* This is a continuation of my confessional post from the other day. I enjoyed the exercise so much I thought I’d overdo it. It’s my deal.

I only clean my house six times a year at most, but I do laundry and dishes daily. I adore TCBY but I always order the same thing (white chocolate mousse with cookie dough) because I don’t get to go there often and wouldn’t want to waste a visit on medioce yogurt. Whenever I stay in a 5-star resort/hotel or rented home, I always pretend I’m a princess being doted on in her castle. I can’t sleep unless I have a heavy cover on me, even if it’s a hundred degrees in the room. I long for red hair but look awful with it. I’m one of those weird people who calls companies to praise them (this is a good way to get coupons and freebies, though.) I have an unhealthy addiction to useless knowledge and will waste eras on MentalFloss.com or watching History or Travel channel shows that NOBODY would tune into. (Did you know that Dr. Seuss invented the word “nerd”?) I used to take handfuls of Unisom for a cheap high, so now it takes about 4 to have any effect against my insomnia. (I don’t buy it anymore because I’m afraid I’ll detroy my liver with that many, so I deal with a lot of insomnia.) My favorite part of the morning is when I refill the Bear’s juice cup and yell, “Order up!” and then meet her at the gate in the doorway of the kitchen where she responds with, “Oh, up! K’shoo!” (Translation: Order up! Thank you!) I get a laugh at fragrance commercials because they are so unbelievably pointless. I only bathe about 2-3 times a week, unless I’m doing lots of physical activity - this is something I stand behind and believe in as my skin and hair are remarkably balanced due to lack of overstripping its natural oils. I giggled at the ridiculousness of my arrest, so I’m smirking in my mug shot. I make an abundance of confessions and self-expositions so people will assume I don’t have any really deep, dark, awful secrets, even though I’m pretty sure nobody I know is dumb enough to believe that. I have to write things down in order for them to seem “real” to me, so I have an overwhelming abundance of lists, ranging from my daily “To Do’s” to my 1, 5, and 10-year plans. I can’t apply fake lashes to save my life. I love telling people that I’m a writer and my husband is an artist and I recently learned that he loves telling people about us being weird, artsy folk, too. I absorb information better when I’m doodling henna-knockoff-style doodles. I literally get aroused when I see leaves changing in the autumn. I’ve shaved my upper lip since I was 11, so I can vouch for the inaccuracy of that old wives’ tale about it growing back thicker. I have this need to physically own books and music that I love so, even if I haven’t read a book in years or have all my CDs in mpg form, I still hoard the originals on numerous bookshelves. I look awful in yellow. I get the most disgusted at myself when I realize I’ve been acting like a victim for no reason. I indulge in one trashy, awful, shamelessly annoying, trite reality show every year as a means of taking a mental vacation - this year is “For the Love of Ray J.” I’ve made a pledge to donate 40% of my winnings to charity should I win the lottery or some enormous contest, which really bothers my husband. I always eat ice cream from a cup (instead of a bowl), using an oversized spoon and shaving layers off the top and sides. I write about 6 fan letters to obscure celebrities every year. I love [and collect] hats but loathe baseball caps. I enter at least 300 sweepstakes every year. I think the sexiest thing a man can do is tap dance. I like the feeling of being cripplingly sore after a day of vigorous activity. I don’t give a shit about love stories, but I’ll bawl my eyes out in movies involving parents being removed from their children. (”The Land Before Time” has gotten me since I was sobbing in the theatre at 8 years old.)  Every few weeks, I do my hair and makeup and put on something a little slutty before my husband comes home, knowing I won’t be able to do it too much longer before the Bear catches on. I love the word “Man” as an expletive or generic addressee title, but because a lot of people don’t get that I’m being ironic with it, I give off an inappropriate sense of informality sometimes. I keep 3 blogs and 2 handwritten journals, all with varied levels of security and in specified genres. I love scrapbooking like a 40-year-old mom at home alone while her kids are off at soccer practice. I hate the Looney Tunes.

That’s all I got on that pass.