Two: Google's version of you

For some strange reason people find it extremely self-absorbed to Google one's name. It's not. Sometimes it becomes a necessity to look up ourselves in the internet and see what "we" have been up to.

Here are some things I have found out about "myself" through the power of search engines. Note that these things are all truths just not truths about me. Obviously. I am neither male nor skilled in the arts of photography, rugby and politics.

According to Google I am:

1. A photographer and am apparently doing pretty well because I have my own website and url.

2. An Asian. Male. And dressed in corporate attires.

3. I am a member of the New Zealand Rugby League.

4. A French-born freelance industrial designer.

5. A "budding designer, developer and entrepreneur who just wants to make the web a better place".

However in reality I am:

1. A girl.

2. Not as Asian as my last name hoped I would be.

I did find a link to my facebook page. At least one result was me.

One: Cerebrate good times

Oftentimes, I stop myself from doing this. 

Blog--it still feels weird having that word tossed around in my mouth. For the longest time what a blog meant to me was signing up for a Tumblr account and re-posting everything I liked. Of course this only made my blog more like a photo album of people I have never met before instead of a montage of my "talents" and other "brilliant" achievements in life.

Which is, sadly, none. I've apparently wasted my life hating high school and lazing off during Saturday afternoons waiting for Mondays to claim me again. That did not give me enough time to be interested in anything other than how long it was going to take for the grass to grow outside my window.

And that leaves me with this humble skill of writing though not as brilliant as I would hoped it would be. Hopefully by forcing myself to formulate opinions and come up with witty lines I can improve my unpolished ability to put words together and form sentences that aren't painful to read.

Don't worry.

I won't write about how I wake up  at 7:30 in the morning to take a shower with cold water and brush my teeth with Colgate Advanced Whitening. Or how I would skip breakfast all together so I could head down to the office and spend a good five hours there just waiting for something to happen and when those five hours are done, I won't write about how I would dash to the next building, a good ten minutes away, to fight for a slot in the elevator and make it in time for class. Not even that my hair looked extra flat and that my jeans actually matched my shirt.

No, I wouldn't write about that.

And maybe I'll throw in a picture or two.