“Pretend to be good always, and even God will be fooled.”
is my favorite quote. It was written by Vonnegut, one of my favorite writers.
I’m blonde, blue-eyed, and stand at 5 foot 9. Good posture. I’m neither skinny nor fat. I have a defined jawline, a face shape that goes from oval to square to circle depending on the day – I can’t explain this phenomenon – and freckles in the proper lighting. I’m occasionally pretty, but in a weird sort of way. All the other days I would probably be mistaken for a male if it weren’t for certain feminine features.
Some days I’m very busy with matters of extreme importance. Most other days I can be found laying on the ground for no reason with a book folded over my face like a tiny, wordy tent. Usually in an oversized, unshapely flannel shirt or pant. On a good day, both.
I’ve recently been diagnosed as a gambling addict by a very wise psychologist. This is the truthiest of truths. I’m not a gambling addict in the traditional sense – I don’t piss away money while hanging helplessly on the thread of possibility that I’ll win it all back and more. I’ve learned my lesson at the blackjack tables. Repetitive money loss doesn’t appeal to me. But I found out that my serious procrastination problem gives me the similar high of anxiety and excitement that I’ve come to know in my travels, adventures, and generally epic shit. When I’m home – the last place I want to be, always – the only way I can come close to achieving the high is via self-destructive tendency to put assignments off to the last minute. How stupendously sad is that. And I’m rewarded for my academic apathy and intellectually dangerous ways: I consistently achieve top marks.
This is because I’m very smart. But not smarter than Judge Judy. No one is, she’ll be the first to tell you.
I’m childish in the right ways and mature in the right ways. People often believe I’m 10 years older than I actually am. Sometimes I take offense but usually not. It’s true that I don’t act my age, and I’ve learned not to suppress this. It feels good to just be who I am and not have to apologize for it. I travel a lot, and I often meet and befriend people who are much older. Fuck a number as trivial as age, I say. If they’re good, interesting, and funny people, I’ll bring the booze.
I’m self-deprecating but never self-hating. Optimistic realist, emphasis on the realist part. I’m confident but I’m also an eternal fuck-up. Socialite of the world who also happens to be chronically awkward and clumsy. But sometimes I’d rather be alone, travel alone, and not talk to anyone. On the extrovert/introvert scale I score a 0 every time, which, I think, means I’m both or I’m neither. I’m too lazy to look into this further. I’m also lazy. But active in the things that I want to be active in, i.e. typing words into nice sentences, photography, travel, cooking yums, other various endeavors and interests, and jogging. Even though I hate jogging and it’s an activity designed for the sixth level of hell, the seventh level is New Jersey. The 80th is bra shopping.
I doodle like I’m being paid for it. Savory foods beat sweet foods, always. My catch phrase is ‘worse things have happened’. When I was little I decided the way I sneezed was dreadfully embarrassing, so I started holding sneezes in. Now I’ve forgotten how to sneeze.
Discomforts like dirtiness, hunger, extreme temperatures, fatigue, etc. don’t bother me. They are temporary, as is everything.
I’m a person of happy contradictions. Here’s another: I like raisins but hate cookies with raisins in them. I despise an excess of anything (any thing), except when it comes to cheese.
People come to me for advice. Sometimes I’m not so sure this is a good idea. I think I’m funny. I don’t distinguish between laughing at someone and laughing with them. In the end, someone is always laughing.
Some things I couldn’t care less about: Newt Gingrich, gossip/social drama, personal hygiene when I’m trekking or backpacking (there are exceptions), pop culture, and the calories in a 600 gram Argentine steak. Other things I care very passionately for: great writers, button-down shirts, China, tennis, blueberry pierogi, and the World.
Not the environment, mind you. I recycle, I walk, I do what I personally can to minimize my individual footprint. But what I concern my headspace more with is the World, what’s in it, what it means, and how it’s all connected. I can get pretty philosophical at times, usually during my morning tea, but then I get overwhelmed and dismiss any notions I may have for the silly inconsequential musings of a person who isn’t traveling but desperately wishes she were. Travel, you see, is what inspires me and makes me better. It is why I exist and what gives my existence meaning.
In general, the only thing I consider important is people. All my attitudes and life philosophies revolve around this point. For further details, seek out Vonnegut’s humanism and that is mine.
I’m incredibly nostalgic, almost to a fault – staring out windows wistfully is my speciality, I’ve an inexplicable love for music from the 40s, 50s, and 60s, and I go through old travel photos ad nauseum. Woody Allen will tell you “nostalgia is denial of a painful present”. It can be. But sometimes the past is so good it would be a terrible shame to cast it aside. Other than that, all I do is live in the present and the moment; these are the foundations of the future. I’m awfully excited for my future.
The Squeaky Robot Guide to a good life: Self-sufficiency, good people, and a fucking sense of humor. This last one. Crucial. If you haven’t realized that you’re the butt of an all-encompassing joke, I’m telling you now.
In conclusion, I hope I am less opaque now. But opaque enough for my standards. If you’d like to inquire about my social security number, blood type, or bank account digits, kindly shoot me an email and I will regard you sarcastically. Sarcasm is the fifth language I’m fluent in.
Do you have happy contradictions?