Skip to main content

An interview with Moi. Everything you never knew you wanted to know about me.

Thanks to Misha, a talented costume designer and seamstress whom I met a few years back (like 22 years or so) when we were babies…at Penobscot theater. She was the sweetest kindest most generous funniest smartest most kickass person then and she still is now. Also talented. And married to a talented wonderful good fellow, too. Thanks for the blog material. These are great questions! 

What to you eat for dinner when no one else is home?
pop corn, also eaten for breakfast


What is the one piece of clothing you still hang on to even though you know you should have tossed it long ago?

I still wear this old blue plaid shirt from kmart that belonged to brad but I stole it and it’s missing all the buttons (I was so mad one day many years ago, I did a Hulk move, and ripped all the buttons off that sucker because it was that or break a wall with my fist and that seemed like too much work) anyway, the blue shirt has paint splatters on it and sometimes I keep it closed with safety pins (no buttons) and sometimes I wear it over a shirt. It’s probably 15 years old, and it’s so worn you can see through it, just like the sheer curtains my mother always preferred. I never knew why she liked those sheer curtains so much because honestly, they don’t really work like I think a curtain ought to work but then again she always had shades to draw if she wanted privacy, so there’s that and that’s enough about my favorite shirt in the world that I should totally throw away but I never will because I stole it from my husband 15 years ago, and it’s mine damn it. It’s mine.  


What do you say when you talk baby talk to the cat, dog, hamster (or baby) when you are sure no one can hear you? I say different things to different creatures, of course, but here’s a bit of the conversation.
1)    Talking to my dog, Ty the Dog, who is my best friend. “Hello handsome, you’re such a good dog, you’re such a good dog, I love you, you handsome fella you. You know what, Ty? You’re the only person I’d give the last bite of my sammich to, you want my sammich? You wanna peanut butter sammich? I love you Ty. I love you sweet fella. Please don’t ever die. Momma loves you…”
2)     A typical conversation with one of my kitty-pals, there are 4 of them, though one of them keeps mostly to herself. The three kitties I speak with most often are, Tonks and Ginny, identical twin sisters, both very fluffy, very white, except for Ginny who had a black nose and a couple of black marks on her forehead, and Tonks, who is heftier, perhaps fluffier, who has a pink nose and black splotches on her forehead and a bit of black at the tip of her tail. I call these two gorgeous girls the Languid Sisters, as they are unashamed of their ability to do absolutely nothing and be gorgeous. And there’s Nan the Lovely, who is also fluffy, but has multicolored splotches, some stripes, and is the picture of cat perfection. A typical conversation with the girls sounds like this, “Hello Bee-oo-tee-ful!  Oh my God but you are a bee-oo-tee-ful darling, aren’t you? Did you puke on my floor and poop right outside the cat box again? You know, you’re lucky you are so fucking gorgeous or cleaning up after you would make me cranky. OMG. Get off my BOOB.”
3)    To babies, when I have a chance to speak to them, which isn’t often anymore because my babies are growing up, but to babies, I say things like, “Hello you brilliant small human! You’re just so perfect in every way! Try to remember that, ok? Because there are so many assholes out there who are going to try to convince you that you aren’t, but you ARE. You’re brilliant, and perfect, and you contain the answers to all the questions ever asked by anybody, living or dead, ok? I’m glad you’re here tiny human.”
4)    I try not to talk to hamsters.

Did you really read all that shit I just wrote about what I say to the perfect beings among us? Because if you did, you deserve a prize. You’re not getting one, but you deserve one.
Bless your heart.




Who is the person from your past (still living) that you think about the most but never talk to?
Hmmm,, that’s a tricky one. So many of the people I used to think about but never talk to are dead now. My Speech teacher Mrs. Browne, whom I adored, who saved my life, even though she may not have known that. But she died before I got the chance to tell her thank you. And that makes me sad. I used to think about my dad but rarely spoke to him, and that’s probably for the best and he’s dead now, so, oh well. I talk to my mom, she’s dead too, but I talked to her a lot when she was alive. So she doesn’t count. Also, like I said, she’s dead. But I still talk to her. Who else…there was a woman I worked with in Memphis, a good dear funny amazing friend, who also saved my life, she’s still alive, is married to a lovely woman and she and her wife have a sweet baby boy, the last I heard anyway. And I think of her often, but we fell out of touch, and I haven’t spoken to her in probably 20 years. But wow. She was the coolest. And I still adore her. So, yeah, Sharon-Ann. Hey there you amazing woman, you force of nature, you life saver, mover and shaker, I think about you fondly and often. I hope she and her family are well.


What do you hide at the back of your underwear drawer?
 I do not own a vibrator. So I don’t hide my vibrator there. No really. I don’t own one. Some of my women friends are astonished that I don’t own a vibrator. I mean, it has come up in conversation. What I do hide at the back of my underwear drawer is a broken antique Hummel figurine my mother gave me many years ago. And obviously, I broke it. And I was too ashamed to tell her, and felt too guilty to fix it or throw it away. So, there it sits, amongst the assortment of 100% cotton old lady panties…a reminder of my carelessness.


What do you spend way too much money on?
Books, music, cigarettes, whiskey, coffee, breakfast at Bagel Central.


What can you actually afford but are too cheap to buy?
A vibrator

What are the two things you always have with you besides your iPhone?
I don’t have an iPhone, I have a cheap trac-phone, because I tend to break shit when I’m angry, and I am not going to spend hundreds of dollars on a phone I will only pitch across a room in a fit of anger. But I do keep the cheap phone on me, most of the time, and I always have my pocket notebook and a pen. Because ideas, words, and such.

How many drinks can you have before your friends realize you are drunk?
Depends on what I’m drinking. Wine makes my cheeks turn a stunning shade of merlot, so I may look drunk after a couple of sips of wine. But probably after one drink, I’m drunk, and I can’t hide a thing from anyone, except that broken Hummel figurine in my underwear drawer. So, yeah, one drink, and the people start to notice I’m no longer sober. It’s a little pathetic, but it’s the truth.


What is the one thing you do better than everyone else?
One thing I do better than everyone else? I have no fucking clue. I guess, honestly, I’m getting better at being myself, and since nobody else can be me, I’m probably better at being me than anyone. But you know, that’s sort of a stretch.

Thanks to Misha for the material. I had been writing another piece about depression and what you should say to your depressed friends, parts of it were pretty good, and it was funny, and I had been working on it for several hours but I didn’t save (DUH) that motherfucker and it’s GONE. And it’s been a long time since I wrote a post, I mean, I’m overdue, and so, there was this fun stuff to write about and I’m glad I did.


Feel free to write your answers to these questions and share them with me if you like. I’d love to read about you. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just don't call me Late to Dinner

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg...

possible blog material

possible blog posts for blogtober: 15 things you don't know about my left nut: 1. I don't have a left nut 2.  I do not even have a right nut As I can only get to #2, this idea needs fleshing out before I commit to it. Hahaha...fleshing out.  some things you don't know about my cat 1. I have a cat 2. she's a cat  3. she does cat things 4. she shits in a box   15 things I want to change about myself 1. fuck this shit 2. seriously 3. back off 4. you do not want to go down this path 5. really One billion (maybe this is too ambitious) observations made while sitting on the toilet  1. someone should really mop the floor  2. I need to get some new reading material in here,   3. I think the new Oprah magazine was in yesterday's mail  4. there are only so many times you can read about living your best life while sitting on the shitter  5. reading recipes while using the bathroom is sort of we...

Thinking about my son, jail, near death experiences, and hoping for the future

It's disconcerting when your 9 year old son asks if there are any jails in town that he could tour. My first thought, naturally enough, was that my son was planning a life of crime and wanted to see where he'd be spending 5-8 years of his life. But then I took comfort in the realization that my son is a dear darling boy who absolutely can not think past this moment. THIS moment. THIS MOMENT. He is the boy who tried to pick up fire, the boy who tried to put the knife in the toaster, the boy who ate his entire chocolate Advent calender in one sitting, never contemplating for a second what would happen next. The look of surprise and hurt after the touching fire thing was heart breaking. He was utterly disconsolate on December 2nd when he found he had no more candy and would have to watch his sister eat her stale misshapen chocolate stockings, stars, and bells, one each morning, for 24 days, in front of his very eyes. He was completely dumbfounded not not just a lit...