Something that frustrates me a lot is when people don’t know information about themselves. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. This might sound conceited, narcissistic, egotistical, etc, but I love any information that has to do with myself. I enjoy astrology, Chinese astrology, genealogy, the meaning of names, family crests, birthstones, palm readings, tarot cards, basically anything that tells you about yourself. If I lived in the 17th century, I would have been deemed a witch for sure. Actually, I did a Ghost Tour in Edinburgh and guess who was chosen to be the witch burned at the stake? ME. Only because I was popping my gum the entire tour and the tour guide hated me. Sorry, but if my gum popping throws you off, how are you ever going to make it in life?
An important detail about oneself that I think is of value to know are blood types. Many people in Canada don’t know their blood types. I don’t know why. Fun fact: my husband is adopted. I married a mystery man. He, of course doesn’t know his blood type. AND he doesn’t even care. I always say, what if you got in a car crash and they needed to give you blood?! He says that testing blood is so easy and quick that it wouldn’t matter. Well if its so easy and quick, why don’t you know your blood type then?
I used to give blood at school blood drives and church blood drives. Basically at any blood drives. I’m surprised I don’t have AIDS by now. A few times I got turned down because I was anemic or something. I guess I don’t get enough iron in my diet. Sorry I don’t eat spinach, prunes, red meat, liver, oysters, or egg yolks. Sorry I’m not disgusting. Sorry I’m not sorry. My blood is fine. The nurses are clearly just jealous that I have perfect blood and they have chunks of iron floating around in theirs. Maybe Paul shouldn’t find out his blood type. Too much drama.