I have a thing for older British women - Judi Dench, Helen Mirren, Maggie Smith, Anne Robinson. And especially Julie Andrews - I'd so hit that.
I am a raging germophobe. I can't remember the last time I left home without a bottle of Purell in my pocket. I also keep some in my car and on my desk at work. Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously chose to major in Environmental Engineering and International Relations so that I can launch a Global War on Germs.
Harold Bloom and I have the same favorite Shakespearian play, "Henry IV Part I." Clearly, this means I have exceptional literary taste.
It drives me nuts when someone's outgoing voicemail message starts, "Hi, you've reached John Doe." No, asshole, I clearly have NOT reached you, or else I wouldn't be getting your voicemail right now.
I also can't stand when people use "OCD" as an adjective. I don't mean to suggest that I am opposed to making fun of the mentally ill. Au contraire. I just wish people would not say "OCD" when they mean "obsessive compulsive." It sounds retarded. You can't be OCD anymore than you can be syphilis. Therefore, whenever someone says "I'm a little OCD," I hear, "I have syphilis."
I love those yellow hazard signs that show horrible things about to happen to stick figures. Even better are the ones that take it one step further and actually show the dude being mauled, dismembered, decapitated, flattened, defenestrated, shot in the face, or otherwise meeting his untimely demise.These are great, too:
Warning Signs for Tomorrow
Although, I admit it's kinda creepy how seriously this guy takes himself.
I always keep my knees slightly bent whenever I'm in an elevator lest it suddenly plummet and come to such an abrupt stop that my kneecaps are blown off. For some reason I imagine dislocating my patellae to be more unpleasant than plunging to my death in an elevator shaft.
My AIM screenname is FakPlstcTreeHugr. That's also me in a nutshell.
