMHO.
Hot showers, hot tea, hot coffee, not food. I like it hot. Scalding hot.
Sunshine. Give me sunshine. I’ll take a gray day here and there, one to snuggle in and never leave my pjs, but really, sunshine.
I’m not a big shopper. Sometimes my husband makes me go shopping for clothes to update my wardrobe a bit. I would spend all winter wearing a black turtleneck and the same 3 fleece pullovers if I could. Mostly I can. And do.
What I do like to shop for is books. I try to use the library but I can barely resist the call of a book to be MINE. A bookstore is a danger zone for me. The most I can hope to do it to limit myself to paperbacks and to a smallish number. So yesterday I went into one of my all time favorite independent bookstores. I only bought one book. But it was in hardback. Sorry. It was the most compelling.
My mom says if I could go into a bookstore or library and lick the books, I would. True. My word altar. Holy ground. I like the way books smell, the way the cover cracks on first opening. I am the dork who examines the front and back cover, reads the publishing date, the dedications, ever little bit. I want to touch the paper, smell it, feel the heft of the pages in my hand.
I have the last 75 pages of Gone With the Wind in a memento box in my basement. As a teenager, I was on an international trip, going to South Africa as an exchange student. In Brussels, they weighed our luggage for the first time and we were all overweight. Not having the money to pay the fees, we had to jettison stuff to reduce our baggage weights. I had 75 pages to go in my book. So I tore the last pages off, took them with me, and left the rest behind.
I’m not “premium” about many things. But about a few? Yes. 100% cotton sheets of a high-high-is thread count. Please do not talk to me about bamboo or microfiber and especially not about polyester in my sheets.
I am also an ice cream snob. Ben and Jerry’s, Haagen Daz, or other premium brands. It’s not worth wasting the calories on less. Sorry, Breyer’s and store brands.
I went to college south of Burlington, VT. A great road trip was the 50 mile trip to the original Ben & Jerry’s store there—the only one at the time.
In high school, a special outing with friends was to drive 50 miles down the valley to Glenwood Springs, CO to eat at Pizza Hut, go bowling and swim in the hot springs.
One of may childhood dogs was named Ruffles. He was a small black poodle and he was curly and well, ruffled.
An earlier childhood dog was named Stonewall Jackson. Pretty sure my dad was responsible for that one.
My current dogs are name Queso (blame that one on the kids), Sugarplum (blame that one on this little pup coming into our lives 2 days after Christmas. We claim that visions of Sugarplum were dancing in our heads), and Buddy (highly unoriginal on our parts but that’s what we kept calling him.)
Long toenails, my own or anyone else’s, creep me out.