I'm a completely ridiculous social butterfly and when I get a few drinks in me I turn into a total cartoon character. I'm usually the life of a party and my favorite thing is to entertain people. I'm a hyper extrovert and a stimulation junkie. If life stops being interesting, I feel like I'm dying. If there's a lull in a conversation, I'm there trying to spark it back up. I don't do well with introverts because I probably freak them out by being so sociable.
I don't think I could ever spend too much time alone, and if I have to sit still for too long I start to go stir-crazy. I'm always bouncing around, wanting to do something, and I'm used to a fast paced lifestyle. I'm very much a city person, if that makes sense.
I love to create and share with the world. I want to live in a world where artistry flows freely and we all inspire each other to create. I'd love to meet people who want to exchange ideas.
I want to do as much and to live as much as possible, because life is short and I'm acutely aware of that. I want to meet people who share that interest above all else, and who aren't afraid of it. If being tired at work the next day means skipping out on a potential new experience to you, we won't get along.
One day I want to travel the world, and I want to land in New York City and when I'm old be a curmudgeonly writer who for some reason speaks with a Yiddish accent, because it's the only logical outcome to me for the course of my insane life.
I originally put the following quote into my profile as a filler piece taken from my favorite book, but I've come to realize why and how I relate to it and now I think it reflects something important about me. Without further adieu, Mr. Leonard Cohen.
"I always wanted to be loved by the Communist Party and the Mother Church. I wanted to live in a folk song like Joe Hill. I wanted to weep for the innocent people my bomb would have to maim. I wanted to thank the peasant father who fed us on the run. I wanted to wear my sleeve pinned in half, people smiling while I salute with the wrong hand. I wanted to be against the rich, even though some of them knew Dante: just before his destruction one of them would learn that I knew Dante, too. I wanted my face carried in Peking, a poem written
down my shoulder. I wanted to smile at dogma, yet ruin my ego against it. I wanted to confront the machines of Broadway. I wanted Fifth Avenue to remember its Indian trails. I wanted to come out of a mining town with rude manners and convictions given to me by an atheist uncle, barfly disgrace of the family. I wanted to rush across America in a sealed train, the only white man whom the Negroes will accept at the treaty convention. I wanted to attend cocktail parties wearing a machine gun. I wanted to tell an old girl friend who is appalled at my methods that revolutions do not happen on buffet tables, you can't pick and choose, and watch her silver evening gown dampen at the crotch. I wanted to fight against the Secret Police takeover, but from within the Party. I wanted an old lady who had lost her sons to mention me in her prayers in a mud church, taking her sons' word for it. I wanted to cross myself at dirty words. I wanted to tolerate pagan remnants in village ritual, arguing against the Curia. I wanted to deal in secret real estate, agent of ageless, anonymous billionaire. I wanted to write well about the Jews. I wanted to be shot among the Basques for carrying the Body into the battlefield against Franco. I wanted to preach about marriage from the unassailable pulpit of virginity, watching the black hairs on the legs of brides. I wanted to write a tract against birth control in very simple English, a pamphlet to be sold in the foyer, illustrated with two-color drawings of shooting stars and eternity. I wanted to suppress dancing for a time. I wanted to be a junkie priest who makes a record for Folkways. I wanted to be transferred for political reasons. I have just discovered that Cardinal has taken a huge bribe from a ladies' magazine, have suffered a fairy attack from my confessor, have seen the peasants betrayed for a necessary reason, but the bells are ringing this evening, it is another evening in God's world, and there are many to be fed, many knees yearning to be bent, I mount the worn steps in my tattered ermine."