It's probably best to mention now that I hate filling these things out.
I was born naked, helpless and screaming. I've overcome those handicaps to become the misanthrope, cynic and voyeur you now see before you.
I am smarter than you.
I swear too much.
I don't drink anymore, and all my drugs are prescription.
I am a bitter old hag waiting to happen.
I spend entirely too much money on makeup, which I barely use and promptly lose.
I am fiercely loyal.
I once spent an entire paycheque on a pair of shoes.
I love with a vengence.
I hate. Oh, how I hate.
I'm a hardass when it counts.
I'm a marshmallow the rest of the time.
I am my daddy's girl.
I am impatient.
I am everyone's favorite bartender.
I am obsessed with my hair colour.
I am independent to a fault.
I am waiting for someone to save me from myself.
I work too hard.
I don't make enough money.
I am a mess.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know who I want to take with me.
I am Thursday's Child.