I have opted to play a d-land game, inspired by my little pornax poppet, Mare. Here is the skinny: She asks me five questions. And then I answer them. I gather that she answered someone ELSE'S questions before she started soliciting her own question-askees, which makes me think that I am supposed to make the same offer. Therefore, write me or note me or book me if you want five questions, posed by yours truly, to be placed in your guestbook/other convenient receptacle, for you to answer in your own diary.
I will have you know, that part of the game is what scares me. I am near-certain that I will not be capable of imagining questions even half as wonderful as those from Miss Mare. Apply to the Questions Game at your own risk. At any rate, here we go:
1.As a child, what freaked you right the hell out?
The space underneath my bed. Every night when I was going to sleep, I would stand in the hallway, turn off the lightswitch just inside my bedroom door, back up a few steps, and leap onto my bed, so as not to allow my oh-so-fragile footsies to come anywhere NEAR that horrible yawning chasm. For some reason, I was convinced that it was full of witches. This also created my sleeping posture: I would start out by curling up on my side into a tighter and tighter fetal position, and eventually roll over so my knees were directly beneath my chin and my butt stuck up into the air. My mom has several pictures. Do not ask. You will never see them.
2.What's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you? Describe.
My friends do wonderful things for me all the time, from recognizing that my ego constantly craves both attention and compliments which they provide to my eager Leonine self, to watching movies with me every night for a week and then recognizing my need to briefly become a hermit, to being wonderful sparkly scintillating hilarious and fantastic people who thankfully let me hang out with them. There is not one single nicest thing I think I could pick, aside from maybe how it was really MIND-NUMBINGLY nice for my mom to have me in the first place, not to mention still be nice to me after some of the not-so-nice things I did when I was a few years younger.
3.If someone said to you that tomorrow, you have to go to work, but not to the job you've got now, but rather any job in the world - where would you be punching in in the morning? And why?
Oh, this is tough. I am going to assume that this mythical scenario also includes a magical matter transporter, so I can still live in New York and work wherever I like. I think I would either be working as a chef in a restaurant in London, or I would be an art restorer in Venice, or I would be a librarian in Paris. Or I would be on an archaeological dig in Scotland, or maybe Egypt. Or I would be creating costumes for a play, or I would be rehearsing to be in a play, or I would be in the makeup chair preparing for my next scene of the best movie of 2004, in which I deliver what critics consider to be the single most inspiring speech by a movie hero in the history of film. As for why? I have always kind of had a conflict between my desire to a) be intellectual and artistic and quiet, and b) my desire to have every single fucking person in the world to know my name and love me.
4. Any sordid plans for the weekend? If so, describe. If not, why not?
My plans for the weekend are anything but sordid. I fully intend to spend Saturday baking cinnamon rolls with absurdly thick cream-cheese frosting and maybe some orange zest, drinking tea, and reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Sunday will be much the same, except possibly replacing the cinnamon rolls with an omelet involving goat cheese and maybe shallots, and replacing the tea with massively strong coffee. Sunday night, Little Owl and I will finally be picking up Sea from the airport, on the very last leg of his journey, and escorting him safely HOME to Brooklyn. I tend to discover that my weekends were much more sordid before my Flexible arrived on the scene. I think most of my past sordid behavior was an attempt to find someone pretty to bring home with me, and, well. It is hardly necessary anymore -- I already have a boy who makes my heart leap every time I see him and who has the ability to make me get teary-eyed on occasion just thinking about how happy I am to be seeing him later that day. There is nothing else I want.
5. What food could you just not live without, and why does it make you so happy?
Wow. Mare is not pulling any punches here, is she? I am supposed to select one food, without which I would not want to live? Is there any possible way to narrow this down? There are Scotch Eggs, the very first meal I ever had at a restaurant on my own and which are probably single-handedly responsible for my raging independence. Pot Roast, for reminding me of every Sunday until I was almost 10. My herb-roasted turkey with shallots that I have made a staple at my Thanksgiving table, because it is amazing and also creates the best gravy known to man. Veuve Clicquot champagne, for reminding me of the wild importance of decadence. Gelato bought on the streets of Venice. Soups beginning with the phrase "Cream of..." Power-C Vitamin Water. Fried-egg sandwiches with just-toasted bread and a layer of actual mayo and completely liquid yolks. Puff pastry on virtually anything. Malt vinegar, which I have been known to drink straight on occasion. Very rare grilled tuna steak. And thick earthy mushrooms, and creamy crumbly divine blue cheeses, neither of which I will eat when Flexible is around (as he is deathly allergic to both), and as a result I like even more when I get to sneak a few bites of either while he is away.
And thus. My magical experiment into the world of Question-Answering comes to an end. Actually...that was rather fun. If anyone ELSE wants to ask me questions, please. Feel free. Really. That was fun! Hip, hip, HOORAY!