I live with my mom AND her latest boyfriend AND her farm of gerbils.

I drool… and not just when I sleep.

My cat’s tongue is my alarm clock and my shower.

I have long, wiry black hair; none on my head. My four-year-old daughter braids it.

I’m missing an eyetooth, but I eat so much cheese nobody ever notices.

I don’t poop. Weekly enema .

I channel the ancient god, Zaranthrachumwamza. On Fridays, after my ritual television karaoke performances of “Saved By The Bell”, we usually wind up at the KFC dinner buffet.

I *heart* S.C.U.B.A..

Most people think I’m a woman.

I am a woman….er…. was a woman. Scars. Still. Healing.

I really, really like cakes! My dream is to someday find a file, or chisel, in one of them and escape from this godforsaken hellhole!

I knit to redirect my chronic rage.

I’m a protestant Catholic with Islamic sympathies, but I attend Wiccan services every full moon.

I touched Hulk Hogan once.

I bake.

I am a pyromaniac.

I love to sit in my car outside local high schools.

I don’t drive. My mom takes me to my appointments.

I know what your thinking? No, really! Because I’m psychic!

You should hear my rhythm and rhymes! Confession: beat-box fanatic!

Phobias: mirrors, chihuahuas, and blind people.

I have LOTS and LOTS of girlfriends!