My name is Liz.
I'm twenty-two.
I recently graduated college.
I used to be a tomboy.
My favorite cookies are peanut butter cookies.
I can't stand bags with name brands on them.
I love romance novels.
I'm frequently in lust with about twenty boys a day.
I'm notoriously shy around boys who are cute.
But I have also been known to fuck up conversations with Uh-goes.
I guess it depends if I've been drinking.
My best friend is a thirty-year-old male who likes irreverence much more than I do.
I haven't updated any of my stories on here for a long, long time. If you would like to give me a kick in the ass to get me moving, you can reach me here:
http://www.myspace.com/liztheelephant
I like writing poetry.
I like blueberry pie.
Not to eat, but to look at.
I think it's pretty.
I have a twin sister.
She is a nun.
She also lives in Constant Fear for my Immortal Soul.
I like going out more than staying in.
But I like being alone more than being with people.
I Disagree with taking mood-stabilizers.
The problem is Outside not You.
You will always be sad.
Learn to live with it and live around it and change your reactions.
That said, it's of course alright if others take them.
All people are fuckheads.
It's you who counts.
I wish we weren't all so hung up on Sex.
It's a natural need.
Teach your kids early and maybe the world will be a less constricting place for them.
It has come to my attention that more and more people are genuinely concerned with the lack of Passive-Aggressives in the Workplace. They are teaching our college students now to say 'yes, alright, that sounds fine,' instead of 'no, I won't do that.' Let me tell you that one of the last things the Workplace needs is more Passive-Aggressives. Assert yourself.
I don't believe in Miracles.
Not unless or not until dragons from fairy-land come swooping down with magical restorative crystals in their talons.
Or some other suitably ridiculous equivalent.
I believe in Accidents.
I believe that Whitney Houston will get it together someday and take back the Diva Crown.
I own about twenty-six thousand pairs of boots.
And they are well-loved, because I wear them all.
Though obviously not simultaneously.
I have reddish blondish brownish hair that I wish was natural, but my Scottish genes seemed to have died out.
I want to marry a red-headed man so cool hair will be reintroduced into the bloodline.
I have to be clinical about it because a red crotch on a male is pretty disgusting.
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