This post about some of my little weirds is in dedication to Jenny Slate and her book, Little Weirds. I haven’t read it, so this may not be at all aligned with what she writes about.

The corresponding images also have nothing in relation to this post.

• One Saturday evening while waiting for me at the Lorimer stop in Williamsburg, my boyfriend spotted a thin Japanese man walking down Metropolitan in a fluffy fur coat and mistook the man for me, his girlfriend, coming to meet him. I was actually quite flattered when he told me this story, though I still haven’t figured out why that is.

• My sophomore year French teacher liked to confirm that everyone understood her lessons. Standing at the blackboard, she’d go over a grammar rule or vocabulary word and prompt—in English first, then in French—whether there were questions about what she’d just taught.

“Questions? Questions?”

Though spelled identically on paper, her over-eager French pronunciation of the word made it sound like she was saying “keh-stchons,” so multiple times a week for an hour and a half at a time I’d hear ad nauseam, “Questions? Keh-stchons? Questions? Keh-stchons? Questions? Keh-stchons?” To this day, any iteration about follow up questions triggers a Pavlovian response of, “Keh-stchons?” And if you’re in my vicinity, you may be fortunate enough to glimpse me silently mouthing it to myself.

• I have a misguided habit of thinking that if I strongly visualize myself achieving a physical feat I have no history of practice with, or natural skill for, that I will find myself victorious in my first-time attempt at it.

• I don’t like to have any part of my body other than my head exposed when I sleep at night. This is not for comfort, but because I don’t want a ghost to touch me. However, if they do it during the day that’s fine.

• A particularly chatty next door neighbor was standing in her front patio when I was coming home from the gym one evening, and because I was tired and didn’t feel like talking—but didn’t want her to think I didn’t feel like talking—I kept my head down, crossed the street, and continued walking to a grocery store five blocks away, where I stood outside for fifteen minutes. That was the allotted time I felt appropriate for someone who had been about to step into their building, but suddenly remembered a quick errand to run.

• In the fourth grade I became fascinated with a cartoon series called Gargoyles, and at recess I’d sit in a low squat on top of the monkey bars for very long stretches of time, hoping my classmates would think I looked mysterious and badass.

• I had a crush on Raphael the Ninja Turtle as a kid. I liked him because he was always in a bad mood, so in the end, nothing about that situation made a lot of sense.

• I’m a little too afraid of the dark than I should be as an adult, yet excessive pride prevents me from buying a nightlight. Instead, I often fall asleep in my bed with all my clothes on, comforted by the fact that every bulb in my apartment is burning and that this alone will keep the serial killers at bay.

• I ended things with a guy I was casually dating because he was a grown man who used the word “yummy” un-ironically and I couldn’t handle it.

• I once accepted a ride from a stranger when a delayed flight from Houston left me stranded at Grand Central at 2am in the middle of winter. A man in an idling black suburban had been watching me pace back and forth with my luggage looking for a subway entrance, and after fifteen minutes, he rolled his window down to ask if I’d like a lift home. Being hungry, cold, exhausted, frustrated, and lost with no access to a map because I was an extraordinarily poor grad student who could only afford a barely-functioning flip phone, I contemplated the risk for a minute until a gust of arctic wind broke my will and I stepped into his car. We drove in silence and he dropped me off a block away from my apartment. I never saw him again. Needless to say, I make it a point not to watch too many true crime documentaries due to mild embarrassment.

• After my plants die, I continue to water them hoping they’ll come back to life. One time it worked and that was probably more encouragement than the universe should have granted me.

• Many years ago a very well dressed gentleman approached me in Union Square with a greeting of, “Excuse me,” and a curious accent I couldn’t place. I assumed he was going to ask for directions, but instead, he asked if he could lick my feet and even offered payment to do so. I politely declined and not wanting to be rude, gave a small wave goodbye as I walked away.

• On a particularly muggy mid-July morning I left my house wearing a regrettable choice of underwear, and as I stepped onto the train that would take me to work and watched the doors close, I knew I had committed a grave error in judgment. Half an hour later when I was deposited ten blocks away from my office, I made an unplanned stop at a Duane Reade and purchased a pack of the smallest sized women’s briefs I could find. With a great deal of mental stamina I slowly walked to my office and used an infrequently visited bathroom to change. I stepped out a new woman. Twenty minutes later a pipe burst in the building and everyone was told to go home.

• I’ve never seen Top Gun.