I was raised as a member of a half-Irish, half-Italian family. This meant that depending on which grandmother babysat me, my lunch would either be pasta and meatballs or boiled potatoes and hot dogs. For ten years, my breakfast of choice was a frosted strawberry Poptart. I would never toast said tart, nor would I eat the crusts. I've moved onto more healthy breakfast options since then and the English major in me wants to write something about this detour being a metaphor for moving from an artificial to a natural state of existence, but I'll resist the urge.

My employment history ranges from cashier, to farm worker, to graphic designer, to teacher and tutor, to my current position as a college fundraiser an educational writer. My best job was a day camp junior counselor when I was 15, where I made $30 a week (that's right, A WEEK).

My childhood was like many others - summer days of riding my bike, making brownies on Friday nights, and being chased down my driveway by a donkey. I grew up in a small rural town in Rhode Island that has no street lights, a country general store, and a swimming hole. For two years I lived in New York City, which had millions of people, various cuisines, and a penchant for loud horn honking. Today I reside in Western Massachusetts and moonlight as the Brawny paper towel man.

To some scholars my name, Bethany, means "house of figs." Ponder that one.