This interviewy thing has been on the webbernets for awhile. In fact, I’ve had these questions, thoughtfully provided by Restaurant Refugee and Sexy, Single and Celibate, for several weeks. But I’m only now getting to them. *sigh*
If you’d like to play along, just follow these instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. And I will probably take my sweet time constructing them.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions. Be sure you link back to the original post.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
It may be too soon for you to conduct a “lessons learned” exercise from The eCrush Chronicles, but what are your immediate take aways from the experience? And did the blog attention (your most comments ever) help or hurt?
You mean take aways aside from all the interesting things I found when I googled “I now sympathize with Lorena Bobbit?” Or the list of Top Ten Signs Your Boyfriend Is Gay, which I plan to distribute amongst my nearest and dearest?
The recent blog silence was the result of two things: 5.25 days spent on the couch, recovering from a Hell-spawned version of influenza, and because I have been reeling from the emotional fall out of The eCrush Chronicles. My time with eCrush was the most profound, impacting relationship of my life and the manner in which it ended was something I was in no way prepared for. During the last few weeks, I’ve been vacillating between Bitter, Party Of One and Acute Emotional Denial. But things exploded Saturday; we had a Confrontation with a Gigantor Big C. Epic turned short, I am walking away from The eCrush Chronicles with a renewed sense of self-worth. The last few days have shown me that I trust myself enough to leave a relationship that is fundamentally unhealthy; I will not stay simply because I am “loved.” I’m worth more than that. It’s all very Girl Power.
As for the comment love, it’s strangely empowering to realize that should I ever need it, there is a lynch mob at my disposal. Bonus is they bring their own shovels.
You describe yourself as certifiably Midwestern sexy. List all of the things that make you feel Washingtonian sexy.
If we were to take Bionic Kitty out for too many vodka and catnips, what would she tell us about you?
Despite her taxing schedule of Power Naps and Guerilla Bird Watching, Bionic Kitty decided to answer this.
I would like to take this opportunity to clarify: my alleged suicide attempts are not an indication of a stupid or otherwise fool-hardy personality. Instead, they are calculated acts of vengeance. You see, years ago, Big Lady posted pictures of me hanging out in her pants. She thought it was simply documentation of my amusing and playful personality. However, I feel she breached the trustful nature of the pet/owner relationship. Plus, I resented her implications that I am portly. Of course I engaged in immediate retribution and retaliation at the time; I brought a hairball up on her favorite carpet. Yet Big Lady didn’t take the hint and continued to over-share about my antics. If anything, she’s become more prolific. In turn, I reacted with more hairballs and assorted acts of destruction. It’s been several years, and Big Lady continues to publicly humiliate me, I continue to seek vengeance, and we’ve become trapped in a Circle of Hate. Still, I will not be the one to capitulate. As long as Big Lady documents my behavior on her blog, especially if she does so in an unflattering and/or humiliating manner, I will remain engaged in a stealth War Of Terror. Also, I will continue until she apologizes for the damage to my sensibilities. Treats will be accepted in lieu of a verbal apology.
Recently, I’ve found my Campaign of Evil has been particularly successful as demonstrated by Big Lady’s verbal reaction. Experience has taught me that she has a hierarchy of annoyance. If she mumbles nonsense about returning me to the Pet Rescue, claiming that she still has the receipt, then I’ve not registered on her aggrevation meter. I consider my endeavors more successful if she breaks out a four letter word. If there’s volume involved, or maybe some carpet cleaner, I also deem that a victory. But the real jackpot is when Big Lady combination cusses. At times of severe displeasure, usually involving the destruction of property or extensive clean up, she creates variations on existing expletives. For example, the time I drank toilet bowl cleaner and she had to make me projectile vomit? During that episode, she called me a Fuckity Ass Bitchoid and repeatedly stated that poison control should no longer help with pets. Or this morning, when I jumped on her from atop the fridge and she dropped the jug of orange juice all over her favorite shoes, she chased me while screaming that I was a Satanic Whoralicious Assfaced Monkey Spawn and if I gave her a heart attack, nobody would known for days and how would I like a prolonged period of starvation? Yep, I know I’ve done quality work when she combines bad language in new and interesting ways. Snarky comments and eye-rolling are a bonus.
Also, as Big Lady has mortified me continuously since the inception of her blog, I have chosen to engage in a little tit-for-tat and share the following:
- She farts in her sleep. Copiously and at near toxic levels.
- She sings in the shower. Her current repertoire is heavy on Ashlee Simpson, Seal, Debbie Gibson and pre-crack Whitney Huston.
- She has not done laundry in at least three weeks. I suspect she’s wearing dirty granny panties today.
- She recenlty fished a piece of cake out of the garbage can and ate it. She claimed it was a PMS related chocolate emergency but there’s no excuse. Behavior like that’s just nasty.
Finally I think you should know that I do not support the latest Household Diet Initiative. Just because Big Lady is depriving herself of carbs does not mean we all must suffer. And she needs to give the litter box more attention.
Yours respectfully, etc.
Your commute is full of horror stories and people. What prejudgments do you think your fellow commuters make about you? Please answer for both the tourists and the locals if there is a difference.
I’d like to think I am a well-mannered, seemingly innocuous member of the Commutership who doesn’t warrant any form of prejudgment aside from the occasional speculation about what’s in my Mary Poppins sized bag.
2009 hands you an unexpected, wrapped gift with a large bow. What is inside? You then have to gift this box anonymously to someone else. To whom do you give it and what is inside?
The contents include:
- An endless supply of Diet Coke (it’s the box that just keeps on giving).
- Lifetime OSU Football Tickets with accompanying airfare, approved time off, and reserved tailgating spot.
- A case of some itchy, reoccurring, penis-shrinking VD that I can magically infect eCrush with.
- Ten minutes to do a Supermarket Sweep type thingie in the Nordstroms shoe department at Tysons.
- The ability to cut the Chop’t lunch line.
- A regenerating pile of cash, in large denominations.
- A nifty new apartment in the District, tricked out in Yuppie-meets-Hipster type furnishings and flat screen TVs.
- An all-expense-paid trip to someplace tropical where straight men in banana-hammocks will serve me fruity drinks, decorate my hair with exotic orchids and spritz me with Evian.
- Joss Whedon and/or Michael Rosenbaum, mine for one hour, to with whatever I please.
For her unflagging gChatting and general emotional propping up, Are You Really A Lawyer would get the Box ‘o’ Love. The contents would be remarkably similar. Except she’d probably want different fantasy men and she might skip the VD.
Bonus: This has been a hot threesome between you, Restaurant Refugee, and SingleGirl. If RR and SG weren’t available, who would you pick to complete your threesome?
Can I plead the Fifth? Gah! FINE.
Veronica Mars and Chuck Bass. But only if there was Reddiwip.