Crapsticks - I've Been Tagged

8 Random Things About Me - This is Amblus's Fault

I respond poorly to compiling these kinds of lists. My first reactions is always fear that I'll never come up with enough things to fill up all the slots o' random - not because I have nothing to say, but because everything else I post about is randomly chosen bits of random randomness. If you've spent any time here, you know of my fascination with pirates and read-a-thons and clothes and revealing the random minutia of my everyday life. Lists like this kind of make me wish that I had decided to create a theme-blog, so I'd have things to talk about that you haven't read before.

I confess that there are things that I don't generally talk about here. For instance, I really do shy away from posting about work. Okay, so I might tell you about how I have been known to doing The Robot in the middle of my department's workspace, or how I'm attending a Usability / Information Architecture / Social Media conference for work, or how I use my co-workers as guinea pigs for my kitchen experiments, but that's as deep as I'll go. For some reason, things like what goes on at my job seem like a far too private thing to talk about on-blog, and to do so would simply lack professionalism. Says the woman who breakdances in the middle of her office.

Sometimes, the idea of being succinct and I have wars. WARS OF WORDS.

I think random capitalization is still shit-hot funny. Also on this list of things that have been, and will continue to be, over-used by me because I will never find them not funny are: shaking a fist at the sky; throat punching; and buying matching sateen jackets with a gang name written across the back, a la The Pink Ladies. I also have a sneaking suspicion that I am no where near as funny as I think I am.

Nigel Barker is my #1 Reality TV Show boyfriend.

I used to think that I if I came into a windfall of cash that I wouldn't be able to hack the life of the idle rich. I don't think that any more. If you are a bargazillionaire, please write me into your will.

For a while, I seemed to move to a new home every year, for work, or grad school, or...okay, only for work and grad school. I have no reason to move now. I own my own home. I own my own home that feels utterly and completely like me. And yet? I am itchy. I kind of want to move to a new house. Just because I want to be in a new set of walls. I am aware that that makes no sense, and put the kibosh on the urge every time it surfaces.

I'm disappointed by the lot of you (I SEE YOU) that have clicked through to the comment page on the post prior to this one and not said anything. Especially you kids that have done so from a computer connected to my workplace network. And I have just outed myself as (a) scary, and (b) a nerd that knows the server address of my place of employment.

I'm not going to tag anyone, and most of the people who I would poke at have already done this one.