My first word was "hi!" and I am still pretty much a "hi!" person. And for all you clever dick people, that doesn't refer to drugs. Amongst other junk, I like pears, Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay, making clothes out of other clothes, gay porn, keeping stuff in Mason jars, ring-tailed lemurs, and the Pixies' album Doolittle. My current favorite thing to re-read is Transmetropolitan.

I am seriously and honestly here for friends and activity partners; I recently split up with my partner of 5 years and moved back home from New Zealand, so I'm waiting for the dust to settle before I even start to think about slutting around and junk. I like to talk to people, though, and I keep weird hours.

My creatures of nightmare are marine isopods! These Lovecraftian monstrosities ought never to have existed outside the wandering dreams of delirious fever--particularly the beastie which will actually destroy a large fish's tongue and attach its horrendous little pincers to the remaining stub in order to settle in as a macabre replacement. I know fish aren't particularly intelligent, but surely there's vague, ghastly comprehension of what horror has befallen them? I once saw a picture of a person actually cradling an enormous species of one of these miscreations in his bare hands and even the memory of its evil silvery eyes and the tiny dents its countless needle-like extremities pressed into his flesh overwhelms me with a wave of sweaty, nauseous dread.

On the subject of temperaments and personalities, I have always wanted to be Inara or Zoe but am irrevocably, squarely in the Kaylee real estate. Not that she isn't, you know, shiny.

I look femme at the moment, but don't read too much into that. Genderfuck on, you crazy diamonds.

I spend a lot of time building onto, reshaping and wandering through the rooms of my own inner world. I spend even more time exploring with various degrees of delight and astonishment the enormous catacombs of worlds others have created.

I draw and write like I dance: with infinite enthusiasm and a near-total lack of skill.

Traveling, fucking around, intermittently going to school, exploring, reading all the time, learning about the world.

I don't think I am exceptionally good at anything, but I like to sing, write, paint and cook and am all right at them, for assorted values of "all right."

Eccentricity and friendliness. I asked.

Everything good!--from miso soup to Douglas Adams; Harold and Maude to Parliament. I am an especially big fan of Italian food, Californianized Mexican food, and good fiction. I have literary crushes on Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, C.J. Cherryh, Neal Stephenson (seriously, the lust is all-encompassing), Charles de Lint, William Blake, Tamora Pierce, and Carl Hiaasen. As far as music goes, I'm not genre-bound; only in pursuit of quality. Claude Debussy, Amon Tobin, State of Mind, Burial and Dead Kennedys are really pushing my buttons this season. David Bowie always pushes my buttons, and I don't just mean the music. I totally like Tarkan and I don't care who knows it. Jeff Buckley was rad and beautiful in every possible way. I even adore country (real country and folk, not radio country. I'm talking Joan Baez and Neko Case and, like, zydeco and stuff. And, like all decent people, I hate the fucking Achy Breaky Heart song.)

I was in love with Roland Deschain as a smaller lass, and if I'm honest, in the quiet hours of the night, I still am.

A good book, a warm sweater, a sense of humour, conversation, adventure, glasses (because I am blind.)

The universe.

Reading or playing some MMORPG or other at home, trying to make a drawing suck less, or out on a wander with a best friend.

I don't really have "private" things--I am not secretive or prone to shame. I like sex most of the time, I have had a Brazilian bikini wax (it hurt), I still get acne before my period, and I cured a yeast infection on several occasions by wearing a peeled garlic clove in my cooter for 24 hours. It works!

You can spell and are glad to be alive.