I don't ask for much.
Stop laughing, fuckers.
I know, I do ask for much. A lot. All of it. BUT! In my defense, I ask a lot of myself, as well, so it's not like I'm making other people do all the heavy lifting [unless there is actual heavy lifting, at which point, it's all you, thanks!].
Anyway, I just expect people to go through their lives and do things the right way. That way EVERYONE'S [meaning MY] life will go more smoothly.
Now, yesterday, I had to take the girl to the doctor because of her allergies, which stupid Nature is a fucking twat about - there is no need for all that pollen, Nature. FEDEX DELIVERS. THEY CAN BOX THAT SHIT UP AND SEND IT DIRECTLY WHERE IT NEEDS TO BE.
What?
Oh. So, of course, we have a 1/2 hour wait to see her doctor - who I love, but I'm getting less thrilled with the 1/2 hour wait bullshit, and then she deals with the girl's allergies and all and sundry other little things, like, oh, yeah, the girl twisted her ankle at school [OF COURSE SHE DID] and it still hurts sometimes, so we needed to get an x-ray, and since I was in the building, I needed to get some blood work done [where I get periodically tested to make sure my blood is still made of unicorns], and pick up prescriptions, so all in all, it was a 2.5 hour extravaganza of "I can't believe we're still here."
We finally left, and I dropped the girl off at my parents and headed home to WORK, and thought, "You know, I should pick up a salad from my favorite place, so I can just get right to work." I called and placed an order and . . .
They fucked it up.
I get it. Working in food service is zero fun. I've done my time.
I also get that when people place a carryout order and you say, "It'll be ready in 15 minutes" and they show up and you haven't even sent the order back? YOU ARE A DOING A SHITTY JOB.
It was one fucked up thing after another - including the fact that my order, I could see, was at the bottom of all the other orders that came in after, and nobody fixed this, so I wasted THIRTY MINUTES of my life to get a WRONG ORDER during which time I asked for my money back, and they tried to give me, "Oh, we'll take $2.50 off and make it $10 even, which is 25% off" WHICH IT IS NOT, AND NOW YOUR SHITTY MATH SKILLS HAVE MADE THIS SITUATION EVEN MORE RAGE INDUCING.
I politely requested AGAIN and finally got my money back and left, tired, headachey, starving and having to make my lunch because OH YEAH, I was too upset to pick up anything else.
That fucking zen book I'm reading isn't helping as quickly as I'd like.
**********
In the spirit of asking - I need some more questions for my Ask the Suniverse column at Funny not Slutty. Come on. You know you need my advice. Don't make me beg. More.
**********
Also, is anyone going to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop? I AM. I hope you are, too. I'll need someone to help me order lunch.
**********
PS Lori - the girl goes to an all girls' boarding school. The boy goes to a coed one. We're crazy, but not that crazy.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
This is what ages you.
My daughter is 15.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know because they go to boarding schools across the country from where we live.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know because they go to boarding schools across the country from where we live and so the odds are good we aren't going to meet this young man.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy she likes and so I bought her a yellow floor length empire-waist chiffon dress with tiny spaghetti straps and sparkly rhinestones across the belt.
My baby is 15.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know because they go to boarding schools across the country from where we live.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy we don't know because they go to boarding schools across the country from where we live and so the odds are good we aren't going to meet this young man.
My daughter is 15 and has been asked to prom by a boy she likes and so I bought her a yellow floor length empire-waist chiffon dress with tiny spaghetti straps and sparkly rhinestones across the belt.
My baby is 15.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
It's not funny today. Or any other day.
I've not written much about the Republican primary or the war the far-crazy-ass-right is waging against women because I can't seem to come up with anything funny to say - because none of this is funny if you think about it for too long. Yes, there is a lot of unintentional hilarity spewed from blowhards, but there is underneath it either a genuine mean-spiritedness that appalls me or a Machiavellian-level pandering that sickens me.
But I do want to say this:
If you think you can impose your belief system on anyone else, you are a fucking asshole.
There's no argument.
You can believe what you want to believe, you can think I'm going to some version of your hell for being adamantly pro-choice in all its iterations, you can pray for my soul all you want, but you had better not think you can tell me what to do.
Because fuck you.
I keep myself semi-sane by limiting my news-gathering to a judicious review of my daily New York Times [Hello, Food & Dining section!] and reading Wonkette and info from my Twitter timeline. I can't dissociate myself far enough to find the humor on my own [god, do I ever miss Molly Ivins], nor am I able to pass off the vehement misogyny as just politics because it's not.
I remind myself that it's all become so vitriolic because those fuckbags can see the writing on the wall, that their vision of 1950s white America is crumbling and nothing they can do will stop it, so they have to do something, something huge, to try and keep their world in order. Mean people, small people, insecure people, lash out when their worlds are being threatened. I get that. But I can no longer excuse it or find it in myself to forgive it or pass it off as inconsequential.
Because it's not. It's not.
I also find myself becoming frustrated by those who attempt to explain a situation that is nobody's business. No woman has to explain to anyone why she does the things she does - why she does or does not use birth control, why she chose or did not choose to have an abortion. None of those discussions are public property. They are nobody's business. And they are not going to sway the minds of anyone who thinks that they know what's best for you. Neither logic nor heartfelt appeals to compassion are going to change any minds. There is no reason to engage - their minds are made up.
And for those who will have changes of heart once they've done all the damage they could - following the likes of George Wallace, Lee Atwater and Ken Mehlman - I just have to say in advance, go fuck yourself. There is no forgiveness in being an awful, horrible, hateful human being and then saying, "Oh, yeah, sorry," when you can do nothing to reverse the evil you have perpetrated.
There is not.
***********
I hate to leave you on such a downer, so I'll just add this, because it did make me laugh [thanks to KeAnne for telling me about it]:
But I do want to say this:
If you think you can impose your belief system on anyone else, you are a fucking asshole.
There's no argument.
You can believe what you want to believe, you can think I'm going to some version of your hell for being adamantly pro-choice in all its iterations, you can pray for my soul all you want, but you had better not think you can tell me what to do.
Because fuck you.
I keep myself semi-sane by limiting my news-gathering to a judicious review of my daily New York Times [Hello, Food & Dining section!] and reading Wonkette and info from my Twitter timeline. I can't dissociate myself far enough to find the humor on my own [god, do I ever miss Molly Ivins], nor am I able to pass off the vehement misogyny as just politics because it's not.
I remind myself that it's all become so vitriolic because those fuckbags can see the writing on the wall, that their vision of 1950s white America is crumbling and nothing they can do will stop it, so they have to do something, something huge, to try and keep their world in order. Mean people, small people, insecure people, lash out when their worlds are being threatened. I get that. But I can no longer excuse it or find it in myself to forgive it or pass it off as inconsequential.
Because it's not. It's not.
I also find myself becoming frustrated by those who attempt to explain a situation that is nobody's business. No woman has to explain to anyone why she does the things she does - why she does or does not use birth control, why she chose or did not choose to have an abortion. None of those discussions are public property. They are nobody's business. And they are not going to sway the minds of anyone who thinks that they know what's best for you. Neither logic nor heartfelt appeals to compassion are going to change any minds. There is no reason to engage - their minds are made up.
And for those who will have changes of heart once they've done all the damage they could - following the likes of George Wallace, Lee Atwater and Ken Mehlman - I just have to say in advance, go fuck yourself. There is no forgiveness in being an awful, horrible, hateful human being and then saying, "Oh, yeah, sorry," when you can do nothing to reverse the evil you have perpetrated.
There is not.
***********
I hate to leave you on such a downer, so I'll just add this, because it did make me laugh [thanks to KeAnne for telling me about it]:
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
So. Many. Goddamn. Questions.
Here they are:
I am looking for a nice DARK PURPLISH but not GOTH lipstick. You know, something a woman who has a teenage child might wear. Not that the child would wear. And to clarify, I'm going to say a woman who has a teenage child who did not have the child as a teenager and who is not currently working it on the pole. And who has a tendency to get hives from stuff. Particularly the thought of someone near my daughter's age working the pole.
Anyway. Something like this:
From here .
Or something like this, even:
From here.
You know, for when I'm out being awesome. I almost bought a super dark purple lipstick from Sephora this weekend, but the adults I was with all gave me that head-tilty, pressed-lipped, "Hmmmm . . ." answer when I asked them. Which I took to mean no.
Other questions:
I had to return my Martha Stewart Dutch oven [which I had to carry back through Macy's - a 7 quart massive piece of enameled cast iron - which made me hurt my back AGAIN] due to a recall because the enamel chipped off in some of them. What the fuck, Martha?
Anyway, I need to get a new Dutch oven, and I'm leaning toward Le Crueset, even though it's uber-expensive, because I want something that will last and not make me die. Does anyone have one? Thoughts?
Also, is there someone whose ass we could kick with this bullshit Daylight Savings Time? Because it's been a couple of weeks and I'm still dragging.
And finally, I'm wondering if anyone has a decent work/life balance, or if that is just some bullshit Oprah touts? Now, in addition to feeling like I can't get enough done in my day, I also need to figure out how to get my quiet time, which just makes me want to start punching indiscriminately [you've been warned].
PS. One more question - do you judge people by the type of toilet paper they have in their bathrooms? I DO.
********
Also, I'm dropping marketing knowledge at Funny not Slutty. Check it out! (PS I could use some new questions!)
I am looking for a nice DARK PURPLISH but not GOTH lipstick. You know, something a woman who has a teenage child might wear. Not that the child would wear. And to clarify, I'm going to say a woman who has a teenage child who did not have the child as a teenager and who is not currently working it on the pole. And who has a tendency to get hives from stuff. Particularly the thought of someone near my daughter's age working the pole.
Anyway. Something like this:
 |
| Give me a kiss. This is from MAC, which I've never used. Good stuff? |
Or something like this, even:
 |
| I could actually get behind the eyeshadow, too. |
You know, for when I'm out being awesome. I almost bought a super dark purple lipstick from Sephora this weekend, but the adults I was with all gave me that head-tilty, pressed-lipped, "Hmmmm . . ." answer when I asked them. Which I took to mean no.
Other questions:
I had to return my Martha Stewart Dutch oven [which I had to carry back through Macy's - a 7 quart massive piece of enameled cast iron - which made me hurt my back AGAIN] due to a recall because the enamel chipped off in some of them. What the fuck, Martha?
Anyway, I need to get a new Dutch oven, and I'm leaning toward Le Crueset, even though it's uber-expensive, because I want something that will last and not make me die. Does anyone have one? Thoughts?
Also, is there someone whose ass we could kick with this bullshit Daylight Savings Time? Because it's been a couple of weeks and I'm still dragging.
And finally, I'm wondering if anyone has a decent work/life balance, or if that is just some bullshit Oprah touts? Now, in addition to feeling like I can't get enough done in my day, I also need to figure out how to get my quiet time, which just makes me want to start punching indiscriminately [you've been warned].
PS. One more question - do you judge people by the type of toilet paper they have in their bathrooms? I DO.
********
Also, I'm dropping marketing knowledge at Funny not Slutty. Check it out! (PS I could use some new questions!)
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Dropping Truth Bombs of Embarrassment
You know how you think you're pretty fucking awesome all the time? And then every once in a while, you get blindsided by feelings of self-loathing and despair and inadequacy? Yeah, me, too.
I've been thinking lately about friendship and how it factors in to your life. I like this blog and Twitter because I feel like I can be who I am and there aren't any judgments [TO MY FACE] about me being me. There aren't any ramifications, either, really, because I know very, very few people personally in real life who read this blog or follow me on Twitter, and the people I have met [in person, via Skype or email, or by phone] have been nothing but kind and warm-hearted. Like really, really nice.
And yet . . .
Every once in a while, I get that WHY NOT ME? angst rearing its ugly, shameful head. Rather than focus on the friends I've made [and I do consider them friends - whether they feel the same, I have no idea, but I have yet to be served with a restraining order, so I'm assuming they're getting something out of this, too], I sometimes think WHY AM I NOT FRIENDS WITH THAT PERSON? And instead of focusing on the real reason - maybe a lack of commonality, maybe they don't have time, maybe the stars simply haven't aligned yet - I assume it is a defect in me. That I am to blame as being unworthy of someone sharing their time. I mean, it may well be that person has an aversion to someone who says cunt or motherfucker on an oft-daily basis, which, you know, I get, and which for some reason is more palatable than thinking that that person takes issue with me and my thoughts.
Please understand I am not thinking of anyone in particular, I am not calling anyone out. The person could one day be Tina Fey [and sometimes has been] or it may be someone who pops up on my Twitter timeline periodically and I think, "I SHOULD BE BFFs WITH THAT PERSON HOW ARE WE NOT WHY DO THEY HATE ME?" even thought I *technically* haven't had an actual interaction with them.
Anyway, that kind of shit pops into my head every once in a while, and while I loathe the fact that it seems as if I haven't developed emotionally beyond a frightened middle schooler, I do like the fact that I can step back and objectively look at the situation with something less than total blind panic.
Or not.
I've been thinking lately about friendship and how it factors in to your life. I like this blog and Twitter because I feel like I can be who I am and there aren't any judgments [TO MY FACE] about me being me. There aren't any ramifications, either, really, because I know very, very few people personally in real life who read this blog or follow me on Twitter, and the people I have met [in person, via Skype or email, or by phone] have been nothing but kind and warm-hearted. Like really, really nice.
And yet . . .
Every once in a while, I get that WHY NOT ME? angst rearing its ugly, shameful head. Rather than focus on the friends I've made [and I do consider them friends - whether they feel the same, I have no idea, but I have yet to be served with a restraining order, so I'm assuming they're getting something out of this, too], I sometimes think WHY AM I NOT FRIENDS WITH THAT PERSON? And instead of focusing on the real reason - maybe a lack of commonality, maybe they don't have time, maybe the stars simply haven't aligned yet - I assume it is a defect in me. That I am to blame as being unworthy of someone sharing their time. I mean, it may well be that person has an aversion to someone who says cunt or motherfucker on an oft-daily basis, which, you know, I get, and which for some reason is more palatable than thinking that that person takes issue with me and my thoughts.
Please understand I am not thinking of anyone in particular, I am not calling anyone out. The person could one day be Tina Fey [and sometimes has been] or it may be someone who pops up on my Twitter timeline periodically and I think, "I SHOULD BE BFFs WITH THAT PERSON HOW ARE WE NOT WHY DO THEY HATE ME?" even thought I *technically* haven't had an actual interaction with them.
Anyway, that kind of shit pops into my head every once in a while, and while I loathe the fact that it seems as if I haven't developed emotionally beyond a frightened middle schooler, I do like the fact that I can step back and objectively look at the situation with something less than total blind panic.
Or not.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Oscars are for Suckers
The delightful Good Youngman Brown was kind enough to hit me up with an award which is mathematically superior to the Oscars, and I'm REALLY pleased to be able to SHOW IT OFF HERE:
I'm pretty sure this means I never have to eat lobster and also that I am much beloved by the Germans. Because they TOTALLY GET ME.
Have you visited Good Youngman Brown? I find him very enchanting, not only because I love the name [and consider myself SO SUPERIOR AND SMART for thinking about Nathaniel Hawthorn when I read it - which, I need to think about Nathaniel Hawthorn more often, because for an old guy, he had some great stories] but also because he writes some completely brilliant posts - I'm linking to this most recent one because it slays me.
I know I'm not the best at keeping up on awards or even doing them right and I know that people tend to be kind of flip about these things - and from someone who is pretty flip about every goddamn thing, I get it.
But what I also know is that it is an amazing feeling to find that someone, somewhere finds your work interesting and entertaining enough to actually let people know about it. And that? Is pretty fantastic.
And so, in the spirit of not doing things right and letting people know about awesome blogs, can you, in the comments, let me know of a blog you love? I can't wait to read them.
I'm pretty sure this means I never have to eat lobster and also that I am much beloved by the Germans. Because they TOTALLY GET ME.
Have you visited Good Youngman Brown? I find him very enchanting, not only because I love the name [and consider myself SO SUPERIOR AND SMART for thinking about Nathaniel Hawthorn when I read it - which, I need to think about Nathaniel Hawthorn more often, because for an old guy, he had some great stories] but also because he writes some completely brilliant posts - I'm linking to this most recent one because it slays me.
I know I'm not the best at keeping up on awards or even doing them right and I know that people tend to be kind of flip about these things - and from someone who is pretty flip about every goddamn thing, I get it.
But what I also know is that it is an amazing feeling to find that someone, somewhere finds your work interesting and entertaining enough to actually let people know about it. And that? Is pretty fantastic.
And so, in the spirit of not doing things right and letting people know about awesome blogs, can you, in the comments, let me know of a blog you love? I can't wait to read them.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Are you kidding me?
This abomination was on my calendar on Wednesday. I ended up tearing it off and technically skipping March 7th because of it.
My mother-in-law gave me this calendar. Why does she hate me?
 |
| Way to fuck up my day, stupid calendar. |
My mother-in-law gave me this calendar. Why does she hate me?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
March Resolutions. Screw you, January.
So here are some things I've decided:
I'm done wearing eyeshadow. I put it on, and it looks o.k., and then it starts to feel like it's slowly, grain by microscopic grain, working its way into my eyeballs, and I spend the rest of the day with minorly itchy eyes, which I don't want to rub, because, cf: EYESHADOW, which would get even more grains in my eyes. I'm sticking to eyeliner, which, if I'm feeling fancy, I will pencil all the way up to my eyebrow line. I AM PRETTY.
March is going to be Pantry Month. Don't get all excited - I said PAN-TRY, not the unmentionables. I have hoarder-type tendencies, and the husband and I hate dealing with commerce and its attended yokels [seriously, I was at the grocery store yesterday, out running errands, like a normal person who does not have bits of scab still clinging to the incision in above her belly button, and of course it was me and every old person in my city who decided it was prime time to park their goddamn carts all over the place and that one old man/woman/?? who I kept running into - oh, no wait, he/she/?? kept running her cart into me and then one time TOUCHED MY PERSON and then also that old guy who snagged, no lie, like six of those little free food samples and was standing near the bags of Doritos (which I did NOT buy, much as I wanted to) snarfing them like he hadn't eaten in ages, which grossed me out and then made me feel bad, because maybe he hadn't eaten in ages, but seriously, put that shit in your pocket and take it home, old guy, no one wants to see your dentures flapping (YES, I KNOW I AM A BITCH AND I AM GOING TO HELL, I KNOW AND CAN'T HELP MYSELF) and it was all I could do not to scream] . . . what? Oh. Anyway, our house and fridge and freezer and separate stand up freezer is full of food and we are spending March working our way through it because as much as I can't stand dealing with people, I also don't like the idea that I have to toss food that I bought in a fit of good intention and then never used because the apocalypse never came. Also, we are two people and two cats and have enough food to feed the Brady Bunch. It's ridic.
I am a fucking writer, goddammit. I am a writer and I will FINISH what I have started and when I sell this book you all better buy a copy and pretend you like it because while I am a writer, I am also very, very needy and you better buck up and help a girl out so she doesn't have a major breakdown. Again.
I am going to start playing my flute again. I've signed up for flute lessons. I haven't played in years, really, but I used to like it and I used to be quite good at it, and I need to do something that isn't work or exercise or sorting through canned goods for a decent meal [who is coming over for chickpeas and evaporated milk? YUMMY!] and since no one will come over and talk shit about people with me, I'm going to play the flute.
That's what I've got so far. I've also got an award coming up that the super-fantastic Good Yougman Brown tossed my way, which I will post soon, but I wanted to tease you about it, because I AM SPECIAL AND YOU ARE NOT. Wait. That's more being a dick than teasing. Sorry. You're special, too. I swear.
I'm sorry. Here. Let me give you a bag of frozen peas to make it up to you.
I'm done wearing eyeshadow. I put it on, and it looks o.k., and then it starts to feel like it's slowly, grain by microscopic grain, working its way into my eyeballs, and I spend the rest of the day with minorly itchy eyes, which I don't want to rub, because, cf: EYESHADOW, which would get even more grains in my eyes. I'm sticking to eyeliner, which, if I'm feeling fancy, I will pencil all the way up to my eyebrow line. I AM PRETTY.
March is going to be Pantry Month. Don't get all excited - I said PAN-TRY, not the unmentionables. I have hoarder-type tendencies, and the husband and I hate dealing with commerce and its attended yokels [seriously, I was at the grocery store yesterday, out running errands, like a normal person who does not have bits of scab still clinging to the incision in above her belly button, and of course it was me and every old person in my city who decided it was prime time to park their goddamn carts all over the place and that one old man/woman/?? who I kept running into - oh, no wait, he/she/?? kept running her cart into me and then one time TOUCHED MY PERSON and then also that old guy who snagged, no lie, like six of those little free food samples and was standing near the bags of Doritos (which I did NOT buy, much as I wanted to) snarfing them like he hadn't eaten in ages, which grossed me out and then made me feel bad, because maybe he hadn't eaten in ages, but seriously, put that shit in your pocket and take it home, old guy, no one wants to see your dentures flapping (YES, I KNOW I AM A BITCH AND I AM GOING TO HELL, I KNOW AND CAN'T HELP MYSELF) and it was all I could do not to scream] . . . what? Oh. Anyway, our house and fridge and freezer and separate stand up freezer is full of food and we are spending March working our way through it because as much as I can't stand dealing with people, I also don't like the idea that I have to toss food that I bought in a fit of good intention and then never used because the apocalypse never came. Also, we are two people and two cats and have enough food to feed the Brady Bunch. It's ridic.
I am a fucking writer, goddammit. I am a writer and I will FINISH what I have started and when I sell this book you all better buy a copy and pretend you like it because while I am a writer, I am also very, very needy and you better buck up and help a girl out so she doesn't have a major breakdown. Again.
I am going to start playing my flute again. I've signed up for flute lessons. I haven't played in years, really, but I used to like it and I used to be quite good at it, and I need to do something that isn't work or exercise or sorting through canned goods for a decent meal [who is coming over for chickpeas and evaporated milk? YUMMY!] and since no one will come over and talk shit about people with me, I'm going to play the flute.
That's what I've got so far. I've also got an award coming up that the super-fantastic Good Yougman Brown tossed my way, which I will post soon, but I wanted to tease you about it, because I AM SPECIAL AND YOU ARE NOT. Wait. That's more being a dick than teasing. Sorry. You're special, too. I swear.
I'm sorry. Here. Let me give you a bag of frozen peas to make it up to you.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Eleventy Eleven
EverchangMotherhood from The Ever Changing Motherhood and the ever-lovely Kristy from Pampers and Pinot BOTH tagged me for this bit of internet homework. ARE YOU ALL JEALOUS? YOU SHOULD BE. Also, I LOVE homework. Here we go:
Rules:
1. Post these rules
1. Post these rules
2. You must post 11 random things about yourself
3. Answer the questions set for you in their post
4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer
5. Tag them on Twitter, Facebook or their blog
3. Answer the questions set for you in their post
4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer
5. Tag them on Twitter, Facebook or their blog
11 Things about me
1. I hate the smell of latex balloons.
2. I could eat popcorn until I burst.
3. I hate the smell of latex condoms. [Oh, come on. You knew that was coming.]
4. I have a Britney Spears Pandora station and I AM NOT ASHAMED.
5. My fuzzy slippers are decorated with crystals. OF COURSE THEY ARE.
6. I feel naked without nail polish.
7. I own a pin that says FUCK. Of course I do.
8. The husband and I consider True Romance one of the most romantic movies ever.
9. I made lemon bars the other day. They are DELICIOUS.
10. I idly contemplate how I could obtain Gianlorenzo Bernini's sculpture of David.
11. I am extremely impatient with technology.
5. My fuzzy slippers are decorated with crystals. OF COURSE THEY ARE.
6. I feel naked without nail polish.
7. I own a pin that says FUCK. Of course I do.
8. The husband and I consider True Romance one of the most romantic movies ever.
9. I made lemon bars the other day. They are DELICIOUS.
10. I idly contemplate how I could obtain Gianlorenzo Bernini's sculpture of David.
 |
| He puts the happy in my pants. |
Everchanging Motherhood's 11 Questions
1. What super power do you wish you had? The power to destroy idiocy.
2. What is your favorite movie? Right now, it's The Philadelphia Story.
3. What book are you reading right now? I'm reading Emma by Jane Austen. Again. LOVE!
4. If you could go back and change anything in your life, what would it be? I cannot narrow it down to one thing. I am a constant rue-er of every horrible mistake I've made.
5. Where is your favorite place to eat out? So. Dirty. Oh, you mean restaurant? Then I mean that diner that makes my favorite salad with chicken.
6. What is your dream job? Queen Ruler of the Universe.
7. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go? Paris. I've never been and I need to be there.
8. What is your favorite candy bar? Heath bars. YUM.
9. What is your favorite holiday? My birthday.
10, Are you a country person or city person? City. All the way.
11. What is your favorite color? Black.
Kristy's questions:
What do you think is the funniest movie of all time? Hmmm . . . I love Clueless and Clerks and Office Space and Shaun of the Dead and His Girl Friday. SO MANY CHOICES.
What is your most frequent, daily worry? That I'll be completely overwhelmed by panic and anxiety. Again.
Best travel destination? New York City, bitches.
Name one big adventure you would like to still accomplish. I'd love to take a trip around the world. Except not the nature-type places. Mostly just going to museums and restaurants and excellent hotels.
What is your favorite weekend activity? Swimming and then reading.
What could be a song on the soundtrack of your life? My theme song is Ice Cube's Wicked [youtube link] [PS Flea and Anthony Keidis are in this video - back when they used to be cool!]
When do you feel most energetic? In the morning. What the hell happened to me?
What book are you currently reading? I'm also reading Janet Evanovich's Love in a Nutshell. I need fluff.
What would be your luxury item if you went on Survivor? A plane ticket right the fuck out of there.
What is your favorite weekend activity? Swimming and then reading.
What could be a song on the soundtrack of your life? My theme song is Ice Cube's Wicked [youtube link] [PS Flea and Anthony Keidis are in this video - back when they used to be cool!]
When do you feel most energetic? In the morning. What the hell happened to me?
What book are you currently reading? I'm also reading Janet Evanovich's Love in a Nutshell. I need fluff.
What would be your luxury item if you went on Survivor? A plane ticket right the fuck out of there.
Biggest turn on in the opposite sex? That sexy time smile.
Biggest turn off in the opposite sex? Ear and back hair. Blergh.
My 11 Questions:
1. Do you hate baked potatoes, too?
2. Which are your favorite pair of shoes?
3. Michael Buble - sexy or sexiest? Show your work.
4. I'm still wiped out from surgery. Is there a pill I can take for energy? Or does meth only come in liquid form?
5. Do you still throw away cans when you don't feel like cleaning them for recycling? Neither do I.
6. What's the grossest thing you've eaten?
7. What does your journal look like?
8. Why do you still have that t-shirt that you never wear?
9. What have you spilled on someone else?
10. What color would you love your house to be?
11. If you could spy on someone, who would it be?
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