Welcome!: Tell me your quirks!

Sunday, 31 August 2008

Tell me your quirks!

I have my quirks. Things others find odd that only I can appreciate. Ideas and thoughts that pass people's heads but seem to stuck with me. Little qualities that means no more than an itch for some, but bugs me beyond belief.

I get exceptionally high with stationery, I love writing with colorful pens and markers, having racks of organized paper and files and writing schedules on a planner. During my school days, I had this huge fluffy pencil case to store all my pens, I get incredibly determined to have systems whenever I write my notes. This specific color for the titles, subtitles, points, numbers, texts. And sometimes at night I would just lay each pen down and look over them with admiration. Geek alert!

I find it really important to buy a laptop if you like the sound of its keyboards tapping. They make different noises, sometimes it's louder and harder, some give you 'tek' instead of 'tik'. My laptop is a 'tik' and I love it. It bothers me to type in a computer which sound I do not like. Somehow it affects me too much.

I have a thing with people's names. I have images of people and their names and I would think to myself whether they fit. For example, my friend Todd. Tall, gawky, glasses, witty, smart. He's perfect for a Todd. In fact, he's so Todd. He can't be a Chris, or a John, or a Dave. Oh, Dave is so wrong. But he could be a Brian. Brian would suit him too, actually. Although he's still more of a Todd than a Brian.

[please, please, tell me that this is not at all uncommon!]

My sister's quirky this way too. When we're bored, we would start throwing boys' names and tell each other what kind of image comes to mind. Usually we separate it into two kinds, GG or MM. Girls' Guys or Manly Men. Like, we agreed in consensus that Bruce just screams testosterone all over. Definitely MM. Steve too is MM, much more than Stephen. Jack's a MM. Daniel, Christopher and Andrew are so GG.

Hey, I like the name Ethan. It's GG, though.

I can't stand reading a book if I do not like the fonts and if they're too close-knitted together. I love Trebuchet and Georgia, I hate Times New Roman and Arial can be tolerable sometimes. I have my period loving Verdana, but not so much anymore.

I smell my food before I eat, and I like touching the little bottom part behind my ear. I always put one of my leg up in the elevator. And having meal in the livingroom with the TV on is the most underrated pleasure ever.

So I'm sure you have your own quirks too. Join in the odd wagon, but do it with pride!

2 comments:

Anonymous said...: Hahahahahahahaha...!

I bet you had meant to type "escalator", but it is SO MUCH FUNNIER this way!

Hahahahahahahaha...!; 1 September 2008 at 23:58
t e e n a said...: Honest innocent mistake! I'm only a mortal afterall, even though sometimes I seem above it! =D; 2 September 2008 at 21:10

Quotes

There's a hundred million different ways of writing, and it takes you a long time to sort through that stuff. And I think it takes anyone a long time to find a voice.

You must learn to take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad, love what you’ve got and remember what you had. Learn to forgive, but never forget, learn from your mistakes but never regret. People change and things go wrong, but you just have to remember that life goes on.

The day before I’m supposed to be meeting Caroline for a drink, I develop all the textbook symptoms of a crush: nervous stomach, long periods spent daydreaming, an inability to remember what she looks like. I can bring back the dress and the boots, and I can see her bangs, but her face is a blank.

I don't know, I think that if I could just accept the fact that my life is supposed to be difficult. You know, that's what to be expected, then I might not get so pissed-off about it and I'll just be glad when something nice happens.

I can see now I never really committed to Laura. I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things, like thinking about my future and... I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.

There's a big fucking world out there. It's messy, and it's chaotic, and it's never, never ever the thing you'd expect. It is ok to be scared, but you cannot allow your fears to turn you into an asshole, not when it comes to the people that love you, the people that need you.

Maybe what I'm saying is, is the world might be evolving the way a person evolves. Right? Like, I mean, me for example. Am I getting worse? Am I improving? I don't know. When I was younger, I was healthier, but I was, uh, whacked with insecurity, you know? Now I'm older and my problems are deeper, but I'm more equipped to handle them.

I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.

Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

A woman needs to be held, even, and science has shown this, if its with someone she doesn't care about. Protective hormones are released, and the amount of hormones released depends on the degree to which she is held. The first and best is the complete surround. He wraps you in both arms, whispers how beautiful you are. Second best is the 'arm around.' He is next to you but with one arm around you. Third is he's just next to you on his elbow, but he rests his hand on your stomach and looks at you. Fourth is you snuggling up to him with your head on his chest, while he looks away into space. But when the first best happens, you feel completely, wonderfully like a woman.

So, so what, so fuck off, go home, leave you alone? I'll tell you something Paul, there isn't anything that I've wanted for eighteen years, cause I was a kid eighteen years ago. And if I did still want the same things I'd think I'd gone wrong somewhere, because actually I don't want to marry David Cassidy, I don't want bigger tits, I don't want to do better on my marks. I've stopped worrying about that kind of thing and maybe you should try.

Well maybe there's a big bit of you that's gone missing somewhere, maybe everyone should want something they've always wanted.

Why is it that adults aren't supposed to go mad about anything? You gotta keep a lid on it. And if you don't then people are apparently entitled to say what they like. "You haven't grown up. You're a moron. Your conversation is trivial and boorish. You can't express your emotional needs. You can't relate to your children." And you die, lonely and miserable. But you know, what the hell, every cloud has a silver lining.

I just woke up one morning and didn't feel the same way. Where did it go? It was like there had been a lot of food on a plate in front of us, and we ate it all really quickly, and then there was nothing left. Maybe that's how couples stay together: they're not greedy. They know that what they have in front of them has to last a long time, so they kind of pick at it. I hope it's not like that, though. I hope that when people are happy together, it feels as though someone keeps piling seconds and thirds on their plates.

That is what I have learned: Sex is destructive. Love is nothing to be fooled with. I learned that I was dangerous, not to be trusted. I wondered if my parents were right, with all of their stiff lovelessness. Maybe they knew better. My parents don't dole out love for the deserving or the undeserving. I was learning that love could cost me.

You could say all you liked about reason and logic and common sense and imagination, but when the chips were down, the one skill you needed was the ability to think about absolutely nothing whatsoever.

There is a comfort in never making an effort, but it's a lonely comfort. What keeps you going is the knowledge that you're only playing with only four cards showing. But when you see other people succeeding with their mediocre hands, you have to make a decision. If you turn over that final card you're certain of victory, but it also means you have nothing in reserve.

I’d gone through life believing in the strength and competence of others; never in my own. Now, dazzled, I discovered that my capacities were real. It was like finding a fortune in the lining of an old coat.

Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as mere consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.