Talking.  I mean, have you met me?  I’m not a conversationalist.  I’m more of a watcher.  And don’t even get me started about talking in front of a group.  One on One is hard enough.  In front of a group….I die.  And sweat profusely.  And shake.  Ask anyone who was at Amanda’s wedding.  On second thought, please don’t ask.

Leaving voicemails.  If you have ever received a voicemail from me, I am so, so very sorry.  One time, I was put on phone call duty to update and remind parents about a church event for the youth group at my church.  After multiple awkward, long paused, “Ummm’s” and stuttering voicemails, I lost it.  I couldn’t think and then I just started laughing uncontrollably.  Becca was in the room with me and she was considering having me committed.  I’m not kidding, I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t even speak and I just hung up the phone.  Immediately, I sent the parent I was trying to contact, a coherent message on Facebook hoping she would see that before first hearing the voicemail.  Then I left another voicemail following the previous one, and I think…I held it together.  So, what we’ve learned from this is…if I call you, answer your phone or I will be one of those people that will hang up the second I hear a beep.  I cannot talk to machines.

Being noticed.  Please don’t look at me.  Don’t notice my eyebrow and nose piercing with the chain connecting the two of them.  Don’t talk about it, don’t make it weird.

Following GPS instructions.  I despise them.  And sometimes, because I’m such a rebel and rule breaker and troublemaker, I do the opposite of what it’s telling me to do.  I know this sounds counterproductive but, I think I actually do better without one.  I went into Downtown San Francisco three times last year without it, so take that!…You dummy GPS.

Checking my email.  I forget.  Always.  And then I procrastinate on replying because it is the hardest thing in the world for me to do, and I know not the reason why.  …you liked that proper little phrase, hu?

Lifting weights.  Uhg.  I will run, I will swim, I will army crawl, I will ride a bicycle, I will crunch and crunch and sit up and leg lift the heck out of my stomach, I will squat and lunge, I will do push-ups and planks…but lifting weights.  Nope on nope on nope.

Wearing jeans.  When I see them hanging in my closet, I cry.  Have you ever seen a girl who happens to have a bigger hip size than her waste size, try to put on jeans?  It’s like a more spastic and less choreographed version of the Hawaiian Hula dance.  It’s unpleasant and sometimes can result in hip joints making popping noises. Again….I cry.

Drinking soda.  Yep.  I’m terrible at drinking soda.  Because I’m a lady…and my definition of a lady means: wearing camouflage shirts to church, driving a jeep, biting my nails completely off when I watch an intense movie, and uncontrollable…ear splitting, loud, louder, and loudest, burping while drinking soda.  I’m not kidding about this.  It’s uncontrollable.  I have no idea when it’s gonna come.  I never feel it ahead of time.  And it just…explodes out.  This right here, this little fact about me…is what my mom finds most endearing.  She loves it.  P.S.  I really don’t drink soda often, I’m a water girl…buuuuut you know, sometimes I go crazy.

Reading.  I love it, love to do it…but lately my eyelids having been shutting the party down early.  See, I only have time to read at night.  And two minutes after I start, my kindle usually falls on my face.  I wake up of course, and try again…and then it happens again.  And then I try again…and then it happens again.  And then I try again…and then it happens again.  And then I try again…and then it happens again.  And then I give up, because I’m a quitter.