Revision Status: I clicked "send" just last night. Sam thinks I should be relieved now. I told him he obviously doesn't know me very well.

Okay, so Ronda tagged me, with the 25 things about me thingee-ma-jig. But I really don't think I'll get to 25. So here goes:

Okay, I have been sitting at my computer for, like, 20 minutes. So far, I haven't come up with one.

Yep, another five minutes has gone by. Nothing. In fact, I think I bruised my brain trying to do this. I'm not kidding. Normally I can blog pretty fast, but right now, there's nothing.

Seriously, I can do this. I can do this. You can do this, Brodi. Do it. Do it!

1. Ummm... I'm a girl.

2. I'm a dork (as pointed out by number one, and several of my blog commenters on a daily basis. Yes, Cam, I'm talking to you... You too, Dorien. And Shell. Don't get me started on Erin.)

3. Crap. Another brain cramp. Okay, let me go brush my teeth. I think better with clean teeth. Hey- that's a fact about me, right? Number three, done! Now, really, I have to go brush my teeth. Be right back.

4. Okay, I feel better now. My computer screen is no longer melting because of my breath. Where were we? Number four. Right.

5. Sometimes I kick Sam while he's sleeping, and I tell him to stop snoring. Only, he's not really snoring. He's just breathing. The truth is, I couldn't sleep. And I was bored. And I needed someone to blame.

6. Wooo Hoo! Only 845 more to go!

7. I pee, like, 15 times before I go to bed. It's mental. It's all in my head. (That was redundant, huh.) I know it's mental because I went to my doctor, and told her I must have bladder cancer. But when she found out I didn't work in a tire factory, (I guess those are hotbeds for bladder cancer) she said the chances were minimal.

She was right. It was all in my head.

8. Yay! Number 7 reminded me I'm a hypochondriac! That one's easy! Booo Yah! Count it!

9. Really, number 8 should count for two, because it's such a big part of my life.

10. How about we talk crazy quirks? Ummmm... I won't eat leftovers. In fact, I have a very paranoid relationship with food in my fridge. I come from a household where my mother saved leftover scrambled eggs. Yes, you heard me right. Leftover scrambled eggs. As in, to be reheated.

So, yeah, I don't like the fridge. And the fridge has been eyeing me lately as well. I think the feeling is mutual.

11. I talk to signs. Any written set of instructions. And I'm kind of sassy about it. Like when I'm in the shower, and I look at the directions on the shampoo bottle: "Lather, rinse. Repeat if necessary."

I'm all, "Duh. Thanks for pointing out the obvious. I only do this every day. But tell me, what in the world do I do after I rinse?" Yes, I say it out loud.

Then I read the next line: "Follow with Redkin Conditioner."

I'm like, "Oh, well isn't my bottle of shampoo a freakin' genius... Stop staring at me."




You know what? 11's good, right. It's almost, very nearly, halfway there. And since I tend to do everything half-butted anyway, it's perfect.

This was the longest time I've ever spent on a blog post.

So now, I tag, everybody. You're it.