Hello, Nice To Meet You.

Hello, people of the internet. Did you just finish masturbating? I did not, personally. Here are some things about me, okay?

I grew up in Lubbock, Texas and my family had a framed picture of Willie Nelson that hung above our dining room table.

My friend Michelle lent me her boyfriend for prom, because everyone knew no one would ask me so to save everyone the display of my prolonged and dramatic refusal to attend, she thought it would just be easier to do that. Mark (that was the guy’s name) was very nice and got me a group of tied together flowers that he put on my dress with a pin.

My hair has been black, blonde, red, orange, brown and striped. They call stripes highlights when you are in salons; don’t make the same mistake I did.

Once, I tried to straddle my husband Brian in his car. We had first started dating and I wanted to be sexy. My head reared back and broke his sun roof. It cost him $500. Then I had him drop me off at the dorm because I had to poop. That cost him nothing but gas money.

I have a brother and a sister who I love very much. They are both gayfers. I am mostly one, too. My husband doesn’t care if I have girlfriends so I do.

I think the most realistic outlook for my future is that I’ll just cycle through The Office, 30 Rock, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the West Wing until my heart explodes from a sedentary lifestyle.

No one really cares for my taste in interior design, which my husband says looks like a very urban brothel.

I have three dogs. Rogue The Vampire Slayer. Echo Redding. Hans Gruber. Echo hates my guts for indeterminate reasons, which makes me love him more for some reason.

My husband thinks that the meanest thing to yell at a group of ladies from the car is “The fat one’s the hottest!” because then everyone gets their feelings hurt. We would never do that because only bad and dumb people fat shame, although I guess we fat shame our dogs quite a bit.

I played basketball in high school but I never much cared if we won or lost. I was pretty good but you can’t be great at something if the outcome is unimportant to you.

I don’t have a very high self esteem, but it’s starting to rise.

I live in Dallas, Texas, which is a strange city in that everyone should hate it, except that some of us inexplicably love it. I’m one of those. In fact, I love the whole state of Texas, even when it hates me. I saw Waylon Jennings perform in Littlefield, Texas and Willie Nelson play in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot. I drove out to the cotton fields with my sister to watch the sun set and the stars come out. I suffered through evangelical church camps and dust storms, through rodeos where I cried for the animals and Friday night football games I didn’t understand. I listened to Patsy Cline records to feel not so alone and went to Austin to feel hip. I’ve eaten tortillas that would make you think it’s okay to die. I come from cowboys and country trash, from Yankees and German immigrants. And all of it lives in this body, right here in Dallas, where creatives get to live any dream they want, because the market has as many wide open spaces as the Dixie Chicks.

I want to share myself with you.

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