I really like asparagus and artichokes. I’ll eat them steamed, boiled, or roasted, without much fuss, and I have a hard time saying no to pickled artichoke hearts on salads, to grilled asparagus with a poached egg. I remember when I was a kid we had a giant artichoke plant that, in retrospect, probably wasn’t all that giant, it just felt that way because I was a small person, and I loved watching the artichokes slowly form up, impatiently asking every day if we could pick them yet.
When I was young, I was sitting on the porch railing reading a book and I got knocked off into the nasturtiums by an earthquake. My head narrowly missed our propane tank, but I was too young to notice, or care — instead I had to run inside and tell my father all about every second of the experience.
Once, I was walking down the street eating an It’s-It and some people drove by in a car and mooed at me.
I love reading books. I mean, that’s obvious, but I really, really, really love reading books. If I could spend all my time reading books, I would be so indescribably happy, you don’t even know. I love immersing myself in other worlds and rolling around in amazing prose and just seeing all these amazing things that humans can create with our big juicy brains.
Once, I pooped myself at a BART station because the bathroom wasn’t in service and I wasn’t feeling well. A policeman loaned me his spare pair of pants to wear home.
My favourite colour is orange. A rich, deep, burnt umber, in your face orange. I collect orange things, but I can’t actually wear orange, because it makes me look like I have jaundice. That’s okay, though. I can still admire it from afar.
When I was little, my hair was almost white, and I had corkscrew curls.
I don’t have any birthmarks, but I do have moles.
Sometimes, I have been known to eat an entire bag of Kettle Chips/Pirate’s Booty at a single sitting. The same goes for chocolate bars.
I love playing Cards Against Humanity, and often manage to come up with the most raunchy and offensive pairings possible, much to the simultaneous horror and delight of my friends. Oddly enough, I am very bad at Apples to Apples, which is basically the same game, only appropriate for people who aren’t horrible human beings.
My favourite board game is backgammon, but my dad and I used to play Monopoly for hours and hours when I was a child. We’d place bets and use the doubling cube borrowed from the backgammon set. Sometimes I think he probably let me win.
The first cat I ever had who was mine was Mr. Bell. When my father and I went to look at cats at the Humane Society, he kept reaching his paws out of the cage door to pat us as we walked by. He never lost the habit of gently pawing for attention — on the day he died, he did the exact same thing.
I really like cooking. Making noodles from scratch is beyond fun, and I like experimenting with recipes. I especially love baking, because while it’s precise and demanding, there’s also something deeply soothing and therapeutic about it, and I love the potential embedded within, how flexible baking really is once you learn its secrets.
When I was a kid, my dad and I used to go to Jughandle Beach and build dams in the river, just because we could. Practically every day in the summer we’d be there, digging away, stopping for a picnic lunch when we felt like it. Sometimes we’d go for a swim in the ocean, too, at the very end of the day, to cool off.
When I was in high school, I loved wearing ridiculous costumes to school. People used to make fun of me for it, and my friend Danæ would round on them and give them what for. In retrospect, looking back at pictures of myself, I looked absurd, but I don’t actually regret it.
I love my cats, and I’d do anything for them.
Once I fell asleep on BART and ended up in the maintenance yard.
I’m not really into puppies, but kittens send me into transports of delight. Whenever I see a cat in my travels, I have to stop and say hello.
I love flowers and gardening, even if I am a bit shit at it.
I think bunnies are really really cute, even if I could never have any. (They’d beat up my cats.)
I can’t read a book/watch television/see a movie where something horrible happens to a cat. I have to stop. Thus, I have a growing list of media I haven’t actually finished for that reason alone.
My favourite television series is probably Six Feet Under.
My favourite vegetable is the beet.
I pick my scalp and I pull out my eyelashes. It’s not as cool as it sounds.
Before I leave the house, I have to conduct a complicated ritual of stove checking, cat checking, door locking, door checking, and door double-checking.
This is me. I am a human being. I am an actual living, breathing person. The part of me that you see on the internet is only one part of me, but all of me is harmed when you attack me. When you harass me. When you post personally identifying information about me in public places. When you stalk me.
Every person you do this to, no matter how much you hate them, or think they’re a bad person, is an actual human being. Like me. An actual fucking human being who has a favourite food and a favourite colour too. An actual fucking human being with an actual fucking past who has an actual fucking lifestory and personal history. An actual fucking human being who has an actual fucking reasonable expectation of privacy, who may have reasons for not disclosing things that are not your business.
Every fucking person you stalk, harass, torment, and out is an actual fucking person, and every person you successfully silence might be a victory you celebrate with high fives and .gifs, but that’s an actual fucking human being that you broke. That’s nothing to be proud of, you pathetic fucking shitweasels.
You want to know why I won’t shut up? Because I remember those people you silenced, every single one of them, and I see your attempt to silence me, and I say balls to that. I’m an actual fucking human being, and as long as people like you exist, I’m going to keep fighting.