When I'm home alone at night and my house makes funny and unexpected noises, I wonder if it's haunted.
When I was 12 or 13 I heard the story of the Candyman. I still can't look in the mirror in the dark.
I am the only sister missionary in the history of the LDS Church (not proven, but a reasonable generalization) who enjoyed the ban on holding babies. It meant I had an ironclad excuse for not holding babies, since a wrinkled nose followed by "Eww, no, I don't like kids" tends to elicit dirty looks and rotten tomato throwing.
I once ate an entire pizza.
I'm really excited to turn 30.
I'm frequently afraid people I know are going to stop breathing and will surreptitiously watch them until I see chest movement.
I want my own fairy tale.
The main reason I spent two hours chatting with Flirty What's-his-face was because that was better than sitting at home by myself.
I enjoy football more than Christmas.
I'm going to miss Utah.
I have NSYNC and Backstreet Boys songs on my phone. If you ask, I'll say it's good workout music.
I have no idea -- still -- what I want to be when I grow up.
Sometimes I wonder if not getting married is a punishment for something I've done wrong.
Other times I think it's because no one wants me, and I don't know which is worse.
Guns scare me.
I drive a stick shift because a small part of me wants to be a race car driver.
One of these days I want to move to my first home, to a place where people look like me, can pronounce my last name and like the same sports.