My life is normal. I go to work, eat with friends, read, hit the gym, wash, rinse, repeat. I never said it was uberfabulous but it’s my life and I like it… most of the time. But for some reason I’ve been meeting girls who read the blog and are shocked to discover that I’m normal. No really, they use that word specifically. My response is stuck somewhere in purgatory. Like it doesn’t know if it’s good or bad so I reply with, Uh, thanks?
Now that the summer is slowing down and speaking events are tapering, I am ready to embrace normalcy and love my life. For those that don’t know me, here are some tidbits of information that are useful only in a demented game of Biancaology. And really, it’s a boring game so don’t bother playing it.
I’m quite boring.
I saved a life once.
I think that I’m normal.
I wear heels four days a week.
I’m 5’3” but my licence says I’m 5’5”.
I can eat peanut butter out of the jar.
I’m a fierce competitor and I’ll cheat to win.
I have brown hair, but I’ve always wanted red.
I’m a amazing bargain shopper but won’t share my secrets.
I like to dress up because I never want to be thought of as poor.
I want to grow up and work from home in my underwear everyday.
I plagiarized an art history term paper in undergrad and got caught by my teacher.
I have long eyelashes but like wearing fake lashes to be extra fabulous when I need to be.
I have inner monologues with myself in third person (No you don’t, Bianca, you don’t).
I hate cleaning my room so I’ll throw a pile in my closet and pretend it’s not there.
I use self-deprecation as a form of motivation which wigs people out.
I love saying I do yoga more than I actually like doing yoga.
I love working-out until I feel like I’m are going to faint.
I love my Dad more than any other person in my family.
I have some the greatest friends in the whole world.
I binge eat in secret when I’m having a bad day.
I have one leg that is longer than the other.
I brush my teeth religiously.
I read my Bible everyday.
I don’t dream.
I hope.
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