From my (somewhat) recently disabled OkCupid profile…

Apparently Jupiter is coming into my sign (Leo) for the next year and I pretty much have free reign to make my life whatever I want it to be. Clearly this needs to be chronicled. I’m starting off a few days before my 31st birthday and as a little get to know me, I’ve included my profile from my now defunct OkCupid profile. That horrifying piece of social media shit will possibly be discussed at a later date. Tinder didn’t suck too bad but I only managed to swipe left the majority of the time. I’ll take my chances at the bar. And you can completely disregard the fact that I am still technically ‘non-dating’ my ex-boyfriend and don’t really have a need to date. There’s dick, there’s companionship, and he has ownership of my cat, Gandalf. Besides, he’s one of the few people who has seen my Broadway inspired rendition of ‘Be My Guest’ from Beauty and the Beast using only the word ‘aubergine’. And still thinks I’m pretty awesome.


Oh, and I have another old blog if you’re bored from another life changing ‘aha!’ moment from last year:


Would you date me?

(and NO that is not my vagina. It’s nude colored underwear. I’m (obviously) too fucking old to be running around with no underpants on.


If I could be a lion dressed in a dapper coat, hat and heels, I would on a daily basis. It sounds like I want to be a bearded tranny but I’m more of a eccentric who is not actually eccentric. Eccentricity for the sake of being eccentric pisses me the fuck off. I love music to the point it makes me cry but I’m not a rabid fan about anyone. I love lyrics and I love sound and I love what I love when it comes to music because it moves me. Aside from the flute (no band camp references here, sorry) I’ve never made music and don’t play an instrument. But other than water in any form (ocean, shower, bath, rain) nothing makes me feel so connected with who I am than music. I love whiskey. It’s been a torrid love affair and we have our ups and downs but that is a love I will take to the grave a la Old Blue Eyes. I am not an artist by any means but you will regularly find me past out in bed covered in oil or chalk pastels and sketch book papers littered about, usually scribbled with my meandering thoughts influenced by said whiskey. I’m not trying to be an artist but I love the outlet. It’s mine, and people who love me like to say it’s good but it’s shit; but it’s mine. I love the written word and go through spurts of devouring any book I can get my hands on. I’m currently laughing out loud with Chuck Klosterman and seriously agree that cinema ruined love. Shakespeare got it right and I spent two of my four years at UW studying his sonnets and plays only to come to the conclusion humans are fucking incapable of not fucking things up. My best friend is my father. He put me on the back of a motorcycle when I was barely a year old and my unwavering trust in him and my obsession with Isle of Mann make me SERIOUSLY want to figure out a foot pedal clutch before I’m 40 and go on a road trip with nothing but two wheels and a backpack. I love food and hate working out but I love to walk so it evens out. I throw things when I’m mad but that’s only when I’m really mad. I literally have a mane of hair that is rarely taken care of but I trust Baz Luhrman’s advice so I don’t mess with it too much. I’m too passionate about trivial things and I’m enthralled with people who are obsessed with one thing, be it music, motorcycles, or how to make hot sauce from scratch. I want to learn everything I can while I’m here so I’m going to listen patiently as you dribble on about gaskets or modular nodes or grey salt. Just like every other member of my generation I’m convinced I’m destined for greatness, yet have no actual skills to warrant that delusion. At the end of the day, I just want a glass of whiskey, an adventure and a laugh.