Don't Judge Me But...

Don't judge me but, the idea for this post was not my own. Regretfully. Creativity, at the moment, is something I am lacking. It is a little after four and my exhaustion is setting in. Unfortunately my best ideas only seem to pop up between the hours of 2 am and 4 am as I toss and turn struggling to fall asleep. Yet, I don't write them down like I should, and end up forgetting my own brilliance. It's such a tangled mess. Anyways, enough about my rambling. I discovered this post from Simone who maintains the blog "The Bottom of the Ironing Basket." I loved this simple idea of the post and decided to write one like it. So here it goes...

Don't judge me but...

I am terrible at directions. 

In fact I am so terrible, that I have to search for another human being to give directions when someone asks me. I point, I stutter, I call out landmarks. 

I tend to over-analyze every situation I am in. 

I plot numerous outcomes both positive and negative and obsess over which will actually happen. 

I love the taste of wine far too much. 

In fact I am dreaming about a glass of Merlot as I type. 

I hate the camera. 

I try to stay away from it as much as I can. 

I prefer to be alone at times. 

Sometimes all I want is complete and utter solitude, a great magazine, and again, uh hem, a glass of wine. 

I do not have a big sweet tooth. 

I would rather have a big plate of french fries. 

I love food yet I have a fear of gaining weight. 

At this point I should get a trophy for will power. 

I cry a lot. 

It doesn't matter what the trigger may be; movies, television shows, concerts, quotes, great novels, or a great song, I will cry. 

One leg is longer than the other. 

It makes balancing very difficult at times. Which is why I should also ask you not to judge me when it comes to this: I walk into walls. 

I don't go to church. 

Sometimes when I do, I feel overwhelmed. 

I curse. 

Sometimes "fuck" is the only word that makes the kind of impact I want. 

After too much whiskey I slur my words like a true Bostonian. 

I am not from Boston, although this is something that I tell people in the south because "New Hampshire" apparently wasn't on their map in school. 

I tend to be bit dramatic. 

It's a shame I never took an acting class. 

I never played a team sport when I was younger. 

While everyone was joining a basketball team or playing baseball, I opted out. The only time I wanted to play a team sport is when I developed a love for hockey. When I asked my Dad however, he said that hockey would "ruin my pretty face."

I have never been to New York City.

Although I often dream of living a "Carrie Bradshaw" kind of lifestyle. 

I am terrible at math.

I count on my fingers, use a calculator or ask someone who is far more intelligent than me. 

I am not utilizing my college degree.

This is something that my parents have a hard time dealing with. I honestly at times, do not know what the hell I want to do. Why can't I apply for the wine-making, vineyard-owning, brilliant published writer, living in a sweet beach home, position? That's what I want. I'll get a degree in that. 

I have curly hair and if I go to bed with it wet, I wake up a stellar version of Diana Ross. 

Not much more to say there. 

High heels kill my feet

I wear them anyway.

I don't own a pair of skinny jeans or leggings. 

I got thighs and a booty and some people simply cannot pull off that look. I am one of them. 

I hold on to things far too tightly. 

I guess a part of me just wonders if such wonderful things can happen more than once.

I am utterly fascinated with Marilyn Monroe. 

She had a keen desire to be loved, yet I don't know if she ever really found it. Admired yes, lusted after yes, but did she ever find that heart-wrenching, beautiful, volatile, love that she desired? 

Last one. 

I cannot for the life of me pronounce "apocalypse".

If the zombies were coming you would hear me stuttering like Rob Schneider in Big Daddy: 

hip...hip-hop...hiponoumous. 

YOU GIVE HIM THE EASY ONES!