Susan, who is my heroine this morning for providing me some light-hearted blog fodder I can work on while I'm still giddy from the paint fumes, asked me some fun stuff!
Boxers or briefs?
Seriously, y'all. One of my work friends who was pregnant about (I can't believe it's been this long) SIX years ago let me in on a little secret.
ARE MADE TO BE COMFORTABLE.
Wha? Are you KIDDING ME?
Yeah, no -- seriously. In fact (have you looked at men's underwear? They certainly aren't made to be aesthetically pleasing), I would say comfort may very well be NUMBER ONE on the list of design elements for men's underpants. Durability, it would appear, falls way down low on that same list, judging by how quickly they go from new to shabby, but I won't embarrass my husband by providing an in-depth report on how I came to that particular conclusion.
What I WILL tell you's that this particular friend of mine shared with me at the time that during the latter stages of pregnancy she frequently ditched her own undies and wore her husband's all-cotton boxer briefs, and that their construction and softness made them perfect for the shape of a woman reaching the pinnacle of late-stage gestation. Oh yes. And she was right. And there's been wrastlin' betwixt Al and me on the carpet in front of his underpants drawer lately, and I've won every time, such is my determination to at-the-very-least SLEEP in the luxury of expanded bump-and-bum capacity and the absence of elastic anything.
Do you follow politics?
Oh yes, very closely. And in my opinion, the best president this country ever had, by a vast, wide margin, was President Josiah Edward Bartlet.
What's your biggest regret?
Waitaminute! How'd THAT get into this lighthearted mix?
I'm not much of a regretter, frankly. At this stage in my life, I can see pretty clearly that the mistakes I've made and their subsequent painful, or merely inconvenient, fall-out have served as valuable lessons for me and also for the other poor saps who suffer the benefit of my wise-and-not-always-solicited counsel. I pity my kids already for the hours they're gonna spend listening to the meandering tales of failure and redemption I'll be layin' on 'em in the interest of helping them not make the mistakes I made. Which inevitably they'll do anyway. I'm in touch with that.
When I goof up, (which I do often and have a long track record of doing my whole life long), I try to seek forgiveness, from God, from others I've hurt, and from myself. And then it's time to move on and not make that particular mistake again. Hopefully. Because I'm a creative person, I'll come up with a WHOLE NEW WAY to screw up next time.
Also, even my darkest moments have served in some way to bring me to where and who I am now, and I kinda like where and who I am now, so in a way I can even embrace those parts of my past as blessings.
But here's one thing: I do regret the pain and worry that I've caused other people when I've made poor choices. Deeply.
What's your favorite cuss word or do you use them?
OHMYGRANNY. I suppose I have used them all, in the past, in all sorts of vivid and colorful combinations. I worked in a male-dominated industry, full of crass but hilarious menfolk who expressed things in ways that my heretofore naive little mind had never-ever imagined possible. I picked up some phrases and tweaked them to suit my own personal preferences and beliefs (leaving out religious references as well as woman-hating language) and made them my own. They helped me deal with stress in a way that was comedic enough that just saying 'em I'd begin to see the lighter side of the situation. I'm not telling you any of those, and Mom, if you are reading this, I wrote it merely to seem human and fallible (because my fallibility isn't transparent enough here on the blog, you know?), but you and I both know I've never uttered a cuss-word in my life, right? Right Mom? And you haven't either, dammit!
Now that I live with Polly-the-Parrot, I rarely let loose an expletive that wasn't made famous by Mork from Ork (SHAZBOT!) or Richie Cunningham (Golly Gee Whiz, Fonzie!) although on occasion I slip up and let out a milder version of an all-time favorite worty dird. The other day, Bean dropped a ball or something outside and I heard her opine vehemently as it rolled down the street into the road.
Crapped me right up, y'all.
What are some of your pet peeves?
Oh that's an EASY ONE. Mouth noises. I can't stand chewing, mouth-breathing, spitty sounds, clicking, gum-popping, anything like that. Mouth noises drive me absolutely out of my TREE. Always have. And it's so inconvenient, because people? They will MAKE the mouth noises. And this causes me a great deal of consternation at social functions that involve eating, drinking or, you know BREATHING. I'm always trying to find a location at the table or in the room away from the mouth noises. And sometimes I just can't. (Airplanes come to mind. Trapped in a sea of mouths, all crunching and chewing away on gum, tiny little bags of pretzels, and/or their attendant fingernails.) Which means I have to find a way to excuse myself until I am feeling less insane. (As you might imagine, that can take awhile.)
I have a LONG list of pet peeves. I'm excruciatingly peeve-able. Maybe I'll write a post about 'em all one day.
Is there a food that you absolutely hate?
That is VERY TOUGH. I've been pondering this question for weeks now. IS there a food I hate? There are foods I haven't TRIED because the though of eating them is revolting to me, like chitterlings (chittlin's) or calf brains or tripe or most other organ meats, but is it fair for me to say I HATE those, when I haven't even tasted them? My sensibilities say no.
Y'all know I LOVE food. They comprise a pretty lengthy and diverse roster - the things I'll eat. I'm definitely not finicky.
I don't much care for eggs, although I eat them anyway. It's a texture thing. And the fact that they get cold SO FAST. Why do eggs get cold so much quicker than everything else on my plate? Why is that? I can't figure it out. Bacon? Sizzlin'! Grits? Steamin' away! Toast? Warm enough to melt butter! Eggs? Stone cold.
Al points out I don't really love bratwurst. Oh, and I don't love knockwurst, either.
Never a huge fan of salmon croquettes. Or hot tuna casserole, although I could eat cold tuna salad all day long.
Oh, and I don't like congealed, molded Jell-O® salads. Those are pretty much a scourge on humanity, in my opinion.
But that, my friends, is another post altogether, because there's way more hilarity in the subject of Jell-O® Brand Congealed Molded Salads than can be tacked on to the bottom of this one.
And you know it, people.