Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Guess I got a little off track with the answering of the reader questions, didn't I? Wasn't it originally my plan to answer two of the total 12 questions every day leading up to the blog-o-versary on July 7? Yeah? Well, at least it lasted three days. I think that's a stick-to-the-announced-plan record for me. Sweet.

So, here we are, the last round of questions before I have to start coming up with things to talk about on my own again. These last three aren't last for any particular reason but I will admit that I kept pushing Whiskeymarie's questions to the back of the line because I wasn't ready to answer the first one. I'm still not sure I am, but I've crafted an answer that responds to the question without unnecessarily smashing my head against the huge emotional wall that precludes me from dating successfully. Don't be alarmed, my issues with dating are average to the point of boring, but I don't have them sorted out enough to discuss them intelligently here. Someday. Maybe.

Here goes nothing:

Any boys in your life right now, in the "romantic" sense? (and by "romantic" I also count drunken make-outs, FYI)

Not right now, although I have dated a couple guys over the past year that I never talked about here. One was a couple years younger than me, a Navy man; another, a couple years older than me, a self-employed hippy nicknamed Daddy.

I never talked about the sailor because I gave him the address to this website the night we met (rookie mistake) and he became a regular reader. We had a protracted relationship because I hadn't yet learned to trust my instincts and move them along when they're not right for me. Lesson learned? Check!

I never talked about Daddy because I really liked him. He knew I had a blog and was interested in it, we even brainstormed over dinner one night for the story I wrote to win MTC #7. (The idea and words were all mine, scout's honor.) By then, however, I had realized that this website is a public diary and wouldn't give up the addy. Not that it would have mattered much if I had given it to him, Daddy was borderline anti-TV/computer. He once spent an hour looking for locations and show times for I'm Not There, using a newspaper. I was incredulous but loved that he didn't mind losing that hour to find the movie that I wanted to see.

Daddy was chivalrous without being clumsy, he brought thoughtful, beautiful, handmade gifts, he always picked just the right thing to do on our dates, he made me laugh, and I was comfortable with him. You may not have noticed, but I am fairly controlling and it was nice to trust someone's judgment enough that I could let go and enjoy the ride. Sadly, right after I got home from Cabo he went to Kentucky for construction work and I haven’t heard from him since. Such is life. Maybe I'll get him back come winter.

A couple weekends ago I met a young entertainer who bears a striking resemblance to Lenny Kravitz during the sexy dreadlocked years. He was interested and asked for my number, only he did it through his little sister. Uh-huh, you heard me, through his little sister. I sent her back to him with a note that said, "Do you like me? Check yes or no." Now, before you get all mad and call me a smart-ass bitch, I also sent my number back on the same note. He checked yes, but hasn't called and I'm totally cool with it. Not sure someone who uses his sister as dating conduit has enough chutzpah for me.

But I’ll be sure to dish the scoop on anyone new, assuming I don't drunkenly brag about my website, like him, or scare him away before there's a story to tell. Go me!

Also, are you naturally that tan?

Ah, no. I started tanning in March, preparing for a week in the sun in Cabo. Then I spent a week in the sun in Cabo. And then I forgot to freeze my tanning account by the first of the month deadline, so I've been using it once every couple weeks just so I'm not wasting my money. Lazy and cheap, my personal Catch-22.


And, coffee or tea?

Both. I have one cup of coffee every morning. I use a lot of sugar and cream because I like my coffee like I like my women, tan and sweet.

That said, being raised on the northern border of The South I know how to make a batch of homemade sweet tea that will quench any thirst and make you moan. Should I add that to my dating resume?

Oh, and- have you ever picked your nose so ferociously that it hurt?

One word: nosebleeds. Or is that two words? Whatever, you get the bloody idea.

One more thing: Have you ever sneezed and farted at the same time?

Of course. It surprises me every time. I also sometimes fart on every step as I go upstairs for bed. It's hard to fall asleep when you've got the death giggles.

Fart is such a great word, innocently naughty and yet still hilarious. My great-grandma Sarah giggled every time someone said it, and she had 10 kids.

From the sheer number of party pictures that get posted here one might assume that my drinking is wanton. Not so. I am a surprisingly picky drinker. I like:

• Jack and Coke
• Bacardi Limon and lemonade
• Cider beers, like Woodchuck, K, Strongbow
• Riesling, or other sweet white wines

As you can see, I'm a fan of sugar. Just this summer I invented a new drink I've named The Gwentini. It’s Bacardi Limon and pomegranate lemonade. It's delicious! And has antioxidants!

And here we are, at the end of the questions. Putting the issue of my unders to bed, my good and in-real-life friend Heathybear asks,

Really. No underwear unless with a skirt. When I do wear underwear I wear Hanes' barely there brand. I like them because they stay where they’re supposed to and they are seamless and tagless.

I apologize for interrupting the question and answer session yesterday but I really wanted to put the Chuy story up for Brian while it was still fresh in my mind. My short term memory just isn't what it used to be. Someone once told me that alcohol kills brain cells but I find that hard to believe. I'm going to need proof before I buy into . . .

. . . sorry, what was I saying?

Oh! Yeah. The questions. This next question comes from Renaissance Woman, a sweetie in Denver who's courageously remodeling her bathroom and mending a broken heart. RW asks,

What is the number one thing on your list of things that you do that make you happy?

This one was tough and I had to think about it for a long time. The truth is that I’m happy doing almost anything and endeavor to find the potential for fun in the things I'm not.

I love to travel and read and watch movies. I get intense satisfaction from gardening and yelling obscenities at crappy drivers. I hate working and cleaning, they both suck ass, but the sense of accomplishment at the end of a job well done is intoxicating. Speaking of intoxicating, I like drinking.

I love the sun so much that I'm certain I was a High Priestess in the Temple of Ra in a former life. Music is such a part of my life that I've longingly dreamed of a device that would follow me around, playing the soundtrack to my life, since I was a tiny girl. The iPod is close, but the rest of the world should be able to hear my awesome soundtrack, too. I like to share.

But all of these things, traveling and reading and watching movies, basking in the sun and enjoying music, all of them are more fun when done with other human beings whose company you enjoy. Spending time with my people is number one on my list of things that make me happy.

This next question is from new reader Bob Stein who writes the VisiBone ProtoBlog. Bob asks,

What are some things you like that do not (so much) cause cancer?

This is a really good question, Bob. I named this blog "Everything I Like Causes Cancer" as a tongue-in-cheek reference to the massive number of things that cause cancer and how the list mutates faster than damaged cells. It's also a self-deprecating way of disclosing my lack of interest or ability in giving up the sun and cigarettes.

To answer your question, though, I'm going to be lazy and refer you to my response to Renaissance Woman's question above. Those are the things I love that don't cause cancer.

Well, with the exception of traveling (I usually go to a beach), watching movies (that is not real butter on that popcorn), gardening (in the sun again), drinking (goes with smoking like wax beans and bacon, also a carcinogen), working (exhaust fumes in rush hour traffic), cleaning (duh, chemicals), and hanging out with people (a precursor to smoking, drinking, and exposure to semen.)

Not much left on that list, is there? Reading's about it and reading can give you a crick in your neck which is almost worse. That said, Bob Stein, I like you and you don't seem carcinogenic. Unless you’re wearing an asbestos suit and shooting gamma rays around my neighborhood. Then get the hell away from me, you homicidal freak.

Since we have some catching up to do after being so rudely interrupted yesterday, I leave you with this list of reasons why McGone is my favorite blogroll member. He asked that I be thorough so I came up with ten.

1. He shared his pig with me.
2. He likes The Kids in The Hall.
3. He misses Arrested Development, too.
4. He doesn’t get mad when I say he’s lame.
5. He accepted me as a facebook friend.
6. Lots of pretty pictures.
7. He once told the world he thought I was funny which means he has a great sense of humor.
8. He drew a sketch of Lost character Sawyer that captures him so well that I can’t get it out of my mind.
9. He’s as bad as I am about starting a new! fantastic! regular! blog feature and then never doing it again.
10. He won't care that I could only come up with nine before I called it quits and ran off to the pool.

Another new reader keeps the first-rate questions coming today. Everyone meet Ben, shopkeeper of TGIF Hounds, a website dedicated to basset hounds and celebrating the end of the week with a cold beer. Hi, Ben! Beer men are always welcome in these parts of the Internets.

What is the most embarrassing moment you can recall that you are proud of?

The Mitsubishi Spyder I bought in 1999 was the first car I owned that I really super-duper wanted bad and I was excited to show it to my grandpa, my favorite person in all the world and a talented auto mechanic. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about cars. I bought the car in September and by Thanksgiving I was dying for him to see it.

As soon as my mom and I finished cleaning up lunch Grandpa and I headed out for a ride, with him driving. I was showing off its cool features like the automatic windows and CD player and electric top. I knew I’d never get a resounding endorsement because the car wasn't American, so I was eager to elicit any nod of approval I could get. I decided safety features would impress him most so I directed his attention to the button on the dash printed with a snowflake. I proudly explained that it was a switch for special snow tires that I could activate in icy conditions.

::blink::

Yeah, I said it, but the worst part was that I believed it. Yes, I really did think that button would activate some sort of special traction. Go ahead, make fun, he did. Between howls of laughter he was finally able to gasp, "No, honey. That's the air conditioner." The mortification was worth making a memory of us laughing so hard together that we cried.



I really miss my grandpa. He and my grandma were very social people. My apple didn't fall very far from their tree at all. They were the King and Queen of what I've dubbed the "natural" happy hour. Natural in that it's organic, it just happens, there's no arranging or planning. I guess people knew that come 5 o'clock on Friday there'd be cold Miller High Life in the fridge and a bottle of Ten High on the counter over at Kenny and Louise's. I recently re-created one of these happy hours in their honor, authentic down to the cheap liquor. All I did was send an email telling people my grandparents' story and informing them that I'd be in my yard at 6 pm the next Friday, drinking, smoking and telling Irish lies, in case they wanted to join me. It was one of my best, and I throw a pretty good party. It was such a hit, I'm going to try to do another in July.




So thanks Ben, thank you for reminding me of that great moment. I laughed and I cried all over again.

This next question comes from Pistols at Dawn, the world's most acerbic cynic with a gift for turning a phrase. If you aren't reading him, you should be. Pistols wants to know,

I just ask all women the same question: if an unattractive man wanted to trick you and others like you into sleeping with him, what would work?

Date rape drugs seem to have high success rates.

So there you have it, folks, I finally wrote the post about my grandpa and date rape drugs. I knew this day would come. I'm so ashamed. Hold me until tomorrow when I list the reasons why McGone is my favorite Blogroll member. We might even put the topic of my unders to rest if there's time.

Today's first questions come from new reader, Moe Wanchuk. Welcome, Moe! Everyone, say hi to Moe. We're happy to meet you, Moe, can't you tell?

Now, going into the nine o'clock hour last night I still had no idea which two questions I was going to answer today. And then new reader Moe commented on yesterday's post and posed two new questions: Did he have a mullet? and When are you answering my question?

I was confused by the first question until I realized it looks like Steve has a mullet in one of my last post's pictures, a situation that had to be addressed quickly and publicly. My ex-husband did not have a mullet at our wedding. What looks like his "party in the back" is actually the plant behind him. I'm not saying that he never had one, but I'm not saying that he did, either. Ever. Not even if you ply me with wine. But feel free to try, I like wine.

Additionally, new reader Moe's real name is not actually Moe Wanchuk. The celluloid Moe Wanchuk played hockey with the Hanson Bothers, whose reputations made me eager to answer Moe's questions before he got any more impatient. So, without further ado, Moe:

I would like to know if you'd ever let Moe's MowJobs cut your lawn? Or Moe's SnowJobs shovel your driveway?

Moe, I’m leery of where you’re headed with this. It sounds like you might have a third business that rhymes with MowJobs and SnowJobs and involves “inflating” things, and that makes me afraid to respond. For example, if I admit that I don’t have a driveway and you’re using the word driveway as a metaphor for my vagina then I come off looking like I’m a chick without a vagina which is gross and not true.

But then again I wonder why a man’s man like you would run a fellatio business. Doesn’t seem like your thing, you know?

To answer your question, Moe, I simply don't know. I guess it would depend on your staff.

And the last series of questions today comes from hellohahanarf in Pittsburgh. Hello asks,

creamy or chunky peanut butter?

Creamy Jif with Smucker's grape jelly on Wonder bread, heavy jelly. That said, ever since the invention of the Uncrustable I don’t waste my valuable time constructing a PBJ. I have better things to do, like sit around the house in my wedding dress and defend my ex-husband's hairstyle honor.

what is your earliest childhood memory?

Getting stung on the index finger by a wasp in Nashville, Tennessee. I was five. I still have a red dot at the base of my left index finger from the sting. Now when I turn up dead any of you can ID my body. If I look fat it's because I'm decomposing. Don't judge.

how old were you when you got "the talk" about sex?

Maybe 5th grade? And it wasn’t so much of a talk as it was handing me a pamphlet from the o.b. tampon box. Thankfully my friends were experienced in the wicked ways of love and I was always a quick study.

Tomorrow we talk about embarrassing moments and how to trick women into sleeping with you. Unless I change my mind between now and then. I am nothing if not fickle.

A while back I asked you guys what else you could possibly want to know about me and y'all submitted some really good questions.

Off topic for a sec, I was dying for an opportunity to post that picture of myself with a stick up my nose and I was surprised by everyone's positive reaction to it. It even drew some new readers out of the woodwork. (Hi, guys!) Behold the power of style and sophistication.

I bet you forgot I even asked for questions because it's been so long since I did it but the thing is I was saving them. See, there are now only 6 days until my very first ever blog-o-versary and I'm pretty darned excited. I can't believe I've been writing here, almost every day, since I opened up shop on Sunday, July 7, 2007.

I was born without the stick-to-it-iveness gene and historically I've hopped from one hobby to another, investing a ton of money on the front end only to lose interest a couple months later. As proof, I can show you a closet full of beads and beading paraphernalia that I never unpacked when I moved into this house over three years ago. Maybe my hobby was actually shopping.

So yeah, I'm excited. I finally found a hobby that entertains me and challenges me and that I still love doing. To celebrate, I'm going to answer the questions posed by two people every day between now and then, culminating with a special edition super-duper anniversary post on July 7.

So, ready to get to know me better? Better than you probably wanted to know me? Maybe "ready" isn't the right word. Just keep reading.

I may not stick to the exact order of your posted questions, but I am actually starting with the first, from The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch, who asked:

Ever been married? If you mentioned it before I musta missed it. Just curious.

Great question! Yes, I was, but I really don't even think about it anymore because I've never felt much like an ex-wife. That, and I've been divorced for 11 years. Holy hell, that makes me feel old. Um, moving on.

This question stirred a corner of my heart that hasn't been warm in a long time. So much so that at midnight last night I found myself buried under a pile of yearbooks, scrapbooks and pictures from our courtship and marriage. I wasn't married long enough to finish constructing my wedding album, so I'm taking this opportunity to show off some of my favorite wedding pictures. If this kind of thing makes you want to gag, scroll down. Heaven forbid my joy make you sick.


I met Steve in college during the early weeks of the fall semester of 1989, my sophomore and his freshman year, but we didn’t start dating until 1992. The first time we met he and his roommate crashed our “Underwear Olympics” party, and while there he sprayed whipped cream into my super-long, product coated, spiral-permed hair. I went ballistic. He took my verbal abuse for about 20 seconds before he chucked me over his shoulder, carried me down the hall, and held me under a shower head in the men's room. I spent the next two years loathing him with the white-hot fury of a thousand suns, convinced he was just another steroid-addled fat-headed tool of an athlete, and calling him names.


Imagine my surprise (and chagrin) when, on the first day of my senior year, he walked into an advanced class of mine, one I would have never expected him to take as an elective, something like Mythology 240 or Romanticism to Modernism: A Perspective. All I know is that I was shocked by his interest and aptitude. Shortly after the start of the semester, he apologized for his first-year faux pas and we started dating about a month later.

We moved to St. Louis in 1994, got engaged in 1995, were married in 1996 and were divorced in 1997. He was a wonderful guy, smart and funny and handsome, but also humble and sweet. We just simply weren’t mature enough to be married to anyone, didn't once discuss the big five: money, family, career, goals, and communication, and ended up really hurting one another before it was all over. He is living in another state now, married again, has a son and seems really happy.

Today's final question comes from Othurme:

What are you wearing right now?

My wedding dress. What's it to ya?