Beyond your Wildest Dreams*

*depending, of course, on what you dream about

Well, readers, you've asked your questions. I've thought long and hard about them (get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert.) And now, finally, the moment you've all been waiting for...America has voted! Sorry. Have been watching American Idol. No wait, hear me out, there is a valid reason. I am also slightly pissed. (That's the reason.)

Anyway, here are the answers to your questions! The questions you asked me a post ago, not the ones that keep you awake at 3am staring at the ceiling in terror. I don't know the answers to those ones. Wow, being drunk really does give me an over-inflated sense of my own comic value. I apologise in advance for the (inevitable) fact that a lot of this post will not be anywhere near as funny as I'm going to think it is. It's still funnier than your mother. (See?)

Who do you secretly admire but feel ashamed of admiring? (Andrea)
Oh man...I was going to go on about pop starlets and the like, but then I remembered something worse. A while back in the paper there was an article about how intellectually & physically disabled people were always getting a bum deal from us normal people. (Sorry, but it's the most concise way to put it.) One of the examples cited was of a woman with - oh dear I don't remember but it affected how she looked - riding her bike along the footpath. A man backing his car out of his driveway shouted after her, "Hey, retard, get off the footpath!" and instantly became Public Enemy Number One but you know what? He probably didn't even know she was disabled. He was probably just shouting at her because riding your bike on the footpath is not only unsafe and unwise and (I think) slightly illegal but let's be honest it is also pretty retarded. And I kind of admire that man for shouting 'retard' at someone when, although he may or may not have known that they were actually retarded, saw that they were doing a retarded thing and called them out on it. And I'm kind of ashamed about that, because it reveals (or even perhaps highlights) the politically incorrect bigot in me.

What IS an underbelly? (Brooke)
It's the bit under your belly. Duh. I don't even know why you even bothered asking that. You could've used the thirty seconds it took to sign in, type that, and do the world verification to, uh, save a child in Africa. I don't know how exactly - what am I, Gandhi? - but I'm pretty sure you could've.

In other news, I seem to be getting more and more offensive. Interesting fact cleverly inserted to distract you from my increasingly abhorrent comments - did you know that Scientists recently did a study where they took a group of seriously ill people and asked religious people to pray for some of them? The patients with people praying for them recovered faster and better than those who didn't. Science says prayer works; Science says positive energy exists. Science feels nowhere near as guilty as I do about all that negative energy I've fired at people over the years.

How do you deal with the shame of washing your hair in the shower and then forgetting to remove the strands of hair from the plug-hole before another person uses the shower? (sleep500)
Excellent question there, sleep500! I would like to answer your question with a question - what does 'sleep500' refer to? So far all I've come up with is a) a really dull olympic sport or b) partial description of the biggest bed in the world. However, let's get back to the issue at hand.

As you may know, my hair is far too short for the shower-hair-thing to be an issue for me, so I called in an expert. I know she's an expert, because she deals with in-shower hair fallout on a daily basis and with one of the following methods. 1) use strands of hair to make pattern on wall of shower, leave for next person to admire; 2) leave hair in plughole until plughole blocks, then deny it the two events are related; 3) take hair out of shower then drop it in toilet with intention of flushing it away, then forget to flush it, causing next person intending to use the toilet to think there is a FUCKING HUGE SPIDER IN IT. I asked said expert sleep500's question and they said "What's the shame? Why is it shameful?" So I guess that answers that.

If you were to dye your hair any colour, what colour would you dye it and why? (Holly)
White-blonde, a la Agyness Deyn or however she spells it. (By the way, did you know she used to have a perfectly normal name until she went to a numerologist (or something like that) who worked out the perfect letters for her name to have, in order for her to gain success? I should go to one of those people.) I've dyed my hair a lot, and white-blonde is the only colour that won't take. It goes ginger. Which is a shame because as a blonde I'd look all Scandinavian and cute! Either that or like the lead singer of My Chemical Romance and hey, people fancy him so it's win-win.

What's the silliest thing you have ever done? (Holly)
Asking me to pick the silliest thing I've ever done is like asking an artist to pick his favourite work - there are so many, and they're all such triumphs of the genre that it's just ridiculous to make me choose. It would feel like favouritism, and all my slightly-less-silly-but-still-ridiculously-embarrassing deeds would gang up on me and reveal themselves at a dinner party in revenge.

- PC or Mac? (Holly)
PC, but if I was given a Mac I'm pretty sure I could function with that too. This is not something I feel strongly about, putting me firmly in the 10% of humanity who are still cool. Or heathens, depending on how you feel about it. I should have done this when I was more soberer.

- Milk, white or dark chocolate? (Holly)
Dark. Badass. 'Nough said.

Inspired by the fact that I am "now running on reserve battery power," how would you spend your last 10 minutes on the internet? As in, you have 10 minutes before the internet goes offline forever. (Jenny)
Emailing physical contact details to all of my online friends, and hoping that they were using their last 10 minutes to check their emails.

Would you rather... not be anatomically correct (think barbie and ken) or have no face? (Jenny)
Difficult question! I would be not-anatomically-correct, but either of those would really suck. Thank God for genitals. And faces. And the combin- OK NEXT QUESTION PLZ

Would you rather... have 3 tiny eyes or have one massive eye? (Jenny)
Totally 3 tiny eyes. One big eye would just make you look like a freak. (The backup punchline to that one was, "People are always telling me I need to gain perspective.")

What would you eat for your last meal ever (be that before the electric chair, known nuclear meltdown, euthanasia or other cheerful end of life scenario)? 3 courses only, no cheating! (Baglady)
Excellent question, Baglady! (No, really.) I have actually thought about this before, but now I can't remember what my eventual answer was so I have to think about it all over again. Thanks for that. I would probably spend so bloody long deciding on the last meal that they'd execute me while I was still in the "I like chicken...but then, I always have chicken" stage.
Entree would be a half portion of Eggs Benedict, with eggs poached hard, ham off the bone & Bearnaise instead of Hollandaise sauce. On an English muffin. Main course would be an enormous rare steak, perfectly done, with a mushroom sauce & maybe fries also. Yeah totally fries, with aioli. Dessert would be dry vodka martinis (because after all, who wants to die sober?) and perhaps a little creme brulee, if one has room. God damn it now I'm hungry.

Favorite drink? (Anon)
Completely depends on the circumstances (apart from non-alcoholic, which is always coffee or blue slushit, haha, amusing typo, slushie). Favourite summer drink is moscato or sangria (shut up, 'pretentious' is just a word that people with no taste use to describe delicious things (you're not funny you're just drunk shut up)). Favourite cocktail is a Paradiso Margarita (tequila, cream, passionfruit, vanilla liqueur, sweet & sour, a couple other things, ice) that the Mexican Cafe make - I'm still kinda sad I left there under a cloud because I miss that margarita. I also really like merlot. Favourite drink above all others: vodka, preferably in martini form.

What would you name a daughter? A son? (Brooke)
I have no idea about a daughter. Perhaps Juliet, perhaps Alex, perhaps Clytemnestra. Who would know, really. Definitely Alexander for a son, then Max & Zach as backup options (i.e. if partner/nemesis/dog is called Alexander). Middle name for either gender definitely Tarquin. Best name ever.

What colour do you think your aura would be? (Brooke)
I don't know anything about what the various colours of auras (does 'aura' gain an s in the plural form? what a geeky thing to ask but still, if you know, please tell me because it will bug me, although not enough to actually make me look it up myself)). But I'm not going to look up the meanings (I really shouldn't start a sentence with 'but'- GO AWAY GRAMMAR NAZI NOW IS NOT YOUR TIME TO SHINE) because I feel that would defeat the purpose. I see my aura as a mixture of red, purple and blue, with a bit of yellow here & there.

How do you feel about polka dots? (Brooke)
Completely depends on how they're worn & who's wearing them - I have a couple of polka dot items of clothing that I like, but in general they look weird on me. Andrea looks lovely in polka dots, but then Andrea has Style, whereas I just have Is That Clean? and that's not quite the same.

Hodgins' beard: yucky or kinda cute? (Brooke)
Sorry, but it's not great. I'm not a huge fan of beards in general. I fail to see the evolutionary advantage. I mean, mustaches are dashing, entertaining, hard to spell and an excellent makeshift granary but a beard? Seriously? The best I can come up with is that it keeps your chin warm.

Which of the following would you take on a desert island (or an island made of dessert): Book? CD? Foodstuff (assuming it was magical and you could live on it forever)? Article of clothing? (Andrea)
Book would be an ever-expanding blank notebook with a pen attached to it. If it had to be pre-written, as it were, then I'd take something impressive - then, whenever I was at a dinner party (post-rescue) I could impress people by reciting the entirety of War & Peace from memory. Not Harry Bloody Potter. Maybe Robinson Crusoe, for inspiration. CD would be something classical, maybe Chopin piano sonatas (or whatever it was that he wrote a lot of for piano) or perhaps Bach preludes & fugues. Foodstuff would be tins of Watties Big Eat, because they contain all of the food groups in one can but, more importantly, you can make a raft out of the empty cans (lashed together with bits of War & Peace). In this scenario I would have a can opener. As if by magic. Article of clothing would definitely be kimono - breezy on a hot day, blanket in the winter, makes a comfy hammock, keep things in the sleeves, hang yourself from the belt when you go mad from drinking sea-water.

Also, would you save your family or some possession if there was a house-fire, bearing in mind that your possessions probably don't have legs while your family probably do? (Andrea)
Um...morality dictates that I should probably check my family were OK before saving my laptop, photo albums, Miss Bear and makeup. What? You don't want those cute firemen to see you all sooty & panda-eyed.

Ooh, and what's your clothing wishlist for winter? (Andrea)
It is depressingly long, but the essentials ('your 'top picks' for winter!') are as follows:
- perfect black trench coat that only exists in my mind
- fitted midthigh length red cashmere/wool blend jacket that goes with nothing in my wardrobe but which I covet regardless
- ten billion cardigans & jerseys & other warm shit you need in winter
- boots, and those black leather 'statement heels' that look like the person wearing them should be shouting sexual things at you in German whilst holding a whip between their buttocks
- sorry I'm still trying to get that image out of my head
- black wool gloves to replace the ones I lost, sorry I said that about the whip between the buttocks
- strapless bra (not really seasonal item but required all the same)

What is the worst possible crime that you could commit only armed with one cubic metre of Jelly? (Joshy)
Excellent question, Joshy! Several options. The first and most obvious one would fall under the broad classification of 'public lewdness.' I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Getting more creative, now: a cubic metre is a fair amount of Jelly (why the capital? Is it special magical Jelly? Because that, like, totally gives me a new set of options) and you could do a lot with it. You could probably suffocate someone with that, if you dumped it on their head while they were sleeping (assuming they didn't struggle much, and the jelly retained its cubic shape and didn't just squdge off the bed onto the floor). But we must consider - is murder really the single worst crime? No, my friends, it is not. And that is why I have reached the conclusion that the worst possible crime you could commit with a cubic metre of Jelly is to install it in a public gallery and call it Modern Art.

Ask Ally

Ok so the lovely Holly (see link in sidebar as I can't be arsed working out how to put links in main body, sorry) did a, um, blog thing called 'Ask Holly,' where her readers left questions for her in the comments, and then she answered them in her next post. Watch as I now attempt to do the same thing!

Post me a question. Go on, anything. I promise I'll answer it.* Feel free to ask anonymously if you like - this is now doubling as a delurking post. Yes, you, you lurker! I see you lurch backwards in alarm at discarding your convenient cloak of anonymity - I've been there. We've all been there. Sometimes we even close the window. But tell me - I give you the very workings of my mind, the lustrous thoughts of my deepest brain innards! I give you my ART, and how often do I ask for something in return? BLOODY NEVER.

(I feel like a bad busker asking for money at the end of his show, except asking for posts, not money. Although if you'd like to give me some money that would also be nice.)

But anyway, hey you, with your reading and not-commenting! Get commenting. Go on, ask a question or something.

(No-one's going to do it now, are they.)

Special Note for Andrea: if it is this time tomorrow and there are NO QUESTIONS, (or even fewer than four), please leave several under different aliases, so I don't feel like a hideous failure. The rest of you - did you not read the 'Special Note for Andrea' part? Now I feel as if my tender pink underbelly is exposed. Metaphorically speaking.


*unless it's something I don't know the answer to, or don't feel like answering.

Sunday

It's not a Sunday, but it feels like one. I bought shoes. The practical pair are black ankle boots with pointed toes and stiletto heels and straps across them, with little buckles on the straps. There are also a pair of bejewelled satiny turquoise pointed-toe heels, and a pair of black strappy shoes with gold detailing and ridiculously high heels. YAY SHOES! Alas, poverty.

Am thinking about what I'm going to play at Andrea's upcoming nuptials. 'Makin' Whoopee' has been over-ruled, as has 'Don't Marry Me.' Have offered to make a horse noise on my trumpet but this has also been declined. No idea why! Audience would expect to see a horse! Then I had the thought that actually Andrea and David could LEAVE the church in a two-person horse costume. It would symbolise the way that two must move as one as the marriage trots along. And I could make horse noises on my trumpet, and people in the pews could knock coconut shells together, as is the time-honoured tradition. As the dutiful wife Andrea would, however, have to be the back end.

Dad and I wrote a highly catchy tune last night. "You got a txt while you were shavin' your face (x3), I wonder who it's from?" "Txt from Barb while I was shavin' my face (x3), that's who it was from." It was based on a true story in which Dad got a txt -from Barb- while he was shaving his face. I could've played it at the wedding, if we hadn't decided by now that actually Moon River will be the song of choice.

Dad told me a story the other day, when we were talking about tomatoes. It goes like this. Bear in mind that it's coming from my retired father, who does not normally tell such stories. "I was in a flat in my younger days, and my mate Tim grew tomatoes, because they're good for hiding dope in." I sort of went 'wait...what?' at that point. "Yes...only, the dope grew all tall and thin and twice the height of the tomatoes and wasn't very well hidden at all. And so we were all sort of sitting around one night, stoned out of our heads, and we thought why not tie little bunches of tomatoes onto the dope plants? To better disguise them, like. But it didn't work because there's actually not anything you can tie tomatoes onto dope plants by. So there we were, outside, trying to stick needles through tomatoes. But then we gave up and went for a walk- there were four of us- and we were quite convinced that the only thing keeping the world spinning was our feet, pushing it backwards under us. We walked for hours because if we stopped, so would the world." Pause. "Funny things you do, when you're doped out of your mind."

Funny things indeed. Up there with Vic's story- it's sort of his party story from what I can gather, he keeps bloody telling it- about the time he woke up in a driveway with no pants on, and didn't know whose driveway it was.

In other news, fuck Mahler. I am sick of him and his fascination with mortality and his constant harking back to his childhood and his love of the flugelhorn. Told this to a friend who was not familiar with the word 'flugelhorn' (fair enough, really), and the conversation went downhill from there. Suffice to say I am never going to be able to listen to someone say "I polished my instrument last night" with a straight face again.

If you could have an extra body part, what would you have? I would have a tail.