The idea is simple: a bunch of statements, bold the ones that’re true. But what’s the point without the added commentary? The commentary is where the meat is!
Bold all those that apply.
I am 5’4 or shorter.
I think I’m ugly.
I have many scars.
It’s not entirely clear what “many” means. I have a few scars, none of which is terribly interesting, at least not in the “I got this one while fighting off a trained killer shark during the invasion of Bolivia in ’02” kind of way. Some of them were fun, though.
I tan easily.
And burn easily. Curse the daystar! We hates it!
I wish my hair was a different color.
I have never changed the color of my hair. I rarely pay attention to it at all, in fact, I brushed it once about two weeks ago, and I even remembered to have it cut last month. And yet, in spite of that, I’m resistant to the idea of cradically changing the way it looks. In fact, I would more easily replace my entire body with a titanium exoskeleton than change the color of my hair. Weird, innit?
I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color.
I have a tattoo.
Two, actually. The Kanji for “chaos” on the small of my back, because chaos has always been such an integral part of my life. The Kanji for “hope” on my right wrist, which Shelly and I both got when we joined Alcor.
I am self-conscious about my appearance.
Most days, I’m only marginally aware of my appearance. Some days, I’m scarcely aware I even HAVE an appearance.
I have/I’ve had braces.
I wear glasses.
And I need to get them replaced. My eyesight is changing rapidly. I don’t much like it.
As we age, the lens in our eyes becomes more and more stiff. By the late 30s or early 40s, it’s almost completely inflexible. This is dumb, nd it’s poor design. We should be able to replace it, and also hook up the replacement lens to the muscles tht change the shape of the lens so that the replacement works correctly. There’s nothing particularly special about doing this; it’s simply an engineering challenge.
The challenging part is connecting the microscopic muscles that make the lens work. David came up with the idea to make a replacement out of an electroreactive gel that will change shape when a current is applied to it, then rather than try to hook up the existing muscles, merely use a myoelectric sensor connected to a small electric current generator in the new lens. This takes care of the need to do some incredibly fine mechanical work, and replaces it with the need to develop incredibly fine microscopic electronics instead.
I’d get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, free, scar-free.
First, Id have to care more about what I look like, I think.
I’ve been told I’m attractive by a complete stranger.
I have had more than 2 piercings.
I have had piercings in places besides my ears.
And the piercings in my nipples, I did myself. I used to be afraid of needles; I pierced myself because I woke up one morning and decided I was sick of being controlled by an irrational fear. It worked, too.
I have freckles.
I’ve sworn at my parents.
I’ve run away from home.
I’ve been kicked out of the house.
My biological parents are together.
In some sense of the word “together.” They live on opposite sides of the house, rarely interact, and don’t particularly seem to like each other all tat much. There’s a lesson in this.
I have a sibling less than one year old.
I want to have kids someday.
I have children.
I’ve lost a child.
I’ve slipped out a “LOL” in a spoken conversation.
Disney movies still make me cry.
I’ve snorted while laughing.
I’ve laughed so hard I’ve cried.
At things on this Web site, in fact.
I’ve glued my hand to something.
I’ve laughed ’till some kind of beverage came out of my nose.
I’ve had my trousers rip in public.
I was born with a disease/impairment.
When I was born, my right foot was twisted sideways. I don’t remember it, but my parents tell me I had to wear a brace on it for the first year of my life…which, so the story goes, I soon discovered would make a great deal of noise if I banged it on a metal radiator. The only trace that remains is a very slight limp, so tiny that only two people have ever even noticed it, both times when we were walking arm in arm.
I’ve had stitches.
I’ve broken a bone.
I’ve had my tonsils removed.
I’ve sat in a doctor’s office with a friend.
I’ve had my wisdom teeth removed.
I’ve had serious surgery.
I’ve had chicken pox.
I’ve driven over 200 miles in one day
A number of years ago, my friend Carey Dolan and I drove from Florida to Illinois to do our laundry. Just…packed it in the back of the car and went. No, I don’t know what we were thinking, either.
I’ve been on a plane.
I’ve been to North America.
I’ve been to Niagara Falls.
I’ve been to Japan.
I’ve been to Europe.
I’ve been to Africa.
I’ve been lost in my city.
This happens to me routinely. Routinely, I say. If I were trapped in Middle Earth, and charged with bringing the One Ring to Mount Doom, I’d quite likely end up in Kansas City.
I’ve seen a shooting star.
I’ve wished on a shooting star.
I’ve seen a meteor shower.
I’ve gone out in public in my pajamas.
I’ve pushed all the buttons in an elevator.
I’ve been to a casino.
I’ve been skydiving.
I really expected to love this–that it’d be one of those awesome experiences that, once done, left me hooked and craving more. You know what? It wasn’t all that.
I’ve gone skinny dipping.
I’ve played spin the bottle.
I INVENT SEX GAMES and I have never played Spin the Bottle. How sad is that??
I’ve crashed a car.
I’ve been skiing.
I learned to ski about the same time I learned to walk. I have not done it in over half my lifetime now, however. One day, I want to try again, to see if it’s one of those skills that never leaves you, like riding a bike.
I’ve been in a play.
I’ve met someone in person from the Internet.
Many, in fact. And I’ve dated people I’ve met on the Internet. And fucked people I’ve met on the Internet. And had my life profoundly changed by people I’ve met on the Internet. And loved people I’ve met on the Internet.
I’ve caught a snowflake on my tongue.
I’ve seen the Northern Lights.
I’ve sat on a roof top at night.
I used to be really into climbing things. Buildings, specifically. When I first went off to college, there was a lovely old Catholic church on the campus, that had been there for about as long as this country has been a country. I used to climb the outside of the building and sit on the roof at night. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall and die.
I’ve played chicken.
I’ve seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
It wasn’t all that, either.
I’ve eaten sushi.
And created a Web site with photographs of nekkid women and sushi.
I’ve been snowboarding.
I’m in a relationship.
I’ve had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back.
I suspect that if you haven’t done this at some point or other, you haven’t really lived.
I’ve told someone I loved them when I didn’t.
I’ve told someone I didn’t love them when I did.
I’ve kept something from a past relationship.
I’ve had a crush on someone of the same gender.
I’ve kissed a member of the same gender.
I’ve had sex with someone of the opposite gender.
I’ve had sex with someone of the same gender.
You keep using that word ‘gender.’ I do not think it means what you think it means.
I’ve had sex with more than one person at the same time.
I am a cuddler.
I’ve been kissed in the rain.
I’ve had sex outdoors.
I’ve hugged a stranger.
I have kissed a stranger.
I have had sex with a stranger.
I’ve done something I promised someone else I wouldn’t.
I’ve done something I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I have lied to my parents about where I am.
I am keeping a secret from the world.
I’ve cheated while playing a game.
I’ve cheated on a test.
I’ve driven through a red light.
I’ve been suspended from school.
Though if I knew then what I know now, I would not have been quite such a goody-goody in school.
I’ve witnessed a crime.
I’ve been in a fist fight.
I’ve been arrested.
I’ve consumed alcohol.
I smoke cigarettes.
I’ve smoked pot.
I regularly drink.
I’ve taken painkillers when I didn’t need them.
I take cough medication when I’m not sick.
I’ve done hard drugs.
I’ve been addicted to an illegal substance.
I can’t swallow pills.
I can swallow about 5 pills at a time no problem.
I have been diagnosed with depression.
I shut others out when I’m depressed.
I take anti-depressants.
I have an eating disorder.
I’ve slept an entire day when I didn’t need it. (But I’m just lazy that way)
I’ve hurt myself on purpose.
I’m addicted to self harm.
I’ve woken up crying.
I’m afraid of dying.
And I have a plan.
I hate funerals.
I have never been to a funeral. Even at my age, I have never been to a funeral.
I’ve seen someone dying.
I have attempted suicide.
Someone close to me has attempted suicide.
Someone close to me has committed suicide.
I can sing well.
I’ve stolen a tray from a fast food restaurant.
I open up to others too easily.
I watch the news.
Watch? What is this ‘watch’? I don’t even own a working television! I do read the news, however. Via RSS.
I don’t kill bugs.
I hate hearing songs that sacrifice meaning for sake of being able to rhyme.
I fucking swear regularly.
I am a morning person.
Dear God no.
I paid for my mobile phone ring tone.
I’m a snob about grammar.
I am a sports fanatic.
I play with my hair.
I have/had “x”s in my screen name.
I love Spam.
I’ve copied more than 30 CDs in a day.
I assume this means music CDs I’ve created over a thousand data CDs in a day, for a multimedia presentation our company was distributing at a trade show. Yeah, it was miserable. I had a whole bunch of computers in a circle around me, some of them sitting on cardboard boxes, and several cases of blanks in front of me.
I bake well.
I don’t know how to shoot a gun.
I am in love with love.
I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS.
I laugh at my own jokes.
I eat fast food weekly.
I believe in ghosts.
I am online 24/7, even as an away message.
I can’t sleep if there is a spider in the room.
I am really ticklish.
I love white chocolate.
I bite my nails.
I play video games.
I’m good at remembering faces.
I’m good at remembering names.
I’m good at remembering dates.
I can barely remember my own birthday. I reliably remember Christmas and New Year’s. Anything else? Forget it.
I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life.