Here is the final installment of Mongoliangirl's interview of me. I could have broken it up even more and gotten a fourth day out of it, but I got on a roll this morning and just decided to wrap it up. My sincerest thanks again to Mongoliangirl for really turning the screws on me with these questions and to A Free Man for pairing us up as a part of his interview experiment. I really did enjoy the process and I hope everyone else has at least tolerated the results. To the finish:
Other than me singing Amazing Grace [see previous post], what gets on your nerves to the point of making you want to hit something?
One of my biggest pet peeves: People unable to shake the delusion that parking in a parking lot is a contest in which balloons and money will fall from the sky for the person who manages to discover the one available spot that is closer to the building than all the others. Actually, this only applies if I’m riding in the car with them, but it drives me freakin’ nuts. I’m the only person I’ve ever met who tends to just pull into the first available space, even if (gasp!) it’s not the closest to the door. In the time it takes you to cruise three or four aisles of the lot for that magical winning spot, I’ve already covered my forty extra feet of asphalt and am inside the store where I will have to walk a mile and a half anyway just to find that bag of Funyuns I’ve been lusting after.
Ever literally had the shit scared out of you? Yes? Describe. No? Tell me about a time that you were scared shitless.
Literally? No, although my brother and I were once jumped by some n’er-do-wells in downtown Wilmington, DE when we were both very young. He shat himself; I just pissed my pants. Is it wrong to share something like that about a person when they are dead and can no longer defend themselves? Nah, dead or not, he’s still my brother so I can still give him crap about it. He tormented me enough while on this earth (in a brotherly way, of course) that I think I’ve earned that right.
There was one time when I didn’t have time to be scared shitless, though. I almost rapelled off the end of the rope while descending Mt. Moran in the Tetons. Anytime you rappel you should tie a knot in the end of the rope, especially when the end does not touch the ground; that way, it’s impossible to rappel off the end. Actually, I was doing a tandem rappel (not recommended, for many reasons) in which the guy I was climbing with was rapping the other half of the rope right next to me. He landed on a ledge just as the knotless rope zipped through his belay device. We both saw it happening and he grabbed the rope with his top hand and I grabbed a flake of rock. One or the other reaction prevented me from falling about two thousand feet to the glacier below. Dumb, dumb, dumb mistake. Got lucky that time. There's actually a picture on my living room wall that would be the last photo of me alive had things not gone so well.
That little Courtney you're all in love with seems like a real cutie-pie-smarty-pants. What's the dumbest thing you and cutie-pie-smarty-pants have ever fought over?
You know the basket in the dishwasher that holds all the utensils? I say everything should go handle-down (except for sharp knives.) Courtney goes handle-up. I recently volunteered (in the presence of others, no less) the fact that I usually go behind her and flip everything over to my liking. What I had intended as an example of my own ridiculousness quickly devolved into in argument over why it should even matter (For the record, I think it gets too crowded if you put everything business-side down.) I’d say the vast majority of our dumb-ass arguments stem from my territoriality over the kitchen. How many times do I have to say it? Women have no business being in the kitchen. Not my kitchen, at least. (Actually, Courtney cooks dinner sometimes, and after many years of conflict I’ve finally learned to just stay out of the kitchen when she’s there.)
On your profile under 'Favorite Books' you have a nice list (mostly because, in my opinion, you include Hunter S. Thompson). What I like most about your list, however, is that you also say, "...and most every other book I've read." But seriously, Mickey, there has to be at least one book you've read that you thought was complete shit. What is that book and where is it now? Sold in a garage sale? Burned in an illegal fire in your front yard? Where?
You know how we all have a list a mile long of all the books we want to read and all the music we want to buy, more than a person could possibly fit into a lifetime? And then you can never think of a single item off that list when you’re actually in a library or music store? Unless of course you actually have a hard copy of your list rather than just storing it in your undependable brain, in which case you are smarter than I. Well several years ago I was in the library and couldn’t think of any of the books I wanted to read, so I browsed until I found The Descent, by Jeff Long. Sounded like a fun, sci-fi adventure kind of book.
Terrible book. Just completely stupid. I only read a few chapters before giving up. Hopefully it’s back on the fiction shelves at the Teton County Library growing stale and dusty from non-use.
Being the shallow bitch that I am, I am going to judge a book by its cover for a minute here. This photo of you
makes me think you have a very tender heart. Even though I've got a big mouth and would probably tell you anything, I admit I might find myself holding back from telling you things I've done that might affect that tender heart of yours. Out of all the things people have share with you about themselves, what is the one that made your heart hurt the most?
I guess I should refer you to this post. And this one. Same person. Pretty heart-wrenching.
You have a post titled 'Songs That Make My Soul Hurt'. You seem to struggle with the idea of blogging about things that make your soul hurt. What's up with that?
I had to look that post up. That was just a way of saying they’re the worst songs of all time, in my opinion. As far as writing about things that truly cause me pain on a soul-ular level, I don’t think I’ve shied away from that. No, I haven’t shared my deepest, scariest emotions here on this blog, but that’s because people I know actually read it. Also, I try to keep the dial here tuned to funny as much as possible, rather than middle school diary.
Give me a list of at least three things that make your soul hurt that you will commit to blogging about within the next three months. It better be some seriously painful shit Mickey, or I'm going to have to sing Amazing Grace again.
You like to bring the pain, don’t you? Is this a dare? I don’t really have a whole lot of pain in my life, to be honest. I already nonchalantly tossed off a reference to having lost my shitty-pantsed brother in this interview, so you can see I’m not really someone who dwells on stuff too much. But, if I had to come up with three painful episodes that I might consider writing about if I felt like my readers would find them at all interesting, maybe these would be them (notice the heavy lack of commitment):
1. Nope. Changed my mind. If I feel like sharing, I’ll share. So sing away.
If I had the ability to do that table hanging thing you do
I would make it my life's mission to do it on a table at the Vatican. I mean, it could be a really offensive thing to do in certain locations. Ever thrown yourself into a table hang in a completely inappropriate place? If not, would you take money to do it in the middle of someone's funeral service or something like that?
I swear I don't always wear that shirt! (But I do quite a bit; thanks, Julie.)
To my knowledge, the sport of tabling was invented in the library at UC Boulder. Or in a cabin in Yosemite Valley. Either place is likely, but I like the idea of pulling off a full table traverse in the quiet of a university library. My own tabling experience is limited to three different tables, all in private settings, two of which were broken in the process, though not by me, although I may have contributed (I sould be meeting that exact table once again this year, actually.) The problem with tabling is that it’s difficult to find a sturdy enough table, but I’d be willing to bet that the Vatican has some kick-ass 300-year-old solid oak tables that would just be asking for it and wouldn’t even flinch.
To answer the final question, yes, I would take money to do it in a completely inappropriate situation. Are you offering? Let’s talk numbers.