I asked for it. (Edited 'cause I missed one)

I got it. Questions. Which I will now endeavor to answer, possible humiliation notwithstanding. I'm among friends, right? It's not like I'm posting the answers on the "internets" for ANYone who can google to see...oh, wait. Well, too late now! Off we go.

-r- wishes to know details of my secret celebrity crushes. Well, I have for years maintained a deep and abiding love for one particular guy. I used to "write in" his name in those magazine polls for sexiest man. "Surely," I thought, "I can't be the only person in the world to see him for the smokin' hot man he is." I'll let you decide. My longest running celebrity crush is...Leonard Nimoy. With Spock ears or without, I find him yummy. He's smart, he's funny. I lurve him. I even bought a book of his poetry on eBay. (It's godawful, by the way. And I say that with love.) Mock me if you will. I can take it. If I had been asked this question a year or two ago, I would have also been forced to admit to a truly shameful fondness for...*whispering furtively*...Danny Bonaduce and Tom Sizemore. Fortunately, (sadly?) they have both killed off any lingering remnants of that with their recent troubles and subsequent whoring of said troubles on reality TV shows. Whew. Now I can just go back to wondering why so many people don't get how sex-ay Lyle Lovett is, and why the real question is not "Why did Julia marry HIM?" but "Why the hell did HE marry Julia?"

-r- also asks what is my favorite song to perform? One of my favorite songs is seasonal, so I really only get to sing it during Advent/Christmas, and that's Amy Grant's "Breath of Heaven." I'm not a huge fan of Amy's voice, but this song is beautiful. It fits perfectly with my voice, and it's very moving. I've never sung it that I didn't see at least one person wiping away a tear afterward. And it's very gratifying to know you've caused someone to feel that strongly. Other times of the year I love rippin' up "Crazy," a la Patsy Cline. I can sing me some Patsy! Another song that fits perfectly. And will bring a noisy karaoke bar to a sudden silence. Sometimes silence IS golden.

Libragirl asks: what is the stupidest non-sexual thing I ever did while under the influence? Okay, I'm thankful for the non-sexual stipulation, I must say. Let's see...there was the time I went out gay-bar dancing (back in my fag hag days) with friends, at a bar featuring 50-cent well drinks. I had a large number of (admittedly somewhat watery) vodka collins, and THEN for some reason thought it would be fun to take some of my friend Joey's prescription muscle relaxers. He took some, too...and then we danced. We were tearing up the dance floor, or so it felt. Our friends told us later we were basically standing in place like zombies, occasionally twitching an arm or a leg. Alcohol plus muscle relaxers? We were lucky to be alive. Stupid, stupid college kids. Don't try that at home, folks.

Chickadee asks for three guilty pleasures. Well, there's Celebreality on VH1. While I fairly quickly decided Breaking Bonaduce and Shooting Sizemore weren't for me, I will admit to previously watching BOTH Flavor of Love editions and now also watching I Love New York. God, I'm SO ashamed. Two, Ben and Jerry's ice cream. I don't let myself buy it very often, because once I do, I can't. stop. eating. it. Yum. Third, let's see...well, very, very rarely, I will let myself read some trashy Harlequin Romance-type novel. Sometimes they're so bad they're good. And you've got to give the authors credit for the many varied and sundry ways they don't say "penis" or "vagina." Let that hot, throbbing manhood extend the fullness of its length right on over to her foamy mound of desire. Hee. (Bring on the google hits for "hot throbbing manhood.")

Stefanie shares a question recently asked of her by a "MeMarmony" match. What would my 10-year-old self be impressed by (of my current self) and what would she be appalled by? I believe she would be impressed by my acting resume, since she didn't have the guts to pursue it back then, though she secretly wanted to. The original "How the Red Fern Grows" movie was shot in my small town when I was in grade school, and some of my classmates managed to snag small parts. I would have LOVED to have the courage to audition, but I just didn't. Not even close. So I think she'd think it was pretty cool that I've done something like 60 plays, and even supported myself through a few college summers doing outdoor theatre (an oxymoron if there ever was one--hee). What would make her say "what the hell were you thinking?" Probably a good 3/4 of the guys I've dated, sadly. And I'm sure she would completely freak out at the thought of being unmarried and childless at 44. And she probably wouldn't be in favor of dropping pre-med in favor of vocal music as a college major. Maybe she was actually smarter than I am. She certainly had a lot more active brain cells than I do! Ha.

Stef also asks for an amusing or horrifying date story. I'm sure I can come up with one of those. (Though in response to your musing as to why I don't generally share dating stories in this blog, that would be because I haven't DONE much dating lately. I'm about ready to ask Guinness Girl for one of her stellar match.com profiles--that should ensure some stories!) Worst date--this one springs quickly to mind. I took a guy I was newly seeing (who was also my neighbor--not awkward at all) with me to join some friends to hear a band play. Now, I'm kind of an artsy person, and by extension, most of my friends happen to be cool, artsy people. Well this guy was apparently completely intimidated, due to the previously unseen (by me) HUGE inferiority complex and MASSIVE chip on his shoulder and he compensated by getting drunk and turning into a completely judgmental asshole. Then as he got drunker, we went through a phase where he was sobbing (we were in the parking lot at this point) on my shoulder about how he wasn't good enough for me and how all my friends were looking down on him (WTF?) and then segued into a maniacal rant about everything that was suddenly wrong with ME. Long list--apparently I'm quite a bitch. I don't know how he knew that so completely after approximately 3 dates, but whatever. We had ridden together in my car and I didn't want to leave him there alone (I'm too nice) so I finally got him calmed down and into the car so I could take us both home. Oh yeah...I'm in tears at this point. Angry tears more than sad ones, but still. The next day he showed up at my workplace with a huge, beautiful armful of flowers, and asked if he could take me to lunch to apologize. I actually went, and he apologized over and over and said he thought he needed to stop drinking (really, ya THINK?), and I accepted his apology (again, too nice). One of my coworkers who hadn't heard the story from the night before stopped by my desk and said "Oh, I've always dreamed of dating a guy who'd bring me flowers for no reason like that." I said "Honey, I earned every petal and then some!" Whadya think? Pretty bad, huh? There are others, but perhaps I'll save them for their very own post.

Stinkypaw wants to know what I'm looking for in a man. Well, I really don't think I'm all that picky. He must be funny, or at least think I'M funny, he must be smart, he must be kind, he must be tolerant, he must be honest, he must be talented at or passionate about something. I don't care how old, how tall, what race, what hair or eye color or how much money he makes. Know a single guy like that? Send him my way. ;)

She also asks about my most embarrassing moment on stage. That's easy. Fortunately it was only a dress rehearsal, so there were only a few people watching. It was a 20-minute scene between me and another actor, the two of us sitting at a table in a restaurant facing each other. It's the only time in my performing career where I've really, truly "gone up," as they say. The director had added some business to do in the blackout before the scene, including lighting a candle, which of course wouldn't light. I gave up, we went on, the lights came up and I realized that for the first time ever in my performing career, I had forgotten to check my props, and they weren't set correctly. As we started with the lines, I quickly devised a plan for subtly getting them where they needed to be. Perfect. On we go. Except...except...all this last minute finagling had apparently distracted me, and suddenly my mind was blank. SO blank. Completely blank. It was terrifying. I gave my fellow actor the international facial expression for "Help me!" but he didn't. Just stared back. It went on forever. Me looking at him, pleading with my eyes, him looking back just as blank. One word from him would have broken the dam, but I guess he was "up", too. It seemed like an eternity. It probably was a good minute and a half, which IS an eternity in that situation. No way the audience didn't know what was happening. Finally a little light blinked on in my head. I knew the next line had something to do with Brenda...what's the line about Brenda..Brenda..Brenda...aha! I said the line about Brenda, he responded, and we marched on. Only...we almost instantly realized that it wasn't the FIRST line about Brenda, it was the SECOND line about Brenda, which came much later in the scene. But at that point we were in a groove. My brain was snapping and crackling. I knew we had skipped over some much needed exposition, and that we needed to go back and pick it up. Signalling again with my eyes, I jumped back to the beginning of what we'd skipped. Seamlessly, he followed. Then as we approached the spot where we'd soon be duplicating the lines we'd delivered earlier, I signalled again and JUMP! Back to where we'd left off, straight to the end of the scene. Every line delivered. Not in the original order, but nonetheless nothing was left out. We left the stage, and I was absolutely mortified, but the rest of the play went well, and afterwards the director laughingly told me she was beyond impressed with all the seamless jumping back and forth. That total brain lock has never happened to me since, at least not to that degree. Occasionally it'll freeze up for a second or two, but nobody really ever notices that. I hope it never happens again. I've seen it happen to other people, and I have SO much more sympathy now. Hee.

Sparkling Cipher asks about my most embarrassing outfit. Oh, boy. I'm cringing just thinking about it. There are many candidates--remember, I went to college in the 80s--but here's one that stands out. In my defense, at the time I was considered quite stylish. A girl even stopped me on campus once to tell me I was her "fashion idol." Hee. Poor girl. I'm remembering a blue and black-striped (vertically, of course), collarless sort of tunic, which I wore belted low with a black sash (I know!) and these weird black pants. They were sort of capri length, though not actually capri style--I remember they had these big scalloped pockets, and they hit somewhere about mid-calf. I further accessorized this outfit (oh boy, I'm turning red as we speak) with blue opaque tights and black high-heeled granny boots. Lord have mercy! How is it possible that I was ANYone's fashion idol? I don't believe there's any photographic evidence of this outfit. If I find that not to be true, I'll share it with you. Or shred it. One of the two.

3carnations wants to know my most and least favorite foods. Most favorite? Going to have to go with cheese. Potatoes in pretty much any form are right up there, too, but...the winner is cheese. Least favorite? Bell peppers in any color. Can't STAND them. Blecch.

Also, 3car asks how many active litterboxes I have. (Is this a sneaky way to try to figure out how many cats I have? Hee.) I currently have four boxes--and boy, are they active sometimes! I actually have devoted one closet to these litterboxes, in a somewhat vain attempt to keep the litter from being tracked ALL OVER the house. Really, I'm just pleased when everything makes it into the boxes--someone (Sylvie, I'm looking at you) has a bad habit of hanging the hiney over the side of the box. I keep a big sheet of plastic under the boxes, so it doesn't actually hit the floor, but still. Gross. Why do I have cats again? Oh yeah, because kittens are adorable.

Well, that's it for this post. If there are any other questions, just let me know. Obviously, having admitted to the blue-and-black striped fashion horror above, I'll answer just about anything. Hee.