I'm a young girl who just crossed the bridge into my early twenties. And yet still, I wonder what the hell have I done to make sense of my existing. I live on my own with my boyfriend, Mike (who is an asshole, blond, and quite inconsiderate - kind of like James, only Mike is short). I drive a piece of shit car - stupid mileage - that is freakin' purple and makes loud noises. I worship the likes of Metallica, Motley Crue, and that cute left wing from the Flyers, Scottie Upshall. I also have an obsession with the show House and the color orange. I like to write stories - messed up fanfiction, it's all so horrible I tell ya - and read books, like gay porn, gay romances, gay horrors (are there such a thing? hehe, marriage), and inspirational books about Beagles. Yes, I like Beagles. I have a full-time job as a Nanny for three wonderful boys, who make up my life and constantly make me laugh. I tend to burp in places that I shouldn't, I despise the color pink, and if I could ride my quad all day in the mud I would. I dream one day of owning a motorcycle (and a license for it cause duh I need one of those to ride it) and driving across country to get away from my crazy boyfriend (you didn't hear that from me). I like to take pictures, watch football (yay NY Giants, 2008 Super Bowl Champs), and not doing dishes.
I'm somewhat of a freak, but that's what makes me unique...even if I am the only person who sees it.
I don't want kids and I don't want to get married.
If I could, I would move out, leave this place, and drive until I ran out of gas (and then refill and do it all over again).
I could be happy never being truly happy (cause who really is?). And it would be a pleasure of mine to kill you.