Bluebird Rising is a 30-year-old born and raised in Saint Paul, Minnesota. She always dreamed of leaving the midwest but has realized that she loves this place called home too much. She is working on being at peace with that.
At birth her father named her Amy, but since then she has acquired so many nicknames chances are she’ll respond to pretty much anything. Except “Pint Sized.” But she really hasn’t been called that since the Freshman 15 a decade ago. So this is not really as big of a concern as she wants it to be. Just so we are all on the same page.
She is a very curious individual. One day, circa 1989, she was bored. For entertainment, she shaved her eyebrows off and cut her eye lashes down to nubbins. Just to see what it would look like. She is still suffering the repercussions, in the form of anorexic brows and three daily coats of mascara.
She also cut off most of the hair on her head and shoved it down the Kleenex box three days before her first grade picture.
She still does not know what she wants to be when she grows up. Unless she ends up on MTV’S Made. Then she would like to be able to stand her ground in rap battles like Eminem, and compete in BMX biking during her free time.
If you were waiting for a sign of the apocalypse, she believes that Lady Gaga is your answer.
She loves rides, but a roller coaster once made her pee her pants. This is not to be discussed at family holidays.
Despite this, she is dying to sky-dive. She will bring her own diapers.
She’s in no mental state to debate NASA, but Pluto is still a goddamn planet.
When she was little, she wanted to be President. When she is, Halloween will be a national holiday. Saint Patrick’s Day will be a holiday week.
She cries when she hears the National Anthem. Every. Single. Time.
She wants to learn black & white photography, sign language, and how to run for enjoyment.
She recently sent anonymous flowers and loved it. She will be doing this much more often in the future.
If she could bring anyone back from the dead, it would be Lucille Ball.
She likes her coffee black and her beer amber.
She gets way too emotionally invested in Gopher Hockey.
A night-owl by trade, she simply cannot handle hard news before noon.
She hates flat sheets, feet and that white crap on the inside of orange peels. So much so, in fact, she must eat oranges like smiley faces. Which is great, because that front tooth she chipped biting on a highlighter out of nerves in college? This debacle resulted in her having to cut her apples the same way. So I’m an adult who does not want you to watch me eat my bag lunch.
In a nutshell.