So, me.
For someone who loves talking about herself as much as I do, this was incredibly hard to write. I'll give you a few details, and leave the rest of it to questions submitted by readers.
I'm 21 for now, 22 in six weeks. My birthday is two days before Boy's--February 21 to his February 23. I'm finding that more and more often I'm talking about myself in relation to him, but it doesn't worry me--together, we make something good and uncrushable, but we're still whole people alone. Also, I tend to gravitate towards people who have birthdays around the same time (the Ex and I had the same birthday, actually), but let's not make this into some big stupid astrological thing.
I was born and raised in the Jet City (that's Seattle, thanks), but I swear to freaking god, I spent most of my youth living out of a duffel bag. Between having divorced parents who chose a sadistic visitation plan and my mother marrying a man with a taste for travel--I've visited something like 22 countries and 38 states (hard to keep track of both those tiny island nations and the atlantic seaboard)--But this is home, here, in my little house on a good-sized lake, with this Boy that I can't stop mentioning.
He's adorable, that's why. And loving and kind and the best kind of mischevious pervert.
Now, the questions. (Thanks to Bubbles, Blondie, and Chocolate Love for the assistance--although seeing all of your names together makes my life look like pr0n.)
What motivates you to share your personal life with the world by writing this weblog?
I'm the ultimate narcissist. I like watching myself in mirrors and on film, I love the sound of my own voice, and if I could, I'd fuck myself. And hell, if I like me that much, why shouldn't everyone else? Also, having an audience (and a growing one at that) is decent impetus to keep me writing.
If you were a cartoon character, which one would you be and why?
The NBC Network Executives on Robert Smigel's "Fall Lineup Retooling" sketch. Or Jessica Rabbit.
Who is your ultimate dream-fuck?
It'd be a tough call between Angelina Jolie and Liz Phair. Or my clone. Yeah, definitely my clone.
Are you single?
*snort* Please. You've never been here, right? Or you're stupid.
I've got my Boy--we live together in the house I grew up in (so you know it's pretty serious--I wouldn't live here with just anyone!)--but we're also part of a very special group of people called polyamorists, though we're not nearly as poly as some folks of our acquaintance. It's hard, but fun sometimes, and if/when the time is right, we'll stop. For now, it's something different.
So you're bi, then?
I prefer the term "Half-gay". Seriously, though--I'm not into the politics of sexx.
Do you have a twin sister just like you?
Ohh, don't we all wish!
What kind of music do you like?
I'm currently obsessing over the Ocean's 11 Soundtrack, because that David Holmes song is fucking hot. Also good: Superdeluxe. Massive Attack. David Gray. Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Everything But The Girl. Crowded House. Moxy Fruvous. Old U2, New U2. Fiona Apple. Dvorak. Beth Orton. Pink Martini. Robbie Fulks. De La Soul. Bizet.
What is your greatest fear?
We've covered this: Werewolves, stapling my thumbs, revolving doors, and a touch of agoraphobia.
Favorite color?
Oh, for fu--Blue. Any and all shades of blue. Cocksucker red.
Are you making this up?
The events are real; only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Oh, who are we kidding? There is little innocence to be found here. I changed all the names in case illustrious stepfather decided to do a little checking-up. (Also, if you're looking for some sort of key to my intricate nickname-code: Here is where you'll find it. Friends and family, Lovers and enemies--you'll find them all there.)
What's with the cowboy hat?
It's hot--goes with my strapless leopard-print dress.
Other miscellaneous tidbits:
I no longer sleep late, nor do I party like it's 1999. Being a grownup is difficult, but I make up for it with misplaced childlike wonderment.
I drive an SUV, and I do it in the commuter lanes, even when I'm alone. Also, I park it in handicapped spots.
I love my job, and apparently it loves me! It's a nice feeling.
Also, I no longer have any outstanding warrants for my arrest. I live fully within the law, except for that other stuff.
I have a black thumb like you wouldn't believe. And freakishly small hands. Which provides for a very bizarre mental image. Heh.
If you're buying me a drink, it'd better be a sidecar.
More questions? Email me.
