These are the 120-or-so words that have described me on Facebook for the past three years or so … I’ve only updated my age as the years have passed:
Financial writer, foul-mouthed pop-culture commentator, adventurous cook, karaoke singer, 36-year-old going on 11 gong on 67, and huge Cardinals baseball fan living in the Midwest. Recent transplant to the big city, and I’m not sure my wardrobe can handle it. Not nearly as cool as I wish I were, but I’m trying. My idea of dancing is jumping up and down a lot. It’s been a decades-long mystery as to why I don’t like Depeche Mode and the Smiths any more than I do. Ringo is my favorite Beatle. I can resist sweets, but I constantly crave Doritos and Triscuits. I’d like to subsist on 4-1/2 hours of sleep per night, just like Thomas Jefferson. I’m on a lifelong quest for the perfect deodorant. I still get carded – this is a good thing.
Very little has changed from this shred of a bio. Perhaps I’m not as ‘adventurous’ a cook as I thought, now that I’ve read some writings of celebrity chefs to learn where true adventure lives (hell, I don’t even own a blowtorch).
Maybe I don’t really care if I still don’t have Tory Burch flats (and that I had to look up how to spell Torey Burch). Still love Ringo, despite his ungrateful and un-self-aware meltdown of a few years ago, and I still need to sleep for more than I’d like. I’m also still looking for deodorant recommendations.
But what I don’t mention in this bio is my anxiety that is always simmering there below the surface. Not in a crippling way, mind you, more in a way that makes me interesting (maybe?). A way that never has my brain at rest. A way that occasionally always leaps to the worst-possible scenario, thereby ensuring that said scenario won’t happen. Does this sound insane yet?
A good pal of mine once described me as a “functioning neurotic,” and in that way I consider I’m keeping company with Woody Allen, Alec Baldwin, and a tremendous hero of mine, Howard Stern. So per those examples I’m “okay” with the dubious distinction. But when it comes to fundamental happiness and relations, I’d like to be a little more laidback – it’s amazing my husband puts up with me, let alone my friends and my boss.
Maybe if I put my daily trials and tribulations in print, they will seem even more ridiculous than I already know them to be. Which wouldn’t be the worst-possible scenario. See? Better already.