Species: Homo beanius

Pseudonyms: Lumberjill, (Queen) Bean/of the Dipsticks, Abused by our eyes, Bullseye, Fletch, Larz, Lumby, Bacca, Mrs. Satan, La-oo-rah, (Rotten) Celery, Ed Queen of the Night, F***Kitten, many more

Age: is relative. So buzz off.

Astrological Sign: Capricorn/Aquarius cusp.

Family: Nearly nuclear...both parents, younger bro and maternal grandmother

Level of maturity: Debatable.

Location: Uranus (remember when that was funny?!)...sometimes northern WV

Sexual preference: Tall, older, dark-haired men with a reverberating voice. (Hey, you didn't have to read this!)

Religious affiliation: None. Athiest. And don't try to convert me; I'm content.

Approx. height: 5'6" or so...hey, I'm no Cindy phukin' Crawford, okay?

Approx. weight: None of your damn business! Okay, about 120#. So shut up about it.

Eyes: Hazel (greenish gold), complex green (SG=purplegreen!)

Hair: Usually medium brownish-red, sometimes dyed strangely....check back with me

Interests: Writing in many different forms (poetry), movies (Monty Python, RHPS, Jeffy!), collecting and listening to music (Corn-Dogg), the media in general, pencil sketching, poisoning the minds of young children (babysitting), eating whole pickles, venting through likely portals, seeing plays/musicals live, losing my Guard virginity (Roadies!), friends, wandering around downtown, photography, eating Frostys with your fingers, singing REM or "Birth Ritual" (in my foyer), homepages, playing UNO, making driving tapes, my Maine Coon cats Milo and Louise, discovering/contemplating Soundgarden's musical themes

Philosophy: Briefly summarized here (cynical side) and here (my poetry). Two catch phrases: "Life goes on, cause if it didn't, we'd be dead," and "Isn't this supposed to be fun?"

Pet Peeves: Chewing with one's mouth open, saying "Hel-LO?!", rap on crack (or R & B on crack), song-stealers (PUFFY!), people who think they can sing, Family Circus, rubber cement on my hands (damn collage), interruptions, subtitles, shadowboxing, slow drivers

Enemies to the DEATH: Bad teeth, Geena Davis, meat (I'm a vegetarian), Hanson, styrofoam, NEWT GINGRICH, flints (just-trying-to-start-an-argument types), carnies, stalkers, nail polish remover, Mountain Dew (or anything that flavor), broken icons

Taste: Immaculate.

Favorite Wavs: Found here.

Purity Status: 3.8% (virgin)/58.2% (nonvirgin female) and dropping

Mouth: Dirty, as will become apparent when (not IF) you read my poetry.

CD Collection: Found here.

10. Enter the restaurant doing a little dance and chanting, "Chow, chow, chow!"
9. Ask, "Excuse me, are you a really bad singer or a really bad actor?"
8. Make him repeat the specials over and over until the restaurant closes
7. Point to your meatloaf and meow loudly
6. Tie tablecloth around neck and say, "You wouldn't charge Superman for dinner, would you?"
5. "Here's your tip, pal: Steer clear of that O.J. guy!"
4. Demand he feed you with a spoon, pretending to be an airplane coming into the hangar
3. Ask for a Snoop Doggy Bag
2. As he walks back to the kitchen, scream, "He's gonna take a leak in the chowder!"

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