I'm an art/music nerd that loves to people watch as I drink coffee with friends. Also, a closet John Hughes fan that patterned his teenage years after the likes of Ducky and Lloyd Dobbler. Which was neatly packaged with a soundtrack of bad metal, punk and 80's pop music. If that isn't a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is. Physically... I'm tall enough to ride a roller coaster on my own. I so desperately wanted society to aid in my low self-esteem but was rejected. After years of denial and reading fortune cookies, I have learned to live with the fact that I'm not fat or in need of a hamburger. Like, yeah. And I've been known to be quite handsome, in a certain angle and a certain light. Sadly, I'm employed. I know it's a bad first impression with the ladies, but trying to hide from the truth is so exhaustive. I'd like to say that my job consists of me with my feet on the desk screaming "Buy! Sell! Buy!" into the phone, while sipping my exotic Starbucks coffee...but it's not. No siree Bob. I'm one of those crazy weird hybrids you only hear about in hushed conversations - I'm an artist. A working one. I can't believe it either. That's where "employed" comes into play. So I guess that means I can pay my rent on time. I wish it meant that I could tolerate people who speak Klingon, but somehow God must have greater plans for me.