I am a singer of songs, a maker of lists and a teller of truths. I am smart, well read and well traveled. I consistently use words like “propensity” and “indicative”. This does not mean I can necessarily spell them, (I am dyslexic) but I use them with panache.
I am the product of hippie parents raised by progressive bohemians. Atheist, socialist, political activists on one side; woo woo, agnostic, bohemian artists on the other. This resulted in my parents being a hybrid I call “redneck hippies” or basically hippies with guns (for the coyotes that got in to the sheep pasture. Obviously.) I mention this because it explains a lot.
Although I work in theatre, my own expectations of my life are less than dramatic. I want to get up and go to work doing something I am good at and then come home to a house where I don’t have to turn all the lights on myself.
And I want a dog. A smallish dog. One I can pick up. Like a corgi.
I am exactly who I say I am, all the time. There is no guessing. I will tell it like it is, all the time, sometimes even when I should just keep my mouth shut. I am not a ball buster, I am just direct and unable and unwilling to pretend to be a coquette. I am not sure how one even goes about being a coquette. I suspect it involves impractical footwear and shaving things that result in chaffing.
Really I just want to make you pie and hot coco (that is mostly bourbon) and smile until my face hurts.
I am good people and I am getting too old and too tired for the bullshit.