I broke a nail and cried like a baby

For a girl, I'm not really.... girl like(?). At least not a stereotypical girl, anyway.

My nails break? Okay.

There's a bug? Cool.

Spider? I end up squishing those for most of my friends.

My hair? It's either down or in a ponytail. I know no other style.

Crying over a boy? Bitch please.

Starbucks? Eh.

Spending three years to shop for clothes? Hell no. Someone give me an oversized hoodie and my favorite pair of ripped jeans.

Not knowing what to eat? Eh. I know what I want to eat, but you don't want what I want which means I can't have it which means we're getting pizza.

Around the full moon, I find it hard to sleep. I feel hot, and like I need to get up and move around.

I made an entire fictional Toy Story esque conflict between two toys I played with when I was four or five years old. One was a Mag Warriors toy named Hawkblade (look em up if you don't know) and this other Bionicle type one. The Bionicle one was a dark lord type character that I named the Robot King. (Crappy I know but I was young so cut me some slack will ya?) who wanted to take over reality and enslave all the other toys I had. Hawkblade (can't remember what I called him back when I still had him unfortunately) was a kind of king/hero character who united all the other toys I had in an alliance to destroy the Robot King. They succeeded of course, but only in destroying his body. His spirit still lingered and would possess various other toys I had. Once I even pretended he took over the Hawkblade toy I had and used him to commit evil acts and enslave the world before he was exorcised and banished into the void, restoring peace to the fictional land I made up.

The point is, if it wasn't for those old ass toys I probably wouldn't like role-playing as much as I do. Those toys made me use my young imagination and even after I grew up and moved on, I still remember all the fun I had playing with them.

There, that's my random fact for today.

I have a terribly heightened sense of smell sometimes to the point that I have to vacate certain areas for fear of throwing up. For instance, someone with too much cologne/perfume on is within like fifty feet of me in an enclosed space. @.@

There is a certain passion I derive from knowing all that I can within my scope of interests, even details considered irrelevant to the greater concept. Such small trivia seems to tie it in together well.

If I talk with 10 people in a day, 8 of them are likely depressed and tired of life. Depression is consuming more of people everytime and that's sad.

I’ve had phone anxiety for as long as I can remember. Even as a kid my heart would race if I had to call someone. Didn’t matter who. Didn’t matter for what. I’d rehearse what I had to say and sometimes I’d even write it down, but I’d still fumble.

These days it's better, but sometimes I regress to my childhood as to say "I don't want to call this person, mum!" :/

I like lines.

Lines is a five (5) letter word.

For a girl, I'm not really.... girl like(?). At least not a stereotypical girl, anyway.

My nails break? Okay.

There's a bug? Cool.

Spider? I end up squishing those for most of my friends.

My hair? It's either down or in a ponytail. I know no other style.

Crying over a boy? Bitch please.

Starbucks? Eh.

Spending three years to shop for clothes? Hell no. Someone give me an oversized hoodie and my favorite pair of ripped jeans.

Not knowing what to eat? Eh. I know what I want to eat, but you don't want what I want which means I can't have it which means we're getting pizza.

Hello fellow tomboyish girl. I mean I'll look for clothes if I see anything that looks interesting but that's about it there. I'm not super scared of spiders or bugs. I'm pretty meh over food but will voice an idea. I don't really cry over a boy. I only go to Starbucks for the cookies around X-mas time. My nails break I don't give a shit. My hair is short, curly, and down and I plan to keep it that way.

I'm one of those "I went through it and it sucked, so I'm going to make sure you don't have to go through it" kinda people.

My phone decided to double post, so here, have another fact.

I talk to 3 people on a daily basis. One of them is my mother.

I genuinely speak to perhaps one other person throughout the course of an entire day. The rest is passing fare at most, courtesies or acknowledgment, but nothing more. Conversationally, that is enough for me, as is simply passing through busy places; just the presence of people at all is taxing on the mind and patience.

Occasionally, I try to imitate Shakira's belly dancing moves in front of the mirror... Let's just say that's not a natural skill of mine.

I have way too much stuff on my plate.

I have way too much stuff on my plate.

You've got this.

@Gunther's got this.

My son has officially been labeled ridiculous by his school teacher. Briza is proud.

Proud is a five (5) letter word.

I cannot recall for the life of me any of my old phone numbers. (Geddit recall?) But I (mostly) remember how I acquired/lost each one. First one was a cheap phone that I never bought more minutes for. Second one stolen by asshole in high school and the same asshole that took my MP3 Player. Third one broke. Fourth was replaced. Fifth one was stolen/lost inside a gas station. Sixth one was a literal free phone that another asshole tried to steal and broke it when he failed to accomplish that. Pretty sure I'm on my seventh one now? Like I said, mostly. :D

I once fell asleep on the couch in the teacher's lounge at school before the class that I was teaching that night started, only to be awoken by the college director five minutes after class started...

Thankfully I wasn't drooling.