I'll never tell. Unless you ask. Judging by the fact that this in an FAQ, you have asked. Well done. I really object to almost everyone in one way or another, but just between us, when boys start talking geek around me, I swoon. My hands get hot when they become seriously worked up about perl v. asp, and when potentiometers are implicated? Sweet jesus, throw me on the bathroom floor and fuck me now. That's the fastest way to a woman's heart, far as I know.

Easy. I make to-do lists. They usually look a little somethin' like this:

1. Masturbate
2. Eat a cupcake
3. Learn to fly fish
4. Read Catcher in the Rye already
5. Go on, have a ho-ho. You deserve it.
6. Masturbate
7. Masturbate
8. Check the Fresh Direct Web site to see if they deliver to the ghetto yet
9. Open the past six weeks worth of mail you've been ignoring
10. Cookie break!
11. Google all of your friends' names to find out what they're hiding
12. Remove that spot of polish on your big toe that's been there since 1994
13. Nothing like a little "alone time"
14. Consider doing homework but decide Court TV is "educational" and put off Contracts outlining for a good three hours

The truth I've gradually come to accept is, while I am skinny and pretty and superb at sex, I'm not very good at conducting myself in a reasonable manner throughout romantic relationships. I fell madly, deeply in love once. The whole thing went entirely awry -- beyond Shakespeare bad. I went so nuts I found god for a moment. That's not a risk I'm ever willing to take again. T'would ruin my street cred.

A little of column "A;" a little of column "B." Mostly I was being cheeky. My life is actually a very well-executed train wreck. Get it?

Well, I can tell you with as much certainty as other people can tell you something intelligible about string theory with a straight face, that one me is blowing an alternate universe Jeff Buckley. A few probably had the good sense to defect to Canada and take up knitting. J-fab numero four ran away when she was 12, after her parents said she couldn't take gymnastics anymore. When the circus rejected her, she spent a few years roaming the streets of San Antonio, experimenting with unnatural hair colors and charming the local barflies for shots. One day, she took up with a precocious but unsavory blue-eyed boy who convinced her to spend the next several years following the Dead and experimenting with psychadelic drugs. These days, she's pleasant enough, notwithstanding the fact that she's thinks she's a glass of orange juice.

A little concept I like to call "Jodi Jenga." I need 1000 blocks acting in concert to effectuate my true robot super-human-ness. When one is removed, my circuitry bugs out. Basically, when I lack stimulus, the blocks come tumbling down.

Yes. I'll add a category called "Be cool, stay in law school" soon. I'll include outlines and other semi-useful things therein. By the time you're reading this, it may already exist. Remember, I'm the bigger person.

Yes. It's also true that this FAQ is the only place where that's been even remotely useful.

Until the last year or so, I was the poster girl for white protestant guilt. Starting around my 19th birthday I commenced railing against my 18-year perfection trek. I did not yet know my idiosyncracies had a name: neuroses. Eventually I over-corrected for past transgression by trying to look legit. I married. I had a perfect child. I realized, with a little help, I'd bellyflopped into a pool of too much, too soon. The knowledge that my whole life was a sham at that point soon led me to believe that everyone was judging me all the time. The other ballet mothers are looking at my tattoos and tisking because my little boy picks 5:30 - 6:00 to scream his head off every day. I'm doing it all wrong. I don't know how to do it the right way. I'm being surveiled every day, all the time. Divorcing in an attempt to make myself feel truer just made me feel like a complete social abomination. A few years later, I moved to New York. The signs say "No Self-Depricating. We Will Eat Your Head and Fine You $9,000. Thank You for Not Being Such a Pussy." So I quit caring what people think about me, and my true, scandalous colors shone right awn through.