I think it’s so sad when I get other people’s mail by accident. They don’t even know what they’re missing. It’s like having the winning lottery ticket and not checking the numbers that night. Or having the files get mixed up at the doctor’s office, and you aren’t aware you have a terminal illness. I’m being over dramatic. Well I’m sorry Andrew Canfeld, you aren’t getting your LIPA bill this month.
BASIC: I’m in high school. My parents are divorced. I live with my mom. I am an only child. I like it half the time. My mom is a french teacher and my dad is a struggling artist. I am average looking in every way: brown hair, brown eyes, light skin, 5’3, 110 lbs. I live in middle-upper class America, which is difficult sometimes because no one understands the money issues I go through with my dad. I’m a theatre geek. I have a 98 average and I like math. I come off relatively confident, but I’m actually disgustingly insecure.
LIKES: kites, candy, hugs, Audrey Hepburn, Chapstick, interesting people, old houses, old movies, colored tights, rain, mailboxes, smart people, watercolors, self-expression, gay people, boys who wear edgy glasses, asymmetrical things.
DISLIKES: hayrides, crowds of people, ignorant people, sandpaper, vacuum cleaners, humid days without rain, sports, sandy feet.
SECRETS: I’m insecure. I have severe dandruff due to a skin disease. I’m vitamin D deficient. I pretend to play rugby as a joke; I tell all my new teachers that I play rugby. I go by Janet in tropical smoothie, starbucks, and take-out orders even though that’s not my name. Although I do dance, I cannot hula hoop. I’m afraid of crowds of people. I get skeeved out when people touch my shoulders. I haven’t kissed the only two boys I’ve dated, but I kissed 2 and a half other guys (half a hookup, not half a person). I’m too insecure to throw birthday parties anymore, so I pretend I don’t like birthday parties; I’m actually just afraid no one will show up. I wish I was left-handed on a regular basis.
