My dad is a brilliant but staunch businessman; he will not be taking you on bonding hikes in the woods, so you should probably have your own dad who you are fond of.

A boy I adored said that love was based on trust and trust was based on acting rationally. To this I prefaced everything I said to him with the words: “rational” and “reasonable” so that he would trust me and thus love me. Not only did it not work, but by the virtue of me compromising part of my personality for a boy with a ridiculous repetition of those two words, I’m pretty sure I set the efforts of some feminist cause back by 2o years. Also I’m sure that I would do it again if I met another boy I adored.

Even though I have disposable income I think I might live at home till I’m 25 because I want to save my money and outright buy my own apartment in the city. I’m sure this makes me somewhat of a less trendy 20-something.

I secretly wish I could fly.

I am a slave to the radio, I accept whatever mainstream media tells me is good music. I don’t bother to seek out “indie” alternatives. If it’s poppy I’ll probably have it on my ipod.

I don’t like or read modern writers. All I read is Oscar Wilde, Edith Wharton and some Asimov. This can make me a boring conversationalist for the pseudo-intellectuals who want to babble on about the “Tipping Point” over chai lattes in Barnes and Nobles.


I genuinely love accounting and strongly consider myself an artist of numbers and law whenever I deal with taxes. This seems to be a behavioral imperfection to most people who feel that I ought to be in angst over having such a practical interest.

Even though I’m a “strong” “independent” “female” who believes in “equality” between the sexes, I still get tickled when a male picks up the tab or buys me something and it often heightens my view of him.

My Name is Brainy; I am Imperfect