I murdered the bitch. I took my fucking three-foot wrench and mowed her down. I’m even sitting in front of her grave as she wallows in her own self-pity. No – not really. That’s me in total theatrical fashion and my best friend “Nugget” posing like I just took a massive weapon and slaughtered her ass. Can you imagine being a mass murderer? I mean… I’m a pretty crazy fuck. I’m artsy (I think) and I’m weird (in my own way) and go around doing my own thing. I mean look at this photo. I’m a fucking weirdo fuckface. But – I am not CREEPY. I cannot imagine being creepy. Guys who are creepy are fucked. I mean those are the worst types of people to be around. Weird – check – okay. Stupid – check – still okay, granted they are boring, still not a threat. Mean – check – okay I guess, just an asshole, will deal with it. Creepy – no check – get the fuck out of dodge motherfucker. I am lucky the whole fulltime single daddy gig I have going on takes away from the creepy factor. Chicks don’t usually dig “it”. It – meaning – the “me being a father” part. But it at its lowest barebones fundamental presence, it does do one thing: ERASE THE CREEPY FACTOR. And that is HUGE for guys. I know a lot of guys that are assholes, or sluts, or dumb, or ugly, or whatever. But the one thing you just can’t be known by is this…. CREEPY. Hahaha. Come on. In your family, you have the creepy uncle. The guy who comes around and looks at you a little “too” intense. And speaks about things like “what size bra do YOU wear now?” .. and “when I was your age, I was having sex all the time!” Okay? Fulltime single dad = not creepy. Okay that’s great. Unfortunately it also encompasses all kinds of other things, such as: Baggage. Kids. Ties to bullshit. Responsibility (which is also a good thing, depending?) In any case, I’m not a murderer, I’m not a rapist, I’m not even an atheist (hehehe, pushing buttons here), I’m just Ryan. And I’ll end this with this: I love you all! :--) April 29th, 2009 *=lapse

Someone asked me if I would consider myself a tomboy. Although it made me giggle a bit, I guess- and I don't think I'm alone- I'm the type of person that likes to be able to do things herself, although I certainly appreciate help. I did use movers for my move, because I can't lift a lot of heavy stuff, but I put most everything together (and rearranged once the movers left). Of course, I may have put my desk together while blaring Erasure, eating pretzels and hummus and wearing a maxi dress, but that's my prerogative, right?