K is for Kristen.
(Is that too obvious? That seems to obvious.)
I was recently accused (for the twelfth time) of not talking about myself enough. I tried to argue that everything you say is really “about” you, in that everything is a reflection of you: what you think about a person/place/thing and how you express those thoughts shows some aspect of your personality, character, and thought process. He wasn’t having any of it. Which is dumb, because I totally talk about myself plenty. I think.
Either way, I wanted to write but didn’t want to research anything, and, as many an icebreaker game has taught me, there aren’t any good adjectives that start with K (here’s looking at you, Kooky Katie, Krazy Kristen, and Kind Karen), so here’s a list of some random stuff that could probably mostly be qualified as “about me.”
I hate icebreaker games. They’re inane and awkward.
My favorite kinds of movies are ones in which an underdog gets ahead through hard work and perseverance (e.g. Morning Glory, Never Back Down, Dirty Dancing). Bonus points if there’s a happy ending and/or the protagonist won’t put up with any drama.
I hate having all my toenails the same color.
Expensive art makes me lose faith in life and the rationality of humankind.
If my life were a romantic comedy, I’d probably be throwing Milk Duds at the screen right now. (That actually happened once. To a friend. Obviously. This one’s for you, Matty Flamhaff, you eternal heartbreaker.)
Asiago cheese bagels are my favorite food, especially when paired with a really good iced coffee.
I really hate talking about myself. I get about thirty seconds in and start to wonder why would anyone care? I’m not really that special. I don’t have anything to say if I’m not explaining something or providing some new, interesting revelation. Is this too much? This is dumb. And irrelevant. And then I take the time to convince myself otherwise and then thirty seconds later I repeat the process. It’s like one step forward and eight steps back. Blogging is supposed to help get me over this. Without turning me into some self-absorbed, self-obsessed dweeb.
I love 80s music. And 80s movies. Probably more than is socially acceptable.
There are exactly two people that I trust completely and don’t feel at all anxious around.
I believe that thrift shopping is a lifestyle and, if done right, a good lifestyle. You don’t have to pay a lot for clothes or art or coffee mugs. But, there are some things that definitely shouldn’t come from thrift stores if at all possible: underwear, bedding, stuffed animals, bath products, etc. You should always have a full and presentable set of dishes. You should always have a fuzzy blanket that’s only ever been yours. And you should treat yourself occasionally, because you can.
I expect the worst of people but hope for the best.
My perfect date would be a day at an amusement park, specifically one on a beach, like Cedar Point or Coney Island. There’s just something about the lights and the excitement and the sunshine and the smell, that lovely mix of sunscreen, sweat, fried food, and fish. I love it.
I always strive to be happy.