I have climbed Mount Kilimanjaro while listening to Miles’ Filles du Kilimanjaro, swam in the Ganges with dolphins (this was rough — they kept complaining that all those ancestors’ ashes clogged up their blowholes), apprenticed with shamans and gurus (even set them up against each other just for fun which is how I got kicked out of seventh heaven), and once accidentally scaled U2 having mistaken it for K2. I have also astral traveled, but stopped when they refused to redeem my psychic air miles.
I will try anything once. Except for gluten, red meat, alcohol, dairy products, carbs… Actually, email me and I’ll send you a list. But other than that? Anything. Just remember I only give it one shot, so make sure the timing is right.
Disclaimer: A lot of my pictures were taken while I was on a long spiritual sojourn to the Far East. Or after I successfully jumped out of a plane. Or that one time that I went on a volunteering mission to save starving children in Africa and unwittingly stopped a civil war from breaking out. I just don’t advertise that kind of thing. It’s so gauche to be a show-off. It’s best to subtly insert it into the conversation and let people figure it out themselves.
I make my own furniture out of papier mache, tin cans, and toothpicks. You should be able to design an entire apartment out of a shipping container at the very least. Oh, and I compost. (Do you, by any chance happen to know of a natural way of getting rid of ants and roaches?)
I have read the Talmud, the Kama Sutra, the Upanishads, and all seven volumes of Remembrance of Things Past in the original French, which is why I’ve earned my subscriptions to Hello? and People magazines, thank you very much. When I’m bored I do quadratic equations in my head, whistle the entire Die Gotterdammerung, and conjugate irregular verbs in Mandarin. Just because I can.
I can rock a little black dress or blue jeans, so I often wear them together. Why not amp the ante of hotness? I’ve got hard-rock abs, chiseled arms, and buns of steel, which is why I keep reducing masseurs to balls of nerves. My bod is so diesel, I’ve got a mechanic, yo.
In fact, I have tried so many workouts that I’ve grown dissatisfied and invented my own, modeled on Sysiphus’. That’s right, I roll a huge boulder up a hill every morning, then run like hell downhill to make sure I don’t get crushed by it. It builds your lats and glutes like you wouldn’t believe. Needless to say, after a routine like that one, my body screams out for Bikram. Or a muscle relaxant for my sciatic nerve. Often both.
But don’t let all this intimidate you. I’m just a gal looking for a boy looking for a gal who quotes cheesy lines from romcom flicks.
Oh, and please, no drama. You give me drama and I’ll scream bloody murder, then chase you down the street in my nightie in the middle of the night. I mean it.