Author has written 11 stories for Romance, Life, Love, Mythology, Historical, and Humor.
My name is Liz.
I am twenty-three.
...I am an old, old woman. I cannot believe it is almost 2009. I feel like I blinked through the past 10 years.
I am studying nursing.
I used to be a tomboy.
My favorite cookies are peanut butter cookies.
I cannot stand bags with name brands on them. (Chanel, no!)
I love romance novels.
I am frequently in lust with about twenty boys a day, and I do mean that number.
I am 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 have been drinking.
My best friend is a thirty-year-old male who likes irreverence much more than I do.
I have not 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:
I like writing poetry.
I like blueberry pie.
Not to eat, but to look at.
I think it is pretty.
I have a twin sister.
She is a nun.
She also lives in Constant Fear for my Immortal Soul because we argue a lot.
I like going out more than staying in.
But I like being alone more than being with people.
All people are fuckheads.
It is you who counts. If you want the man, I say, take him!
I wish we were not all so hung up on sex. (sigh)
It is a natural need.
Teach your kids early and maybe the world will be a less constricting place for them.
I do not 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; situations are circumstantial.
I believe that Whitney will get it together someday and take back the Diva Crown.
As for fashion, I own about twenty-six thousand pairs of boots.
And they are well-loved, because I wear them all.
Though obviously not simultaneously; that would be uncomfortable and look awkward.
I have reddish blondish brownish hair that I wish was natural, but my Scottish genes seemed to have died out. It does, however, go down to my waist and sways poetically in the breeze like a flame of fire...
I want to marry a red-headed man so cool hair will be reintroduced into the bloodline.
I have to be clinical about this because a red crotch on a male is pretty disgusting.
Barring George Weasley, I will settle for Orlando Bloom, because even though he is not a fictional character (nor does he have red hair) let us be honest and say "he might as well be."
To finish up, I used to think that I would not mind it if some fabulously-hot guy took me home one night, made sweet love to me, said he would love me forever, and then asked if we could get married and make a baby together. I have since realized that life is not like romance novels, no it isn't. What is romantic in books does not quite add up in real life.
When I say "add up," I mean some guys are crazy. Stay Away From Them.
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