My name is Chris, though I spelled it sirhc until I was about four years old. I brush side to side, contrary to the circular wishes of my dentist. My hair has always been thick, like fur, and tends to stick up every which way. Because of this, and being a fast little soccer player in my youth, I had the nickname Fast Fuzz for awhile. The only other hair related nickname I carried was “Cheetah,” not, ironically because of any similar athletic prowess, but because of a botched hair dying session with an ex-girlfriend in college. Never let an ex-girlfriend try to give you highlights. I use only, maybe, 10 percent of my pillow (flatter the better) at night because I sleep on my stomach and feel that if I were to put my head in the center of the pillow I could suffocate. I have a dog named Clover, who earned her name because, upon leaving my grandmother’s apartment, I was looking for somewhere for her to pee as a puppy and my grandmother said, “Well there’s a patch of Clover over there.” My biggest regret is not telling my grandmother, before she died, that my wife was pregnant. I met my wife in 2000 while we were both volunteer backcountry park rangers at Olympic National Park – my call sign was 594, and hers was 991. I fell in love with her over the radio, and she fell in love with me through the mail. It took me eight years to marry her; pretty quick if you ask me when you start exchanging forevers. I pretended to be a construction worker for a few years before the crash, telling only close coworkers in confidence of my college degree. I’m more of a homebody than my wife, and with a bleak housing market and a baby on its way, I found myself thawing frozen booby milk on weekdays and changing poopy diapers. I’m a Dad, but DO NOT call my Mr. Axling. My name is sirhc, I mean Chris.
If you are the cyber-stalking type (and who isn’t really?) you can read more about my current life here on my friend Dana’s blog, who interviewed me.