I hate tomatoes. I always have, as long as I can remember. I like tomato-based things, like pizza or pasta sauce, but something about actual tomatoes really just grosses me out. However, I feel like hating tomatoes is a weird flaw, so I always order them on my sandwiches, burgers, etc. I have a theory that if I keep eating them, I'll eventually like them. So far, it hasn't really worked. I end up taking a few bites and then just taking the tomato slices off.  Try as I might, I can't just start enjoying tomatoes. It's probably pretty useless to keep trying. I feel the same way about the Wall Street Journal's recent article "How an Introvert Can Be Happier: Act Like an Extrovert." In the article, psychologist and professor William Fleeson says "If you're introverted and act extroverted, you will be happier. It doesn't matter who you are, it's all about what you do." Please pardon my French, Professor Fleeson, but that's some bullshit.

I'm an INFJ, which is Myers-Briggs for "Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging," or introverted intuition with extroverted feeling. Being introverted isn't the same as being shy. I like people, and I like being around people-- in limited numbers. It doesn't mean I hate leaving my apartment, it means that I'm just as happy spending time alone as I am in bigger groups. It doesn't mean that I refuse to attend parties-- it just means that at a certain point, an increasing percentage of my brain starts calculating how long I have to stay before I can be alone again. I can handle small talk, but I'd much rather in-depth conversations with a smaller number of people. I'm not incapable of being social; I just need a little while to recharge after.

Fleeson's research shows " introverts experience greater levels of happiness when they act more extroverted. In the weeklong study, researchers followed 85 people who recorded on Palm Pilots how extroverted they were acting and how happy they were feeling."

My question for Fleeson is this: How long were your subjects having to act extroverted? Because yes, most people can probably handle extroversion for a few hours a day. But the fundamental truth remains that at the end of the day, these people were probably able to relax and recollect their thoughts in peace. Pretending that lots of social interaction is energizing won't make people extroverted any more than wearing heels all day will physically make my legs longer.

Pretending to be someone you're not isn't the key to furthering your career and finding happiness. Society doesn't need more extroverts; it needs more understanding. I can't acquire a new personality any more than I can acquire a taste for tomatoes, nor should I have to.

Rock on, introverts. Quietly, though, if you don't mind.

I tried to think of a good story about my dad in honor of Father's Day, but frankly, nothing can top the one about him rollerblading through the neighborhood to egg the lair of my middle school nemesis. So, instead, I've come up with a few of my father's more distinguishing outlooks and explained them a little. I'm using the word "explain" quite loosely.

On supporting our interests

There are four of us, which means my parents have been coaches, strong shoulders, disciplinarians (or not), audiences, chauffeurs, art critics and editors continuously for 27 years. From what I understand, child rearing means blindly supporting your kid's dreams, even when they are extremely stupid and far-fetched and hilarious. My dad nailed/still nails this.

As a kid, I wanted to be an artist. Rather than handing me a box of crayolas like any normal parent, my dad bought me one of those ridiculously fancy art sets that comes with every color of oil and chalk pastel and like 11 different paintbrushes. Obviously, I destroyed everything in that box because I can't have nice things, a trait I still shoulder 15 years later. He bought me another.

He approached every one of my interests with the same gusto. When I liked horses, he planned summer trips to Arkansas dude ranches. When I was into theater, he screamed "GO KELLY. GO KELLY." from the audience, even (especially) during inappropriate scenes. When I was a cheerleader, he told me the same story about being on his college gymnastics team every time I struggled to land a back flip, and then set up blue mats in our front yard so I could practice.

The four of us each have very unique interests and hobbies and lives. And he was like this for everyone. Dad, if you're reading this, thank you. And sorry about always breaking everything.

On teaching us how to drive

My very first time behind the wheel took place in my mom's old grey minivan in a big empty parking lot. My second time behind the wheel was on a very busy road in Dallas rush hour. Both times were terrifying for both me and my dad, as well as anyone unfortunate enough to witness my driving lessons/hear his screaming from 15 miles away. The rest of the siblings were given additional lessons on how to drive a manual car, but I was not, as I was and am a lost cause.

On being on time

It won't happen.

On traveling

My dad is an extremely nervous traveler, which is only fitting because someone (me) always had to misplace their plane ticket. Next week, we're going to New Jersey to celebrate my cousin's Bat Mitzvah. Rather than booking me a flight from Austin to New Jersey and trusting me to find my way to baggage claim, my dad booked his flight from Dallas to Houston and mine from Austin to Houston, so we can meet up at George Bush Intercontinental airport, scramble to find each other, and then fly to Newark together. Not because it's cheaper, not because it's more convenient, but because that is just the way Howard Fine wanted to do it and by God "if you don't think that is the best way to travel then you can just find your own way there."

Meanwhile, my sister and her boyfriend are flying directly from Austin to Newark three hours after me and landing around the same time.

On automotive care

Is your car making an awful grinding sound? Did the power steering go out? Is the engine refusing to turn over? Did you get a flat tire? It doesn't even matter what is broken, because every single thing is your fault for forgetting to regularly clean the battery terminals. It is always the battery terminals.

On explaining foreign affairs

The following is a direct quote, transcribed by my little brother, Michael.

"Libya captured some navy ship and held it hostage because they wanted...you normally pay a bribe...you normally...so this guy hikes across the Sahara desert and Libya never expected, you know, a guy to hike... they still have a distinct look from the Egyptians."

On collections

If you've ever been to my house, you've seen my dad's massive Swarovski crystal collection. These little crystal figurines live in 3 giant display cases and are regularly rearranged and cleaned. He has started to sell them now, so he set up a little photography studio in the master bathroom to ensure optimal lighting. Each time he makes a sale, he walks around the house with it, saying goodbye. When I still lived at home, every piece was brought into my bedroom so my dad could say "Kelly, I had some really good times with this one."

On Facebook

Dad, please accept my friend request. I don't understand why you won't accept it. I'm not going to embarrass you.

On our dog, Cici.

Cici is his best friend and confidant. While I was used to being called "KristinKatieMichaelDamnit,Kelly," I was surprised when my name suddenly became "KristinKatieMichaelDamnitCiciKelly," or, in extreme circumstances, "KristinKatieMichaelDamnitCiciPakaKelly." Paka is our neighbor's dog. I wish this was a joke.

On sickness

Growing up, every single cough or sneeze was followed not by "bless you," but by "STOP IT." I still partially expect to hear "STOP IT" any time I have a cold. Sometimes I have to remind myself that this is not an appropriate response to other people's coughs and sneezes.

On diet

My dad has a very particular diet because he has Crohn's disease, but also because he's a weirdo. As a kid, I watched in awe as my dad ate an entire half-gallon of ice cream. He used to purchase giant tubs of Gold Medal Ribbon from Baskin-Robbins. Not the prepacked quarts, but literally the giant 3-gallon tubs that they put inside of their display cases and scoop ice cream out of.

After the ice cream phase was the night waffle phase. He would make two Eggo waffles, put any combination of butter, syrup or whipped cream in the middle, and eat it like a sandwich.

Now, he's moved on to Greek Yogurt. He eats anywhere from 4-10 servings of Chobani daily, both as meal replacements and supplements. Last time I was home, I watched in horror as he mixed strawberry, plain, and coffee-flavored greek yogurt in a big bowl and crumbled a Nature Valley bar into it.

Unfortunately, I have picked up bits of all of these eating habits. I'm working on it.

There are countless other things I could say, but I have a life to live (read: more Doctor Who to re-watch).

TL;DR: Happy father's day, Howard Fine. I love you. And thank you.