I make little hashmarks whenever I write the number 7, because I like the way it looks.
I own a pair of ski goggles and I wear them regularly at home. It's my literal thinking cap.
I have never outgrown the taste of Kraft macaroni.
I've seen every episode of Home Improvement at least seven times, and I'm only the slightest bit ashamed.
I can recite every state, capital, president and best picture Oscar winner from memory. I can almost name the nations of the world, but I keep getting hung up on the South Pacific island nations.
I am an INFJ on the Myers Briggs test. Take from that what you will.
I write a lot. I wield a pen the way most chefs wield a knife. (That is, metaphorically. In a literal sense, it's hard to write that way.) I love being a writer, and I'm always looking for the next great idea to explore.
Thor Heyerdahl, Charles Addams and Joel Hodgson are my personal heroes.
I own framed posters of Starry Night, Golconda, and Kramer.
I think people who eat pizzas at movie theaters are terrible people.
I carry a blue notebook with me to organize my thoughts, map out future plotlines and log writing exercises.
If I could go anywhere on the planet, it would be Easter Island.
I own a set of pens that only work 5% of the time, but I keep them around because they look nice.
I hate the Summer. It's hot, it's humid, my allergies drive me nuts, and there are bugs everywhere. Fall and Winter are where it's at. (I also single-handedly campaign to capitalize the names of the seasons, because they really should be proper nouns.)
I know the rules to somewhere around 50 different board games.
All this is me, and much, much more. My flaws and my charms are one and the same. This is me, and this is who I am. The question, dear Alice, is how far down the rabbit hole you wish to go.