I winces if I have to say "Coke" to refer to ginger ale, despite many years spent in the south. It's "pop", dammit.
My dream home would be California in the dead of winter, if winter lasted all year long. My parents used to call me "Mr. Freeze" because of how I run the air conditioner wherever I live. Probably the finest week of my life was when I moved into my first real apartment with my friend Bob and we ran the air conditioner so hard the place felt like a hotel room. It was Georgia in July and we wore sweaters and used blankets and drank hot cocoa. Bob is dead now but we had a habit for spitting in the eye of the universe.
I've spent my life since 18 collecting friends who are assertive nerds, ironic pirates, stranded vagabonds, white collar thieves, friendly carpetbaggers, exiled Yankees, middle class hobos, cynical philosophers, and people who would reach to be anything they thought didn't exist yet.
I also have a habit for using the "turtles all the way down" story (Google it if you don't know it) to explain EVERYTHING. My undergrad senior project was a play based on it. I've used and abused that story to be a symbol for everything.
Also? I believe in fate. I am alternatively terrified of the inevitability it represents and even more terrified that it isn't real at all and that nothing adds up. So I run away from any kind of sure thing but, y'know, I'd feel a lot worse if all the little clues and details and weird coincidences didn't lead somewhere great eventually.