I do a lot of regular people things, like eating, breathing, and going to the bathroom. But somehow I think god likes to use me as an example to others - I've been struck by lightning multiple times whilst cursing his name. Though I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that I was standing at the top of a treeless hill and shaking an aluminum baseball bat at the sky in the midst of a thunderstorm.
I enjoy the simple things in life, such as the soothing sound of ten thousand vuvuzelas trumpeting in unison, the deep crimson colour of potassium permanganate solution when someone accidentally put her arm in there, and the endless green foliage of a pristine forest marred only by sound of chainsaws and trees falling when there are people around to hear them.
My dream girl would take long walks with me on the beach at sunset, when the golden rays of the setting sun cast that mesmerizing sheen on the sand. We'd feed the seagulls chips laced with Ex-Lax, and watch the ensuing (literal) shitstorm. She'd stand back and take in the big picture, ignoring the small details like the third arm growing out of my chest. She'd love me for who I am regardless of what I turn into at full moon (a giant overweight chicken, that is. Werewolves are too mainstream).
A lot of my friends say that they can read me like a book. I don't quite get what they mean. I'm Finnegans Wake.
I guess I'm an outdoorsy person? I enjoy hiking through the woods, cuddling cute bear cubs, being mauled by mama bear, and running out of the woods with blood gushing out from my wounds. I enjoy whitewater rafting (the people at Splash Mountain know me by name, phone number, credit card number, billing address, and social security number), fishing (though I have been banned from all of the SeaWorld parks for bringing in harpoon guns), and canoeing (I keep hearing banjos, though, and I always need to paddle faster).
Backpacking is nice. I like to get in touch with nature. It's nice. Last summer a friend and I decided to hike the Bear Mountain-Harriman section of the AT. Pushing 21 miles in two days over rocky and mountainous terrain while wearing Chacos gives you some pretty mean blisters.
One of my superpowers is giving people diabetes. When I bake things I like to add pounds of chocolate to them.
I'm gonna wreck it! (but Don't Panic. Everything is Awesome right now.)
Oh my glob. Double double animal style. D'oh! I got regular and not animal fries >.<<br />
I am a coffee snob. I grind my own beans and pull my own shots. If it weren't for the fact that it's hellishly expensive, I'd probably be roasting my own beans too. No, there's no X in it; it's pronounced ESS-presso. The Starbucks macchiato is a bastardization of a real macchiato. "Tall," "grande," and "venti" mean the exact same thing, but in different languages. My roommate thinks I drink coffee for the caffeine. What? I drink coffee purely for enjoyment. If I wanted caffeine I might as well get an IV drip or snort pure caffeine.
- A cooler full of organs
- The mere concept of Applebee's®
- Vigorous jazz hands
- A box that is conscious and wishes it weren't a box
- The violation of our most basic human rights.
- The inevitable heat death of the universe.
- Free ice cream, yo.
- Pizza in the morning, pizza in the evening, pizza at suppertime.
- A zesty breakfast burrito.
How full of shit I am. Also, secretly wondering how many people actually tried to call me after reading my profile.
Taking too many shots
Thinking we kissed but forgetting
Maxing our credit cards
Getting kicked out of the bar
Hitting the boulevard
Going streaking in the park
Skinny dipping in the dark
Having a ménage-a-trois
Thinking we broke the law
Always saying we're gonna stop
Doing it all again this Friday night.
I sleep with stuffed animals?
I name all the inanimate objects near and dear to me?
Most of my time in okc is when I'm sitting on the porcelain throne?
I churn credit cards?
I am full of shit? (Literally)
Or, in the unlikely event that one has missed my eyes, you noticed a typo in my profile.
Or, especially if you understand the concept of keming, and the visual appearance of that word just made you cringe.
Or if you enjoy singing along (horribly) to Broadyway showtunes in the car.
Did you really read all the way down here, and didn't skip the middle? Kudos to you! I owe you a cookie! Call 985-655-2500 to arrange your cookie delivery by a team of highly trained monkeys.