It took me a long time to write this autobiography. I didn’t know what to talk about, what was important, what people would want to know. So I sat down late one night in June (I couldn’t sleep) and starting writing about me. I am not a topic I write about often. I write about what’s going on in my life, spill my emotions to a paper journal, but I don’t usually sit down and contemplate what it’s like to be me.

It seems very rare to me that people acknowledge their bad traits along with their good. However, whenever I am forced to describe myself in one word—as is de rigure in forced group introductions, especially in a scholarly setting where a supreme overlord has demanded you say your name and describe yourself in one word—the first word that always comes to mind is unsympathetic. The next words that tumble in, though, are abrasive, obnoxious, and dorky.

I am very intimate with my shortcomings. It has taken a long road of introspection to realize just what it is about me that some people just don’t like (though I still haven’t figured out why the cross-country team continually egged our house in high school), because they are the exact same things that I don’t like in my father.

Generally, a person doesn’t recognize how similar they are to a parent until they are older. This realization often comes with the statement “oh my God I sound just like my fill-in-the-blank” after they have issued a decree to their children that their parents used often—for my mom, our questions of “why?” was always answered with “because” if she was tired of dealing with us. However, I was 21 when I realized that I am just like my father. And I was really, really pissed off about it.

I was not a daddy’s girl growing up. I am pretty sure he wanted me to be, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. We always butted heads, and let our tempers get the best of us. I think it was really hard for him because he is just like his dad—even as he denies it when it comes up in conversation—and his dad loved his two girls, just as my dad tried to love his two. Not to say that he didn’t, but my sister and I weren’t very appreciative of the way he showed his love for us, as it meant a different set of rules than those which governed our older brother.

But I am my father’s daughter. I always think I’m the smartest thing going. I can’t help but to mug for little kids. I say what I’m thinking before I really know what the impact is going to be. I think I’m hilarious (and am very fond of people who think the same). My sarcasm knows no bounds, and I am unafraid of people who do not like me. I won’t tell you what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. I need to be the one who makes the decisions. I can’t stand people who whine about things that can’t be changed, or who are too weak to make changes that can be.

I am very similar to my father, just as he is very similar to his. I, however, view this knowledge as a blessing. There are good things about my father, just as there are the bad. But knowing that I am like him helps me realize when I am acting in a way that if he did it would drive me nuts. Like the way he steamrolls over my mom in decision making. Or the way the details of a project get lost in the need to get it done as soon as possible. Being able to recognize faults that bother me help me to correct them in my self.

I have had people ask me, though, that if I know I’m obnoxious and abrasive, why don’t I try to change. I guess the reason is that I’m not using these words in a negative light, despite the negative connotations they carry. Instead, I’m realistically describing features of my personality. Just like I could throw out that that I’m loving, supportive, and creative. I am perfectly comfortable with who I am, and it’s taken me such a long time to get to this place that I’m not jumping ship any time soon just because being abrasive is a part of my personality. I know I rub some people the wrong way. I never thought it was important enough to make the whole world love me. The few that do are far more than enough.

My personality aside, there are a few other things that are important to note if this blog is going to make any sense at all. Firstly, this is a personal site. Which means—and believe me, I thought this was obvious—that this site is all about me. Shocking how many comments and emails I get from people saying that this site is here for them, and I should do things in a nicer, kinder way. I am not a nice, kind person. Well, I am, but not when it comes to my opinions or the way I run my life. (Like when a guy I was dating told me I shouldn’t pierce my belly-button because he didn’t think it was a good idea. That was six years ago. Still have the belly-ring, lost the guy).

Also, I am an English Major, which takes up a large chunk of my life. I’m a full-time student at Chico State, and during the semester it feels like I do nothing but consume literature. I love books, but I tend to look at them differently than the average person these days. A fool is never just a fool, and I get frustrating reading stories where the surprise ending is a surprise. They should be unsurprising surprises, in that you didn’t see it coming, but once it hits, the only thought is “of course, that makes perfect sense.” Too often the surprise ending is more like “omgwtf is this and how did we get here.” Along side with studying literature, I’m also working on a certificate in Literary Editing and Publishing, which means I’m just as likely to be riled up by strange copyediting errors (12 noon grates on me like a badly tuned violin).

Now, this isn’t to say that my work here, then, will be perfect. I am not a grammar elitist, and often have to ask my (much, much smarter) roommate when I should be using who verses whom, when I’m using laid though it’s wrong and should be lain, and really, which clause is which. Yes, I’ve been trained to copyedit, but I find it terribly hard to edit my own work. Only if I haven’t seen my own work for a month can I begin to catch my own errors, and well, blog posts don’t often wait that long.

Even worse, often I’ll write a post and a week later I’ll want to pull it back down because I don’t think I really explained what I was trying to. I am very critical of my own work these days, and find it harder and harder to actually get a post out the door. Which is why Adjective Robot exists these days, so that I have a place to outlet my random thoughts that aren’t enough for a blog post, but need to get out of my head.

So, that is me in a circuitous way. Except for of course, the usual basic info that usually litters an “About Me” page. So some basic stats, if you will:

  • My birthday is July 20, 1982. Which means that at this moment, I’m 26.
  • I am the middle child, with an older brother and younger sister.
  • I have always lived in California, but living in Chico is the farthest away I’ve ever been from where I was born—a whole 80 miles.
  • I have had two long term relationships, one for two years, the other for five. Neither ended on good terms, and both were my fault.
  • I didn’t meet my best friend until I was 19, but I feel like I’ve know him all my life.
  • He is dating someone I have known practically my whole life—since I was 11—and it makes our friendship much harder because she and I are no longer friends.
  • I don’t think I’m very athletic, but I played basketball and did shot-put and discus in high school. I’m 6’0” exactly.
  • I don’t think I’m a poet, but lately all I can write is poetry.
  • I live in a party town, go to a party school, and yet, do not party. I still catch hell for staying home on Halloween and writing a paper that was due the next day instead of going out to party.
  • I have a dog who my friends say is just like me—pretty at first, depressingly emo once you get to know her.
  • All of my favorite music right now is emo. I can’t help that it hit the scene after I left high school. I figure as long as I’m the same age as the musicians, it can’t be wrong of me to love it.
  • I am a computer geek, but I don’t know that much. I know enough to know that I don’t know enough, but I love all things tech.
  • I have been blogging on and off for the last ten years, the last four consecutively (two here, and two at a now defunct domain name when I opted to not port my posts over, instead wanting to start fresh.
  • I have more ideas than I know what to do with, and am sad knowing that most of them will never get off the ground for my lack of ambition.
  • I am a massive procrastinator, but I know exactly how long it takes for me to get something done.
  • I am prone to over thinking, over analysing, and an overactive imagination.