I suck at this.

….you know, the ever-awkward, “write something about yourself that is informative yet entertaining while we all silently judge you” schtick.

See, if there’s two things I’ve never had the energy to muster up a lot of care for, it’s small talk and other people’s opinions. (So, you see, then, why I might be terrible at this sort of thing).

Not to mention, how does one even DO THIS, anyway? Like, yes, I’m supposed to boil down all the confusing and complex – probably 98.2% of which are totally subconscious – intricacies of my being into a mere snippet that is both accurate AND doesn’t reek of sycophantic smarminess?

Ha. Easier said than done. So, in lieu of attempting THAT, I’m going to just take the advice of a favorite former teacher of mine instead: “Write what you know.”

I know that I can deadlift 290lbs, but any sort of cardio makes me feel like my lungs are gonna collapse…eeeeevery time.

I know that if – er, when – a Justin Beiber song comes on, I will absolutely be singing along. It’s like a disease; I can’t help myself. (Beiber Fever! Ha! Okay, sorry, that was bad. See?? It’s incurable.)

I know that I am incapable of picking a favorite book (because books are sacred and you can’t JUST PICK ONE on a general basis alone – you have decide based on stuff like which has the best villian or the most swoonworthy guy, which made you ugly-cry the hardest, the one with the fiercest heroine, the one that best embodies your #squadgoals, and the one that’s soooo achingly good but didn’t end the way you wanted it to and made you pace angrily in your bathroom at 2:37am shouting profanities and wishing you could junk-punch the author for being so cruel).

I know that I am startlingly mischevious because, in the words of my homegirl Jane (Austen, of course), I “dearly love to laugh”.

I know that my husband is one of the nerdiest, most analytical people I know, which makes me want to simultaneously jump his bones and strangle him. (The former usually wins out, as is evidenced by our three kids…..you know, just so you’re not worried).

I know I freaking rock the color cobalt (especially when I wear it with black and white – and, of course – heels).

I know I’m a writer, even though I don’t always (ever?) feel like one.

I know I am undoubtedly, completely, cannot-think-about-it-or-I’ll-ugly-cry TERRIFIED of sinkholes. SINKHOLES. (I mean, come ON, PEOPLE. THINK ABOUT IT. It could happen to any one of us THIS VERY MOMENT. Okay….. *takes deep breath* Okay. I’m calm.)

I know that Breaking Bad is the best show EVER (….bitch). And I know the reason I love it so much is because I’ve got a little bit of both Walter White and Jesse in me. (Fact: everyone does).

I know that I had an acute case of chickenshititis for several years – meaning, I was petrified to unapologetically be myself because I believed that no one could ever possibly care or be helped by what I had to say – until I stumbled upon the blog of my now-hero, Ash Ambirge. Everything she writes gives me a swift and much-needed kick in the creative goods to get up and DO SOMETHING. (Also, the day she blogged about me pretty much made my entire life.)

I know that I was meant for something big. Like, BIG-big. Not like, be-the-next-Miley-Cyrus-Big (yeah – no thanks). I mean Martin-Luther-Big (you know, the monk guy with the hammer that pissed off the Catholic church). Or Mother-Teresa-Big (not the fame; the “killing it for a greater good” IMPACT). The thought actually suffocates me on an almost hourly basis. Not because I’m afraid – well, yeah, I’m scared shitless, but it’s not the thought of DOING something that scares me, it’s the thought of NOT doing it. I just don’t know exaaaactly what “it” is yet – but I also know I’ll figure it out. (I have a sneaking suspicion it falls under the whistleblower/hellraiser category.)

I know that my biggest fear – the thing that breaks me out in a cold sweat at night and won’t get out my brain when all I want to do is sleep – is not fulfilling my own potential.

And, finally? I know that I do a lot of ugly crying, apparently. (That’s one I didn’t actually know until this very moment when I read back over all of this).



” It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends….If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… love actually is all around.”  –Love Actually

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