Welcome again to another edition of Friday Facts and Fiction, where I address your questions by telling the truth, lying pathologically, or sometimes both. This is not altogether different than my blog entries in general, but I do address your questions in some way…. Anyway. Onward!
Kym asks many things:
… how did my pits smell?
Well, I did remember to put deodorant on this morning, but it’s been a long day…. (Truth.)
… am I nervous about my surgery?
No. (Fiction.) Yes. (Fact.) Shut up.
… what am I most nervous about?
Hospital food. (Fiction.) Want it straight up? Dying. That’s my big full-out-uncontrolled-anxiety fear, though not a very realistic one I guess. It’s something I can’t help considering when undergoing something like this… not because it would be such a tragedy to me (I mean, I wouldn’t know, right?) but because the thought of my kids growing up without me (read: being raised by the ex) terrifies me. The more realistic fear is of being alone and miserable when I get out of the hospital. Most of the time I am fine with being single. Times like this? I feel very sorry for myself. (Truth; I’m pitiful.)
… whatever happend with my thoughts about going back to school? Where do I stand with that?
Already did it. I’m a lawyer now. (Fiction, though that really would’ve come in handy during the divorce….)
Kym was privvy to my Big Plan over the winter, when I decided to go back to school to become a radiologic technologist. The program is two years of intense study, followed by licensure and then, decent money, normal hours, and high employability. It all sounded good to me. Unfortunately, the only program in my state is over an hour away, I missed the deadline for 2004 and was told I was “welcome to apply for 2005,” and due to the way my post-divorce arrangements came out, waiting another year made it virtually impossible, financially. Now there are ways I could make it work (thanks, Dad), but I’m not sure I’m willing to wait three years for my new career. I’m exploring other avenues (not that any of them have led anywhere, yet, but who knows). And to be perfectly honest, there is a very indignant, snobby portion of my brain insisting “I already have plenty of degrees!” (Fact.)
Milady Zoot asks:
… did I remember deodorant?
Yep, see above. For all the good it did me. (Fact, ambiguous though it may be.)
… how long have I ever gone without wearing deodorant?
Once, I went for, like, 11 years! (Fact!!) But after that, puberty hit, and I’ve worn it every day since. (Gotcha.) I hope you enjoyed your hippy phase, but I have always been freakishly fastidious about personal hygiene, because I just find the alternative too scary. It’s one of the reasons I could never go on Survivor. By the third day I’d be a quivering heap, sobbing for antibacterial soap.
… what’s the last item of clothing I bought?
A red leather cat suit. Meow! (Fiction; I know you’re all stunned.) Okay, just in case you didn’t think I was pitiful from my answer to Kym, above, here’s your chance. I last bought… a package of white socks. Hanes. So, who wants to come clubbing with me? (Boring Fact.)
The ever-sex-crazed (what up with that, girl??) Debby wants to know:
… have I ever had sex in a car?
Could you be more specific… like, type of car, number of partners? (You know, my Dad hasn’t commented on here in a while. This sort of thing may be why.) Okay, sorry, nope. (Fact.)
… what’s my favorite kind of cereal?
Grape Nuts. (Fiction!! God, I want to vomit just typing it. Whose bright idea was it to market dirt-flavored gravel as food???) Hmmmm. Honestly I love most cereals. I’m Seinfeldian, that way. Oddly enough, one of my favorites right now is Grape Nut Os, which taste nothing like their predecessor. (Fact.)
… favorite holiday?
Don’t even feel like coming up with an interesting lie for this one. It’s Christmas, hands down. That’s what happens when a little Jewish girl grows up and converts, I guess. (Fact.)
… what KIND of deodorant do I use?
Teen Spirit, of course! (Fiction, but I have been waiting years to tell someone that!) I am currently using Arrid Total in “cool shower” scent. I switch between that and Secret Platinum Unscented depending on what’s on sale and what coupons I have. (Fact, and now you can be just like me, right down to the armpits! Yay!)
Dear Chewie asks:
… do I wear make-up much?
Only when I’m awake. (Fiction.) I have never been much for make-up. I wear it–lightly–for special occasions, only, and no matter how many Mary Kay parties I go to or how many times I’m roped into someone “doing my face,” I just can’t get into smearing all that stuff everywhere. I mean, yeah, sometimes I like the way it looks, but it seems like too much trouble. (Fact.)
… do I have many people to really trust?
Trust no one. Did you learn nothing from The X-Files, woman??? (Fiction.) I trust different people for different things, you know? But I am blessed right now. I may still be lousy at asking for help, but it is always there when I need it. (Fact.)
… do I ever wear a thong?
Nah. I never wear underwear. (Fiction! Can you imagine me with my clean issues, going commando? Frightening.) I do wear thongs when necessary to eliminate panty lines. I hate them. Everyone says, if you find the right one it’s nice and comfy; as a result, I now own about 8 different thongs, none of which I like. And why is it that the less fabric panties contain, the more expensive they are? Sorry, that’s another rant for another day…. (Fact.)
And last but certainly not least, Jennifer asks:
… do I have a crush on anyone?
Someone asked this on a previous Friday (Debby?), and I said no. Then I thought about it some more and decided that was pitiful, so I am now making a more concerted effort to find men to drool over. (Fact? Fiction? Even I’m not sure, on this one.)
… how long do I take to get ready to go somewhere?
About three hours. (Fiction!) Hmmm. From shower to out-the-door, including blow-drying my hair, about 50 minutes if I’m trying to look nice. But I don’t wash my hair every day, and I don’t shave my legs every day, and I’m rarely trying to look anything other than dressed, so there’s a lot of variables involved. My skills in this area aren’t put to the test very often, ya know. (Fact.)
… what do my kids call me?
Her Royal Majesty Queen Mother. (Fiction, but maybe I’ll work on that one….) They call me Mama, although if the whining gets bad it sounds more like “Moooooooooooooooooomaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!” Also, Chickadee is at that adorable age when she thinks it’s hilarious to call me by my first name in the stern voice of a librarian who just sucked some helium, so that’s an interesting twist on things…. (Fact. How do I make her stop??)
Okay, that concludes this week’s installment. As always, thanks for playing! Please don’t let any of the information herein bother you. Discontinue use if rash occurs.