I was born at a very early age. The people that claim to have been there said I came into the world arguing and have never really slowed down. I could go on with more semi-clever lines that really don't tell you anything about me, but the truth is, I guess I don't know all that much about myself. I used to be here under the screen name Hermesinbattle, and again as Just_August. I don't know why I gave up on those profiles other than to say that like an old coat that's threadbare and out of style, they just didn't fit right anymore. I'm tempted to list all the things I am, or the even greater list of all the things I am not, in an attempt to give you a favorable illustration of myself; however I think I'll go with accurate as opposed to favorable. I used to be polyamourous, and before that I was monogamous, right now I'm married to the love of my life, aibas, and we both feel there's room for more. I ride an old (1980) motorcycle, and am looking forward to taking long road trips. I love a good story. I love bad jokes that are told well. I love learning new things, and teaching. I also enjoy answering questions, so hopefully what I've written here will inspire some.

I'm learning to include others in my life and not be so distant.

I've had my portfolio on LJ for years so now I'm copying it to my OKC journal. Read at your own risk.

I'm studying martial arts, for the only way to abolish violence is to master it.

I'm slowly getting into politics, lobbying both for Veterans and motorcyclists.

So there I was, naked, in the refrigerator. . . Wait. Wrong story. It was the day before I was to take my new (to me) motorcycle on my first big road trip from Seattle to Portland for a juggling convention. (Yes I said juggling convention, don't judge me.) I knew the bike had suffered a little from neglect, but I basically only knew which parts not to touch when they were hot. So I decided to change the oil. You can't go wrong with changing the oil before a road trip. When you're the mechanic, (and when you change your own oil, that makes you the mechanic) it's good to have a helper. Someone to hand you rags, wrenches, that little thing that fell on the ground and is rolling away so get it, get it, quick, stomp on it, now pick it up and bring it to me. . .thank you. My helper was four. Her name is "c". I manage to find all the bolts that need to come off. I manage to get them all off. (Yes, I had to use a cheater bar.) I manage to change the filter and put everything back in, and while I'm on the last plug, the one that was so tough to get off, I think; "Hmmm, this one was on extra tight for a reason" and I give it an extra turn.

SFX: !SNAP!

"c": Yay!

Me: Actually honey, I broke it.

"c": Why did you do that?

Me: Because I thought it needed to be tighter than it really did.

*She pauses, gets a look on her face that ages her thirty years*

"c": Well at least I got to see how strong you are.

Don't you just love that kid? Anyway, I like to think I'm really good at telling stories.

I look like I work here. It doesn't matter where "here" is. I've been handed donations at churches(I mean the big envelope full of cash and checks). I've been handed bags at airports (by security). I've been asked medical questions reguarding goats at a county fair. Trains, video stores, rodeos, city parks, movies, you name it. People come up to me as if I work there.

(A) If I could only have one book to paw through again and again, I guess it would have to be The Princess Bride. True love, high adventure, and a little bit of sex. What more could you ask for? You walk him and pitch to the rhino.

(B) I have to say 300. Based on the conversations I've had with people I think this is going to be the most misunderstood movie of 2007. I urge everyone to go see it, and if you saw it, and hated it, go see it again, but this time, don't see it as an action movie, or a CGI spectacular, or a semi historical reenactment. See it as someone sitting around a campfire being told a story. It's pure genius.

(C) At the tender age of eleven I called ticketmaster and used my Dad's credit card to buy the tickets. I talked my father into driving to the meadowlands, and I talked my Mom into letting my Dad pick up my sister and I even though it wasn't a scheduled visitation day. When my Dad's truck broke down, his tennant automaticly handed over the keys to his car, so I could see Simon & Garfunkel.

(D) Anything that Alton Brown makes. I'm really the least picky eater you're likely to find. I'm allergic to apples, so I don't eat them. I'm also allergic to cats and burlap, so I don't eat those either. If you make it I'll try it. If pressed for a favorite, I'd have to go with Italian. However, I'm an exellent guiena pig and will try just about anything.

I once gave up my eyesight for a day, my feet for three months, my voice several times, my hands once or twice. (Only one at a time.) I've given up sex, and mongamy and polyamory. I've actually given up coffee from time to time, and I've even given up hope more than once. So I guess what I'm really trying to say is. . . if there's something I can't give up, I haven't found it yet.

Why do people write such nasty comments on blogs? It really turns me off to the whole journal idea.

I'm still searching for the magic formula that will provide me with health, wealth, and happiness.

Other than that I'm a real life Walter Mitty, and I dream of riding to some unknown town just to meet the people and find out what about their town they're proud of. (Usually it's the chili and the microbrew)

Why is it so important to have your face in every picture? Why can't there be pictures of tattoos? Mine are important to me and say just as much about me as a picture of my face.

I need another tattoo.

I really have no idea. I'm not one much for routines. I kind of like to go to bed early on Friday night so I can get up early on Saturday and go do something fun. Play with the kids, watch the sun rise, go for a morning ride, that sort of thing.

I have a form of Prosopagnosia, which means I can't remember faces. Pictures are easier since they never change, the biggest consequence of this is I look at profiles over and over again trying to figure out if I've seen them before. So if I've viewed your profile 27 times in the past week, it's really not because I'm stalking you.

In high school I recieved one major sports injury. I cracked a rib, playing volleyball, at the end of school picnic, for the debate team.

In the army I broke my wrist. . . marching.

An hour before I was due at my Shakespeare reading I cracked three ribs; I slipped in the shower like a little old lady.

It seems as though I'm only accident prone when it's funny.

You are one or more of the following: friendly, a motorcycle mechanic, a coffee addict, paganish, a rock climber (indoor counts), into poetry, into Shakespeare, interested in learning more Latin, looking for someone to chat with.

Bonus points if you know what to do with an elephant with three balls.

It also helps if you're polyamourous and are open to the idea of eventually joining a family.

So if you've made it all the way down here, let me say this; thank you. I really don't know that I'm "looking" for anything as much as I'm interested in meeting people. Drop me a line. It might be fun. And if it just so happens to be the worst experience of your life. . . aren't you glad you got it out of the way?