You're probably looking at this because you like my face. Either that or I've been e-stalking you. OR maybe your cat just walked onto your computer and clicked on my profile. A catastrophe.
What ever way things unfolded, if you're still reading this you probably want to know a few more things about my face. So move my galoshes, have a seat, and come with me now on a journey through time and space... oh wait. Ahem. A brief and quite probably stilted summary of me, then.
If I'd call myself any one thing I guess it would be an artist (which is not a title I have taken on lightly, without first undergoing a great deal of agony). I make things, I paint, I take pictures. Once upon a time I went to art school, which I mostly loathed and eventually dropped out of, having reached my quota of pretentious bullshit. I now conduct my art activities in the privacy of my own dank basement cave studio (my Batcave, if you will), in the company of spiders who are for the most part unpretentious. They're not so great at constructive criticism however. I think it might be the language barrier.
Since I dropped out of art school I've been working in the fourth circle of hell.. aka as a photo wench at a Walgreens. It sucks. A lot. a lot. a lot.
So I don't meet any guys in my day-to-day life, given that I work with mostly old ladies whom I adore but are just not my type. Thus, here I am on OKStupid.. um. OKCupid. Yeah, that's it. No wait. The first one.
Anyway here are some things about myself I wish to convey:
I learned how to ride a motorcycle a few summers ago because it scared the crap out of me so I had to try. My bike is a 1975 Yamaha XS650 which is currently scattered about the garage in the process of becoming one boss little bobber.
Unfortunately I witnessed a horrific motorcycle accident and am now terrified to get back on the horse. Anyone want to buy a hardtailed bobber frame?
Just kidding. Don't encourage my cowardice.
During my stint in art school, my younger brother opened my school bag to find it contained nothing but a half-drunk bottle of water and a plastic squid. I have yet to live that one down.
My sense of humor is kind of lame. I make horrible tacky word puns a lot. And then I giggle to myself. Because I think I'm hilarious.
I love animals, pretty much of any kind. (Except centipedes, what business do they have, having so many damn legs? Anyway are they even animals? I digress.) Most of all I love dogs, and I get real stupid excited when I see one. They are the best.
My number one bitch (it's a technical term, ok) is Kiely, and she is seriously super duper. I'm so in love with her that it's nauseating, even to me. Just kidding. But seriously though. She's glorious. Glorious! I don't know anyone else who can effortlessly digest 90% of a coyote skull including all but 2 1/2 of the teeth. She ain't basic, she's a bad bitch.
I'm an airport-sleeping ninja. I once spent the night on the floor of Berlin Tegel airport for no justifiable reason, poor judgement aside. It was so awful. I never thought I'd have such a close personal relationship with rubberized playground-type flooring or the nightmares that accompany said flooring. More recently I made a bed out of a luggage trolley at LaGuardia in NYC. That was actually acceptable as far as my standards for accommodations go, especially since I like mice a whole lot.