This morning my phone jarred me out of a deep, comfortable sleep. It was my sister, calling to talk about the upcoming Centennial this weekend – and to dispense a bit of advice.

Sister: “And on Friday there’s a dance and then the poker run.”
Me: “Yeah, and maybe (insert name of love interest) will be there.”
There’s a brief pause, and then: “Yeah…I don’t think he’s your type.”
Me: “What?”
“He’s too nice of a guy. You tend to like assholes.”
In the most defensive tone of voice I can muster while still being groggy: “I don’t always like assholes!”
Sister: “Well, (insert name of sister’s husband & close friend of love interest) wanted me to tell you that if you play the mind games with him that you played with Fortune Cookie, you won’t be liked by the (insert last name of husband & his two brothers) boys.”
Me: “Fortune Cookie wasn’t just nice, he was boring! He never said anything and he always expected me to entertain him.”
Sister: “Yes, well, I was told to pass that message along. You’re his sister-in-law, and he wants to love you, but…”
Me: “Got it.”

So I’m forbidden to date the new love interest because I accidentally played a few games of brain ball with Fortune Cookie. To be fair, she did agree that I never screw people over on purpose – it’s just a not-so-charming side effect of my personality.

While I don’t usually like being told what to do, however indirectly, I guess I should probably consider the friend of sister’s husband off limits. I don’t want my brother-in-law to hate me. He’s actually a great guy. Wanting to protect one’s friends is an admirable quality, one I happen to possess myself.

So my available dating pool just shrank to men my sister and her husband don’t know. Let the brain ball begin.

As promised, a list of my better qualities (and yes, I’m just conceited enough to title myself ‘incredible’, but remember, today it’s GOOD stuff about me and good stuff ONLY). Pay attention.

I may tell you I love your wedge sandals or make a face over your disastrous haircut, but either way I’m almost always sincere. I mean what I say, and I don’t lie about how I feel. If you think you know me, you probably do. Pretenses aren’t my thing.

I have a tendency to nurture and a deep-seated need to be helpful. I like doing things for others – folding laundry, helping out with yard work, delivering lunch. It’s a sure bet that when someone asks me for a favor I’ll help if I’m able to, without bitching or expecting anything in return.

I don’t always consider this a good thing (at least once I’d like to be taken seriously), but my friends continue to insist that I’m wildly entertaining. I can almost always cheer someone up, and I love making people smile or laugh. I will sacrifice my dignity time and again if necessary (in some cases, photographic evidence of this remains).

I’m resilient and capable. I’ve been through a whole bunch of nasty in my short lifetime, some of it shared here, and I keep coming back. I haven’t given up yet. I might’ve thought about it, but I keep rolling out of bed and giving the world the finger – or a smile, depending on how I’m feeling.

I would also describe myself as vivacious & adventurous. I’m generally happy and energetic. I’m always ready to try new things, and willing to laugh about it if the experience doesn’t go as planned. Okay, with the exception of heights. I’m terrified – a sort of dizzying, immobilizing terror – of heights, and out of respect for my own sanity I doubt I’ll ever sign up for bungee jumping. Sky-diving, maybe. Strapping a cord to my ankles and diving head-first over the side? NO. No, no.

I’ve been out of school for a long time now, but I still hunger for knowledge. I think when you stop learning, when you stop opening up your mind, the world gets a helluva lot smaller. So I read, and I research words or phrases I’ve never heard before, and I try to remain as educated as possible. (Admittedly, I get to feel smug and helpful when someone, usually my youngest sister, asks me about something like antidisestablishmentarianism).

I’m officially tapped. I’ve run out of endearing traits (surprise, right?) to use to get you all to adore me and realize that I’m the center of the universe. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

I want a home on the coast, a home where I wake to the sound of waves breaking on the shore, where I can stroll off of my deck and feel the sand under my feet. I want quiet sunrises over coffee, sunrises where I can taste salt on the breeze.

I want a puppy, a golden retriever puppy that plays tug and drools and sleeps at my feet.

I need a man who understands that I’m not good with words, and I may never say what he wants to hear – but I’ll protect his hopes & dreams like they’re my own.

I want to write for a living, not just as a hobby. I want to sell books that people will read and enjoy, books my family can be proud of. Books that I can be proud of. Someday, I want to be in a quaint little bookshop somewhere standing in front of a group of people at my own signing.

I need to travel, to see the world. I want to stand at the base of the Parthenon and see cathedrals in Rome and take a walk in the rain and fog in England. I want to drink a Guinness in a smoky Irish pub.

I need to be able to swim every day, to feel the water close over my body and wrap me in it’s cocoon, to be cradled and weightless.

I’m afraid to admit this, but I want babies. Cute, cherub-cheeked babies who squawk and poop and demand constant attention. A baby of my own, to love and nurture and protect. One who maybe has my eyes, or perverted sense of humor.

I want to know that no matter how bad things get, they’ll always get better.

I particularly like this definition of the word because it uses gem as an example, and of course ‘amber’ is a semi-precious stone. As you may have guessed, today I’ll be blogging about my flaws – some of the more and less obvious ones.

I like to claim otherwise, but I’m sensitive. Little comments or a lack of little gestures can easily hurt my feelings. Despite more than two decades (whoa boy, did I just age myself or what?) of hands-on experience with my family, I still let stuff get to me.

I have a tendency to be egocentric. Everything is really about me, right? Or at least it should be. Ahem. Enough about this particular flaw, lest you all decide you hate me and never come back.

I’m very good at burying my head in the sand. If I pretend a problem doesn’t exist, then it really doesn’t. And believe me, I have a good imagination. A quick example: I’m walking everywhere because it’s healthier and more cost-effective, not because the scary grinding noise my breaks have been making could result in my death.

I’m usually pretty tactless. I don’t even try to be polite about things, especially bothersome things. The other night in the midst of drinks with friends, a forty-something man – evidently fueled up on liquid courage – hit on me. I ignored him until he wrapped his arm around me and started breathing heavily in my ear, then I calmly stated that if he didn’t take his hand off of me all he would get back was a bloody stump. No tact whatsoever. Although I still think he deserved worse.

I don’t necessarily consider my total lack of modesty a flaw, but my sister sure does. Especially when I strip down in her living room.

I’m very, very vain. I know I’m pretty, and I do everything possible to protect my beauty. (Please forgive that last sentence). When I lost one of my back teeth due to an abscess, I cried for days and it didn’t even affect my smile. I have a habit of checking my reflection in everything, and I mean everything – once there was a handy mud puddle. I spend gobs of money on various items designed to preserve my looks, because deep down I honestly don’t think I have anything else going for me. Which leads me to my next flaw…

Insecurity. I have all these fears that I’m not good enough or strong enough or gorgeous enough, that no one will ever really love me, that people would hate me if I let them see the darker parts, that I’m going to one day snap like all those crazies you read about in the news and drive across numerous states in a diaper with the sole purpose of forcing a lover into submission…ETC. ETC. You get the idea.

You might not always be able to tell on this blog, but I’m a total grammar nazi. HOW DARE ANY OF YOU MISUSE A WORD OR COMMA!? Don’t you clueless, uneducated bastards have any appreciation for the English language? And just for the record, ‘how r u?’ is NOT a sentence.

Lastly, I’m judgmental. This is another of my flaws that I’ve made peace with, mostly because I figure we all have the ability to make judgment calls for a reason, and if that reason is to seperate ourselves from the unworthy, well then…good.

Truthfully, my judgmental nature isn’t even close to my last flaw, but the more I write the more I realize this list could go on forever – a daunting possibility. And since I don’t want you all to hate me, I think I should quit while I’ve only alienated a few of you.