Anyone who has more rescued dogs than I do (13 more!) can tag me for anything she wants to. I’m not sure if these are “random” and “weird” enough things, but I had a go.

Kym, this one is for you!

Rob and I name a lot of things. There was the $30 DVD player named Morty that lasted as long as you would figure a $30 DVD player would. There’s Nader, the plant, named thus because he’s Green. Fussy is my 70′s VW microbus will take you from point A to point B eventually (although that probably is less about her and more about my driving skills.) My piggy bank is Petunia, and there is a pigeon that lives near my apartment called Mangle, because his foot is all bent up. I feed him bread crust.

I keep really good secrets. I’m a vault. (I’m also non-judgmental and only dispense advice when asked for it. This combination makes me a good person to chat with if you’re having issues.)

My trio of dogs is the unwitting audience of frequent impromptu dance recitals. I tappity-tap and shuffle my heart out, and they stare blankly back at me, blinking occasionally. I’m not sure if the joke is on them or on me.

There’s a lovely list of things I like in my “About” section. Here is a list of things that I don’t: breast implants, wearing jeans, people who track mud in from out, men who use the street as their own personal spittoon, taking off in an airplane, the level of interference the United States government has on its citizens, fondant, chain smokers, peach ice cream, and short socks.

I’m painfully gullible. Unfortunately my brother-in-law has figured this out.

If you see something happen to me that would cause a normal person to freak out, and it looks like it hasn’t registered, it’s not because I’m stoned, it’s because the “OHMYGAWD!” part of my brain looks up at half a dozen eggs splattered on the kitchen floor, shrugs, and goes back to her book.

I can do the Frug. I can do the Robocop. I can do the Freddie. I cannot do the Smurf.