Right on time.

Rowan, born January 20, 2009, while the rest of the world was welcoming a new American president. Not a bad day to be born.

What I would rather be instead of both wretchedly sick and nine months pregnant

Wretchedly sick but not nine months pregnant

Nine months pregnant but not wretchedly sick

Not wretchedly sick and not nine months pregnant

Forbidden from ever eating chocolate again

Stuck in an elevator with Ted Nugent for six hours

Forced to read every last one of Ann Coulter’s books

A contestant on Rock of Love

The final contestant on Rock of Love

The PR rep for Tom Cruise, Amy Winehouse, Lindsay Lohan AND Prince Harry

Back in high school

Required to explain the appeal of Penelope Cruz

The Golden Globes censor during Mickey Rourke’s acceptance speech

Neighbour to the ex-boyfriend I refer to exclusively as ‘Fuckhead’

Carrot Top’s massage therapist

Pinned down à la Clockwork Orange and forced to watch the new Kate Hudson/Anne Hathaway movie on an endless loop

Able to speak only in dialogue written by George Lucas

This guy

Pretty much anything

I refrained from using the term ‘titillate’ anywhere. (Except the title.)

Pablo Picasso, Maternity, 1905

Facebook was recently in the news for its monumentally stupid policy that photos of mothers breastfeeding their babies violate the site’s terms of service and are therefore fair game for deletion when discovered. I say “stupid” mainly because, if there’s one thing everyone should know full well, it’s that you don’t mess with the breastfeeding brigade. Breastfeeding mamas can be hardcore– there’s a reason the term Breastfeeding Nazi exists. At the slightest hint that you think breastfeeding should be kept private, it’s on, man, and they will boycott you, organize protests, slam you in the media, accuse you of sexism and oppression, do whatever it takes until you’re on your knees practically begging women to whip out their boobs and feed their kids in your store or on your premises or wherever the kerfuffle began. It is not smart to take them on.

Anyway, Facebook maintains that it only deletes photos where actual nipple can be seen, but that doesn’t appease the 87,000 members of the group “Hey, Facebook, breastfeeding is not obscene!” or the 11,000 women who recently changed their profile pictures to photos of themselves breastfeeding in protest of the policy. So far Facebook is holding strong, but we’ll see how long it lasts. I would imagine it may decide it’s not worth the trouble to stick to these particular guns; the phrase pick your battles comes to mind.

This is just the latest example of the great breastfeeding-is-natural-get-over-it versus keep-it-to-yourself-ladies debate. In just my recent memory, I recall dust-ups over refusal to allow women to breastfeed in a public pool (yeah– in the pool) and in an H&M store. In all these cases, it’s rare to find someone who’s not staunchly entrenched in either one camp or the other, something especially noticeable if you read the often vicious comments on any news article on the subject. People seem to either believe women are justified in exposing their breasts anywhere and everywhere, as long as there is a small child attached to them, or they believe women should be confined to dark, secret places if there’s even a hint their mammaries might start flowing. There hardly seems to be a middle ground. (Sadly, based purely on my anecdotal observations of these debates, it appears that the first group is comprised primarily of women, and the second mostly of men.)

Really, it doesn’t seem like a photo of a breastfeeding mother or seeing a mom nursing her kid in public is something to get worked up about. As breastfeeding advocates will tell you, breastfeeding is not obscene– it’s a mother providing nourishment to her child. And babies, as any mom will tell you, need to eat long and often. Unless mothers want to restrict themselves to only brief jaunts outside their home, or resign themselves to disappearing into the bathroom for 45 minutes at a time whenever kiddo gets hungry, nursing in public is inevitable. So, big deal, you might see some sideboob– you also might see that if a woman wears a low-cut shirt. You probably see more breast revealed at the beach. Avert your eyes if you feel uncomfortable; there’s no requirement to stare. And, honestly, is seeing a breast such a big deal? Can we not get over our obsession with these roundish hunks of flesh that hang from women’s chests? Half the population has ‘em… jeez, even some men do.

At the same time, our pornified society has sexualized breasts to such a ridiculous degree that I don’t know if there’s any coming back from it. Breasts have ceased to be seen as sources of a child’s nourishment– they are seen almost exclusively as sources of a man’s (or, hey, a woman’s) excitement and pleasure. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight man alive, no matter how intelligent or dignified or respectful of women, who doesn’t become reduced to a slobbering caveman-esque mass of pure sexual urges at the sight of a pair of breasts– well, at the sight of the right pair of breasts, that is; let’s not overlook why the market for implanting gigantic chemical balls in a woman’s chest continues to boom. (I suppose I should say that women are complicit in this as well– after all, we’re the ones who actually get the damn implants, who buy the push-up bras, who flaunt our cleavage. Give ‘em what they want, I guess.)

So it is fair to say that no one should be distracted or shocked by the sight of a bare breast in public, even if it is for the sole purpose of filling a baby’s stomach? Are breasts just another part of the body when they’re feeding our children, but the be-all and end-all of a woman’s sexuality when tanned and oiled up and inflated to absurd sizes? Can we have it both ways?

The cynical part of me suspects the reason some men object to women breastfeeding in public is precisely because it reduces breasts’ sexualization, because it returns them to being what they are– vehicles for baby food– rather than objects of a man’s sexual pleasure. Hard to get turned on by a great set of tits after you’ve seen them in action, delivering Junior’s lunch. The even more cynical part of me suspects it would be okay with some men as long as the rack being exposed met their standards of attractiveness– Hey, Angelina, nurse those babies right over here, next to me! Can I help you get a good latch going?– but that the typical breastfeeding boob– saggy and veiny and large-nippled– is just plain a turn-off, so put it AWAY, please god, quick! It’s the same mentality that makes people complain that the women you see on the topless beach are never those you actually, you know, want to see on the topless beach.

There are some women who are against the practice as well, perhaps suspecting their brazenly breastfeeding sisters are just exhibitionists at heart. (That’s just silly; everyone knows exhibitionists can get far more satisfaction with a digital camera and a Flickr account.)

Opponents on the other side of the debate can be just as quick to judge, though. If you, as a woman, decide you don’t want to expose your breasts to the world when nursing, you might be seen as repressed or helping to stigmatize breastfeeding or otherwise being a bad feminist. As someone days away from having to decide how to handle this dilemma myself, my personal solution was to buy one of these contraptions, which seems a reasonably discreet option that won’t force me to find a room with a closed door every two hours. (Plus, it’s really cute.) Little did I know that by my choice, I was relegating women back to the dark ages. Sigh.

No matter. When I was seven months pregnant, I had some photos taken, on the off-chance I’d actually want to remember my body being all round and full-of-life (jury’s still out on that one). The photographer asked me to come back after the baby was born– he wants to take some breastfeeding shots, thinks they can be really beautiful and artistic. I think he’s right. I’ll probably do it.

Just don’t look for them on Facebook.

 
Addendum: Sometimes WordPress throws on automatically generated links below a blog post that are supposed to be related content. I’ve noticed all the ones it’s been attaching to this post are porn-related. Awesome. But thanks for sorta proving my point, WordPress.

Signalling your turns: it’s not actually optional.

Let me begin with a disclaimer: this blog is not directed at you. I’m sure you’re an excellent driver. And, even if you’re not, that doesn’t really affect me unless you live in or around the Greater Moncton Area or intend to visit here in the near future. No, this blog is directed at drivers in said area. They are uniformly not excellent drivers.

I’m thinking maybe the entire Moncton drivers’ ed community forgot, en masse, to teach this small but important lesson to every student from the past, oh, say, 30 years. I’m thinking that, because that actually sounds more likely than the alternative: that so many people are all so incredibly stupid and careless.

So let this function as either a refresher or an introduction to the fine art of signalling your turns.

The typical steering wheel and dashboard of a car looks something like this:

Now, I can see why some people might be confused. Looking at the wheel straight on, you might think the wheel is the only instrument there. You may need to suspend your disbelief for a second, but take a leap of faith and believe me when I tell you: it’s not.

I’m sure I don’t need to point this out, but the steering wheel actually turns (this being the mechanism by which you can steer your vehicle). So, if you turn the wheel ever-so-slightly, look at what you suddenly notice:

There’s another lever back there!

See it? Here, let me make that a little clearer:

Now, car manufacturers aren’t trying to trick you or confuse you by hiding it. It’s located back there so it’s convenient to reach while your hands are on the steering wheel. Try it out next time you’re driving: reach out just one little finger and… flick! Up or down it goes, easy as can be.

This special lever, among other functions, controls your INDICATOR LIGHTS.

• If you push the lever DOWN, it causes your LEFT rear light to flash, indicating to drivers around you that you intend to TURN LEFT (or MERGE into the LEFT LANE, as the case may be).
• If you push the lever UP, it causes your RIGHT rear light to flash, indicating to drivers around you that you intend to TURN RIGHT (or MERGE into the RIGHT LANE).

Why bother using these signals? Because, when you do, OTHER DRIVERS KNOW WHAT YOU PLAN ON DOING WITH YOUR LARGE AND POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS VEHICLE.

The benefits of this are myriad, but primary among these is that the driver into whose lane you’re merging will know you intend to move over and therefore, at least theoretically, won’t smash into you when you do.

It also allows other drivers to plan their own moves by having advanced knowledge of your future moves.

For example, if I’m stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn right, and you’re driving along in the direction I’d like to be going in, I won’t turn because I don’t want you to hit me. However, if you don’t intend to keep going straight– if you, in fact, intend to turn before you get to the spot at which I am waiting– why not let me in on that little plan, so I don’t have to wait for you?

Is your move a secret? Is it a surprise?

I don’t like secrets. And, unless it involves a present for me, I don’t like surprises, either.

I realize most drivers have other things on their minds while driving– like talking on their cells or driving 10 km below the speed limit to piss off other drivers– but it takes one finger and about three-quarters of a second. It’s easier than bending the lid back on your cup of Tim’s.

And by doing so, while it’s clearly too late to save MY sanity, you just might save the sanity of some other driver out there.

No wonder Baby Jesus shut off comments to his blog.

On Monday, the reliably funny Scott Feschuk wrote a blog pretending to be Baby Jesus liveblogging from the manger. It’s worth a read, if you have the time, even if only for this segment:

11:51 Man, this is awkward. There’s this kid who’s been playing his drum for me for, like, ever. Which is great and everything, and the ox and lamb seem to be enjoying themselves—but has no one in this town heard of a melody? Maybe if I smile at him he’ll stop.

I mean, really, is there anyone on the planet who thinks “The Little Drummer Boy” is a pleasant song? It’s got to be the most head-poundingly offensive Christmas tune in existence (save Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, which ranks among the worst recordings of any genre ever inflicted on humankind, and I’m including “Who Let The Dogs Out” and “The Thong Song” in that assessment too).

Sorry, I get carried away easily, especially when ranting. Back to the original rant.

So, Feschuk pens this amusing blog about the Christ child carrying on from His High Holy MacBook (that’s me being irreverent, not him) and, of course– gosh, didn’t see this one coming– immediately starts getting inundated with religious commenters who were Not Amused. To wit:

You’re a lot like the guys in Amish towns who try to be funny by provoking the locals, whom everyone knows will not fight back. You’d never try it in a bar, chickensh*t.

Every time a Liberal disrespects Jesus on the internet, the Conservatives gain a few extra votes.

This is a tasteless piece of work … Religion is a matter not to be trifled with, no matter whose it is.

in our country t/day things are falling apartbecause of so called intellectuals write trash like this.

One day Scott Feschuk you will stand before your Maker, God himself, and he will ask you why you wrote this idiotic blog. I would not want to be standing in your shoes.*

*I am on the fence about whether this was meant to be a joke or not. I find it hard to believe anyone could seriously think that.

Now, I won’t get into the fact that– as Feschuk himself points out in the comments– he was making light of blogging culture, not Jesus, and that, really, there wasn’t actually anything offensive said about Jesus or Christianity in the blog (though at one point the baby Messiah takes his own name in vain, which I gather is a pretty big no-no on the Christian scale. In fact, it’s apparently comparable to rape, according to one commenter:

For those confused about the insult here, imagine if Feshcuk parodied Jesus raping someone in a fit of passion. That would be insulting. It would also be less insulting than having Jesus blaspheme.

Jesus Christ, talk about offensive…)

But, okay, I won’t dispute people’s right to be outraged by what they read. Everyone has a different level of tolerance and a different definition of what’s acceptable to them, and that’s generally a non-negotiable point, so telling someone to “lighten up” when they think something has crossed the line is not only kind of presumptuous but it just plain doesn’t work. I personally find dead baby jokes distasteful, but you might think they’re hilarious. Neither one of us is right, because it’s personal taste.

My problem is with religious folk who want to push their beliefs on others, who think their way is the only way, who want to tell you how to live your life. (This is a recurrent issue with me; I don’t like being told what to do, because I’m not you. For further clarification, please allow me to channel every teenage girl on the planet: “You’re not the boss of me.”)

Not finding something funny is one thing. But telling someone what they can’t or shouldn’t write or joke about, telling someone that they’ll one day pay for having a different sense of humour than you, berating them because they don’t share your reverence for something… it’s sanctimonious and, quite frankly, it’s irritating as hell. I find holier-than-thou (pardon the expression) positions particularly disagreeable when the subject is religion because that’s one area where there’s no right or wrong. I might think I know the “truth,” and so might you, but the reality is neither of us do, not for sure, because there’s no way to know the unknowable. (God speaking to you or you “just knowing” something or referencing an ancient text as your source material do not count as indisputable proof, sorry.)

Then there are those who seem to be modern-day missionaries, who want to help you lead a better life and save your heathen soul from eternal damnation. Take this comment, for instance:

The simple fact is this: some things in Life are serious and important and deserving of simple respect, even reverential respect … I’m writing because some of you are actually thirsting for truth, dope and booze and entertainment and sex and an orgy of materialism at Christmastime leaves you empty and hungry, again. I’ve been there, believe me. I want you to know that the world is mostly nonsense and real Truth — living water and abundant Life — is available. Open your mind, find a church where the bible is taught and the Lord is worshipped and keep going… you will find a present that never stops giving.

I don’t mean to single out this particular commenter; this is simply representative of comments I see all the time whenever religion is brought up. And while this is written in a very respectful and non-YOU-ARE-GOING-TO-HELL-YOU-NONBELIEVER way, I still find it odd that anyone cares about anyone else’s choice of religion (or lack thereof). The fact that I am godlessly enjoying hedonistic pleasures at Christmas time instead of worshipping at church does not affect you in any way, shape or form (unless you’re enjoying those hedonistic pleasures with me, in which case I doubt you’d be trying to convert me, nomesayin’?). Please stop worrying about my soul; I am fine, honest.

The way I see it is this: I don’t like the show Dancing With the Stars. I don’t watch it. I don’t want to watch it. I actually tried once, for about five minutes, and then changed the channel rather than hurl myself out the window (it was an either/or scenario). But maybe you think it’s really good. Maybe it’s your favourite show, in fact. That’s great. I don’t want you to stop watching it just because I can’t stand it. By all means, watch those C-list celebs fly around the stage until your heart is filled with joy. It does not affect me in the least. Just don’t try to force me to watch it, too, because my not watching should not affect you in the least, either, and I’m much happier over here watching The Office, where no one dances or gets voted off or wears sparkly costumes.

See, now, I’ve just compared religious belief to a crappy dance show, and I’ve probably managed to offend both religious people AND dance-show fanatics. Yes I know: I am going to hell.

Rick’s Rants: A Part of Our Heritage

In a week where every day we have seen things never before predicted there is a simple solution.

We need one more historic press conference attended by two political enemies. A joint press conference between Stephen Harper and Stephane Dion.

A historic event where they both apologise to their country and their parties, in that order, and then they resign immediately – no questions please.

Because quite frankly they deserve one another and Canada deserves better.

I was going to write something about the complete and utter madness going on in Ottawa, but then I figured that if someone has already said something so much better than you ever could, you may as well give up and just direct people over there. So, please, do yourself a favour and head on over to Rick Mercer’s blog for the best take on this whole sorry mess that I’ve read yet.

Suicide as spectator sport

Many people have heard the story of Megan Meier, the 13-year-old who committed suicide after being tormented online by a teenage boy who told her to kill herself… who later turned out to be not a teenage boy at all but a 49-year-old mother getting some kicks through cyberbullying. (The woman in question, Lori Drew, was charged with conspiracy and some other minor offenses, but was convicted only of three misdemeanour counts of accessing computers without authorization.)

I’m not sure how many people have heard of Abraham Biggs, a Florida teen who killed himself November 19 in front of an online audience via live streaming video. Hundreds of viewers (up to 1,500 according to one report) tuned in to watch the 19-year-old overdose with pills, lay down on the bed… and remain still. Those still watching hours later were able to see cops break down his bedroom door and cover up his webcam, ending the show.

It turns out Biggs had announced his suicidal intentions on Bodybuilding.com, a forum he frequented.

“I hate myself and I hate living,” he wrote. “I want my life to end. I am tired of f@#$ing up everything. I am tired of people always telling me that they do not like me.”

If Biggs was hoping to gain any sympathy online, he was not to find it. Forum members laughed and encouraged his plan. One user wrote: “You want to kill yourself? Do it, do the world a favour and stop wasting our time with your mindless self-pity.”

So he did.

Certainly, it is not forum members’ fault that Biggs was suicidal and they should not have been tasked with stopping him from carrying out his plan. But what does it say about a community that, instead of reaching out to someone obviously in trouble, chose instead to goad him on, put him down, push him further into the abyss into which he was so clearly sinking?

Of course, individuals are responsible for their own actions, and that includes suicide. And yet… if someone is suicidal or easily impressionable or emotionally vulnerable and you take advantage of that, should you bear no culpability at all for what might happen as a result of your involvement? Should there not be an expectation of human decency, even online?

Bullying is not limited to the online world, not by a long shot, but it certainly introduces a unique and repugnant new level to it. As countless others before me have observed, the Internet can be a cutthroat and merciless place. Ugliness abounds. It can be a dangerous place for the faint of heart, the vulnerable, the sensitive. Many will maintain that the only person capable of making you feel inferior is yourself and that words on a screen– especially the words of a stranger on a screen– should have absolutely no effect on you. Unquestionably, it’s enviable to have the strength of character and unshakeable sense of self to withstand those who would belittle or play mind games with you; that is true both online and off. But not everyone can claim that level of confidence, especially not those struggling with self-esteem issues, depression or other mental illnesses, and I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect everyone to react with steely resolve or nonchalance in the face of derision. After all, most people recognize that emotional abuse is as cruel and damaging to the victim– and as damning a reflection on the perpetrator’s character– as that which is physical; does the same not apply online?

In my own online experiences, I’ve seen more examples than I care to recall of people hurling unspeakable invective at the weak and easily bullied. I’ve seen people tell others to kill themselves… never those I suspected were suicidal or at risk of becoming so, but definitely those facing emotional or mental issues– easy targets, no doubt, and also those most likely to be affected by the abuse. While I don’t think it’s ever pleasant to be insulted or mocked or berated, it’s about a hundred times more difficult to handle when in the midst of an emotional crisis or breakdown.

For Megan Meier, it must have become too much to handle. And for Abraham Biggs, his own personal demons pushed him to the brink and his online community, rather than try to pull him back, mocked him, maybe even pushed him over, then sat back and literally watched.

I find myself questioning whether any of those who laughed at him or told him to go through with it feel even a twinge of remorse at how the situation turned out… and realize that if they were the types to feel empathy they would not have acted that way to begin with.

No, the Internet does not have exclusive rights to the heartless… but it certainly gives them a fertile playground.

Here, laugh at this…

I just saw a reference on another blog to Carrot Top being scary (because he is, very very much so… h/t Ian for the photo) and it reminded me of this Henry Rollins bit, which I thought I would share. I love Henry Rollins… I think he is just brilliant, and usually bang-on in what he says. His ‘Letters from Henry’ are always worth a watch.

 

 
*This lazy entry brought to you by the fact that I am too scattered this week to string together coherent thoughts of my own. Um, if I ever actually do.*

Storms… both online and off

I’ve been prickly and on-edge the past couple of days. I don’t know why, and it’s bothering me. Yesterday I left a cranky comment on my favourite blog, which I immediately regretted because fighting online is about as productive as trying to convince my cat not to eat my plants: you can put as much effort into it as you possibly can, but it’s not going to change a damn thing and you’ll just end up tired and frustrated and angry. One comment may seem like a minor thing to worry about, given that some people’s whole raison d’être is to be nasty online…

 

(nataliedee.com)

(toothpastefordinner.com)

 
…but I do my best not to be (intentionally) rude or unpleasant and not to write anything that will come back to haunt me later (I’ve been down that path before, trust me, and it ain’t a pretty one). In my defense, (a) I was having a supremely crappy morning, feeling very unsettled and moody and distressed, which exacerbated (b) me feeling I had a legitimate claim to be hurt, but that doesn’t factor in that (c) it was still snarky, and (d) that online communities, unlike loved ones and sometimes friends, tend not to care what kind of a day you are having or what your mental state might be at the moment and immediately pounce on anything questionable you say to rip apart. And that’s exactly what happened, once a couple of other people chimed in… you know how once a snowball starts rolling down the hill it’s hard to stop. I somehow managed to suppress the urge to take part in the complete disintegration of civility in the forum that resulted, because, you know, I don’t want to be this guy:

(toothpastefordinner.com)

 
No one likes that guy. That guy’s an ass.

Sometimes it’s tough to keep quiet, though. I’m not saying I’m always right (far from it– that probably happens less often than the alternative), but it frustrates me to not be able to explain myself so that people see things my way… not to agree with me, but to understand where I am coming from. And there’s really very little I hate more than being lectured or scolded, especially by anyone who did not give birth to me, and extra-especially by someone with whom I vehemently disagree on so very many levels… it’s condescending and sanctimonious. But again… I’m not going to win the battle to stop my cat eating the plants, so I may as well give up in advance and save myself the headache.

Online forums and blogs are so strange: in some ways you can be more yourself than you can in real life (particularly if you’re shy and awkward and better at writing than you are at fumbling out words in person), but in another sense you’re so limited in how you can express yourself, how you appear. There’s no body language, no tone of voice, no facial expressions (because, please, smileys are lame– even though I use them myself– and can be used sarcastically anyway)… you can’t tell if someone is kidding or being irreverent or being legitimately nasty. Misunderstandings abound. Something that might be charming or funny in person can come out cold or bitchy or overbearing online. I wrote something today in a completely facetious and teasing manner, then went back to read it later and realized, “Ohhhhhhh, that can SO be interpreted the wrong way.” And of course… once it’s out there in Internet Land, it’s out there– you better be willing and able to own it.

None of that changes the fact that I still feel prickly and on-edge… in fact, all it does is add to it. There’s a big storm rolling in tonight… I wonder if that’s partly to blame. (In fact, I know it is: I’ve got an awful lot to do this weekend, and I need to leave the house for much of it. I don’t want a blizzard to change my plans.) I’m uneasy and unsettled. Something feels… not right.

I better stay away from online discussions.

Some of these are strange, even to me

Thanks to Dan, I’m supposed to reveal six quirks or habits of mine… wonderful… this is not going to help me appear sane and with-it:

1. Just the thought of eating tomato seeds, sitting in their pile of gelatinous goo, make me gag… which is a problem because I really like tomatoes. This means I have to surgically remove all traces of seeds and goo before eating tomatoes, which I have actually become quite skilled at over the years, but is still a rather big nuisance. If I’m in a restaurant or getting a Subway sandwich or something, I have to decide if I’m in the right frame of mind to ‘pretend’ there are no seeds hidden within my meal and just eat it without looking… otherwise, it’s no tomatoes for me, which irks me because they’re all healthy and such and I need as many vegetables (fruits?) as I can get. (For what it’s worth… if there are any others out there who get all OCD about tomato seeds like me, I cannot recommend this tool highly enough. It is my saviour.)
2. I find grooming animals incredibly therapeutic and satisfying. The bigger the pile of fur I’m able to comb out, the better. (Unfortunately, my animals don’t seem to feel the same way about it, so I don’t get to do it nearly as much as I’d like.) If I’m at the dog park and see a dog with tufts of fur sticking out all over the place, it’s all I can do to resist running over and whipping out a brush. I sometimes get similar urges if I see a human with unruly eyebrows… just give me a pair of tweezers and let me at ‘em…
3. I hate socks. They’re the last things I put on before I leave the house and the first things I take off when I get home. I also hate slippers. I’m never so happy as when sandal season is upon us.
4. When I get new music, I listen to it obsessively on repeat for days on end. This never fails to irritate the person with whom I live, who is forced to also hear said music on a repeating loop (and who desperately hates repetition). This, however, does not stop me.
5. You can always tell when I have been in a room, because cupboards and drawers will be left open ever-so-slightly. My dresser drawers are all permanently gaping about one inch. I have no idea why this is.
6. This one I inherited from my mother: if I am describing something out loud and want to emphasize an adjective, I don’t use the modifier “very” or “really” or similar; I just repeat the word. Three times. So, for example, the cat was not “very small”; the cat was “smallsmallsmall.” The bird was not “extraordinarily round”; the bird was “roundroundround.” I think this only works for monosyllabic words, but I’m not sure. I never even knew I did it until it was pointed out to me.

Weirdo.

(Now, apparently, I am supposed to tag people… but, no. If you’re reading this and want to do it, I hereby tag you.)