I’m a big fan of first impressions, so I decided to start mine off with a little lie. OK, here goes: I’m not really a blogger. The truth is that while I do tend to waste many an hour looking for just the right emoticon to sum up my feelings on Livejournal, I’m really not all that interesting and therefore wouldn’t consider my entry (haha, OK, you got me, entries) on my rabbit-worthy of the hyper competitive blog-o-sphere. But that’s just me.

Wait, what’s that you say? A blogger and a columnist aren’t the same thing? Au contraire, mes petite amis! Actually, some of you might be right, but when a 57-year-old man can also be a 14-year-old girl on the Internet, I’m sure everyone is with me when I say that there can be a little leeway when it comes to definitions as well. So welcome to my blog.

For those of you who haven’t been challenged to a robot dance duel or heard me spout off about the importance of dressing to filling ratios on a sandwich and are still wondering why you’re reading this, then this introduction is for you.

I’m the new kid on the playground and while I totally want to be all your best friends, that probably won’t happen and this is why: I’m not here to write about bikers and how it’s their road, too, or support the rights of two dudes to hold hands. I probably won’t wax poetic about feminism or religion, and please don’t even get me started on politics because I don’t even know how to spell Democrat (spell check, duh).

It’s not that I’m not or can’t be passionate about one or all of those things; it’s just that there are already several other columnists at the Daily who do it better. Much better. Also, because I hate turf wars and I hear Abby Bar-Lev uses her nails.

I applied to be a columnist because I wanted the chance to write about the silly things, the stupid things and the things that make me so mad that I have to stop and count to 10 – I usually get to two – all in a public forum.

Telling stories has always been what I do and to be able to do that in front of the biggest audience I could find is like Christmas in July, with a Santa in a bikini on top. Sure, I’m a little nervous that some of the e-mails I’ll get will make me cry, but then again, I could also sit in my room and write flowery poetry and never come out for fear of criticism, but that’s not the spice that flavors my life. So I signed up, and here I am.

Lastly, I wanted to use this first column to tell you a little bit about myself. I’m not the weirdest person you’ll ever stalk, but as my mom would point out, I definitely have my quirks. For instance: I’m a big fan of checking my teeth in public places and I’m a magnet for all sorts of parking tickets; I love fake moustaches and getting angry over things that scare my boyfriend, like racquetball, for starters; I hate pork and blue eye shadow, and I’ve eaten Cocoa Pebbles for my last six meals.

I’m hoping you like this, but I’m hoping even more that you don’t hate it. So, now that you know me, feel free to say “hi.” And please, let me know if I have anything in my teeth.

Kat Hargreaves welcomes comments at [email protected].