And another...random thing

So I succumbed to the peer pressure of Frassbook and posted a list of not 25, but 31 odd random things about yours truly. Since asking Moda if I should post something. (In short, seeing if there would be any interest in the general social networking audience) She said they would, and I started brainstorming. A very bad thing.

So, your frassy flibbertigibbet kept running down the list, on his commute or at the gym. And came up with his freestyle list a few nights ago. Amazing that I actually numbered them, and that Moda came over and fell asleep while I typed and typed and typed. But then I realized that there were more. And so if you have the time and patience, here is the follow up:

1) I. Am. A. Procrastinator. Big time. When I was a kid, I'd hate the pokey way my folks would take me to hockey. I'd always get to the rink as the other kids were exiting on the ice and I'd have to lace up my skates in a rush to get things done and going. Eventually, this would cause me to over estimate the amount of time to complete tasks and I'd tell them I needed to get somewhere 15-20 earlier than I had to. As I got older, my pokey tendencies popped up and now I find myself the bane of others existence when they expect me somewhere on time. The places I'll never show up late are show "calls" or appointments. But damn. Poke Poke Poke.

Many stage managers will hate this tendency. They make lists. The only lists I can make are grocery or X-mas.

That being said, when I do work I work in intense spurts. I have three things totally unrelated that need accomplished (Like today- Garbage out, WD-40 the squeeky doors/deadbolts, toss in laundry, straighten front entry, dust cat-dander off the stairs) I run to do those things right away.

Otherwise? I'm on the couch under a blanket with a book.

2) Least favorite domestic task? I hate folding clothes. Clothing has sat in the basket in the TV room untouched for days while I pick out undies and socks for the week haphazardly. Occasionally, instead of hanging things I'll either hang them behind my bedroom door, or toss them over the garment bar in my closet. That being said?

3) I love tidying. Blame my folks (again) for this. I like order. In my home. I have a few packrattish tendencies remaining (Pictures, toys, yearbooks. F#ck, I won't throw away a t-shirt or jeans until they're practically disintegrating. Except I clean once every two weeks, with a quarterly "deep" cleaning which involves moving furniture and appliances, the top of the fridge, and all the nooks and crannies and woodwork around my house.

4) I'm not very "guy" like. Sports? Meh. Sports on TV? Meh. Don't get me wrong, I'll watch the Super Bowl. (Who, of course, doesn't care for the commercials?) But the things that dudes often get into, I don't. I'm not your bastion of culture by any stretch, I just don't give a rip about how a team played how. Video games? Moved on. I don't need a Wii or a truck. I don't go hunting. Paintball? Meh.

What's funny about my own misguided sense of hypocrisy is that I used to watch Vikings games religiously. Video game sessions over cocktails were my bread and butter. We hunted when we were kids, and in the Boy Scouts I was a crack shot. I know how the games are played enough to not feel in the dark about them, heck I even had a tutorial during the Olympics on how gymnastics were scored.

Just not me.

5) BBQ Sauce instills a Pavlovian response from me. I don't eat much by red meat any more, or chicken with skin. But if a potluck at work has Simeks meatballs in a crockpot? I am a dead man. And your balls will have been eaten.

6) Seafood. When did this happen? Seafood in my family was either tuna in a can or pan-fried breaded bluegill on a plate with a paper towel on it, dipped in ketchup. (Or the bucket of smelt from Village North smelt fries) Now I'm a sucker for it in all of its incarnations. Salmon, Scallops, Cioppino, trout...Crappy enough that it's the most expensive dish on any given menu. And sure, I love oysters. I beat a bet when I was 6 that I could eat a raw one. Love.

While I don't judge, I get a little confused as to the folks that don't like it. And make a deal outta saying "ish".

7) When did I get so scared? So I don't hate heights. Really. I get a weird sense of vertigo (always have) when I look over open railing into open space whether it's 1 story or 6. This, I figure, goes back to walking around City Center during the holidays as a kid and being afraid to fall. Mo and I visited Arches National Park a few years ago and while she was scampering around taking pictures from delicate arch I would hang back leaning against a rock. I told this to my dad who said "This is from the kid who ran out to the end of the bluff with his brother at the Grand Canyon and nearly gave your mother and I a heart attack?" Yeah.

My office has this kind of open floor plan and I have an unnatural fear that some joker will try to push me over the third floor railing. I'm weird.