I know nobody asked, but I feel a lot of love on this blog so I decided to devote an entire article to me, myself and that guy who lives in my head and whispers unhealthy suggestions about strip clubs and the women who work there. The following is, for lack of a better term, my biography. Please feel free to learn all about me and what makes me tick.

I was born on Christmas. When you find this out, do not say, “Wow you must get jipped every year” or “damn, it must suck to always be in the shadow of the Christ child” or “you know Jesus was probably born in the summer.” Seriously, just put down my ID, give me my Heineken and go back to whatever it is that you do when you’re not selling me beer, picking your nose or plotting another jihad, you smelly bastard.

I take sex very seriously. As a result of sexual activity I have experienced muscle pulls, three permanent scars, eleven stitches and a broken rib. When you find this out, do not say, “How did a hundred pound girl break your rib?” or “wow, you’re out of shape” or “seriously, you need to mellow out.” Just grab your clothes and get the hell out. Breakfast is at Denny’s or Sonic or wherever the hell you want to eat alone. Nice smile.

I take sports very seriously. As a result of sports, I have experienced muscle pulls, broken fingers, stitches and a broken nose. These were not from playing sports. They were from watching sports. When I watch sports, I do not mess around. I have been forcibly removed from three professional sports stadiums. When you find this out, do not say anything. Just understand that I will break plans with you at the last minute because a game is on. Or learn to love sports. Or better yet, just make me a sandwich.

I love children. Don’t ask me how this happened because I don’t know. I have contempt for damn near every person that infests this spinning chunk of clay, yet I love kids. I’ll play with them and talk to them and teach them to read and I’m like a different person when I’m near them. My Mom says that kids are attracted to my aura and that I am responding from some kind of unconscious value system. Whatever. When you find this out, if you’re a chick, please make a whole bunch of baby noises and get all wet for me. If you’re a guy, just turn on the game and shut up. I can’t help it, okay.

I am a regular. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I almost always become a regular at local pubs. I lived in Europe for four months and became a regular at a pub in Germany. That’s right, I was a regular in a foreign land. I would walk in, someone would shout “The American” and then everyone would proceed to make fun of me. At the local pub here in Tampa, the only difference is that they yell “Nate” and their jokes aren’t as funny. When you find this out, well, you’ll know where to find me.

Okay, confession time: I can’t drive a stick shift; I have horrible map skills; I do a lousy job managing my money; I’ve been arrested six times; I write poetry; I burned my house down when I was twelve; I read at least one book a week and I have a very unhealthy love of fireworks (don’t ask).

So now you know as much about me as some of my closest friends. Feel free to make fun of me in public. Believe me, I’m used to it.