I suck at answering my phone but can talk in person til the cows come home. Everything I own is doodled on in Sharpie. I've been taking writing and painting classes (I tried the practical route to a career, and that didn't pan out, so now I'm doing what I love).
When I'm at work I get really into making perfect foam on this bone-dry cappuccino, concocting the perfect drink for that person who has no idea what they want. I whistle while I work. It annoys the shit out of my boss.
Sometimes I wise-crack and snark, use some ten-point vocab words. It will probably come up that I'm FTM (trans), that I call myself a writer, that I have no idea what I'm doing. And I might start singing a musical number for no particular reason. Just a heads-up.
I wish I liked sitcoms but don't really. But I have discovered an odd fondness of shows like Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, the Addams Family, and Star Trek, which I can binge for hours.
My Spotify on shuffle: 1. Soundgarden, 2. Ray Charles, 3. Once Upon a December in Russian, 4. Gorrilaz, 5. Adele, 6. Mumford & Sons, 7. Steam Powered Giraffe. I don't know what to tell you.
Cigarettes keep me nice, sad but true.
My most expensive possession is my bike, whose name is Rush. Rush is badass.
My phone contains the numbers and birthdays of all my family and friends stretching all the way back to like eighth grade, and is therefore irreplaceable. Or I guess the cloud is irreplaceable.
A sixth thing... let's go with showers, because it's socially acceptable to sing show tunes at the top of my lungs. Well, not the very top.
The various possible meanings of the expression "direction in life."
What if Main Character was, like, a soldier in a massive secret space army about to invade some tiny planet beyond the Ghost Nebula and met Love Interest, only she's an enemy soldier and also asexual?
What is there to do tonight, and who can I drag along?