I am appallingly awful at being a girl. I am not graceful. I do not
know how to wear a dress or shop for shoes. I've never owned a
purse too small to carry a hardcover book. I feel like sad clown
when I wear lipstick. I don't do small talk. However, I think I've
got the important stuff down. I've taught myself to bake pies from
scratch, crust and all.

I am piratical, zaftig, and solipsistic

(I am not really all that zaftig, especially after ditching the soda. I just like that word. Other favorite words include sibilant and haberdasher - I am neither of those things, either.)

Writing, watching far too many movies, half-heartedly studying French, taking ill-advised road trips and photographing things I find along the way.

Drinking my bourbon neat.

I am an occasional professional cinephile, and it is the coolest.

I am really good at a daunting number of increasingly irrelevant and obsolete things, including darkroom and pinhole photography. I still haven't got a knack for digital.

Baking pies.

Driving. And swearing at people who drive inefficiently. If you've ever driven a vehicle in the greater Phoenix metro area, chances are I've lobbed some choice invectives your way. I'm sorry, but seriously, you need to use your turn signal and get out of the left lane.

Maneuvering through bustling crowds to get in lines first or score better seats at the movies. I'm short and fast.

That I look familiar even though we've never met, or that I look like somebody's sister, even though I have no siblings.

Also, that I'm wearing a totally rad t-shirt.

Movies: Paul Thomas Anderson, Quentin Tarantino, Darren Aronofsky, the Brothers Coen, Kubrick, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, Billy Wilder, Wes Anderson, Kurosawa, noir, spaghetti westerns, anything in which Michael Fassbender gets naked. I want to give Steven Spielberg a hug more than anybody for making my childhood awesome in innumerable ways, and for taking me to discover dinosaurs the summer I turned 11, which is still my all-time favorite moviegoing memory. Fuck you for judging me.

My unofficial top 10:

1. The Third Man
2. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
3. Ran
4. The Apartment
5. The Red Shoes
6. Nights of Cabiria
7. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
8. Blade Runner
9. A Face in the Crowd
10. Inglorious Basterds (Which I think is maybe better than Pulp Fiction, which is silly because Pulp Fiction is basically perfect? Discuss.)

(This list is flawed and silly because it is missing, among other things: The Godfather, Vertigo, any Kubrick, Goodfellas, more Kurosawa.)

Books: The Sound and the Fury (and all things Faulkner), Peter Pan, Sometimes a Great Notion, Flannery O'Connor, Jane Eyre, Thomas Hardy, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (Michael Chabon <3<3<3), The Lord of the Rings, Watchmen, Sylvia Plath, To Kill a Mockingbird, Cormac McCarthy, East of Eden, Lolita, Middlesex, The Great Gatsby, The Martian Chronicles, Geek Love.

My baby crush on James Franco died a swift death when I read his book of short stories. It read basically as if every short story I ever read in creative writing class as an undergrad got together, threw a party, and snorted a lot of cocaine before having unprotected sex in the bathroom. "Stoned Holden Caulfield by way of Bret Easton Ellis" should not be the only character you ever write.

Music: Radiohead, Fiona Apple, David Bowie, Bon Iver, The Decemberists, Andrew Bird, The Black Keys, Jeff Buckley, Queen, Rufus Wainwright, Sufjan Stevens, Arcade Fire, Yeasayer, M83, and lots of other super obvious white-people music.

TV: Breaking Bad (is perfect), The Wire (Breaking Bad is better), Deadwood, Game of Thrones, Louie, Arrested Development, Mad Men, Extras, Firefly, Community.

1. Netflix.
2. A camera.
3. A book.
4. Bourbon.
5. The Loft in Tucson.
6. Hollywood Fashion Tape.

How to make money off of infrared pinhole camera photography.

Supervillainry.

Whether or not I want to go to grad school.

How awesome my cat is. His name is Link. I stole him from white trash and I don't feel the least bit bad about it.

My inevitable decline into crazy cat lady-hood.

Writing, reading, at the movies, getting ready for a weekend hike, maybe in Tucson? Why does Tucson have the cool shit I like? Get it together, Phoenix.

Channing Tatum called me "Mama" once, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Also, I cried when I finally bought tickets to see Radiohead.

You know how to make money off of infrared pinhole photography.

You have, or are willing to grow, anachronistic sideburns.

You want to take me to Paris so I can finally make all those years of high school and college French matter by ordering a fucking sandwich correctly.

You won't judge me too harshly when I adopt a handsome tuxedo kitty and name him Mr. Rochester.

You're secretly Michael Fassbender and you're looking to slum it for a weekend. Seriously, let's do this.