- I have one white eyelash. It periodically falls out but always grows back. I like to think it means I'm the Chosen One (though I have no cosmological basis for this claim).
- I only wear grey socks—mid-charcoal grey. I'm having a hard time finding replacements, and they're all starting to look kind of ratty.
- Taco trucks have changed my life. (Prior to the storm, I always packed my lunch for work. Now I find myself hitting the taco truck at least twice a week. Though I love the po-boys and other local fare, a big midday po-boy makes me want to kick my feet up on the desk, rest my hands on my gut, and go to sleep. But dos fajitas y dos pastor with onion, cilantro, lime, green and red sauce, and sliced jalapeno makes me want to jump up and down, thump my chest, hoot like a Gibbon, and do something.)
- I am prone to occasional, inexplicable, and sudden shifts in my absurdly rigid rules of attire. I have, at various points in my youth and adulthood, refused to wear khakis, refused to wear jeans, refused to wear black, constantly worn black, refused to wear sneakers, only worn sneakers, etc. (I suspect, in the near future, I will ditch my current batch of stripey knit workaday shirts and replace them all with a closetful of short-sleeve white Oxfords—a rigorous Mormon missionary chic, if you will.)
- I have a bigger head than anyone you know.*
- I'm terrible at remembering songs (both lyrics and melody) and will often jumble two mis-remembered oldies together into a single, unintentional mashup.
* In the literal sense. It's kind of big in the metaphorical sense too, but I am, after all, the Chosen One.