Who are YOU going to be?

[Ben Shapiro]

I only take natural iron. It's much better than that horrible chemical iron.

I prefer "harsh chemical iron".

It's harsh, because it's chemical.

And because it's man-made, and the "man" involved isn't even a Native American.

HAHHAAHAHAH CHEROHONKEYS!

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

More kids have peanut allergies, these days, because peanuts are one of the most genetically modified foods.

THE MOST GENETICALLY MODIFIED.

So I have been told by a naturopathic doctor who is apparently unaware that I have the power of Google and was easily able to determine that, as I suspected, there is not a single GMO peanut on the market right now, and never has been.

Also, I have heard from countless people who refuse to eat GMO meats, which is much less of a daunting task than they seem to believe it is, considering there are none.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

More kids have peanut allergies, these days, because peanuts are one of the most genetically modified foods.

THE MOST GENETICALLY MODIFIED.

So I have been told by a naturopathic doctor who is apparently unaware that I have the power of Google and was easily able to determine that, as I suspected, there is not a single GMO peanut on the market right now, and never has been.

Also, I have heard from countless people who refuse to eat GMO meats, which is much less of a daunting task than they seem to believe it is, considering there are none.

I have a book for you.  You'll like it.  Trust me.

If I can figure out where I left it, I'll pop it in the mail this weekend.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Because people absolutely insist that "natural fluoride" is better for you than "chemical fluoride".

Wait. 

What?

Oh yeah I am not even shitting you. One of them even SAID SO in chemistry class Spring term. Everyone just stared at him. Fluoride.

It is the thing that it is, period.

No.  The GOOD flouride gets put there by NATURE, who is nice.

The BAD flouride is made by PEOPLE, who are mean.

It makes me want to cry.

I have also been recently informed that sea salt is much better for you than regular table salt, and isn't implicated in hypertension.

Get out of there.

Not even kidding a little. He looked me right in the eye and said that. And when I looked confused and asked what's different about the chemical composition he got a little flustered and said something about "trace minerals".

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

More kids have peanut allergies, these days, because peanuts are one of the most genetically modified foods.

THE MOST GENETICALLY MODIFIED.

So I have been told by a naturopathic doctor who is apparently unaware that I have the power of Google and was easily able to determine that, as I suspected, there is not a single GMO peanut on the market right now, and never has been.

Also, I have heard from countless people who refuse to eat GMO meats, which is much less of a daunting task than they seem to believe it is, considering there are none.

I have a book for you.  You'll like it.  Trust me.

If I can figure out where I left it, I'll pop it in the mail this weekend.

That sounds awesome! If it gets to me before the 21st I will read it in short order, as I have no textbooks to read between now and then.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

More kids have peanut allergies, these days, because peanuts are one of the most genetically modified foods.

THE MOST GENETICALLY MODIFIED.

So I have been told by a naturopathic doctor who is apparently unaware that I have the power of Google and was easily able to determine that, as I suspected, there is not a single GMO peanut on the market right now, and never has been.

Also, I have heard from countless people who refuse to eat GMO meats, which is much less of a daunting task than they seem to believe it is, considering there are none.

I have a book for you.  You'll like it.  Trust me.

If I can figure out where I left it, I'll pop it in the mail this weekend.

That sounds awesome! If it gets to me before the 21st I will read it in short order, as I have no textbooks to read between now and then.

I think I know where I left it.

[Lenin McCarthy]

To OP:
In 2033, I'll be 39. I'll look somewhat like today, probably coarser facial features. still mostly wearing nondescript, functional clothing. Judging from the rest of my family, I won't have gone grey, and I'll still have my nice thick hair.
I will have at least a master's degree in something, probably history. Quite possibly I'm a high school history teacher, hopefully one of those good ones who manage to make the subject seem alive and relevant and interesting. Or working in academia or at a museum. Ideally I should earn at least part of my living from writing about history/politics/society.
Probably married. A few kids maybe, they'll still be small and ask lots of annoying questions about the world around them. For leisure I'll travel, take long walks, read, listen to and play music.
If Norway is anything like today in 2033, I'll be comfortably middle class.
To alleviate some of my middle class guilt I'll probably do volunteer work of some kind, for example there may be os many climate refugees in Norway at that point that the government barely bothers securing basic necessities of life for them and leaves the rest to NGOs.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I'll be 52 and the odds are 80/20 in favor of me being dead. My people are not long-lived. I'm okay with that.

If I'm alive my hair will have mostly fallen out or turned some weird color that isn't black but isn't brown. We all start out as towheads and end up . . . not. There will be lines around my eyes and mouth and my neck will be vaguely wrinkly, like hairless puppy skin. My hands will look thirty years older than the rest of my body and my fingers will be all twisted up in different directions at each knuckle. My spine will curve and it will be hard for me to look up or to the right. I will probably have had at least two kinds of cancer and/or magically discovered I'm bi-polar or whatever it is now.

For fun I will knit, and crochet but even more awesomely, and go to random places and cackle at children and stab people with my knitting needles if they talk too loudly, until I'm thrown out of the library and the dollar movie theater for shenanigans. I'll walk and hike and make jokes about how I lost my broom in a tree at the top of the hill and I've got to go get it. I will be awkward and shameless and get yelled at less for it, I think, than I do now. I probably won't travel much, but I'll live somewhere with lots of that nature stuff my spiritual advisor is always warning me against, and I'll spend lots of time out in it. I'll make masks and paper and soap and candles and tan leather and dye my own fiber that I spin into yarn from the goats and alpacas I raise myself. I will freak people out with my post-apocalyptic skill set.

I'll have published (FINALLY) at least five of my current eleven novels and forgotten about the other six all together because I wrote a dozen or so NEW books that rocked my world. I've probably written a few books of poetry under a pseudonym and told no one. I'll have mastered Estonian lace and Irish lace and other such things, put out a few patterns or even pattern books as well, in both crafts.

I'll live alone. A small-ish house with a wrap-around porch on some amount of land that's mostly wild. Forest or ocean or something. My friends will be other local authors and other creative types. We'll say it will be to collaborate but it will really be to drink moonshine until we're catching fireflies in our underwear and waking up with fur coated tongues in the yard, under the porch, and up in a tree. I'll have one or two close friends who will help me hide the bodies of annoying HR personnel and/or book agents. There'll be a nice man up the way who likes to come over after dark for a little canoodling by candlelight and has a knack of showing up when my siblings and their offspring show up with shotguns demanding cash or try to steal my car.

I'm probably on the upper end of not-quite-broke. Everything paid off but somewhat shabby. A few bucks in the bank and some more buried in mason jars in the backyard. Maybe a handful of fifties stuck under the mattress or tucked in the labels of my skeins of yarn. Enough for me and some more to spread around.