urban · refrains

Last night I cried inconsolably for the first time in a while. And it wasn't for a family member, or a loved one, or even the war in Iraq. No. I cried because I lost an auction for a designer handbag on ebay in the final minute.

Admittedly, it felt stupid. But come ON, I’d been bidding diligently for 4 days. I’d even planned a spread of Victory Tacos for when my auction was successfully completed. It was rough. But, I don’t think all hope is lost. I found other auctions for the same bag and somehow I’ll manage to move on.

In other news, I found out that my friend and I are supposed to be doing a photo spread for some Canadian magazine this Saturday. I’m going to be featured as an “up and coming graffiti artist”. This is funny considering I’ve only illegally painted a wall once. But, it should be fun I suppose- I’ll have pink highlights in my hair and Tony will be wearing little dooky booty shorts. So if you’re into that sort of thing and your local newsstand carries obscure Canadian mags, keep an eye out.

It became apparent to my boyfriend and I on our drive home from my parent’s house yesterday, that our lives had become a bad B-rate romantic comedy. The really trite kind, with a sappy soundtrack, outlandish characters and probably a Wilson brother or two. Three long days were spent with my parents to celebrate the holiday. But the memories rendered therein will last a lifetime.

The first day of Christmas saw me ridiculously hungover from the night out beforehand. Room spinning, organs groaning kind of hungover. Of course this had to be entirely hidden from my mother who hates the idea of drinking and firmly believes that having more than a glass of wine makes you an alcoholic. I managed to evacuate the contents of my stomach on three occasions that day without her noticing; once being while we were all in the car. Oh sneaky little me.

Christmas Eve saw Matt and I being dragged to church for one of the most confusing services either of us had ever witnessed. I managed to catch anecdotes during the sermon about cocaine smugglers, light up LA Gear sneakers, and outdated Irish traditions; but had no idea how any of it related to the baby Jesus.

Returning to my parent’s house after church, we were feeling better. The worst was over and now we could relax. We went back to my room to change and in perfect rom-com genre, bad-timing tradition, Matt manages to walk past my parents room just as my father is opening the door… and my mother has her top off. Cue awkward silence; cut to the next shot of Matt wide-eyed and scared in my room whispering “I saw your mom’s boobs?!?!” and me trying not to pee myself laughing. I mean, what would a bad home-for-the-holidays movie be without a little unwanted partial nudity? Just to add some icing on the awkward cake, we all end up watching an indie flick my parents rented to appear hip, which turns out to basically be gay porn.

Christmas day was actually tame in comparison. I pretended to be interested in watching my father and Matt play PS3 games so that we could all feign deafness to my mother’s constant nagging. Matt and I came home with some gifts, enough food to last us until the end of time, and the clear notion that if we ever get married we should probably elope in order to avoid a bad sequel. Because let's be honest, Meet the Parents may have been cute, but nobody really liked Meet the Fockers.

So, another birthday, another livejournal post. This year is different though. Maybe it’s because I’m getting a little older, but for the first time in a really long time, I’m happy. Not happy in that young, free-wheeling, spiraling out of control way either.
I’m happy to come home to my Los Feliz apartment. I’m happy spending a quiet evening cuddling with my boyfriend on the couch. My friends and people I barely even know can tell a difference. Hell, even my skin is better. The one thing that was stopping the joy-parade was my job.

So I fixed that, and quit today.

In two weeks, I’ll be a free girl. Mind you a free girl with no job, but I’m hopeful.

Wish me luck!!

so stereogum.com has started a little segment they're calling "inside the rocker's studio" where they ask questions of musicians a la james lipton of "inside the actor's studio". am i the only one that finds this funny? i even took the time to read the wikipedia entry on the background history of this interview style. mostly because it sounds to me like a 6 year old girl asking her bff questions at recess. i'll answer this set of interview questions myself to kill off the last half hour of work, and if you post back with your answers.... well that'd be swell. promise? ok! let's pinky swear.

1. what is your favorite word?
precocious

2. what is your least favorite word?
discharge

3. what turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
hmm, i get real excited whenever i see/hear/do anything new. i used to have a whole holiday dedicated to this sort of thing. ask me about it sometime.

4. what turns you off?
fat thighs

5. what is your favorite curse word?
it used to be "bastards" but i have to say, i've come around again to the simple pleasure of "motherfucker".

6. what sound or noise do you love?
purring cats. and it's no secret that i'm a sucker for accordians. i just am.

7. what sound or noise do you hate?
you know that sound you make if you squeak your fingers on an inflated balloon? jesus, i hate that sound.

8. what profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
i really wanna be the guy who names new paint colors.

9. what profession would you not like to do?
normally, i'd say my own. but today i was stuck behind a garbage truck for a part of my commute and nearly died. yeah... i think that guy's job sucks more.

10. if heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
"hey, cool hair. want some cake?"

i could use this time to go on a tirade about how my commute took almost 2 hours this morning. or how i averaged 10 mph the entire time. but i'd rather discuss a freeway phenomenon that i've noticed of late, because well, i find it really funny.

so about half my mornings i take the idyllic, scenic route that is the 10 freeway to santa monica from the east side. my view consists mostly of trash, cal trans and plenty of graffiti. for the most part, it's your typical tagger stuff with the occasional artistic venture, but lately... lately i'm noticing there're some new gangs in town and they're out to claim some turf. as far as i can tell, there are currently three different groups, which have each marked a spot on the 10 about a mile apart from each other. but here's the good part- they've all named themselves after major television networks. yes, that's right. we've got the NBC gang, CBS and uh... UPN for some reason. i guess ABC was just too disney to be street tough. oh and get this, each of them actually tags the official network logo?! i mean, how stupid must you feel as a gang member spray painting a peacock on a freeway overpass. i don't respect you, or your crappy fall lineup.

i mean, really. what's the deal here? are gangs being sponsored by networks now? or maybe a bunch of middle aged ceo's decided they needed a hobby and formed gangs outside of work. sort of an edgy version of the company softball team. either of these situations would be hilarious. but, i'm willing to bet that more than likely, it's just a bunch of uncreative and ill informed kids who want an icon to live by. i bet they all have tweety bird stickers on their cars, getting peed on by calvins.

so here's a word to the wise, kids. if you want to break the law and work outside the system in a subterranean world of gang violence, so be it. but don't embarrass yourself by using a corporate logo to do it.

alright i'm going to go back to hating the man now, but i'll be rejuvenated while drinking my fresh cup of starbucks sumatra blend coffee. deliciously smooth, yet richly balanced.

323, represent.

sometimes i find myself worrying about people that i dont even know. people that i haven't even met but just happen to see on a regular basis and have created mental characters for. take for example, Tai Chi Guy. there's this man at my office building complex; your basic californian neo-hippie who was popular circa 1995. i bet he still listens to rem and drinks only fair trade coffee. anyway, each morning he stands at the edge of the man-made lake right in front of my window, and practices tai chi, badly. at first it was a running joke in my life, but i've come to accept it as part of my daily morning routine. lately however, tai chi guy is no longer tai chi guy. no more mister miyagi inspired wax on/wax off maneuvers. instead, he just sort of... "meditates". and by meditate, i mean he sits on the bench and dozes with his head on his chest. the way that hobos sleep. i'm not sure why... but i'm worried for him? he seems so down. what was once a proud and defiant display of ridiculous anti-social behavior is now just a sham. maybe i should go bring him a chai latte or a soy bar or something hippies like.

at least i still have my morning news. and today there was a golden reuters nugget to brighten my whole day. did you know there is an International Whaling Commission? yep, a whole worldwide commission devoted to the cause of killing off the whales. awesome. at the forefront of this are the united states and japan. there's a lot of controversy towards japan, especially. tokyo officials are working hard to lift a 20 year whaling ban by wisely spending their time and money influencing other countries to join the cause. my favorite part of the article: "The motion itself - which declared that the 20-year ban on commercial whaling should be lifted and blamed whales for eating too much fish - is mainly symbolic. But it holds out the prospect of the pro-whaling bloc winning more concrete victories in future meetings."
http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/news/archives/2006/06/19/whaling_and_gnashing_of_teeth.html
i love it. whales are so ridiculous that we have to treat them like fat people at a buffet. it's time to cut those gorgers off, and melt them all into lipstick and vaseline.

in other news, i'm moving in a week! pass me a note in class if you'd like my new address.

Happy Birthday STEEEEEEEEVE!

Welcome to your mid-20s! To celebrate your birthday, I woke up at 5:30 this morning to come into work early so I can spend my afternoon visiting a Rhuematologist to discuss my potential early-set arthritis. See what you have to look forward to?!
Yeah, it's awesome.

A friend of mine once said that in this world there are Doers and there are Sayers. I used to always figure I was a Sayer, being a fairly smooth-talking, but lazy type of girl. I think as I age though, I’m becoming more of a Doer, or at least I've lost my ability to Say. I mean, I can talk about most things until I’m blue in the face, but ask me how I feel about something and my new response is to hit you in the arm and run off laughing.
Speaking of maturity- do you believe in what I’ve come to think of as Second Puberty? I used to be an eloquent, well adjusted, sophisticated adult. Ok, well… I at least used to be able to hold my liquor better. Now all of a sudden, I’m breaking out, resisting authority and riding enough mood swings to make me nauseous.
I’m also becoming more consciously aware of a growing sense of selfishness. And you know what? For the first time in my life, I’m thinking of putting my wants in front of everyone else’s expectations. Sort of like I did when I was 13, but now with the money to back it up.

Whatevah, whatevah. I do what I want.

I’m crabby today. Well, to be honest, at first I just figured I was crabby since I woke up mildly annoyed at it being Monday, but the more I thought about it during my stupid, fucking hour-long commute this morning, the more and more convinced I became of my own created mood. So I’m crabby.
I had a bad time trying to sleep last night. Like everyone else in the world, my allergies are going berserk and my eyes burn and my nose won’t work. To make matters worse, my boyfriend’s room is warm and he insists on being my human blanket and I just… couldn’t breathe? I felt like I was suffocating in every sense of the word. I wanted to scream. I don’t even know why. I’ve been acting weird to my poor boyfriend lately. One moment I’m super-girlfriend who buys him gifts and makes him lunch and the next, I’ll have too much to drink and apparently say something mean that will completely hurt his feelings. I don’t even mean to. Or maybe I do, I just don’t even know. Part of me doesn’t get why he puts up with so much of my crap, to be honest. It’s like I’m hell-bent on sabatoging the one good thing I have right now just to see if it will hold. I can be such an idiot, honestly.
Oh, my back is killing me lately too. I’m convinced that one of you bitches stepped on a crack and didn’t tell me. I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, but I’m thinking I pinched a nerve or something? It hurts all the time now and sometimes it makes me limp. If I sleep on it wrong, I get night convulsions that are getting really bad. I know I need to go to a doctor but I don’t know what kind? I’ve been feeling crummy in general lately. I think my immune system has been suffering a lot because I just sleep all the time. Entire chunks of my life lately have been lost because I just pass out. I don’t know what to do about this.
Tony’s movie came out this weekend. I’ve seen it a bunch of times before, but it’s always weird seeing him on a big screen alongside people like Mandy Moore and Hugh Grant. I mean, this is the dude I watch VH1 with in my room in my underwear. He says the movie didn’t do too great this weekend and I know he’s worried, so you should probably go see it and help him out. He has teenaged girls stalking his pants on myspace. It’s really weird to both of us. We’ve both decided we’re over having girls as friends. They’re nothing but trouble.
I want to move to Paris. Or Kyoto. Or somewhere where I don’t have to sit in an office for 8 hours a day, worrying about my back and the fact that my credit cards are maxed and my checking account is empty. I want to go on disability or inherit my parent’s money or win the lottery. I want to take the easy way out and enjoy the rest of my youth while I still can.

this has been a really good week. i could write about this stuff, but pictures do more justice.

( how i spent my sick day )

( i wish i could get these to photograph well? )

happy saint patrick's day, kids.

I’m realizing that I haven’t updated this thing in a couple of months and there are some of you who probably don’t know what’s going on in my life unless I write about it, so this one’s for you.

So far this year, I sort of attempted to get back into drawing, at least for practice. I finally got around to fulfilling my teenage dream of graffiting a ( wall ), which was promptly buffed, but earned me some street cred.

February, I went to Seattle on a trip to help ( Shab ) try to figure out where she wants to live when she moves there and leaves me all alone. Seattle’s a ( fun ) town with ( hippies ) every which way, but I’m going to be sad to see my girl go there in May. : (

I’ve also somehow managed to con some poor boy into being my ( boyfriend ). He can cook and climb trees and speak Japanese and still manages to drive me home when I’ve had too much to drink so he’s basically rad. We’ve become some sort of mascot in the bars downtown.

Beyond that, spring is in the air, the weather is getting warmer and things are looking up. You could be right after all, B. 2006 might just be our year.

i've heard of ambergris before, but honestly had no idea how gross it really was. whales are gross and wrong and ought to be extinct by now. i'm sorry but anything that has a belch heard for miles and produces a 32 pound lump of excretion ought to wear a wife beater and get married to britney spears.

"It's actually belched out by the animal, would you believe, and those few across the world that have witnessed that or heard it say it's quite remarkable ... apparently the sound of it travels for miles across the water," he said.
The waxy, foul-smelling substance is lighter than water and can float for years, during which time it is cleansed by the sun and salt water and becomes hard, dark and waxy and develops a rich musky smell prized by perfumers around the world.

http://today.reuters.com/news/newsarticle.aspx?type=oddlyEnoughNews&storyid=2006-01-25T145244Z_01_SYD156257_RTRUKOC_0_US-AUSTRALIA-WHALE.xml

It seems like when you’re little, everyone is telling you things along the lines of, “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” and something about getting back on a horse even though you’ve fallen and are more than likely injured and in need of medical attention.

Lately, I’m losing faith in these idioms.

I mean, let’s really think about this. Anyone can put all the effort in the world into trying to become good at something they weren’t naturally. They can work really, really hard, and to be fair- they’ll probably never be all that great at it? I can wake up one day and decide that I for some reason want to be a professional basketball player. And I can go to the basketball camps and train and work hard at it every day for years and years and in the end, although I’ll probably be better than I am now, I’m willing to bet that the NBA won’t be banging down my door. It’s just not gonna happen.

My point is this- if something is really that hard to begin with, it probably was something you were never made to do? Fish shouldn’t fly and birds were never too great at swimming. Now, what if I, or you, or anyone, were to only spend their time focusing on the things we were actually good at? It seems to me that when things come easily, you’re more than likely doing something right. It’s right along the lines of conservation of energy. The less effort I have to expend on something, the more right it usually seems. Struggle is like, nature’s way of telling you to give up and take a nap.
But, I mean… when I was growing up, those same people who preached about hard work and horses also told me things like “just go with the flow” and “do what you’re good at”. So maybe in the end, people just say a bunch of confusing contradictory things because they just like to hear themselves talk.

last night i told my latest theory to my friend shab and afterwards her response was: "you should never tell that to anyone again ever."

hahaha, oh shab. why do you tease me.

here we go: i was realizing these past few days that i really have very little in the way of recollections for this past year. it's not like i didn't do stuff, i just can't remember any of it. so, to remind myself that i existed, i was looking back at old pictures. you know, in the way that old people do to remember their youth. i kept working my way back until i hit my pictures from last new year's, and i realized- hey, you look better than you did then. i also distinctly remember looking at those photos last year and thinking what an improvement i'd made since the year prior to that.
so alright, here comes the science. i think we can all agree that i must have an Amazing Aging Gene. i mean, it's only fair? i was a really really ugly kid. it's about time i got a moment to shine. now, since i'm getting better looking each year, and i highly doubt this all occurs overnight, it stands to reason that i'm probably getting a little better looking each day. which means that every morning i wake up is better than i've ever looked before. i think i have a new reason to live.

so hello sunshine, and welcome to The Best Looking Day of My Life.
tomorrow's forecast? foxy.

ps- i'm leaving in a couple hours for mexico. so if i'm never heard from again i probably died smuggling drugs. let's try to remember me well. and preferably not as the douchebag who wrote this post, ok? ok. feliz anos nuevos, guys.

- I’m really flippant about everything and can drop almost anything on a whim.
- I lie sometimes for absolutely no reason.
- No matter how ok with it I may act, I secretly can’t stand to be corrected. Ever.
- I stop and look at myself in every reflective surface I pass without even meaning to.
- I have to feel smarter than you in some way. But if I’m smarter than you in too many ways, I’ll never really respect you.
- I’m a terrible gossip.
- I won’t leave the house until I’m appropriately overdressed. Not for anything.
- My ego has more manic swings than my crazy aunt. It ranges from complete self-loathing to big, bad delusions of grandeur.
- I drink too much, because I don’t know how else to let my guard down when I’m socializing.
- Lazy. Lay.
- I'm immature and irresponsible, and I don't really care. So, nyeh.
- I’m so vain about my writing that I go back periodically to re-read my favorite old livejournal entries.
- I also delete entire sections of my livejournal in an attempt to eradicate embarrassing parts of my life.
- I will never, ever, ever be thin enough.
- I use big words to mask the fact that I really have very little to say.
- I’ve single handedly killed off most of my short term memory.
- I need to feel adored. All the time. From you. And your mom, and everyone else.

Today, I called in sick to work so that I could have a flimsy alibi for not going to the company Christmas party tonite. If the party is anything like last year’s, it will get ugly at best, but more than likely, toxic. I would rather not pass out in a poolside cabana at the Viceroy again, thank you.

Instead, I woke up at noon, with a pounding headache as my only souvenir from the copious amounts of wine consumed the night before. I get overly dressed up for a day where I’m not going to work because I decide that a Freedom Friday shouldn’t be wasted at home. I feel shaky and weak though, and vaguely remembered purging myself at 3am in a fit of guilt over some fast food I had hastily indulged on. I then feel guilty about the guilt purge and decide to treat my stomach to cake and ice cream. Not just any cake and ice cream though… Boule cake and ice cream. The very fancy new patisserie over on La Cienega.

While I’m having my birthday-party-for-one at Boule, a couple wearing ugly t-shirts and shorts of all things, stop over and ask me where Sunset is. The woman then follows this up with “we’re from out of town” which seemed superfluous to me considering their attire and the banality of the question. I point it out to them, but warn them that it’s about a mile away from where they are at the moment- much too far to walk. They look at me like I must be one of those lazy Los Angelinos they hear about and share a knowing smirk with each other. I notice this and sheepishly finish with “it’s uphill too.”
Obvious stereotypes seemed to be the theme for the day I found.

After Boule, I head over to Robertson to do a little shopping, because well, that’s what people do in the afternoon when they don’t have to work. Traffic is horrible though and the only parking spot I find is in the un-trendy block without good boutiques. I groan and park anyway, but decide to just hang out at a café to while away the time. Looking around the place, it seems like all I see are more stereotypes. The snooty French waiter who rushed me into ordering before I’d bothered to read the menu. The slightly chunky girls who had poured themselves into matching pairs of True Religions that despite the flattering Joey-cut, still managed to make them look bad. They sat there with their salads and their diet cokes with lemon, but I watched them as they hungrily eyed the bread basket that they didn’t dare to touch. A pack of Armenians came in, dressed all in black, probably Armani. One of them actually had the audacity to wear a skin tight black shirt emblazoned with silver lettering, just like the kind I always make fun of. The moment they sit down, all four of them pull out their cell phones and begin yelling in Armenian. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all actually calling each other. It was just too much. All of it was too trite, too contrived. I get the rest of my saffron chicken (which I realized I never bothered to taste) wrapped up and leave.

Aimlessly, I head over to 3rd street for more wandering and am blasted by more cookie cutter types all made out of ticky-tacky. An “artsy” guy in a trendy artsy boutique who’s probably really sensitive and loves tabouli asking a shop girl about which book on Hockney she recommended. I walked behind a gay couple for awhile as they held hands and looked like they'd planned their outfits with their coordinating fitted shirts and Diesel jeans; debating which store had better wine: Gelson’s or Whole Foods. There was a creepy, lonely woman who ran a place called The Button Store, which really did just sell only buttons. I considered buying something just to cheer her up, but she wouldn’t take a credit card. Before I left, she insisted on proudly telling me how her store provided all of the buttons for the costumes in Titanic, even though the article about it was framed in plain view on the wall. I’m almost positive this woman hasn’t gotten laid since the 80s. I took a picture for a group of teenaged Asian tourists who clapped and cheered as the flash went off like it was some new invention, and started to wonder if at any given moment, a black man would walk by with a bucket from KFC. It was all getting to me. I slunk into the nearest store I saw, and was immediately greeted by a stuffy woman with a forced British accent who offered me a tea cookie. I mean come on... a tea cookie!? Jesus. I shook my head in disbelief. It was like, I had walked into a children’s storybook where everyone is exactly how you would imagine them to be based on the way they look. Witches wear black and are bad, and Asians wear tacky clothes and take stupid tourist pictures.

All the way home, I felt superior, different somehow. Like I had managed to rise above all these people I had witnessed today. Then I started to think about it and wondered if I really had. The fancy boutique bags that crowded my passenger seat. The saffron chicken next to them. The smart Ellis book in my purse, the fancy cafes, my 4 inch heels, the guilty purging, the terribly hip bars, my hair perfectly coiffed in a way to make it look “spontaneous”, the endless, boundless, snobbery.

And I realized…I’m maybe the worst stereotype of all. I’ve become the Los Angeles version of “that girl”.

so a couple of weeks ago, i'm buying some sweaters at the gap. now, the woman who was ringing up my purchase starts out with the usual pleasantries, asking me about my day and the weather and whatnot. but then she starts to get a little more personal; asking about my job and where i went to school. which was sort of odd, but hey, i'm not anti-social or anything. then she starts to inquire about my hobbies, my tastes and more infringingly... where i live.
now at this point, i'm starting to get creeped out. i mean, it's obvious this woman is a skirt chaser and she's into me. but i'm also pretty positive she's going to stalk me, kill me and like... dress herself in my skin. and i mean, hey i'm flattered, obviously. i was looking nice that day and she is just demonstrating her good taste, albeit in a rather socially frustrated way. so, taking into consideration that i'm a babe, i wasn't even all that phased when she made up this bogus story about how she has a "friend" who needs a "job" and wondered if she could get my contact info so this friend could get in touch with me to submit a resume. hahahaha sure. i'll humor you. but, since i'm also scared of you... i'm only giving you my work number, ok? thanks for the amusing story though, the creative aspect of trying to get in my pants was kind of an ego boost.
....
her "friend" just called my work phone. not only is she real, she actually is looking very sincerely for a job.
i am such a fucking headtrip sometimes, it's pathetic.

If you're really good, you might've already read this on my myspace page. If this is the particular case for you, I apologize. I'm just very bored right now.

So here it is, another installment in the fascinating saga of Noelle related trivia. These admittedly, are not as fascinating as the last set, but you'll have to forgive me. I'm running out of things to write about myself.

• I’m really terrified of whales. I’m not even kidding. It’s just that I hate big things and I’m scared of sea creatures, so whales pretty much sum all that up into one big, barnacled blob of fear.
• As I get older, I’m starting to harbor OCD tendencies, including but not exclusive to: checking my email every 15 minutes and mentally tracking how many calories I consume in a day.
• When I’m drunk, I make up vocabulary words. Nobody ever has the nerve to call me out on it either, which kind of makes me feel fausteous.
• I never seem to know what to do with my hands and it makes me nervous. So you’ll almost always see me either twisting my hair, cracking my knuckles or smoking a cigarette.
• Despite popular belief, I don’t actually have many “friends”. So I’m pretty much obsessed with the ones I decide to keep around. Seriously, I have to know *everything* about you. Secrets drive me nuts.
• Incidentally, my sister says that I use the phrase “drives me nuts” all the time, which seems annoying. I’m surprised none of you have brought this to my attention.
• I talk too much and I know it. It’s just that well… I can’t seem to shut up ever.
• I’m very predictable, so that if you know me well enough you can almost always guess where I am at any given time. I’m trying really hard to change this one.
• I was only in one spelling bee as a child, and I was the first one eliminated. I couldn’t spell the word “animal”…. Unfortunately, my spelling hasn’t improved much since.
• For being a silly, irreverent type of girl, I have a very strict code of manners for myself and others. I won’t lie, I’ve probably judged you at some point for this.
• I have terrible abandonment issues and I’m convinced that I’m going to die alone and miserable somewhere. Probably in a cave. While everyone I’ve ever known and loved is off at a big party drinking champagne and having a big joke at my expense.
• I’m a complete sucker for animals and I melt every time I’m around a pet. Except oddly enough, for my own cat. He and I have a rather distant relationship at best.
• I’ll take any excuse to wear a costume.
• The act of eating disgusts me. I hate seeing people eat and I especially hate eating in front of others, so if you’ve actually witnessed me putting food in my mouth, I’m probably pretty comfortable with you.
• I want to see France and Japan before I die.
• I can’t stand people whispering near me. It comes from a long history of being laughed at in school, but I can’t even be around strangers whispering to each other. I always assume it’s about me.
• I come from a family of snobbish overdressers.
• If I had my way, I’d spend every afternoon reading in a bubble bath until I was wrinkled and pruney. Eating ice cream in the tub is good too.
• I’m very honest about both my vanity and my superficiality. As a result, I don’t understand when people say I’m fake.
• I love any piece of jewelry with a cameo or pearls.
• I guess you could say my first kiss was in kindergarten. The boy’s name was Michael and he was my best friend that week. I remember he always wore plaid shirts. After the kiss, I told on him.

Alright, enough about me. If you're still reading this, you should leave me a comment with a quip about yourself. Come on, nothing is more fun than self indulgence.