Last updated: June 30, 2008

I love to read other people’s about pages. It says a lot about them. For a really long time, I had this long, complicated bio bordering on a freaking memoir as the content on this page. I thought it revealed probably too much. I told myself I should save it for the boring memoirs that I will eventually write for my exciting life in the future. Why? Because they give book deals for memoirs like rabbits multiply. I should know. I’m a bookworm and a former bookseller. Dangerous combination to be. That, and Molotov cocktails.

Writing about yourself is a very difficult thing. Blogging is easy. You capture moments in concise tidbits in a clever tone, and dole it out to readers who may or may not like what you have to say. Either way, you write, they comment, the blogging world continues to spin.

But writing about yourself like this? Very difficult.

I pride myself on being clever. Everyone had their role in my family (I am the fourth of five children), and mine was the “smart one.” My dad - a smart man in his own right - would try and stump me, I’d think for a second, and give him the answer. So this about me page is one massive, lame ass attempt at being clever.

I live two lives. In public, I am very mellow. My mom’s co-workers once said I was quiet just like her, so I not only get my good looks from my ma (haha), but her quietness. I can go hours without talking to people unless a passing grade depends on it. At home with my family or hanging out with my friends, however, I can never shut up. I suffer from that social disease, acute verbal diarrhea. An unfortunate disease to possess, those of you who suffer from it know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.

I tend to attract polar opposites in the opposite sex: online, I get the wordy guys. Guys who will sit there and write me long messages about themselves. They’re tiring. God, piss off, honestly. In real life, I get guys I wouldn’t even try to look up on MySpace. So I thought about it one day about what it would take to be my man. I’m fully making this up; I’ll probably end up with a guy who isn’t any of these things. Isn’t that how it usually is?

I love animals. They’re all sorts of awesome. I have a dog named Simba, a golden retriever/chow/rottweiler mix. He is the sweetest dog ever, not a mean bone in his body. People who see him on the street thinks he’s beautiful. I had a betta, but like all the others I’ve had in the past, it ran its course. I would have a cat but I am allergic to them. :( I have banned Animal Planet from my favourite channels ’cause if I see their Animal Cops series, I tend to start bawling. I’m no tree-hugging hippie, but domesticated animal cruelty earns you a spot in my own version of hell. On my good days, hell is the place to be, yo. But if you get on my bad side, you might as well just go to the regular hell ’cause MY hell is pretty awful.

Music is my hot hot sex. Anybody who knows me - even in passing - knows that I have not lived without an iPod for the last few years. I hyperventilate if my iPod goes kaput and can’t be revived. I have since upgraded to an iPhone, which is the coolest thing evar and anyone who says otherwise obviously has never had one. I’ve had formal training in flute, piccolo, and piano but couldn’t play any of them today without a bit of a struggle. Basically I need music like humans need oxygen.

I am a writer. My dream is to be a raconteur. I am studying to get my degree in English Literature, with a minor in History. Don’t bother asking what I want to do with them officially, because I do not know. I chose English because it was something I am good at, and have been since I was a child. My reading comprehension was at a college level in fourth grade. I don’t like math even though its methodical ways fit my personality. I don’t like science because I definitely don’t have the drive to help find a cure for AIDS or anything. I didn’t major in history because I don’t want to be in school longer than I have to. But writing is my lifeline, the only way I can express myself sometimes. And I don’t want to get a degree in something just because the field makes money. Nobody I know who has a degree in their field are happy. And I don’t want to be like them.