In a recent post, Nan tagged me to write about my idiosyncrasies. First off, I'm not 100% sure what an idiosyncrasy really is. A quick check of dictionary.com reveals the following definitions:

1. A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
2. A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
3. An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.

In other words, list my quirks. Hmmm... ok... for starters, as a group characteristic, where I'm from we say "pop" instead of "soda" like the rest of the planet.

I am weird about backwash, and can't stand sharing a pop can, bottle, straw, or glass rim, yet I will tolerate (and actually quite enjoy) a tongue in my mouth.

Any insect that flies and stings frightens me like a little child. We're talking big-yellow-stripe-down-the-back DREAD. Total chicken.

For all my outgoing-ness, I am embarrassed to be seen singing in the car by other drivers. When I think nobody is looking, I really act out the emotions of the lyrics. I only sing when alone in the car.

The public singing inhibition drops with the addition of alcohol and/or a karaoke microphone.

An entire pound of cold cut turkey will only be used for one, maybe two sandwiches. The rest gets eaten out of the fridge, usually wrapped in a slice of cheese, preferrably co-jack.

Thunderstorms make me horny.

In a pinch, I will re-use (hesitantly) yesterday's pair of socks, yet I will never, ever, ever re-wear yesterday's t-shirt because it's "dirty".

Then I'll go and smash down over my clean hair the same ballcap I've been sweating in for days.

Often at work, I will go to the bathroom and sit silently in a stall just because I need a moment of privacy where nobody can look at me. Sometimes I need simply to be not looked at.

There are people at work I trust with my deepest, darkest personal secrets, and yet I'm scared to death to ask if I can take their picture.

I say that I don't like cheap beer, and then turn around and buy a couple of those $.99 24 oz. cans of Steel Reserve High Gravity Lager.

There's more, but that's a good taste of my quirks. As for the food reactions, give me a sip of pure cranberry or pomegranate juice, and watch the convulsive demented monkey dance I do for the next 45 seconds.