My Ideal Girlfriend

I know there's a long list of hopefuls lining up on The Nerd Archives to have my hand in marriage. Some of you are women. Some of you are men. Some of you are artificially intelligent robots with recently installed reproductive organs like Robin Williams in that movie Bicentennial Man and now oh God I'm thinking about that movie and I want to cry it was so sad don't watch it or you'll be depressed for like two years. But the bottom line is that there are a lot of you and I need a way to sort out which ones of you are serious about it and which ones just want to date me for my money.

So here's a list of qualities for my ideal girlfriend:

1) Both Jewish and naturally blonde. I know that's unlikely, so I suppose you can be half-Jewish if you really want to. I think Jewish girls are totally spicy, but I need to marry a blonde girl so our baby can have hair like James Spader in Pretty in Pink (which is NOT a chick flick!)

2) It's kind of pushing it to go even further with the nationality bit, but it really would be awesome if she was also from either Europe or Russia. Yeah...Russia. That's sexy. Preferably she would speak in kind of broken English.

3) I don't really need a stunningly beautiful girlfriend, but it's true that looks are more important to me than they should be. I don't want to have to close my eyes while we make love. In fact, it would be quite nice to have a stunningly beautiful girlfriend. Chauvinist pigs: UNITE!

4) I'd like my girlfriend to be a bit slow. Not too slow, though. Just slow enough that I don't have to feel stupid talking to her. I'm intimidated by intelligent women. She should be into poetry/art/literature, but I still need to be able to trick her into sex.

5) I think it's best if she's not a Psych fan. As much as I love(d) that show, I can't let her realize that I occasionally steal jokes from it.

6) She needs to have a stellar taste in music. The Beatles, Vampire Weekend, and Michael Jackson being the minimum qualifications. I don't think I'd ever date an avid Elvis fan. And there's no room for Lady Gaga or Katy Perry in my house. She can't listen to pop unless she wants to be beaten half to death every night before we go to bed. (Don't worry--I mean that in a completely sexual way.)

7) At the very least a half-decent writer

8) Not taller than me or more physically aggressive than me in any way whatsover (am I sounding insecure right now?)

9) Although I know it 's unlikely that I'll ever chance upon a girl who's more than moderately athletic, it'd be sweet if she was into exercise, just like jogging and aerobics. Ooh, and yoga!

10) A fan of Dustin Hoffman, Tom Hanks, and Johnny Depp but not just because she thinks any of them are hot. And decent movie knowledge. She has to have seen Psycho, The Breakfast Club, Stranger than Fiction, and The Fisher King.

11) Intense blue eyes that make me feel as though my heart is being run through with a magic sword every time I stare into them

12) I think it'd be awesome if she just dabbled into bisexuality. Not a serious bisexual, but maybe she kissed a chick at this one slumber party at the conclusion of a pajama-clad pillow fight. Or she participated in an all-girl spin-the-bottle game just this one time half a year ago.

13) Speaks French, but isn't snobby about it

14) Can't be too rich--preferably her financial background is somewhere around upper middle middle class

15) Middle name Bailey

16) More of a dog person than a cat person, but has the ability to appreciate a good kitten

17) Is totally finished with orthodontics. (I'm still cringing from that one scene in Date Night with Tina Fey and her retainer because it's so foreseeable in my future.)

18) Can appreciate her man for his calf muscles and forearms, not just his chest and abs--because, baby, that's all you have to look forward to.

19) Plays an instrument

20) A pretty good dancer

21) Good teeth

22) She has to look cute while she's eating a watermelon. You may laugh, but that's important to me. I think it's good to have a healthy appetite, but not so that it's repulsive.

23) If her name was Sarah, I would totally dig that. I love that name like unmarried single mothers love men named Craig. Yeah, I'm adding that onto the list. My ideal girlfriend would be named Sarah. ATTENTION: the alternate spelling of that name (Sarai) is also acceptable and even welcome

24) Can't judge me because I like musicals

25) Obedient; willing to shut up and do what her man tells her to do when it comes down to it

26) Has a penis

Okay, not really the last two things. But besides that, this was a pretty decent list, right? Not too picky. How many contestants are left? Nine? Ten? Eleven, even? Hello? Where is everybody? Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad!

Fine, it was pretty bad. I think I lost it at "you have to have seen The Fisher King." This list is just what my girlfriend would be like in a perfect world, though. Realistically, you shouldn't beat yourself up too much if nothing on this list applies to you. As long as you're really pretty, thin, tan, well-toned, intelligent, artistic, creative, and witty, you shouldn't give up.

Odds are, though, that I'm going to end up marrying an alien. I'm a nerd, and I find that idea totally attractive. Lara Flynn Boyle in Men in Black II was my major celebrity crush until I turned twelve (and discovered Christian Bale.)

Well, this has been productive. This post was conceited, rude, vulgar, and altogether too shocking.



As I've mentioned 1-3 times before this, I'm leaving for Texas early tomorrow morning. I'll be back Saturday--and by that time, I'll be three inches taller and I'll have killed a man. If you haven't read the post below this one, I just posted it a few hours ago so go ahead take a gander if it floats your boat. Until next time: to infinity and beyond!

Happy Holidays!

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

John Lennon's Christmas Single is Way Better Than Paul McCartney's

Happy holidays, my tiny Christmas elf friends!

Did everyone have the fantasticalicious Christmas I told you to have on Christmas Eve's Eve? To those of you who have been bound to a chair with Christmas lights and your mouth taped shut as a result of a particularly wild Christmas party, blink once for yes and twice for no.

Great! I had a splendid Christmas, thanks for asking. At 8 o'clock on Christmas Eve, I acolyted at my Church, got home at around 10:00 and lay on my driveway watching the stars for about half an hour, and then watched A Christmas Story with my beautiful family. Just kidding! (They're not really that beautiful.) Peter Billingsley (Ralphie) was so adorable. Did you catch him in Elf?



I had a good Christmas Day as well. It began with a lot of excitement, a fair amount of presents, loads of snow, and ended with a Christmas feast fit for a king. (Probably not fit for a Roman king, though. Or any recent king. It'd have to be a pretty early king. Maybe an Anglo-Saxon king from the late third century or so.)

Once again, we failed horribly at making this a simple Christmas. Ah, well, it's too late to complain now. I'll just have to be even more firm with my family next Christmas. Like, I might need to fire a gun into the air a couple of times. Not a real gun, of course. A flare gun, maybe.

I received:

1. Two picture books in Spanish
2. Push-up stands, (so I can sculpt my body to the point that I rarely leave the bathroom because I spend so much time looking at myself naked in the mirror.)
3. The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran
4. The Trouble with Poetry, by Billy Collins
5. A second slinky just for the sake of it
6. The John Lennon issue of Life magazine
7. A ten-minutes-a-day French workbook and CD

Like I said, we struggle with the concept of a simple Christmas. I feel so guilty.

It also snowed for the entire second half of the day. By about five in the afternoon, there was a layer of white coating almost everything in sight like white cake frosting coating a brand new Christmas iPhone. Unfortunately, "almost everything" does not include the roads, so we had no opportunity to go sledding down any hills in our laundry basket and/or trash lid this year.

In addition, New Years Day is only five days away! Consequently, the first anniversary of The Nerd Archives is fast approaching. I started this blog mid-January of 2010. I was two inches shorter, considerably quieter, very naive, and I still wore glasses full-time. Since then, I've almost totally lost my faith, spoiled my innocence, improved greatly at writing, and had sex-change surgery on two different occasions. (It's hard to make up one's mind about these things!)

I love New Years. The night before you get to stay up late and do fun stuff that people do while staying up late like telling scary stories and eating s'mores. Plus, the concept of the beginning of a new year is liberating. It's so invigorating to think of all the new opportunities. New beginnings. A fresh start. Forget the past, let's embrace the future.

Mostly, I like it because we have this tradition where we hire a cowgirl stripper to give one of us a lapdance. That stuff about new beginnings was good too, though.

Let's take a look at my resolutions last year:

1) No consumption of beef, pork, or exotic game: CHECK!

2) Spend more time outside: CHECK!

3) Detach the things I don't really need in life: CHE--okay, no, not really.

4) (I can't believe I said this.) Become a better person: no, definitely not.

Was my ultimate New Year's resolution really to become a better person? I was such a cliché. And I still am. But remember: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

I'll be in Texas for the next week or so. I'll try to squeeze out one more post before I leave tomorrow, and then it's Hasta la Vista, my precious leprechaun minions. In the words of Conan O'Brien, "keep cool, my babies:" I'll be back Saturday.

Happy Holidays!

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Happy Christmas! Have a Cookie, But Not from That Plate--Those Cookies are Poisonous

Why am I baking a mixture of cyanide and hand soap into my cookies for Santa, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you, small Christmas elf with learning disabilities and abusive parents.

I'm trying to kill Father Christmas. What can I say? I'm a warrior for Christ.

On that happy note, I wish you all a Happy Christmas Eve Eve! If you're wondering why I'm wishing you a happy Christmas instead of a merry one, it's because I'm going British on this blog. Although I'm still in the process of learning all of the hip British lingo, I'm going to start spelling words like "civilisation" with an "s" instead of a "z," and I'm going to start spelling "favourite" with a "u" even though my conscience tells me it's so wrong. I'm also going to start using the word "b****" more, but that's because I'm a bitter teenager, not because I'm going British.

For Christmas, I'm getting each of my family members an empty box with a note taped to the outside that says "Ha ha, I didn't really get you a Christmas present. You were so excited but now you're going to be disappointed because there's nothing here. It's a joke, get it?" They're going to be laughing their heads off. Just wait.

I haven't drafted a super-duper Nerd Archives Christmas post spoiling all of your Christmas moods by criticizing every aspect of Christmas and making numerous racist remarks...because I've already done it for Sarcasmic Ross over at Consumable Sarcasm! Check out my guest post tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, and then send me a Christmas present addressed to just "That Blond Guy."

I'm flying to see my grandparents two days after Christmas, so if I don't get to give any of you goodbye kisses before then: GOODBYE!

If you're having trouble getting into the Christmas mood, I want you to listen to the following holiday songs:

Happy Christmas, by John Lennon

Santa Baby, by Eartha Kitt

Run Rudolph Run, by Chuck Berry



Happy Christmas to all of my beautiful followers! I love you all so much and I hope you never leave me!

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

I Dance When No One Is Looking and my Hair is a Literal Chick Magnet

I have a remarkably brief and yet shocking confession to make:

I love ballroom dancing.

There, I said it.



To awkwardly and unprofessionally change the subject from the disturbing announcement made earlier in this post, I might inform you that my favorite thing about myself is my hair. My second favorite part of me is my left ankle, followed closely by my belly button and both of my nipples. But for now, we're just talking about my hair.

I am not generally a very attractive person. My nose is a bit large. My eyes are too small and my brow protrudes too much over them. I'm kind of scrawny and my tongue is a violent shade of orange. In fact, if I was bald, then I would be about as attractive as the shriveled-up demon baby from The Omen.

My hair is an anchor for me. My life is unstable--at any moment I could be thrown out of my house by my parents, beaten to death by a delirious homeless man, or raped and mugged by a violent metrosexual who literally thinks he's Reese Witherspoon. But one thing I'll always know for sure is that a) I'll never go bald and b) I have pretty nice hair.

You may call me arrogant. You may call me self-centered. You may even call me a stuck-up, self-absorbed, Nazi a******. I am a little bit of all of those things, but you have to remember that I don't have many talents or features that I can pride myself in. I get mediocre grades, I'm a decent writer but not a prodigy, I have an extreme lack of social skills, I'm not athletic, and I'm not the best artist in Drawing 1. But my hair is my strength. My one good thing. It is a mane of golden sunshine bestowed upon me by God Almighty. It is trustworthy, soft, clean, obedient, soft, machine-washable, soft, soft, soft, soft, and soft. And it's all I have to hold onto.

And, as I mentioned in the title, it is a chick magnet. Unfortunately, it's a chick magnet in the most literal and regrettable sense possible. Females in general (including overweight, middle-aged mothers) are constantly asking me how I bleach my hair. At random points during my day girls will seize fistfuls of my hair and just sort of feel it for a bit.

Last night, for instance, one girl did just that. She grabbed my hair and yelled "Your hair is so soft!" For the next five minutes or so, girls would just walk up and massage my head, occasionally asking me whether or not I use conditioner and whether or not I blow-dry it.

Yeah, on second thought, I kind of wish I was bald. Then I could tattoo a giant black eyeball onto my head to freak out really tall people.

I watched the movie Cashback today. Truly a stupendous film. I'll let you read the plot synopsis and junk I just linked to on IMDb because I just don't have the willpower anymore to explain movies to people.



I will, on the other hand, tell you the three reasons I really loved this film:

1) Everyone was British except for the Swedish student and one guy I saw in the fifth scene who I think might have been an alien.
2) There were loads of naked women.
3) The main character really reminds me of myself. I know that's always what people say when someone has just read a good book or seen a good movie, but I go through life a lot like he does. I live for those "frozen moments" he talks so much about, and usually life just seems so overwhelming, that's my only way to deal with it. Also, I'm an artist. When I see a beautiful woman, I have that same urge to just rip off her clothes, throw her on the floor like a rag doll, and...draw her.

Does anyone else here watch Psych? Did you see the Christmas episode? Yeah, you hear that sound in the distance? Yes? That's the sound of Psych hitting rock bottom.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Have You Ever Wanted to Go Back in Time and Beat Yourself to a Pulp?

If not, do you:

1. Ever want to go back in time and play the younger version of yourself in checkers and then do something really spontaneous halfway through the checkers game like loudly reciting passages from Dante's Inferno while having an epileptic fit?
2. Ever want to go back in time and have a baby with some random Catholic nun so that when you go back to the future you can be the same age as your kid? (I don't know why I added in that bit about the nun, but doesn't it sound kind of hot?)
3. Ever want to play "Johnny B Goode" on the electric guitar at your parents' Enchantment Under the Sea dance shortly after making out with your mother in the school parking lot?

I guess it would be sort of cool to do the last three things, but mostly I really want go back in time and really just demolish my past-self. "Why?" some of you might ask. Well, Vietnamese man with a pencil mustache and a mustache pencil, I'll tell you why.

I am clinically insane and bizarre ideas like this somehow appeal to me. Also, I'm way taller, stronger, and more ripped than I was 2-3 years ago, so I would take a remarkable amount of pleasure out of whipping the scrawny nerd a** of my past self. Also, I know that at that time, I had zero self-confidence and at present I enjoy taking advantage of people with low self-esteem. Also, I've been reading some of my old writing and some of my old posts and am disgusted by my charming innocence and boyishness. Also, I didn't take my meds this morning and feel like doing something dangerous and spontaneous. And because I've been hanging out with idiotic, private school teenage guys for the past seven hours, going back in time and beating myself up was what struck me as an exhilarating idea at the time that I thought up this post. Sounds like a half-decent video game plot too.

See this? First is a photograph of me now: calm, cool, collected, a little horny, but very pensive. The next is a picture of my fourth grade Halloween costume. I wasn't even cute. All the other kids dressed up as pirates, leprechauns, or Michael Jackson. Apparently I wanted to be a combination of Sid Vicious and Glenn Quagmire (seriously--what's the deal with that shirt?!)

Some people are haunted by memories of horrible mistakes they've made in life and missed opportunities. I'm haunted by memories of badly-landed jokes, mortifyingly embarrassing moments, and my even more socially awkward/insecure/weak-minded past-self.

Yes, I would not hesitate a moment in going back in time and beating myself up. A solitary punch in the face would probably do it, don't you think? Maybe a kick on the ribs while he's on the ground, but only for good measure.

If for some reason you're interested in learning the mildly intriguing philosophical message behind this bitter outburst of resentment at my past-self, I guess all I can say is that it's amazing how quickly people and things in general can change in such a short amount of time.

On a different note (D#), HAPPY CHRISTMAS BREAK TO ALL OF MY FELLOW TEENAGERS OUT THERE EXAMS ARE OVER HURRAY YIPPEE!!! To all of my readers who are out of school, well, you can just go and do something that grown-ups do, can't you? Like drinking. Or driving. Or watching scary movies. I don't know--what else do grown-ups do?

I'd also like to link to this Christmas post by Sarcasmic Ross just because he's so awesome I think my nose just got a little sun-burned by his sheer awesomeness.

Next, I'd like to conclude this lengthy and unconstrucive post by also linking to these four, generally unrelated videos which have amused me throughout exam week.

Church Mouse

Diabeto

Back to the Future, Screen Test Part 1

And of course: Back to the Future, Screen Test Part 2

Finally, I think it's worth mentioning that my comment on the official music video for Regina Spektor's "Fidelity," "Thumbs up for this comment if you, uh, like sex" has now received 78 votes. People are so stupid.

Happy Advent.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

The Oedipus Complex and Brunette Preteens in Yellow Dresses

My highlight of this week was when me and two other guys were standing in the highway after an Academic Team practice and someone mentioned one of the questions about Sigmund Freud and the Oedipus Complex. One of the guys asked what the Oedipus Complex is. I said, "It's just what it sounds like, isn't it?" And he responded, "You wanna kill your dad and bang your mom?!"
Just as he said that, a junior walked right by us and that was all he heard. He glanced back at us with wide eyes and ran off without a word. Man, there are going to be some weird rumors flying around the school about me from now on.

More importantly, I want you to listen to this song by Cold War Kids: Hospital Beds. It's so hip it hurts. Like, literally. Don't listen to unless you're willing to experience some minor chest pains and abdominal discomfort.

On an unrelated note, I want to post the link to my Youtube Channel just because I need attention and my channel has been remarkably unsuccessful. I haven't been to make any real videos because I can't figure out how to work the camera and have had to resort to using my webcam. You can skip over the piano songs I wrote because I'm so awesome and gifted, but make sure you check out "A Moderately Relaxing Video" and then make sure you tell me how funny and charming I am.

It's cool, though, because I've never had a "Highest Rated Comment" on any of the videos and I was getting desperate for some recognition. So I went on to the official music video for "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor and commented,

"Thumbs up for this comment if you, uh, like sex."

And it actually worked--I have the highest rated comment!!!

Because all of you are desperate to know how I am, I'll go ahead and tell you I'm not doing so hot. It's exam week and I've been sick for the past two or three days, so of course I'm not in the best of moods. Also, my wife left me in the middle of the night last night and took the car, my son, and the house with her. She took everything--all I have left is a bare mattress and the clothes on my back. And a piece of cardboard I've been using as a blanket. Which makes me wonder whether or not I'm really just a delirious homeless man who had a crazy dream.

I want to add as a modest side note that I although I don't always comment, I do try to read all of your blogs as often as possible. It may not seem like it, but I'm always with you. I might be hidden in the bushes, or crouched down in your closet, or staring through your bedroom window while you sleep so that you can't see me, but I'm always with you. Watching you.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

I Feel Powerful Today: Like If I Wanted to I Could Marry a Man and Not Care What Anyone Thought

I signed on last night to write a post on The Nerd Archives. As stated on my gmail status, I was feeling "unexplainably depressed." I typed in only two sentences:

"I'm feeling so depressed. I think I'm going to take a walk."

But before I pressed the Publish button, I was struck by an intensely profound revelation: instead of signing on to whine to you all about my wimpy girl problems, multiple insecurities, and irrational fear of Elvis impersonators, I decided to first take that walk I was dragging on and on and on about in my un-published post.

The Other Guys is one of my favorites movies ("You thinking what I'm thinking?" "Aim for the bushes.") Will Ferrell is one of my favorite actors. But one of my favorite quotes happens after Terry finishes insulting the coworker who always gets him coffee and the coworker says in a really dejected voice,

"You know, you're right. I think I'm going to go take a walk."

Everyone knows that depressed people like taking walks (in addition to drinking, watching TV, and beating their wives.) What few people know is that it really works. It worked for the coworker in The Other Guys. It worked for Baby-Faced Nelson in O Brother Where Art Thou. It worked for, um, Nelson Mandela in Invictus. I guess that would sort of be a good example. Oh! It worked for Mrs. Salmon in Lovely Bones. Except she didn't really come back, did she?

I deleted the post I was writing, grabbed three jackets, fingerless mittens, and what I thought was supposed to be a sweatsuit but turned out to be thermal underwear, and I left for my walk.

It really is very liberating to go on a walk late in the evening when you're feeling down--especially when you're naked. Very few people are outside, and the few that are outside are usually just gardening or dealing drugs. It's chilly, which refreshes you and makes your mind alert. It's quiet. It's dark. Plus, I kept a plastic baggy of yogurt in my back pocket in case I ever got hungry.

And this morning, I'm feeling loads better. Last night we decorated the tree and watched Saw VI. This morning I made myself French toast and birthday cake. I'm listening to the Spirited Away soundtrack while writing this post. It's raining outside but I'm inside--which is my favorite thing in the world. I have my laptop back, I have Youth Group tonight, I have an exam tomorrow but I'm not worrying about it, and--finally--I have a beautiful naked woman laying in bed beside me and stroking my hair.

I'm feeling powerful. Invincible. Like I could do anything I wanted--even if it meant coming out of the closet or confronting my Social Studies teacher about his drinking problems and how it's hindering my ablity to learn.

If only more people in the world who do terrible things could just take a walk instead. We might not have wars, genocide, or STDs. Children wouldn't bully one another and gangs of homosexual men in prison nicknamed "The Sisters" wouldn't go around raping Tim Robbins and other convicts.

Why do girls/women describe men as "beautiful" sometimes instead of "handsome" or "hot?" They know we don't like it. It makes men sound like horses or Nicole Kidman's new haircut.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Rihanna is a Satanist

Greetings, my tiny Smurf friends! Sorry it's been a while since I've posted. I've been hiding in my closet with a fishbowl over my head for the past few days so as to not get any germs before exam week.

I'll have you know that I'm in a superb mood today, for totally trivial reasons. 1) I'm now officially a member of the track team, 2) I turned in all of my entries to the school's literary magazine on time, and 3) I spoke to my dream girl today. Actually the conversation we shared went something like,

Me: "Hi."

Her: "She's just oblivious, isn't she?"

But that's all right. It was...enough for me.

...God, I'm a creep.

In other news, yes, exam week is approaching. I should have started studying about two or three weeks ago, but it's a struggle for me to get down to it, so I'll be lucky if I start today. I really should be studying right now, in fact, but I just don't have it in me. Every time I tell myself that, okay, now is the time to start studying, I get hungry and go get a snack. After that, I get another snack. After that, another. And another and another and then I listen to music for about half an hour while staring at one of my textbooks. Then I go to bed, because I look up at the clock and see that somehow it's already half past five in the evening.

I also found out last week that my sister doesn't know what the word "pimp" means. She's always been slightly innocent and naive, but this was worse than I expected. We were at the dinner table when my sister asked,

"Hey, Christopher, can you pass the peas?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, you're a real pimp."

The whole family was sort of quiet for a while and the rest of the family kind of shielded their eyes and exchanged glances. She noticed it and said, "What? It means he's a cool person! What else could it mean?!"

I don't know if it's a good or bad thing that she's like that.

Another highlight of the week happened in art class. The teacher lets us listen to music during class (or at least he doesn't stop us, because he's only in the classroom for about six minutes a day). So one person was listening to the song Umbrella by Rihanna. The guy sitting next to her asked what she was listening to. She told him that he was listening to Umbrella. The guy said, "Oh, yeah, that's an okay song. But you know Rihanna is a Satanist, right?"

Everyone in the class heard him too. I looked around with a giant smirk on my face, expecting other people to be equally amused and knowing. Instead, they were shocked and curious. They all asked him how he knew this. He said a friend of a friend told him that there were certain allusions to Satan and hell in the song. The entire class believed him without even quesitoning it. One person who usually despised him even said, "That's weird--she doesn't seem like the type."

It's pathetic! Believe are so gullible! No wonder Hitler's propaganda was so effective: people so easily accept what others say as true if it sounds true without questioning it. This is even worse, though. How could Rihanna be Satanist? Does she even know who Satan is? If someone asked her that, her response would be something along the lines of "Sounds like a real bad-ass rapper who knows how to party serious."

On an unrelated note, I'm giving up on the "30-Day Thing." It was too confusing, I think I did it wrong, and I'm insecure about my appearence. So I'm putting it to an end.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

"30 Day Thing"

I was sort of/kind of half-tagged by Kay of Cerulean Skies. So here goes. (Ooh, this is the first time I've done something like this. I've got butterflies.)

1) A picture of yourself and 10 facts:

(Here's a picture of me and President Obama posing cheek-to-cheek. He's a fun guy. Neither of us are staring into the camera because we both saw injustice occuring somewhere in the distance right before they snapped the photo.)

1) I went to speech therapy for half a year. Now people tell me I sound British. (Awright!)
2) I have a scar on my palm from when I tried to hop a barbwire fence in fifth grade.
3) I'm a triplet.
4) I see dead people.
5) I have a graphite pencil tip embedded in each of my hands--(long story, but not really).
6) I have an eclectic taste in music. In the nine or ten minutes before I wrote this post, I listened to songs on my iPod from the Rolling Stones, Regina Spektor, Finn Wallace, Wild Cherry, AC/DC, and Beethoven.
7) I order the same thing at every restaurant I go to. The trick is: just go to a bunch of different restaurants.
8) My biggest two fetishes are being British and being Jewish. My ideal wife would be both, (hopefully she would fall under the category of European women who actually shave their legs.)
9) I doodle so much during class, I've become known in my math class as "The Cartoon Kid."
10) I love romantic comedies.

2) How you got your blog name

Not a very interesting story. I'm a huge nerd and I needed some sort of theme to build on before I abandoned it like a three-legged dog at Krispy Kreme. This blog documents my life and my thoughts. Hence, "The Nerd Archives." Good story, yeah? Gonna tell is at the dinner table tonight?

3) Hometown location and facts

I live in Atlanta. It's a big city, so I don't think any of you are going to track me down and stalk me and/or rape me because you're such a huge fan of my blog. And the facts:

• Home of both Coca Cola and the only aquarium in the world (besides Japan) that holds whale sharks. Jealous?
• Atlanta is pretty much the gay capitol of the world. Rock on, babes!
• I'm in a neighborhood filled with either really old people or young couples with babies. That actually works out, because I hate making friends, but love old people and babies!
• My school is infamous (among private schools) for its drugs. Stupid rich white kids.
• I have to drive at least twenty five minutes everywhere. Even to the bathroom.
• Although I do live in Atlanta, I spend most of my time using my imagination to transport myself to the magical land of Narnia.

Like Kay, (who I will go on to mimic because I don't understand how these curious things work), I'll finish this later. I guess that's self-explanatory, because it's a "30 Day Thing," but...yeah.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy