Bitches Be Crazy
For someone who has a personal blog and, clearly, enjoys talking about her life, I am horrifically bad at writing my own about pages. There’s too much pressure. Do I write in the third person? Am I witty enough? Am I explaining myself accurately? It’s just too much thinking for an about page. It’s too much thinking for basically anything, but that’s besides the point.
Because I actually feel like I’m going to get hives while I’m currently writing this, I’m just going to make this easy on myself. Here are ten random facts about me, which I may or may not change out depending on if I remember that I have an about page.
1. Every bad mood I’ve ever been in has been significantly reduced by a shower, a fabulous outfit, sexy perfume, and red lipstick.
2. Even though I technically am one, I still cannot spell the word entrepeneur. See?
3. I have not been to Barcelona yet, but believe, wholeheartedly, that something unmistakably massive is going to happen to me there. Call it a hunch, if you will, but I call it destiny.
4. It’s not possible for me to be unhappy when I’m dancing in my underwear, especially if it’s an Impromptu Dance Party.
5. At one point, I started a list called “Why I Am Awesome.” Number 11 is: “will laugh at your jokes if you are funny.” This is true.
6. Eventually, I’d like to be fluent in French, Spanish and Italian. Currently, I am fluent in 0 of 3. Fantastic.
7. If I had no expectations, standards or morals, my life would be baaaasically perfect.
8. After a very brief identity crisis back in April 2009, I started a web design company called Shatterboxx. After a year of feeling lonely and overwhelmed, my other half, Nicole Antoinette joined in on the fun. We are both now stuck with each other, through thick and thin and she, unfortunately, has to hear me talk about fonts like they are my children.
9. There are things I’d only let Javier Bardem do to me. Dirty, amazing, Spanish things.
10. When I become a bajillionaire, my first purchase will be a gorgeous apartment in Paris. No, a private jet. No wait, a villa in Majorca. No, no, a penthouse in Manhattan. Honestly, now I’m just depressed.
