I was born in a crossfire hurricane.

I prefer most breakfast foods burnt. This includes toast and bacon.

When I was seven, I almost drowned in the Pacific Ocean.

When I was five, I had a crush on Mighty Mouse.

I refused to believe my older brother when he told me I couldn’t marry a cartoon character.

I am already tired of this list.

And wishing I could find the lists I’ve published on other blogs so I could copy/paste some of this.

I once chased a purse-snatcher down the street and scared him so badly with my crazy yelling that he threw the purse at me, yelled, “Take it!” and kept running.

I have also been mugged once.

Mugger’s take: $7.00. Bill for ER visit and my broken nose: Thousands.

I am painfully shy.

And by “painfully” I mean that it is often physically painful for me to interact socially.

I also dislike a lot of people, so this works out pretty well on average.

But I also get lonely and wish I had some close friends here in Austin.

I have good friends in Dallas but we rarely see each other.

I used to work for the Future B. I.

No, I didn’t.

Did I?

I can’t remember.

Over the years, I have held the following jobs: Santa’s helper, signer-upper of people to win a free turkey, jeans store sales clerk, stereo store sales clerk, pizza maker, babysitter, teaching assistant, telemarketing scriptwriter, banker, non-profit fundraiser, nanny.

Throughout all of that I was also a writer.

I am still a writer.

Kinda. It’s been tough going recently.

But I have learned not to sweat the ebb and flow.

My mom and I narrowly escaped a house fire when I was 12.

My math skills are roughly equivalent to those of a fourth-grader.

But I don’t care because big people get to use calculators.

A famous author once offered to mentor me in my writing career “no strings attached” – but I declined because the strings were obvious and sleazy.

He still emails me sometimes.

I talk to animals and inanimate objects far more often than I talk to people.

Unless you count the ongoing internal conversations I have with myself, dead relatives, historical figures, people I don’t know, and so on.

I believe in ghosts and have seen several.

I don’t believe in Mister Grieves.

If you got that last one, good for you.

I believe the children are our future.

I actually DO believe that.

I like kids and am lucky to have a lot of them around me.

But none I am actually responsible for, which is kind of nice.

Because I am just an overgrown child myself.

When I was in college, I participated in a lucid-dreaming experiment after which I convinced myself I could astrally project.

Then I realized that I just have really realistic dreams.

And nightmares.

Almost every night.

It sucks.

And often leads to insomnia.

Which leads to me reading a lot.

I read at least two books a week.

Sometimes more depending on how hard I am trying to avoid writing books.

This week, I read three.

I once wrestled a gun out of my friend’s hand when he was in a drunken, suicidal stupor.

But I wasn’t there to stop him three years later.

If I see him in the afterlife, I plan to punch him in the face. Hard.

I can balance a spoon on the end of my nose.

It’s not that hard, you probably can, too.

Go try it right now, I’ll wait.

How did it go?

Try breathing on the scoop side of the spoon first. It helps.

My sister and I are close enough in age and looks that people sometimes mistake us for twins.

I am also often referred to as the “friendlier” of the two of us which should give you some idea of how unfriendly she is.

Because I am not friendly.

I have seen my dad more since he died than I did while he was still living.

I sometimes fantasize about joining an Amish community.

Then I come to my senses.

I have never hit anyone.

I have wanted to hit a lot of people.

And often talk about hitting people.

Perhaps I have an anger problem.

Since earliest memory, I have had a rich fantasy life that runs in my head like a movie. It contains elements of my actual life interspersed with what I wish or fear was happening.

When I first meet new people, they are usually surprised to find out how old I am.

I have never figured out if that’s because I look younger than my age or act younger than my age.

I suspect it’s a bit of both.

I was going to make this list 100 items long, but I’m tired.

I will finish it later.

That was a lie.

**********

Or maybe it wasn’t.

I have a love/hate relationship with my body.

But I love my mind.

Probably too much.

I like the smell of sweat.

I don’t like the smell of most colognes and perfumes.

I am impatient.

And easily irritated by others.

In fact, I prefer my own company almost exclusively.

Which makes being married to me lots of fun.

When people tell me I’m nice or funny or sympathetic, my inner voice shouts out: “Woo hoo! Fooled another one!” and I privately high-five myself like a frat boy after a successful keg-stand.

No really, I do.

It’s awesome.

I trust my instincts and dreams to alert me when something good or bad is in the air.

I wouldn’t say I’m clairvoyant, but I pay attention.

That’s really all it takes.

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I hate talking on the phone and when I say, “Great to hear from you” at the end of a call, I’m really saying, “Sorry I picked up the phone. “

I’ve been arrested once and questioned by the FBI twice.

Or was it three times?

I can’t remember.

When I was 17, I was the Illinois State cartwheeling champion.

I’ve never been to Spain, but I kinda like the music.

When I was three, my parents had to put a lock on my bedroom door to keep me from wandering out of the house in the middle of the night.

They thought I was sleepwalking, but it turns out I was awake.

I later developed a sleepwalking problem that has re-occurred in my adult life during times of heavy stress.

But it has lessened over the past few years.

When I am in a social situation where I don’t know many people, one of two things happens: I talk too much or I say almost nothing, then make some kind of sarcastic comment that throws people completely off-balance and/or makes them think I am an idiot.

It works for me.

I am often told that I come off as aloof or snotty when first meeting people.

I prefer to think of myself as smug and bitchy.

And hawwwwwt. Smokin’ hawwwwt. Fo shiz.

Um.

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I have never plucked my eyebrows.

I once faked my own death on the internet.

One of the most important people in my life right now is an 81-year-old transsexual.

Before I got married, I was an epic crush-harborer/piner.

I rarely acted on my crushes though.

‘Cause of that shyness thing I’ve mentioned ad nauseum.

I knew my dad was going to die a year before it happened. I felt it coming and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I think he knew, too.

Although I’m not entirely sure.

And will probably never know.

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