Dinosaurs did not die of the swine flu

Swine flu did not kill the dinosaurs, a meteor did. And I'm so sick of hearing the words "swine flu swine flu swine flu" like the media, government and public are stuck on one track of a broken record. If I hear that word one more time I'm going to puke. Better cover your mouth, you might get swine flu by osmosis.

I saw Walking with Dinosaurs last night, and the show at Key Arena was absolutely incredible. Gigantic, lifelike dinosaurs stomped around the stage, and I was able to envision their world, how they moved, how they interacted with each other. I thought about extinction, how animals that roamed the earth for millions of years were wiped out with a single meteor 65 million years ago. How us modern humans have only been here for 40,000 years. As I was thinking all these deep thoughts about life on Earth, David said:

"Seeing those dinosaurs makes me want to leap onto the arena wearing nothing but a loincloth, and stab those giant animals with a spear."

HELLO. Computer geek. Spear. Caveman. Does not compute. Well, maybe a little.

There must be an innate desire in every human left over from the caveman days. When men see big game, their "hunter" instincts come back. When women see berries, we want to pick them, right? I know that in this day and age, everyone likes to deny gender differences, but I do think they exist. I've never had the urge to hunt anything, but I do have the urge to "gather", aka, "grocery shop." Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, but I do think you can find attributes of our ancestors in modern humans. I love exploring caves, for instance.

Anyway, Walking with Dinosaurs was a treat. Where else can you see a 40-foot brachiasaurus, or a T-Rex that moves and looks like the real thing? I saw a stegasauraus lumbering across the stage, and velociraptors sprinting around their prey. I love imaging a time that's long gone, creatures that no human has ever seen. It makes me wonder, will we be like that to someone millions of years in the future?

The Apple Core

I ate a red apple before playing tennis Friday night to raise my blood sugar and give me enough energy to hit the ball.

"I should have thrown it into the bushes for the animals," I told David as we pulled into the Bainbridge Island Athletic Club parking lot.

"That's what I did earlier with my apple," he told me as we drove past the woods. It was too late for me, I wasn't about to throw an apple core into someone's front yard. It brought back terrible memories of when I threw a banana peel in the woods to compost several years ago. A lady pulled up angrily next to me at a red light.

"That's littering. You're lucky I didn't call the cops right now and get you fined 300 dollars!" She frowned at me, her expression filled with disgust.

"It's a BANANA PEEL!" I told her, and turned the corner. It's not like I was throwing styrofoam, or disposable diapers to rot between the trees.

Fast forward to this morning at the ferry terminal. The apple core is still on the floor of the car, brown and stale.

"Why didn't you throw that away?" David asked me.

"I'm saving it for the animals."

"Okay," he said, like my neurosis makes all the sense in the world. I know that when I get home from work, it will still be there, and I will have the satisfaction of giving some squirrel a rotten treat. Yes, this is another reason why David and I are perfect together. We value the importance of an apple core.

The closest I'll ever get to hugging Obama

It's not often that politicians hug reporters. Usually they look at us with a wary eye, maybe a nervous smile if we're lucky. They often talk without saying a thing, just turning words around and around until we're dizzy and confused. Tonight, I had a different experience as I headed to the Westin in downtown Seattle to King County Executive Ron Sims' going-away party.

Now, I've heard that Sims can be a "hugger", but I've never experienced the magic before first-hand.

"Mr, Sims? I'm Kristin Hanes with KOMO radio --- " But before I could finish, he smiled his goofy smile, braces and all, and grabbed me into a big bear hug. I awkwardly squeezed his shoulders.

"Congratulations, now..umm...can I ask you a few questions?" He continued to grin, then his eyes misted as he talked about Seattle, and his wonderful colleagues, and going to work in Washington DC.

"When the President of the United States leans forward and says 'will you work for me?' I don't know how you say no." His eyes twinkled as he turned to hug yet another group of unsuspecting people.

I can now say I've been hugged by someone in the Obama administration. So, if he rubs shoulders with the President, does that also mean that I have too? It's a little bit strange to have a politician open his arms to you, but for an instant, that boundary between interviewee and interviewer was erased. We were just two people, celebrating a new life, a new administration.

Good luck, Mr. Sims. I'm sure many in Seattle with miss you. (soon to be Deputy Director of the US Department of Housing and Urban Development.)

A lesson for "media relations" folks

It's surprising to me how many "media relations" people have no clue how to serve the media. It started out with a terribly written press release, where the main details were muddled into long words and complex thoughts. I have 5 seconds to read this, I need it to be clear and concise, cutting to the meat of the story in one line. After I used my precious brain power to decipher the intricate codes of the release, I decided it was a good story and headed to the press conference.

I almost ran the other way when I realized there were more media relations people than press people. I guess I didn't get the memo that shouted - BORING. They were dressed in suits, skirts; then I heard the word dreaded most by broadcast journalists: power point. God help me, I thought to myself as I served some coffee, and looked for any other free items I could pillage.

The first mistake of the press conference was having FIVE SPEAKERS. Ok people, I need only a few 10 second soundbites to create my package of 30 second stories. The speakers talked for 40 minutes. I sat there and examined my cuticles, trying my hardest not to appear catatonic. Then came the power point, and it became an effort to stifle my irritation. I couldn't help yawning, and doodling on the fancy shmancy press packet. He threw out gigantic numbers and details that would only interest a mathmetician. I was so bored I almost started feeling sorry for this speaker, who was probably used to speaking to his colleagues. "The media" is a tough crowd.

I hate being bored. I have things to do. I'm on deadline. I need to grab what I can get within 15 minutes, and then onto the next story. This took an hour, then I found the two people who could give me the story, and did two 3 minute interviews. That is ALL I NEEDED. It turned out to be a good story, but it's too bad I had to go through torture to get it. That's all that's needed to convince a journalist never to cover events put on by these "media relations" people again.

Luckily, I got over my anger and wrote the press lady a nice email. I told her that press conference was way too long for broadcast media. It may have served the print folks, but media relations is all about relating to ME, giving ME what I need. They need to learn how to do please all forms of media, and I hope my email will help this media relations person understand that.

I used to be cool

If I could wear the exact same thing to work every day, I probably would. It would be a long-sleeved black shirt, my COH jeans (the only jeans I ever wear now), and my Cole Haan black boots. Every day. Rain or shine. I already repeat the same few pairs of pants and shirts every week. I have totally lost my "cool factor."

The "cool factor" used to come out and say hello much more often in my early 20's. I'd enjoy wearing vintage outfits, dresses, gloves, high-heeled shoes, flamboyant hats. I'd even dress up at work. One time my heels were so high one of the other reporters (in flip flops and khaki shorts) made fun of me:

"How will you ever catch a bad guy in those?"

Luckily, someone came to my defense.

"How often do reporters run after bad guys anyway. We're not cops."

But point taken. I hardly ever wear high heels nowadays to work. I often find myself tromping through mud, or standing out in the drizzle during "breaking news."

I'd wear the same outfit to work if I could, because shopping in Seattle is a serious pain. I hate navigating the congested streets, and parking in a $6 per hour lot where no one validates. In Portland, I'd easily park in a $1 SmartPark, and most stores would pay the ticket price. Plus, I always had my Mom and sister to go with me and urge me on. Here, it's too complicated to set up a "shopping date" with friends and take the ferry to Seattle. Luckily I have a boyfriend who could give a care if I was a "fashion princess."

The only time the "cool factor" comes out now is if I'm going on a date with David. I love to dress up, if it's the right occasion. Going out to eat. Seeing a show in the theater. Going salsa or swing dancing. I'll never lose my passion for fashion - but now I enjoy seeing it on other people instead of myself.

Technology's Infancy

I was reading Popular Science the other day as David was getting his hair cut, and had a realization: we are technology's infants. Several hundred years from now, humans will study us in elementary school like we learned about heiroglyphs and covered wagons. They'll laugh at how primitive we were with our gigantic laptop computers and gas guzzling automobiles. Maybe they'll find "artifacts" - the gigantic McDonald's "M", maybe an Iphone with a cracked face. There is so much that awaits humankind, if we make it through our early struggles of famine, war, competition.

Researchers are already developing new ways to travel, from airplanes shaped like gigantic triangles that hold hundreds of people, to personal vehicles that can both drive and fly. By 2050, they want to develop a spacecraft type airplane that can transport 50 people from Australia to New York in 90 minutes, by going into orbit at 14,000 miles per hour. I read about trains that would run on magnets alone at hundreds of miles per hour. I think about how old I'll be in 2050 - will I ever be able to experience the wonder of staring at Earth from space? I think space travel will become routine over the years, and we'll continue to explore further and further out in our solar system.

Sometimes I feel a tinge of sadness that I won't be able to see human's development with technology, and civilization itself. In the multi-billion year life of the Earth, we are only a blip in her history, and we've already managed to do more damage than any other species. I do hope the human race survives its infancy, and achieves it's full potential. I think this is why I love sci-fi so much - I can pretend I'm part of the future, that I can somehow get a vision of what it will be like.

Dreamin'

I'm sitting here at my desk made of smooth, dark wood, and staring out the window as dusk falls between the trees. Potted red tulips tinged with yellow are wilting, their stamens dusted with pollen, ready for bees that will never come. I'm sitting here imagining that I'm a writer, or a blogger with a thousand readers. What would it be like to know that so many minds are waiting to consume my words? What would it be like to write another chapter, an intimate dialogue, a poignant scene?

I've often heard that the lives of writers are dreary and lonely, that they plod away at their computers hour after hour, without any other human interaction but the fictional characters in their heads. It's a life I've always longed for, but don't quite know how to accomplish. I hear stories of the high school teacher who woke up at 5am for 5 years in a row to finish his first novel, or Stephen King, who worked 2 days jobs, got dozens of rejection letters, but stayed up all night writing. I want to be a writer, but I don't have that type of drive after a long day taxing my brain as a news reporter, and 2 hours of commuting.

There is one time of day that my mind is truly open to creativity, and writing. 7am, when I'm well-rested, my brain's fresh and new, and there's a steaming coffee cup nearby. But I only have 10 minutes to write in my journal at this time of day, then I'm rushing to work to make another dollar. There isn't time within the day to pursue what I really want, to write, something I feel with an ache so profound inside me.

I used to stay up late nights as a teenager in high school to write, and wrote a 100 page novella. I loved the way characters danced in my mind's eye, how I got to know them, how I felt their emotions. They came to life on pages that moved as fast as my fingers could write. I sent out several query letters to agents, but of course, all I recieved in return were rejection letters.

These rejections don't phase me, however. I just need time, and a good plot. Until I have those two things, I'm not sure how I will accompish writing a book and becoming an author. For now, I can sink into the melodramatic wonder of Star Trek: The Next Generation, until I'm able to create a strange new world of my own.

The Olympic Hike

A little over an hour away from me lies a playground. There are thick forests, snow-capped peaks, rushing rivers, the sparkling Hood Canal. I've lived on Bainbridge Island over a year now, and I've hardly explored the Olympic Peninsula. Well, now I've bought my $30 annual pass to National Forests in both Oregon and Washington, which means I'm going to spend many a weekend hiking this spring and summer. Many trails aren't accessible until June or July, so today we drove down toward Quilcene, until we stumbled upon the Mount Walker viewpoint. It was only supposed to be a "stretch our legs" walk, but it turned into a heart-pounding climb. My first clue was a 2,000 foot elevation gain in 2 miles. That's STEEP. We didn't even make it halfway, but it was worth the effort, and the glimpses of the Olympic Mountains through the trees.

I love being in the forest; it's like walking inside a living, breathing organism. The pungent smell of moss and decaying dirt mixes with fresh sap and ferns. I love the way the trail is soft beneath my feet, and that I see bursts of white and purple flowers along the way. I love that I can hear my breath and heartbeat, and am far away from the lure of computers and Star Trek and Nintendo Wii.

After this hour or so walk in the woods, we got back in the car and headed south on 101. We ate lunch near a sparkling river, then found a spot along the Hood Canal to set up our chairs and listen to some music, and soak up the sun.

David and I both returned from this afternoon outing feeling incredibly relaxed. He even fell asleep in the car on the way home. It's so rejuvenating being out with nature. It is my goal to explore all over the Olympic Peninsula this summer, and to post pictures a thousand times grander than these. There is one trail where you can see mines, and a downed B-17. Another heads up in the mountains, where there are stunning views of the Hood Canal, and even Seattle. I can't wait. An entire summer awaits!

Aceing the ACT

I am still reveling in the amazing performance I saw last night, at an equally amazing venue. David and I walked into the ACT Theater in downtown Seattle not knowing what to expect. I thought it would be yet another huge theater, where we'd see the outlines of the actors, nothing more. I thought it might even be boring. A play without music and dancing? How can I sit through that? I was thoroughly surprised, and delighted by Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

The ACT Theater is the most intimate place I've ever been to watch a play. The stage is small, and seats rise around it in a circle. We sat several rows up, but were just several yards from the actors. I could see every expression, innuendo, the violence and drama and passion intoxicatingly real. As Mr. Hyde's rage exploded, I could see sprays of spit. I was frightened of this terrible man with the knife. His counterpart, Dr. Jekyll, was equally disturbing in his madness and denial. The raw emotion in this play gave me shivers. I'd say it was the best acting I've ever see in theater, and it has to be, when you are sitting so close. Like HDTV, but for live theater.

There aren't many props or set changes in the ACT, but the lighting, sound effects, even fog are enough to create the mood. I found myself visualizing the surroundings, and becoming fully immersed in the story, like I was there. I didn't need the fancy decorations, the backgrounds, the music. It was like reading a book, my imagination created the environment.

I loved our theater experience last night. It is something that connects me to humanity; we've been gathering like this to watch each other perform for centuries. I could almost picture this as a stage in London in the 1800's. All that carried the performance was the acting. I am still enthralled by my experience, and am expecting Mr. Hyde to come any minute out of the shadows.

The Hive

People with briefcases and backpacks swarm around the coffee stand at the ferry terminal today, like it's some sort of beehive for the busy. The bees inside make the honey at a feverish pace, arms moving so fast it looks like they each have 6. Worker bees drop off green pollen just as quickly in return for the building blocks of life: coffee.

By the time I order, the woman behind the counter is already making two Americanos.

"Do you want your same tall Americano today," she chirps to a woman standing several feet behind me.

"How was your weekend?" I hear another worker say to a regular. I am mesmerized they can slam together such perfect coffee drinks, while maintaining familiarity with their clients. This place is faster than Starbucks, and tastier too. Four baristas are crammed together as commuters line up to four separate windows. Two are for drip coffee only. The organization of the place is incredible, and I get my Triple Grande Americano with room for cream, and my change, in about 1 minute. Plenty of time to walk on the ferry and find a good seat.

This is yet another thing I love about Bainbridge Island. Everyone knows each other. Even at an incredibly busy coffee shop, there is that sense of community that everyone craves, and that I've talked about here before.

Earlier today I was wondering what it would be like not to have to commute over 2 hours every day. I'd have that much more time at home. It would be lovely, but I would miss the ferry, and Bainbridge Island, so much. It's all a game of give and take, but for now, I'm glad to be part of the hive.

Never too old for Easter

It was rainy and cold on Easter in Portland, but that didn't deter the Easter Bunny from hiding 45 eggs packed with candy outside my Mom's house. We set out eagerly before brunch, embarking on the greatest treasure hunt of our lives. We were armed and ready, three grown kids with Easter baskets. The colorful eggs were all over the place, across moats of plants and barkdust. It was a daring journey as a I stretched to pluck a green egg from the fence!

Even St. Francis held the key to happiness.
Hippity Hoppity Easter's on it's way!

We ended up with a treasure trove of eggs - thanks Easter bunny! I'm still not sure what rabbits and eggs have to do with Easter. Rabbits don't even HAVE eggs, usually. Hmm. I don't need to figure it out, I just need to eat my rainbow of candy. I'm going to have a sugar high for weeks.

Family traditions like this are fun. I can't imagine Easter without an egg hunt. I wonder if we'll still be doing this when we're all in our 40's and 50's, or maybe someday, the fun will go to our kids, and we'll be the grown up Easter bunnies.

Ohhhhh Baby!

This fall will mark 10 years since I met my Kappa Kappa Gamma sister, and very good friend, Annabelle Bonifacio. Since then she's gotten married, become Mrs. Seemab Hussaini, and given birth to a tiny baby who is almost one month old. World, meet Khadija Bonifacio Hussaini, a beautiful and precious little girl. I hope they don't mind that I post this stunning photograph for all my friends to see, but it's just breaktaking. Whoever took this picture is an expert in capturing the unconditional love parents feel, and the beauty of a newborn. Annabelle and Seemab still live in Southern California, so I haven't been able to meet or hold Khadija yet. Hopefully that will change this summer when they move north to Portland, where Annabelle is originally from.

I've never met this baby, but she already feels like a niece to me. It's incredible when a friend you've known your entire adult life has a child. I waited for months to see what she'd look like, since she has such beautiful parents. I couldn't imagine this little angel!

Now my other good friend, Abigail Bernd, is pregnant and due to give birth in August or September. I can't wait to meet her little one! Then I will be an auntie times two!

The Technology Trap

Most mornings, I grab my coffee, and go sit at a red chaise at the front of my house. This is my spot, to relax and enjoy a few moments of peace before getting sucked into the technology trap. I write in my journal, I read, I look at the sky and the trees and the rustic rise and fall of my lawn. I love these moments to be near the even flow energy of my plants, and just allow myself to unplug a little bit.

By the end of the work day, my right arm and hand muscles are sore from the constant clicking. I have an obsessive need to check Twitter, Facebook, and Email. And Twitter is instant gratification since message pop up constantly. This was supposed to be a quiet morning, but I find myself clicking over to Twitter even as I write this blog. What are my favorite celebrities up to? Brent Spiner is getting made up as Data this weekend for his friends son! hahahaha. Yes, I'm easily distracted.

I feel like I'm being trained like a guinea pig to run circles on the information superhighway. Everything is so fast-paced, that it makes it harder for us to sit down with a book, or write with an actual pen in an actual journal with real paper. Why do that when I can post a blog, and interact with people I don't even know? Again, instant gratification.

But I am having so much fun with technology right now. At work, I'm embracing multimedia. I love taking pictures and writing stories for the web. It challenges my brain in other ways, and reminds me of the newspaper classes that sparked my love of journalism. It's so fun to think beyond the "30 second" radio story box.

So, while technology is good for us, I think it's also good to unplug, to listen to the birds, to breath in fresh air, to interact with each other. Okay, now I'm going to check Twitter.

Corporate Clones

I learned yesterday that corporate culture has a smell. It's expensive perfume, coffee, and pretentiousness all mixed into one. I wanted to gag as one person after the other came in, fouling the room's air with their personal scent. My nose tickled, and I rubbed it to keep from sneezing. The man sitting next to me at this corporate "presentation" wore a Rolex watch, the woman beside him with a 5 or 6 carat diamond ring. Everything about the people in that room shouted "I'm rich and you're not, therefore, I must be better than you." People mingled and lingered, posturing like peacocks looking for a mate. I realized at this "event" that I am SO. NOT. INTO. THIS.

I work at a corporation, but it's nothing like what I witness covering that "news story" yesterday. People at my office wear jeans and sweatshirts to work, and most have little ego. They are down to earth and love to joke. The preening is kept to a minimum, and they are kind enough not to wear cologne. There's nothing worse than being stuck in a radio booth with a heavy chemical scent.

I'm not opposed to people who have money, I'm opposed to people who feel that money makes them better than everyone else. I remember sitting at a bar in downtown Seattle once, these three guys telling me they worked at Microsoft and drove BMW's. Hmmm. Try again, boys.

All in all, I'm so glad I don't work in that "corporate culture". I don't think I could handle the pressure to dress up every day and wear Dolce and Gabbana shoes. I love that I can wear my North Face coat every day of my life, even though it has white cat hair stuck all over it. I love that I can wear my glasses without feeling self-concious. I love that I wear the same black boots every day, because they are comfortable. I love that my coworkers are the opposite of pretentious.

Pop Fiction versus Literature

There are two drastically different books on my Kindle right now: "Black Widow" by Randy Wayne Wright, and "East of Eden" by John Steinbeck. I find myself switching between the two depending on my mood - like drinking fine wine versus Pabst Blue Ribbon. Sometimes I want to immerse myself in the detail and complex flavors of Steinbeck, sometimes I just want to get drunk. That is how I differentiate literature and fiction.

I often read pop fiction. I love intense thrillers, chick lit, mysteries,..from John Grisham to Dan Brown to Mary Higgins Clark. I don't ready these books for the stunning writing style, I read them to quickly, very quickly, get immersed in another world. The fast-paced action scenes and dialogue become addictive, and I find it hard to read a book that doesn't immediately delve into the plot. This is what I find with John Steinbeck. The words are delicious, the sentences like morsels of a decadent dessert. Descriptions of one valley can go on for pages. I have to have patience to read literature, and I think it's because I am so immersed with the fast food version of books.

When did this happen? When did books become something to race through, without savoring the beauty of writing? We say it's beneficial to read, but is really when there aren't any new words to learn, ideas to relish, thoughts to decipher? I read a lot as a child, and I credit my vocabulary to the books I consumed. But these days, I find there are more words I don't know in Time magazine than in an average pop fiction book. What do you think? Is it good to read no matter what it is, or should we try to delve into literature, something challening, once in awhile?

Wheaton - He's just a Geek

My stomach was doing flip flops as I walked toward the Hyatt in downtown Seattle this morning, on my way to interview the famous Wil Wheaton. My mind couldn't stop arguing with itself.

"You are going to meet the Wesley Crusher."

"It's no big deal. He's just a person. A nice guy. A Geek."

"No, he's been to outer space. He's explored strange new world. His role was to seek out new life and new civilizations. He's been in the same room with Captain Picard."

"He's an author. A chilled out guy. He has facial hair for God's sakes. There's no way this is Wesley Crusher."

I waited for him to come out into the lobby, thinking everyone who walked by was him. Would I recognize him with all that stubble? What if I accidentally called him Wesley? Then I saw him, and my world stood still, and I was thrust into the parallel universe of stardom. Just kidding. I saw him, and he was normal. He's only a little taller than me, skinny, with a friendly smile. A geek. Just the type of person to make me feel at ease, to tell my Star Trek dork stories. I could still see a hint of Wesley Crusher behind his beard - it was in his eyes, and his speech mannerisms. I just couldn't believe he looked OLDER. He was supposed to stay the same. But that would be disturbing, wouldn't it? I don't want to have a crush on a 17 year old anymore.

We hung out at the Starbucks Hyatt for about 40 minutes, and every minute he seemed more real to me. We talked about coffee, tea, life in Los Angeles, that his wife is from Portland. I learned that he loves the Clover Press Ethiopian Blend, and drinks it black. I saw that he wears Converse shoes. We spouted off about sci fi, "the geek subculture", Star Trek, and his love of writing books. He told me when others picture The Next Generation, they can visualize the ship, but he remembers the set, what happened that day, his interactions with the other actors.

We talked about the new Star Trek movie due out in May, and how he thinks it's going to rock, not be a watered down version like the three new Star Wars movies. He told me the writers get it, the directors get it, the actors get it. Star Trek is coming back!

It was a wonderful experience, interviewing one of my favorite actors. I love that he's a geek, down to earth, outspoken. I wish I could be friends with him and his wife, and I'll always remember my 40 minutes with Wesley Crusher.

To listen to the entire interview, go to the KOMO website at this address:

http://www.komonews.com/news/local/42448032.html

Make it So!

I have an interview tomorrow, with the one and only Wil Wheaton, aka, "Wesley Crusher" from Star Trek the Next Generation.

I think I almost had a heart attack yesterday when he wrote to my work email directly, and actually used my name! I wasn't going through a PR person, or any complex beaurocrocy. Instead, we emailed for a little bit and decided to meet at the Starbucks inside the Hyatt. I can already see his sense of humor, he wrote "We'll meet in the lobby, then go to the Starbucks in the hotel, and I'm sure there are 7 more inside it." He'll be in town for the Emerald City Comicon, but I plan to pick his brain about Star Trek, and what he's been doing since his brief foray with fame. I know he won't look at all like the fresh-faced 17-year old Wesley Crusher anymore, he's now 36, married with children, and an accomplished author and blogger.

It's funny, I've held him on a pedestal since I was 10 or 11 years old, when I so desperately wanted to act on the show with him. I even wrote into the Star Trek producers, and they wrote me back, saying I had to be part of the Screen Actors Guild. My dreams of meeting "Wesley Crusher" were tarnished.

Now, I'm going to have my chance to pick his brain, and the more I write him emails, the more he seems more "human", and less "magical." Tomorrow, I'm going to ask him for a picture, I know it will make everyone smile who knew me when I was 11 years old, with a childhood crush.

I'm an oddball

I have a fascination with quirks. I think our individual quirks and oddities are what make us individuals. I realize that I am a strange person through talking to my friends, or David, and they say, "You do WHAT?" It always cracks me up. Here are 10 quirks or mine, and I'm sure there are thousands more:

1) I hate florescent lights
2) Wrinkly bathtub fingers give me the creeps
3) Lack of sleep makes my skin clammy
4) Hard rock music hurts my stomach
5) I shred my cuticles
6) I don't like heating up my food at work when others are in the kitchen
7) My driving makes people carsick
8) I hate the dentist, and haven't been in 3 years.
9) Commercials drive me mad, so I avoid television
10) Certain fabrics make my skin crawl

And here are some quirks that drive me BONKERS:

1) People popping their gum
2) The squishy sound of bananas in someones mouth
3) Someone crunching carrots or popcorn
4) Incessant tapping noises
5) Speech mannerisms where every sentence ends in a question

So, there you go. I told you I was a weirdo. What are some of your quirks? What drives you nuts?