For Tina, Translator Extraordinaire

(It’s a meme. Feel free to steal or ignore, as you see fit.)

First job: I was a child-shepherd for a local non-profit summer arts program. I was fifteen. It paid minimum wage. I spent it all on clothing.

First screen name: Spokesperson for Generation X, shortened to spgx, meant ironically because I was a young trailer trash housewife at the time.

First self-purchased CD: Jeez. Probably something by Led Zeppelin.

Vinyl Album: Yes 90125. Owner of a Lonely Heart, baby.

First piercing/tattoo: My ears, age 12, at Northwest Mall, with tiny diamonds.

First true love: This boy named… John? No… What was his name? Well, he was a white kid with blond hair, in the 5th grade when I was in 4th. I remember that when I confessed my love for him, several classmates decided they loved him, too. Because I was a trendsetter like that.

First enemy: Probably some little haters in my day care class. Or the day care teacher, who made fun of my brother and hypothesized that my dad was “one of those Iranians.”

LASTS

Last big car ride: To Austin, on Sunday, to pick up my kids.

Last kiss: Sunday, with my boyfriend.

Last library book checked out: Memoirs of a Geisha. But I promise the next book I check out will be classy, okay?

Last movie seen: Serenity. It was good. Go see it. But don’t take young kids.

Last beverage drank: Water from the Brita pitcher.

Last food consumed: Rotisseried chicken breast.

Last phone call: From Yvonne.

Last CD played: The Bravery. It’s good. Buy it or download it, unless you’re one of those music snobs who loves to complain about new bands being derivative. If you’re not, though, know that this CD is derivative of the best alternative of the late eighties.

Last annoyance: Some Mercedes-driving MF who had the nerve to back out of his driveway in front of me, and then honk when I didn’t back up to give him extra room to make what should have been an easy fishtail onto the street. It pissed me off so bad, I marked his house’s location so I could hypothetically go back on Halloween and egg the shit out of his car. But I won’t actually do that. But thinking about it kept me from killing him. I did throw the finger at him and snarl the accompanying bad words in such a way that he could read them from my lips through my windshield. Immediately afterward, I wished I had been mature and placid enough not to do that.

Last pop drank: Caffeine-free diet generic cola.

Last ice cream eaten: Blue Bunny Sugar-Free Bunny Tracks.

Last time scolded: Probably by my boyfriend, probably for driving angrily. If you can call, “Baby, please be careful” a scolding. Otherwise, I don’t know. I’m too old and too tall to scold.

Last shirt worn: Um… A cross-dyed heather pink number with French cuffs bought on buy-one-get-one-half-off sale from New York and Company.

I AM: bitchy but funny.

I WANT: to quit my day job.

I HAVE: an awesome kawaii stationery collection that I never use.

I WISH: I could get paid to make art.

I HATE: fruit stickers and crappy driving. And rudeness.

I FEAR: heights and failure.

I HEAR: way more confessions from psychos than normal people do, it seems.

I SEARCH: for classic clothing that will fill gaps in my closet for a long, long time.

I WONDER: if my hard work will ever pay off.

I REGRET: meeting my ex-husband. Not the kids we had together, but my shitty relationship with him and the bad credit it left me with.

I LOVE: nice weather, my children, my boyfriend, and music.

I ALWAYS: feel like I’m not doing enough to keep us out of Poverty’s waiting jaws.

I AM NOT: good at playing the role in Corporate America.

I DANCE: well only when I’m drunk.

I SING: really well, although I only get to do it at karaoke lately. I’m aching to join a choir. I want to sing Handel’s words about God in my clear second soprano. I want to sing about love in Italian.

I CRY: over random things when I’m PMS-ing. I used to cry purposely all the way to Austin, on my twice-monthly drives there to pick up my kids from their dads. To get it out of my system, you know. But I don’t do that anymore. It’s hard. The older I get, the more dehydrated I become.

YES or NO: YOU KEEP A DIARY: Yes. I have paper journals going back ten years or more. I only write in them when I’m depressed or when I record one-sentence important milestones, like “I am pregnant again” or “My boyfriend and I got back together” or “I have an agent now.”

YOU LIKE TO COOK: No. I don’t, and I’m only just now getting over the guilt of it. I don’t like to cook, and I don’t care. Dammit. I DON’T LIKE TO COOK. FUCK YOU IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, GORDON RAMSEY.

YOU HAVE A SECRET YOU HAVE NOT SHARED WITH ANYONE: Probably. I’m saving it for my dream therapist.

DO YOU…?

HAVE A CRUSH: Maybe. Only people on the secret notify list know for sure.

WANT TO GET MARRIED: No. It’d be fun to have a wedding, maybe, if I got rich, but I don’t ever want to be married again. Maybe I’ll get rich and then stage a fake wedding to my boyfriend. I said I wanted to wear a red Chinese wedding dress with embroidered peonies. He said he wanted to wear… I can’t remember if he said a ’70s ruffled tux or a penguin suit and top hat. I prefer the ruffles in a pale blue that doesn’t clash with my dress too much. He asked if my hair would be up or down. I said that he was thinking farther into it than I ever had.

GET MOTION SICKNESS: No. I’m not even sure what that means, to be honest. Does it happen in cars? On roller coasters?

THINK YOU’RE A HEALTH FREAK: No. Unless low-carb dieting counts. And avoiding High Fructose Corn Syrup. And purchasing really expensive organic groceries from Whole Foods… And eating copious amounts of soy…

CURRENT HAIR COLOR: Brown with a tiny bit of leftover highlights.

EYE COLOR: The brown that some Caucasians mistakenly call black.

BIRTHPLACE: Houston. Right smack in the middle of Houston.

FAVORITE NUMBER: Eight. I’ve always loved the shape of 8, and the crazy way it’s spelled.

COLOR: Green, or anything. All colors are good for different purposes. My favorite toothbrush color (purple) is not the same as my favorite car color (slate blue) or my favorite t-shirt color (that heather pink that people keep mistakenly calling lavender) or my favorite jewelry color (carnelian orange-y red or moss-agate green or silver or salmon-y pink). So don’t try to tie me down to one color, okay? I will resist you.

DAY: I like the word Wednesday best, but I have to pick Saturday because that’s the day I never have to go to my day job or drive to and from Austin. Even though “Saturday” makes me think of the Elton John song, and therefore I don’t like to say it’s my favorite day.

MONTH: October, even though this one’s sucking, weather-wise, and I won’t be dressing up for Halloween.

SONG(S): I have a million favorite songs. The most recent is “Give In” by the Bravery. Seriously, though, it’d be easier for me to make you a CD set of my 100 favorite songs than to tell you my one fave. There is no such thing. Songs are very important to me. Let’s not play around about this, okay?

SEASON: Autumn. But Houston autumn, so it’s not cold. (No, I never call it autumn. Only on these surveys do I ever type the word autumn. In real life, I say, “I love the Fall!” and it makes me think of some movie starring Brad Pitt or some other guy that everyone but me thinks is hot. What’s the name of that movie? Legends of…)

DRINK: Alcoholic? I don’t know. Lately I’m dieting and broke, so I drink Bud Light because I can’t find Mike’s Light. I can’t drink red wine, in case you care. I’ve tried, but haven’t yet been able to acquire the taste. If I could drink anything in the world without gaining weight, I guess I’d drink margaritas on the rocks. Or mojitos. Or lemon-filled donuts, made liquid in a blender. Let’s not talk about things I can’t have, okay?

(That’s all. I deleted some of the questions. I can’t imagine people wanting such in-depth knowledge of my chocolate/vanilla preferences. Not without having slept with me or given birth to me, I mean.)