There are a few things that people need to understand about me -- things that just are, definitively, who and what I am. My closest friends don’t need to be told what these things are (and never did), which is most certainly how they achieved such Close Friendedness® in the first place. But not understanding these things, these Great Truths, can bring an end to potentially fine relationships. So, in favor of preventative measures, let’s get on with the disclosure.

I do not like to be told what to do.
And by ‘not like’ I mean, totally hate. Those who have achieved the aforementioned Close Friendedness® have learned to restrain themselves when it comes to advice-giving. Oh, not on every matter, mind you. Tell me which color ¾ length sleeve shirt to buy when presented with Banana Republic’s oh-so-many choices. Recommend a CD. Suggest a location for my birthday extravaganza. These are all perfectly acceptable. But in more weighty matters (life, love and the pursuit of happiness), it should be assumed that if you’ve thought of it, I have already spent one, if not more, nights awake entertaining (or dismissing) the same idea. It’s called being neurotic. And I do it really well.

I suck at being angry.
I don’t do it well. And no, I don’t want to talk about it because I’m hoping that we can just ignore it and it will go away. See, I get confused by The Angry Feeling, and when I get confused, I don’t know what to say. Confrontation will only increase The Angry Feeling, and thus the confusion and inability to speak. So just back the fuck off, okay?

Ahem.

Ice cream makes me happy.
That’s pretty self-explanatory. Pink Old Navy flip-flops make me happy, too.

I secretly like being made fun of.
If, you know, it’s malicious-free mocking and really only serves to say, “I like you” in that playground sort of way. I reserve the right to pout, but this is only to mask my glee at being liked in the playground way.

And last, but not least

I hate roller coasters.
Drive fast with me in the car. Take me rappelling. Pack me into a cannon at the circus, but do not ask me to get on a roller coaster. Do not say, “You’ll like this one!” Do not tell me it’s safe. Do not tell me you’ll make me walk home from Six Flags New England if I don’t ride Superman with you. I’ll walk. And don’t remind me that I’ll rode every ride at Disney World. Cause, duh, that’s Disney. It doesn’t count.