You know that a meme has gone totally sour when your blogging partner in crime says, "I totally forgot about those things!"
For your sake and mine, let's just get this over with.
At one point, but probably not so much now, Lizzy wanted to know:
Where is and what is in your "junk drawer"?
Both as a child and an adult, no matter where I've lived, the kitchen has always been home to the family junk drawer, and Luke's and my current apartment is no exception. For some reason, the kitchen is always the room with the leftover drawer space. Are they intentionally designed this way? Is anybody's junk drawer NOT in the kitchen? Inquiring minds want to know.
Behold, the evidence.
If I were more skilled in Photoshop I would've put numbers on each item and wrote funny captions enclosed in cartoonish thought bubbles, but I'm not, and there are too many thingamajigs to cover each one, anyway, so this is what you get. From where I'm sitting, I see candles we forget to burn, redeemable stamps from whitewater rafting trips with Saint Joe, batteries, scissors, paper clips used to seal half-eaten bags of chips, a glue stick, tape, an extra sponge for the George Foreman grill, the lining paper I used to address our wedding invitations, and other miscellaneous necessities. Nothing terribly exciting; it's not even that full, since I make a habit of cleaning it out every couple of months.
God, I'm boring. Why are you even here?
Ever have a celebrity run-in in which you behaved like an absolute ass?
Glory be, I actually have an answer to this question. The celeb in question is former AMC hottie Mark Consuelos. Let me 'splain.
While it's true my current soap habit started couple of years ago, it was first born at the impressionable age of thirteen, thanks to my Auntie Donna, who babysat two of my cousins when my Auntie Debbie was at work. In between diapering, feeding, and entertaining a newborn, she managed to keep up with Days of Our Lives, and on one of my visits, I came across an episode where Vivian had buried Carly alive in a desperate attempt to keep her from romancing Laurence and Marlena was frolicking about behind closed doors with John, who'd been brainwashed by Stefano to believe he was Roman Brady, Marlena's long-lost husband, who had just resurfaced to reclaim his life.
Thirteen was a hard age for me, and I kept to myself a lot, so it was easy to embrace this new world. I became so enraptured with the soap genre I eventually added three more shows to the roster, spending the majority of that summer glued to Days, All My Children, One Life to Life, and General Hospital.
Fast-forward to 1995, when I was a sophomore in high school and not so dependent on daytime television, though I was still a huge fan of Days, and had a newfound interest in prime time, mainly due to an attraction the entire male cast of Party of Five (minus Owen, of course). It was around this time I had a short stint selling fudge at McCormick Place in Chicago, and one particular auto convention boasted of a panel of small-screen celebrities who were available for personal meetings, autographs, and the like. It featured actors from both shows--Jason Brooks (Days's Peter Blake), and Michael A. Goorjian (Party of Five's Justin). There was also a third star, Mark Consuelos, but since I hadn't kept up with AMC and Mark had only recently joined the cast, I didn't have the foggiest idea who he was.
On one of my breaks I stood in line for twenty minutes, waiting eagerly to participate in some inappropriate snuggling with men ten to twenty years older than my awkward, freshly dumped self.
I was not disappointed.
It's the second shot that gets me the most, as I remember throwing a quick nod in Mark's direction before promptly helping myself to Michael Goorjian's lap. Mark was the only one of the three who didn't receive my request for an autograph, as I wasn't sure his John Hancock was worth another three bucks. See how jealous he looks? And now he's the only one who still has a career. I sure know how to pick 'em.
What's your favorite joke to tell?
Anybody who knows me even a little bit will tell you I suck at telling jokes; thus, my favorite joke to tell is also the easiest one to remember, thus eliminating the possibility of forgetting the punchline.
Why is six afraid of seven? Because seven eight nine!
I first heard this joke from my parents when I was nine. We were all amazed at its cleverness, which possibly explains where I get my sense of humor from.
Eight years ago, Lost A Sock wondered:
What is the current color on your toenails?
Part of the reason I put off answering last round for so long is this very question. The last time I sported paint on my toes was August, but I didn't want to admit to the Internet that I waddled through the end of the summer with bare feet, so I vowed not to post a response until I had properly rectified the situation. Well, weeks went by, with my toes still shamelessly naked, so this morning I made the executive decision to skip the polish and go for the funny, mentally drafting an answer along the lines of "While I'm lacking in the personal pedicure area, my feet aren't totally neglected. I do shave the hair on my big toe from time to time," imagining everyone would enjoy a hearty laugh in appreciation of my comedic skill.
Then I read Amalah's latest post, after which I could only assume Amy called upon her trusty mind-reading powers to steal my toe-hair thunder. Thus, my new answer is:
Nothing.
If not a writer or a SAHM, what's your next career choice?
Something that allows me to interact less with my computer and more with living, breathing human beings, like a teacher or a career counselor. A friend of mine in Saint Joe's English department once brought up the idea of me presenting a course on online writing in an adjunct capacity, so I'm curious to see if that ever comes to fruition.
In a perfect world, if Erica Kane could marry any man and live happily ever after, who would that man be?
The answer to this question requires some major soul-searching on my part. Currently on her tenth husband, there's been no shortage of marital bliss (and unbliss) in Erica's life. The roll call is as follows:
1. 1971- Jeff Martin
2. 1975- Phil Brent
3. 1978- Tom Cudahy
4. 1984- Adam Chandler
5. 1987- Travis Montgomery
6. 1990- Travis Montgomery
7. 1991- Adam Chandler (fake)
8. 1993- Dimitri Marick
9. 1996- Dimitri Marick
10. 2005- Jackson Montgomery
The writers approach the show with the philosophy that Erica and Jack, the brother of the father of her youngest daughter, have been soul mates all along, and now that they've finally made it to the altar, I'd hate to see them break up, even though Jack has the sex appeal of a coat rack. I like her better with more seductive, more vindictive men, like the evil David Hayward, who once drugged an entire yachtful of people with a libido-inducing drug to set the stage for Tad's one-night affair with the resident psycho while he was attempting marriage for the third time with Dixie Cooney. She also has wonderful chemistry with Zach Slater, a casino manager who hired her as a showgirl for his Vegas number a few years back and went on to marry her oldest daughter, who was once engaged to his son. Maybe one of them will become husband number eleven.
Who let the dogs out? (Who? Who? Who? Who?)
This one's easy. Your mom!
The questions, they are done. Now we can talk about more important things, like your favorite scary movies and the difficulty in determining your cervical position. Good times.