I have written and published eleventy “About Me” pages, only to go back and hit the trash a day later because each one plagued me at night; I’d wake up at bastard o’clock in the morning wondering, Am I really a cunt? All of my blasted attempts to write up a proper biography always seem to come out reading fucking cunty.
I’ve taken the Funny Lady biography for a spin or twelve. Oh, look at me! I’m a proper Kristen Wiig. More like Kristen Stewart, bitch—which leads to the I’m Awkward and Don’t Know If Anyone Really Likes Me biography. I’ve also written up the Understated Writer biography. I’m a regular Hemmingway over here. That’s a goddamned lie. My favorite was the A&E biography. Kindra was born into one of the most fuckest-uppest families in Michigan, but she never let her parents’ inability to get their shit together drag her down.
There are a few “About Me” pages on WordPress I’ve read that are poignant, genuine, and absolutely interesting. Perhaps I could employ one of these beautiful people to write my biography for me. Or visit the elementary school and get a kindergartner to do it. I actually like the latter idea better. My biography would read something like:
My name is Kindra. I wrote a book, and now I’m writing another one. I like to write for my blog on WordPress. I like my friends on WordPress. My favorite color is green. But not neon green. I don’t like neon colors. I have Fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia sucks donkey dick. Mean people suck donkey dicks, too. I like sticking up for people who are being hurt. I make the best homemade pizza in the galaxy. I love my husband. I love my daughter. I love my cat, Melvin. I love my dad, and my mom, and my sister. My sister is having a baby girl later this month. I love babies. I visited England once, and I want to visit again. I also want to go to Scotland and see my kindred spirit, Allane. My dream car is a 1970 AMC Javelin, because unicorns aren’t real, and unicorns are not cars.