Wow, I got lots of questions this week! Ordinarily I work on the post throughout the day and then publish sometime late afternoon… but out of sheer fear that if I wait there will be a couple dozen more questions, I’m putting it up early, today.
Genuine asks, what would be my ultimate job?
I’ve always wanted to be a particle physicist, on account of my deep love for math and small, sterile laboratories. (Fiction.)
I’ve love to actually earn a living writing. Any publishers or wealthy, handsome men out there reading this? “Will write for cash!” I know this comes as a huge shock, because there are so few bloggers who are wannabe-writers… (Fact, well except for the bloggers wanting to be writers bit.)
My true love Kira asks…
… what was the worst thing that happened to me this week?
This. stupid. migraine. I’d love to come up with a creative lie but I am far too busy screaming at my little packages of Axert, “WHY?? Why have you forsaken me so and stopped working on the evil headache that has taken over my brain????”
… what was the best thing that happened to me this week?
Monkey waking up dry that one day. It gave me hope that he may be nighttime potty trained before college. (Fiction; well, it did give me hope, but it’s not the best thing that happened to me this week.) Actually, the best thing that’s happened to me this week, my dear Kira, is getting you onto IM. I haven’t laughed so hard in a verrrrrry long time. (Fact, and not just because you asked the question.)
… what’s my first memory?
There’s a very prominent memory of mine, and I don’t know how old I was… but young enough to be in a highchair, which is where I was… and my mother was screaming something about “no more wire hangers”…. (Fiction, and if my mother reads this I am so dead.) Okay, seriously: I don’t know if it’s my very earliest memory, but it’s certainly one of them. My mom put me down for a nap (and I was in a regular bed from quite a young age, due to my habit of climbing out of the crib) and when she came back to check on me, I was gone. Panic and various scrambling ensued–including a hysterical phone call to my father, and him rushing home–but I, of course, knew none of this until later. What I remember was thinking that it was too bright in my room, and that it was nice and cozy and dark in my closet. I can easily conjure the memory of the closet door opening and waking me up. I was quite pleased with myself, and didn’t understand why my mother was so upset. (Fact, and this story is the second-most-told in the Chronicles Of What A Difficult Child Miriam Was. The first-most-told is about the day I decided to wash my hair with Desitin.)
… what color are my bath towels?
Black. All black. (Fiction.) Ummmm… the ones in my bathroom are all either slate blue or lavender. The ones in the kids’ bathroom tend to be Buzz Lightyear and Disney Princess colored. And last but not least, the guest towels tend to be whatever-I-received-as-random-wedding-gifts colored. Hmmm. Might be time to invest in some new towels. (Fact, and now I would like to know how this knowledge will enrich your life.)
… how many televisions will be delivered before I demand a refund?
I just invented the entire television saga because I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. (Fiction, but oh how I wish it was fact.) Honestly, if I still had the original TV, I would’ve given up on this after the second delivery. But I don’t, because I am a moron, so at this point I pretty much have to just hang on until I get a working TV. At which point I plan to make a big stink until they give me a discount or a gift card or something, because this has been ridiculous. (Fact.)
Chewie is just chock-full of questions despite having given surprise birth less than two weeks ago and now being a mom to 4 under 6. Knock it off; you’re making us lesser moms look bad! Ahem. Anyway…
… would I say I have good days/bad days or good hours/bad hours?
What makes you think I have anything but bad; have you seen the way I whine around here? (Fiction. It is. Shut UP.) Hmm. I think I tend towards good/bad days. I’m a champion grudge-holder, and that extends into taking a bit of time to break out of a funk. That’s not to say that I couldn’t have something good happen in what is otherwise a lousy day, but I do tend to categorize the entire day based on my overriding mood. (Fact.)
… how many days until school starts?
Too many. Way. too. many. (Fiction.) Would you believe, I don’t actually know? This is the first year Chickadee will be in public school, and her packet of info had everything we’d need to know except the date that school starts! Our town publishes the school calendar and bus schedules in the local paper sometime in August. So I’ll know then. Until then? “Sometime around Labor Day” is my best guess. (Fact.)
… tell me more about that woman who had a baby and didn’t even KNOW she was preggers!
Well, Chewie, I love nothing more than to talk about this friend of mine and the miracle of her mystery illness turning out to be a perfectly adorable baby boy. But I also think that if the lady in question has time to be hanging out on my blog, this indicates two things. 1) She truly is Superwoman, and 2) She needs her own blog, to tell her own story. Also, you’re a nut and I love you!! (Fact, baby!)
Hula Doula is also full of questions! Like…
… have I always been a natural beauty?
Er, sure thing. People often mistake me for Cindy Crawford. (Fiction, and, um, bwahahahahaaaaaaaa!) Well, let’s see. I’m a little confused here. If by “natural” you mean “eschewing make-up and most other time-consuming and expensive beauty efforts because I am a lazyass,” then yes, I have. If you mean “natural beauty” as in, I am actually beautiful, then I would like some of what you’re smoking, please. Heh. I have always been thin–through no fault of my own, might I add, as I have a very deep relationship with all manner of junk food–so my theory has always been, at least I’m thin! As in: I hate my hair… oh well, at least I’m thin! I cannot believe I still have acne in my 30s… oh well, at least I’m thin! Etc. Someday my metabolism will slow down and I’ll blow up like a blimp and have a nervous breakdown. (Fact.)
… why do I make her laugh so hard with my brilliant writing?
Mostly, because I live to serve and entertain my fellow humans. (Fiction.) Mostly, because you are very easily amused. Which I really appreciate, by the way. (Fact!)
… am I sugared up good now?
Alas, the migraine makes me nauseous, so other than sipping at my trusty ice water, there’s not a lot of chocolate gluttony happening here (yet another reason to be sad…). (Fact.)
… do I need a hug?
Always! And unlike Monkey, I bet you won’t try to cop a feel after you hug me, either. (Fact, I hope.)
… why haven’t I told my damn doctor to change me to 1mg Vivelle Dot like my smart friend Kym keeps telling me to do?
Because I am really enjoying this feeling of pain-mixed-with-imminent-insanity, of course. (Fiction.) I dunno, Kym. Sometimes I think I’m just not very bright. I have a very hard time asking doctors for help, even when I know I need it. For something as intangible as balancing out my hormones, I fear that I will just be told to “wait a little bit longer” and I keep thinking I shouldn’t make a nuisance of myself until it’s critical (I don’t want to be the boy who cried wolf, er, the woman who cried not enough estrogen). But rest easy; I have an appointment to see the doc this afternoon, and I plan to lay it all on the line. Let’s hope she has some answers. (Fact. Wish me luck.)
… do I get a little halo light effect with my migraines?
Silly. I have a halo all the time! (*snort*) Um, I’ve always called it an aura, but I think we’re talking about the same thing, yes. When it’s really bad, everything I look at appears to be covered in fluorescent cilia. Delightful. (Fact, though not actually delightful in the conventional sense.)
… if I were a fruit, what fruit would I be?
Heehee. I think I’d like to be grapes (a single grape?). They’re versatile. You’ve got grapes, which are yummy, anyway. Then, you can also have raisins. And more importantly, you can have wine. If only I were so multi-purpose! (Fact, because it’s striking me as more amusing than any fiction I could come up with.)
Janet is getting all serious on me, wanting to know whether I would choose to eat all the foods I like but have to become a Satanist or be stuck with foods I hate but get to remain a Christian.
Janet, hon? Did I mention that I’ve had a migraine for about 6 days, now? Are you trying to kill me? Okay. Hmmm. I think I’ve gotta go with sucky food, because as much as I like to transfer all my needs for acceptance and affection onto my snacks, I don’t think I could completely reorganize my brain to jive with Satanism. Plus, many amazing things have happend in my life that I believe wouldn’t have been possible without God. I’m guessing that after a while Jesus would reward my choice and send me some Oreos. (Fact, mostly kinda.)
Tani asks, if my ex asked me to get back together, would I laugh in his face or run away screaming?
What do you mean? If he asked I’d be ecstatic! (Fiction! That was actually hard to type.) Neither. I’m pretty sure I would either vomit or pass out, or maybe both. (Fact.)
Lisa wants to know if I’d like to help her blow up the cable company.
Lisa, that sort of violence only increases the violent dischord of the world we live in. I’m shocked and disappointed that you would even suggest such a thing. (Fiction.) Let’s be civilized (read: sneaky) about this. I’m thinking more along the lines of a little bit of voodoo resulting in all of them having migraines for a week. That would bring them to their knees, and then they’d be ripe for our demands. (Fact. Do you know anyone who knows voodoo?)
Debby asks–in an effort to be less of a wiseass–which famous actress would I like to be, and why?
Uh… Deb? You are now officially both a wiseass and senile, because not only did I answer this already, you were the one who asked!! (If you’re too lazy to go back to the original post, my answer was Glenn Close.)
Julia asks about casting for the movie of my life, but I will have to plead the 5th on that one, rather than risk offending anybody. She also asks, what room would I have redone on Trading Spaces and what would I like to see?
Ohhhhh that’s a hard one. You know, I just loved that “Prisoners of Love” bedroom that Doug did…. (FICTION! Crap; there goes my dad, again.) I’d be hard-pressed to decide between my kitchen and my family room. My kitchen is decorated in cheap, chintzy, early-70s-meets-country and could use a serious overhaul. I would love to have stainless steel appliances, corian counters, no more baskets-of-fruit wallpaper, and all of that sort of stuff. On the other hand, with just me and the kids, I’m not exactly spending a ton of time dishing up gourmet meals. The family room sports some very poorly-designed built-ins that could probably be re-engineered to actually hide most of the small ones’ mess and give the illusion of a nice room. Plus this whole area is beige. Yawn! (Fact, but who would I swap with? I need to start meeting more of the neighbors.)
Sheryl and Aurora are debating my living space: small New England Victorian, or large apartment with wood floors?
Don’t look now, but I’m typing on my laptop from down in your basement right now! (SQUEEE SQUEEE SQUEEE!) (Fiction, though that’d make an interesting if totally formulaic geek thriller movie.) Sorry, you’re both incorrect. I live in a largish, unimaginative, boxy colonial… as does everyone else in my neighborhood. No, they don’t all live in my house, we just all have basically the same house. (Though it is in New England, so Sheryl gets some points, there; and it does have wood floors, so points to Aurora!) I once discussed how this house is really too large for us, now, but the market here is such that it would cost too much to move somewhere smaller. And as I have lived in this house longer than any place else in my life save for my childhood home, I am rather attached to it. I hope y’all can still love me even though I am so rude as to not live in the digs you’d imagined. (Fact.)
Aurora also asks if I am happy.
Let’s just say that I’m happier. Happy is definitely in my sights, and sometimes (though fleetingly) in my grasp. I’m the sort of person who might not recognize happy if it walked up and smacked me in the face, so this is more progress for me than someone of a more zen-like persuasion might realize. (Fact.)
Liz has bugs on the brain. Poor Liz. She asks if I have ever eaten chocolate covered crickets, have I eaten any type of chocolate bug ever, and if I did, would I do it again?
Yes, yes, and absolutely. They’re better than Nestle Crunch bars, I tell you. (Fiction… gaggy, gaggy fiction.) The real answers are: No, NO, and PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS BEFORE I PUKE! Ahem. Thank you for playing. (Fact.)
That concludes this week’s installment of “Friday Facts and Fiction.” Today’s rendition was brought to you by the letter Q and the number 13. No animals were harmed in the making of this blog.