About the Author
I was born and raised an Army brat. I have an unhealthy obsession with rice pudding. I broke my collarbone three times as well as my arm, got sixteen stitches in three separate incidents, hit my neighbor in the face with a croquet mallet, and stabbed myself in the webbing between two of my toes with hedge-clippers in only four years because I really am the klutziest person I know. I have been to every country in western Europe except for Spain and Portugal; ironic, because the only other language I speak with any fluency is Spanish. I have broken more bikini tops than I can remember. I never leave home without a hairbrush. My record for cups of coffee in one diner sitting is sixteen, and I thought I was going to have a seizure afterwards. I’ve attempted to play six different instruments - recorder, alto saxophone, trumpet, piano, drums, and guitar. My first karaoke experience had me singing “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini.” I adore horror movies with a passion that is pure and true. I once set fire to my girlfriend’s head. My favorite pastime is driving around late at night, music blaring, and getting lost. I dance like a middle-aged white male accountant, until I have a few drinks and then I like to think I’m Shakira. I detest being woken up. I love goats’ cheese. My last temporary job was as a UPS ‘Holiday Helper,’ which soon ended after I realized that brown is really not a good color for my skin tone. I believe in ghosts, but am terrified of heights and tidal waves. Oh, and I once played chicken with a garage door … and lost.
