What's standard etiquette on these things? I could tell you my name and where I live and how old I am. Is that a fair start? Okay.
Lisa. England. Eighteen currently. Eighteen's not that much different from seventeen. Although now I can gamble online. Yay.
I live alone (thank God) with my one rat, Ted. Named after Ted Bundy because I'm a serial killer fanatic. He had a friend, Jeff (after Jeffrey Dahmer - similar story) but he died the other week :( So now Ted is lonely.
I think I might buy a fish. Fish are cheap, nice to look at and you can flush 'em down the bog when they're dead. Best pet ever.
I like music. Understatement. I adore music. Pretty much all kinds, but my favourite is a bit of rock/metal. Hardcore. But I'm a sucker for any kind, especially if I relate to it.
I'm a bit crackers. Not in the way that most people say (oh, I'm sooo crazy, you should meet me. I shout at people on trains) Not that kind. Diagnosably crazy. The good kind that comes with meds and therapy and psychiatrists. Also, the bad kind that comes with low self esteem and suicide attempts. But whatever. I secretly love it.
If I had a mansion or something, I'd build myself a library. Oh, books. How I adore thee. Books make my world go round. Kindles make me sad and a little bit angry. DAMN YOU TECHNOLOGY.
So, yeah. I paint my nails a lot, scour the web for pointless trivia, eat cheese like it's going out of fashion and spend all my money on eBay.
I've been told I'm a nice person so I guess I must be. I wear glasses. Although I'm starting to resent them. Sometimes I just turn everything off and put my headphones in for a few hours. I like drinking tea (like a proper English person should). I draw sometimes. I write a lot of random rubbish that pops into my head. I'm trying to write a novel with my best friend but it's failing miserably. When I say I'm writing it with her...I'm writing the whole thing, she just throws in ideas. All the hard work comes down to me. Shucks.
I love snakes. I had one once. Basil. I had him for three days and then he ran away. I cried. I'd pestered my parents for one for 8 years. Then BAM.
Story of my life.