In Which The Salt Girl Introduces Herself

You don’t care where I grew up, neither do I. But eventually, I’m sure I’ll mention it, probably in conjunction with my real name, which I won’t tell you here either. I’m a cultureless, boring, pasty-faced American twenty-seven year old. I’m alternately brash and shy, social and reclusive, brilliant and daft.

I don’t have any delicious afflictions–I’m not a junkie or a pill-popper or an alcoholic, though I do wake up hung over half the time because my body reacts to four beers the way it should to eight or ten. When I get headaches, they are always in my eyes, behind my eyes, like little gremlins, gripping. For some reason, I continue to drink anyway. I smoke cigarettes, and I resent myself for it.

I don’t sleep well, partly by choice and partly because when I try, I roll around in bed thinking about things that don’t matter, imagining and re-imagining scenarios that either already happened, might happen, or would never happen. I’ve never been in a fist fight, and when I dream about them, I always lose, punching indeterminately into cement-filled air, waking up with clenched fists. The rest of my dreams are bizarre and nonsensical, and I set my alarm two hours earlier than I actually intend to get up because I relish dreaming, and I only remember my dreams if I’m woken from them. I’m downright gluttonous with the snooze button.

I’ve been described as cynical, bitter, sarcastic, dry, dodgy, weird, loyal, honest, blunt and rude, but my favorite of the adjectives that has been attached to me is “salty,” given by a coworker who was far saltier than I am.

Things I like: Thunder storms. Books and movies about crazy people. Plane tickets to places I’ve never been to before. Productive bouts of insomnia. Coffee. The ocean at its fiercest. Red wine, whiskey, good gin. Moving far, far away. Boots. The bizarre, comfortably-numb pain of being tattooed. Melancholy harmonica, stand-up bass, wild guitar.

Things I decidedly do not like: Skunks. Umbrellas and those who wield them. Cutesy ring tones on cell phones. Hangovers. Admitting to being afraid of anything (with the exception of skunks–I came to terms with the embarrassment of that long ago). Swimming in pools. Typos and grammatical mistakes in published materials. Self-indulgent indie movies with no plots and whimpering soundtracks.

Things I can do: Write upside down. Spell and pronounce “anomatopoeia.” Beat most of the people I know at Scrabble. Remember faces, if not names. Forge a passable version of my sister’s signature. Catch the brass ring at a carousel at least 50% of the time. Make a Martini. Identify a Cummins diesel engine by its sound. Make fun of other people without hurting their feelings. Take a shot of tequila without making a face. Write a moving speech. Tell a Panhead from a Knucklehead and a Shovelhead from an Evo. Roll a joint. Walk and chew gum at the same time. Understand the book Tristram Shandy. Fake a British accent. Speak conversational Spanish. Sit on a surfboard and look like I know what I’m doing.

Things I wish I could do: Surf. Paint. Write consistently. Speak French. Read Sanskrit. Function on two hours of sleep. Pull off a mohawk or dark hair. Get up early in the morning without being useless all day. Teleport. Play the guitar or the drums. Deliver a moving speech. Ride a motorcycle. Run–I mean really run. Forget the things I remember and remember the things I forget.


~ by saltgirlspeaks on 21 April, 2007.

4 Responses to “In Which The Salt Girl Introduces Herself”

  1. A mighty fine inagural post. I shall resist the temptation to add those things about you that I know but which you have failed to include.

  2. Feel free, I just might delete them…

  3. you are me! or just about every person is this town.

  4. It’s never too late to learn the things you wish you could do. You just have to go for it..not sure about the mohawk, though. 🙂

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