Some of my more unexplainable idiosyncrasies:

I have an unbelievable amount of wild, curly hair. When I get out the shower to slather lotion on, sometimes a stray hair sheds itself and I accidentally start rubbing it in with the lotion – and then immediately stop and freak out, because this grosses me out to no end. Uck.

I’m not fat, but I have my days just like everyone else. When this happens, and the struggle to get into my sexy jeans seems like too much to handle, I will: Put jeans on, but only pull them up to about mid-thigh – then I will waddle to the top of my stairs and jump down them one at a time, hiking my jeans up inch by inch as I go until they are around my hips and buttoned.

When cooking, I clean as I go. I can’t wait until the food is ready – what if that splatter of spaghetti sauce dries? So the dishcloth is in one hand, the flipper in the other. I find this also helps me stay focused on the cooking (as opposed to wandering away and then, an hour later, remembering that I started to boil water).

I have been known to break into mad fits of laughter for no apparent reason, except that SOMETHING is so funny I might just pee in my pants.

I don’t really like going to the ladies. So sometimes, I’ll hold it…just because I can. They say this is bad for the bladder. Heh.

I’ll be talking to someone, and then they’ll give me a blank look, and I realize I have no idea what the hell just came out of my mouth. Yeah, I’ve never been much of a listener.

I can spend $200 on makeup at Sephora without batting an eyelash, but if I spend more than fifty bucks a month on groceries I start experiencing extreme guilt. I start second-guessing my purchases. For example, do I really NEED that butter? I mean, there’s no question that I can’t live without the electric blue mascara and the forty dollar blush brush, but butter is getting so expensive…

I flirt like I’m in the fourth grade. When I like someone, I fire off one clever insult after another, usually until there’s no chance in hell he thinks of me as anything but a henious bitch.

When I’m really upset – especially when I’m so beyond pissed off that pissed off looks like a happy place – I have a tendency to speak in very perfect, very precise English. And also, to bite the inside of my bottom lip. I’m told this is strange.

Please forgive the “Godfather” reference…I can’t help myself sometimes.

For a while now, I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and back pain – which is uncharacteristic for me. So I started putting two and two together, naturally, and realized that not only is my current mattress in need of replacement…it’s a complete and total piece of crap. There are coils poking out of the box spring, and so much sagging go on in the middle of the paper-thin mattress itself, that…it could probably go on Jerry Springer and keep the audience highly entertained with it’s horrific life story.

So yesterday we (me and my accomplice, K) drove sixty miles to a neighboring town and the nearest furniture store to shop for a new one. K works the graveyard shift, but she roused herself earlier in the day because…”There is no way I can decide on a new mattress in under an hour…I need time to compare!” Ahem.

And of course, the “Sleep Center” in the store was a very small, tiny corner of space with about eight or ten options to choose from (because we live in the middle of nowhere and even in the nearest, larger town there isn’t much to look at). I’m also not rich, and when I considered only the mattresses in my limited price range, I had about five options. After sitting/bouncing/tentatively lying on the “Sunnyvale Full Size Plush” variety for about 3.2 seconds, I was in crazy love and ready to hand over my Visa. Which I then did. We were in the store for less than a half hour, from start to finish. My mattress will be delivered right to my bedroom in two weeks, and they even agreed to haul the ancient, withered mattress I have away for no additional charge. I can wait two weeks. Really, I can.

Because I’m shacking up in K’s spare bedroom, on her much-nicer mattress. Trust me, so would you. It’s that ucky.