048. I hate (hate hate hate hate hate) having my feet messed with. 

My dog knows this.

He doesn’t mess with anyone’s feet but mine.  But sure enough, I come around, and no matter where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing, he needs to lick my feet.  And no matter how many times I kick him in the face for it, he keeps doing it.

047. My birthday is 9 February 

COP-OUT FACTS, ANYONE?

046. I am ALWAYS hungry. 

045. The meaner I am to you, the more I like you. 

044. I’m utterly pop-culture retarded. 

As if you haven’t figured that out by now.

043. My bedroom is ALWAYS messier than the worst of teenage boys. 

I am, however, convinced that when I finally have my own place, my own space, I’ll take better care of it.

042. I’m about to go into my last semester of college, and after five years I still don’t know what to do with my life. 

041. I give a mean massage. 

040. I refuse to put fake… stuff… in my hair. 

I might only brush it once a day (…if that…), but I can’t handle gels, hairspray, or even blow-drying my hair unless absolutely necessary.  I just.  I hate it.  I won’t do it.

039. I’m allergic to everything. 

038. Along the same vein as the last… I hate shoes, especially shoes I have to wear socks with, but I have major boot envy. 

037. Catching me with shoes on is nigh on impossible. 

036. I’d rather have some kind of nut/spice bread than cake any day of the week. 

I know, I know, I’m weird.  I just prefer a sweet spice to super rich things…

035. When I was a baby/very young, the only food I ever rejected was grits. 

I’m southern born and bred.

I still don’t like grits.

034. My dad once asked if I had an unhealthy obsession with Sandra Bullock. 

No more of an unhealthy obsession than with Alan Rickman, Lisa Edelstein, or Viggo Mortensen.  Good day to you, sir.