Fellow blogger and big fan here.
A little background. My blog is http://payattentionto.blogspot.com and has been growing a lot lately - people go crazy for the Jersey Shore and Real Housewives entries to name a couple (no big) (ok, ok, big). P.S., I link out to you as a Favorite - mwah.
Anhyoozles, I got to thinking that the time you did a Q&A post was hilarious. Thought it would be fun to send you some Q's for you to consider answering for a future post on your blog. Would also be honored if I could include it a duplicate on mine - but totally fine if you'd prefer not to. Self-promotion is not the underlying intent. Swears. You don't even have to mention a name at all if that's better for you.
Oh man. I know it's completley self-indulgent to want to answer these questions, but frankly, my brain still hurts from so selflessly fighting to find
the cause a possible cause of Landing Boner, so I think I deserve this little cerebral break. Right? Right. Take it away, Fellow Blogger.
Q: What's it like now that your sister is married? Any awkward moments?
Q: What's it like now that your sister is married? Any awkward moments?
A: To be 100% honest with you, my sister's marriage hasn't affected my life in the slightest. IS IT SUPPOSED TO?! I mean, she wasn't at Christmas dinner this year because she was away on her honeymoon, so I guess that was weird. But then again it wasn't, because Andrew of the Great Juno Debate came as her proxy. I made him strap on a brown wig and roughhouse with me on the carpet for a while, so it was kind of like she was there. Andrew really was a good sport about the whole thing. Some say he got too into it, some say not enough. Only time will tell.
And as far as awkward moments go, I think the most awkward thing that ever happened between me and Geoff actually happened last Fall when he and Becca were still engaged. Helena, Laura, and I were about to leave for our big camping excursion, but I needed to swing by the bar Geoff manages part-time to get the key to his truck first. Geoff is like this all-American, cornhusking, sturdy, frat boy. He calls waiters "Boss" and ladies "babe" or "beh-beh". God only knows what motivated me to do this, but as I took the keys from him and prepared to say goodbye, I decided that that would be the perfect time to jump on his terms of endearment bandwagon and call him "babe". Again, I don't really know what I was thinking. Sometimes I'm afraid I come off as uppity and stand-offish to him, so I think I was trying to be like, "SEE?! SEE?! I CAN BE FUN AND LAID BACK TOO, BABE!" So I tried to say, "Thanks for the keys, babe! Have a good night!" but it came out, "Thanks for the keys, baby! Have a good night!" That may not sound like a big deal, but I was M-M-M-MORTIFIED. I ran back to my car and immediatley called Becca all, "I DON'T KNOW IF GEOFF HAS CALLED TO TELL YOU YET BUT I TRIED TO CALL HIM 'BABE' AND IT ACCIDENTALLY CAME OUT 'BABY' WITH A HARD 'Y' AND I WASN'T TRYING TO HIT ON HIM AND I DON'T THINK OF HIM LIKE THAT AND I'M REALLY SORRY!!!1" She was like "Yyyyyeah...I don't think he noticed. Or cared. At all. Calm down over there." So then not only was it embarrassing because it was just embarrassing, it was embarrassing because I made this huge deal out of it. Ugh. I don't know. I don't want to talk about this anymore.
Also, when our families get together, I somehow always end up drunk in a corner harrassing Geoff's dad to talk to me about the Marines because I'm fascinated by the armed services. Not enough to join, mind you. Just enough to harass a retired military officer over cocktails to take me out to Quantico to see if I could survive the Quigley. He always says no, but once he did offer to make a giant mud pit for me in his backyard and watch me flounder around in it for a while. And I am UP for that, sir! Semper fi! In my mind, Geoff's dad and I are best friends. According to Becca, every time she sees him he asks how her "worthless sister" is doing, and the meaner he is to you, the more he likes you. SO HAY BIFFLES!
A: At the moment it's 1:41 in the morning, I'm wearing madras booty shorts and a wife beater, and I'm laying across my bed and answering your questions in one tab and watching the PBS special The Marines in another. And that is honestly what I'm doing right now. Pretty par for the course, really.
Q: If I can speak for all of your fans, and I think I will, we LOVE your dad. He sounds like the perfect, Tommy Bahama wearing, supportive, corny joke-telling dude. What was he like when he was younger? He's gotta have some hippy stories no?
A: Thank Christ my dad doesn't read this blog. Not because I talk about my porn preferences, not because I talk about my sex life, or alcohol/drug use, or how hardcore I cheated in high school, but because I think he would hurl himself directly out of his office window if he knew that my fans picture him in a Tommy Bahama shirt. My dad is the most well-dressed gentleman I know. I mean, he's the kind of person who dresses up to fly. After he got his posh new Italian suit for my sister's wedding, he circulated an email around the family just to preemptivley make us all aware of how good he looked in it. I met him at the metro a few days ago in a bomber jacket that I had just bought at Target, and after I hugged him hello, he literally recoiled and said "Is that pleather??" It's obnoxious.
My dad has gone through quite an interesting metamorphosis throughout his life. Rumor has it he was a bit of a hellraiser in his youth. He got arrested a few times and kicked out of not one, but two colleges; the second for telling the Dean to go fuck himself. He ended up at NYU's film school and spent the better part of the late sixties in Washington Square Park, so yes, I'd say he's got some pretty good hippie stories. I'm not even going to try to tell them though because I could never do them justice. In high school, my friends used to come over for dinner all the time just to hear them and ask my dad all sorts of questions about his shenanigan-filled youth. (This is my life—my parents and hairpeice are more popular than I am.)
Just to give you an idea, there was the time my dad went to a Black Panther party in the Bronx, looked around the room and said, "Man! So not all of you guys can dance!" before he even realized what was coming out of his mouth. There was the time he found himself in a bar fight (unrelated to the Black Panther incident) (shockingly) and picked up a beer bottle by the neck to smash over the bar and use as a weapon. Not realizing that the beer was full, he raised the bottle over his head and ended up pouring it directly down his sleeve, thereby ending the fight due to LOLZ. There was the time he was a high school bus driver. There was the time he managed a leisure suit store. There was the time he worked for SNL. There was the time he almost ran over Gene Wilder. And just recently my dad's oldest friend, John, informed me that when they were in college—my dad at NYU and John at Pratt—they got a job writing erotica together for extra cash but got fired because their pieces were always too plot-driven. I mean, my stories are like, "HAR HAR, I WENT TO REN FEST TODAY AND SOMEONE CALLED ALEX GAY. I SHOULD WRITE A BOOK." Please. I think I'm funny and well-dressed until I look at my dad and realize I'm just Dave Coullier in a pleated skort.
Sidenote: Speaking of how my dad is a hero of mine and all that mushy jazz, one day in college I thought it would be really clever to change the "About Me" section of my LiveJournal profile to the video for the Simian Mobile Disco song "Hustler". (Lyrics: "I'm a hustler baby, that's what my daddy made me.") A few days after I put it up, it sunk in that while the lyrics might be applicable, the video is just a bunch of hipster girls playing a game of telephone that slowly morphs into a softcore lesbian orgy.
So basically, I had just changed my profile to:
I AM A GAY DISCO EXPLOSION!!!!!!!!!!!!
That was a humbling moment.
A: I respect that. I don't like "Glee" and get a bunch of a shit for it, so you do you and I'll do me.
A: If you like Benson, give Florida from "Maude" a try. As far as stereotypically sassy black housekeepers go, she's the tits.
A: I actually don't watch a ton of Hulu. I watched it a lot when I was a receptionist because I was just sitting in front of a computer all day with eight hours to kill and no Netflix, but (thank God) things are different now. That being said, my Saturday ritual is waking up and watching that week's "Parks & Rec", "30 Rock", and last week's "Simpsons". With my incredibly attractive boyfriend. While we spoon. And he does the Times crossword puzzle. And tells me how great I am. And then we have The Sex.
A: First of all, I never had a weave, thank you. I had a Jessica Simpson/Ken Paves HairDo piece. Second of all, she had a name: Weekend Hair. And I'd appreciate it if you would use it.
My beloved Weekend Hair died in 2008 and has since gone to the big frat party in the sky. These days I'm all natural. My hair is dark brown, long-ish, with sideswept bangs...it's not terribly interesting. And as far as my hair regimen goes, that's even more uninteresting. I was telling Tulane Chris about it last weekend and stopped mid-sentence because I realized it was the most boring conversation I'd ever been in, which is saying something because it was about me and I was the only person talking. It's so much sexier when Christian Bale does it in American Psycho...
[Ugh, embedding disabled by request. You're breakin' my balls here, Lions Gate.]
But out of respect to you, here it is:
I have naturally curly hair, so the entire purpose of my hair regime is to beat it into straight submission. I wash my hair with Philosophy's Purity shampoo because my mom bought it for me, and I condition with off-brand Pantene Pro-V conditioner because I bought it for me. Before I blow dry, I use Garnier Full Control Mousse and a few spritzes of
Frizz brand Styling Spray. Then I blow dry, pin that shit back while I do my make up, straighten with a T3 flat iron, and finish with a little shaping creme to tame the flyaways. It's pretty sexy, I guess. I know I'm not not wet...
A: I'm hesitant to say I'm a "fashionista" because I feel like girls who self-identify as "fashionistas" are the same girls who order cosmos at sports bars and say things like, "When people call me a bitch, I say thank you." But I'm defiantly not a sensible shoes kind of gal. (Although I do have a pair of fur-lined urban mocosins that I wear in public more than I should because they're obscenely comfortable.) I'd like to think I'm stylish. I like clothes, I like dressing up, I like putting together outfits. I don't know. I feel like there's not a way to talk about this without sounding like a giant asshole. Let's talk about my hair again.
A: That's such an impossible question to answer. My friend Caroline has this story about how she was at her mom's candle store in Georgetown Park Mall one day when she was eight or so, and Bill Clinton, who was the President at the time, came to the mall to Christmas shop and meet people. Although unimpressed, she went and stood in line to meet him. When it was her turn to shake his hand, she froze, and the only thing she could think to say to him was, "..................GOD BLESS YOU, SIR" with these wide eyes. I feel like that's what would happen if Larry Hagman called me. I'd just burst into tears and talk about Jesus for a while.
A: Oh God. Ummmmm...hmm. Well, I have this really weird neurosis where I don't like to eat food that's wrapped in other food, so my entire life I pooh-poohed the idea of a Chipotle burrito. But then once day I had a burrito bowl and it was like I had tasted God's tears. Serioiusly, it changed my life. I'm also a huge fan of Belgian food: waffles, steak, mussels, fries, cold beer...it doen't really get much better than that. (Shout-out to Bistro du Coin and Belga Café. Moules and frites, baby. Moules and frites.) And pad thai is another go-to food staple of mine. When I lived in Brooklyn, my apartment was over a thai food restaraunt called Thai Tony's and that, plus DiGiorno pizzas from the gas station across the street, is pretty much all I ate. But at least I made a friend out of old Thai Tony. He was fine with me meandering in two glasses of Pinot deep in my pajamas on various weekday nights and being like, "SIR ANTHONY—PAD SEE EW ME!" Ex Co-Blogger Chris and I still email each other frequently to reminisce about Thai Tony and whether or not he's also looking up at the moon and if somehow, in that moment, we're all connected...?
A: Yes I did. And then I split that advance with Tulane Chris. And then I split what was leftover with Comcast. And then I blew a guy for $30 and fell into a K-hole.
A: I'm not answering that question based on my suspicion it was ghostwritten by my mother. I'm still single and have been going to the gym lately, if those are your next two questions.
A: Our book drops September 18th and I haven't seen the final cover yet. I need to figure out if it's better for you guys to pre-order it, or wait until the first week it comes out. So. Note to self.
A: Yep! We just had dinner when I was up in Philly the other weekend. Eddie got her MSW last May from Penn and now she works in Philly as a federal sex educator. I know that sounds like the plot line to a movie that heavily involves a ruler in a non-measuring or making straight lines context, but basically the great state of Pennsylvania pays Eddie to go around to different schools and teach Philadelphia's youth about important things like why you should always wear a condom and how fingerbanging should be a track meet, not a marathon. She also does a lot of volunteer work counseling LGTBQXYZ%^4 at-risk youth. The stories she tells about it really stress me out and confirm that it's a good thing I just sit in my apartment writing fart jokes all day and don't interact with children. Or people in general, really.
Thanks for being interested!
Now, enough about me; what do you think of me?