Bizarre Facts for a Saturday Morning

In honour of the fact that it's 5:40 on a Saturday morning and I just can't get back to sleep, I've decided to list some odd facts about myself. Beyond the fact that I'm awake at 5:40 on a Saturday morning. (And please forgive any spelling/grammatical/judgement flaws: my brain isn't fully awake. It just won't stinking fall asleep.)

• A couple of days ago, Chris and I went out to buy two kinds of really nice cheese from the cheese shop (jalapeno havarti and one that has cloves and caraway seeds), and also some Cheez Whiz from the corner store. Since then, I have eaten nearly half a jar of Cheez Whiz. I'm crazy for it. I can't stop eating it.
• I'm not supposed to eat any dairy products, actually.
• I absolutely cannot chew gum. I think it has a lot to do with my mortification of saliva, and my over-active gag reflex. But gum? Blargh.
• I found a long hair growing out of the middle of my forehead yesterday.
• I spent yesterday evening watching episodes from season one of Battlestar Galactica.
• I have watched so much BG that I had the ephiphany, the other day, that I have the same haircut as Kara Thrace, aka "the new Starbuck, who's a girl, unlike the original series." And then I had the epiphany that I knew all of those facts. And then I rued the day I married a sci-fi fan.
• Every time I go outside in the morning in Victoria, I think: "Hey! It smells like camping outside!" as if it was the first time it had ever occurred to me. (Smell of camping: that just-rained smell, in addition to wood smoke and trees.)
• I love that it rains here because I've always loved umbrellas, and have always been sad that I couldn't use one in Regina. (In Saskatchewan, the wind makes an umbrella pointless.) In fact, as a small child, I would take my parasol (that I got as a flowergirl) into the shower, to pretend that it was raining.
• My fear of falling has prevented me from bicycling and from climbing ladders that aren't physically bolted to something stable (such as a bunkbed). And yet I usually claim the top bunk of bunkbeds at Camp. Old army-style bunkbeds, from which many girls have fallen. (And from which my cousin Kara lept, clearing another bed, while dreaming about spiders. But she landed on her feet, at the front door.) Is my fear of falling hypocritical?
• I used to catch the weirdest and worst colds ever, all the time. It came to the point that a kid in my grade 8 class suggested that I "give in and get a new nose."
• I managed to skip nearly every recess for grades 7 and 8, by volunteering to supervise the computer lab.
• The computers that my school bought, when I was in grade 7 (Apple Classics), are still the computers used at my old elementary school.
• I know all the words to the old-timey Spiderman theme. Not only that, but I also know the old-timey Captain America theme. (Wheeeeeeeeeeen Captain America throws his mighty shieeeeeeeeeld, all those who chose to oppose his shield must yieeeeeeeeeeeld...) And the Captain Planet theme, including the "Planeteers" rap.
• When we were very small, both Chris and I used to run away whenever "Curious George" got in trouble. Our respective families have teased us about this fact ever since, and this is what Chris's parents decided to tell me, one evening when they wrestled the phone away from him, in an attempt to embarass their son. And that's when they discovered that I did the same thing when I was a kid.
• In my high school choir days, I was known as "that girl who does the really big choreography." I will re-emphasise this fact: I was in a choir that hired a choreographer. (He came all the way from California.)
• I slept with a teddy bear named Lizzie until I got married. Not just with her on my bed: I hugged Lizzie in my sleep. I still need to hug the blanket in my sleep, or else I wake up with a sore back.

Over Christmas, I was talking with my Dad about how there are Ivan Tribble-created scares going around that PhD candidates are sabotaging their chances at tenure-track jobs by blogging about their personal lives. I told my Dad that I only discuss on my blog those things that I would freely say in person. My father's response was: "If someone didn't want to hire you because of what you have written on your blog, they clearly would have no sense of humour. Why would you want to work in an institution like that?"

Somehow, I have a feeling that this post will haunt all of my future job interviews.

(And now, I'll try to get some more sleep.)