I’ve been tagged by the best chick at my wedding, the devine mamazilla, the wonderful Lindy Bunny, to list my idiosyncrasies.
She even sent me a handy-dandy definition as well:
id·i·o·syn·cra·sy n. pl. id·i·o·syn·cra·sies
- A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
- A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
- An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.
So here we go:
- I’m a mean, cruel rotten bastard. Except I’m also a really wonderful kind and generous man. Except when I don’t want to be, which is most of the time. Except that I’m working really hard to have a more positive outlook on life and stuff.
- I like cheese. Cheese doesn’t like me.
- I was 39 years old before I ever owned my own motorized vehicle. Since I got it, I’ve hardly ridden my bike at all, except that I’m racing cyclocross now, and despite the fact that I really suck at it, I’m loving it.
- I can dance. I don’t like to dance, but I can. Too bad it takes me 4-6 cocktails to get over myself enough to actually let myself dance, because God forbid that all of those dumbfucks out there who I don’t know and whose opinion I really don’t give a rat’s ass about might judge me.
- I like pizza. Pizza doesn’t like me
- I wear socks and flip-flops (well, slides, actually) in public. Short white socks. And Bermuda shorts that come below my knees. And I shave my legs. I’m a cyclist. It’s what we do.
- I like beer, and vodka, but not at the same time. Hmmm … maybe that’s not so idiosyncratic after all.
- Like I said, I’m a cyclist. That’s idiosyncratic enough for most people.
