Friday Fluff

Okay. I believe we are, more or less, back on track with the goofy Friday Fluff this week. As usual, though, I can't help but get serious about stupid fat questions. Give it up already folks, it is old news and totally *yawn*. I'm neither fat nor thin, but I am bored if you can't go deeper than the cheap shots.

This Fluff'n'Stuff, of course, is brought to you by the inimitable Lisa at Seeking Elevation. This week's chosen quiz, Would You Rather, was written by Dani05 and can be found alongside countless others at Quizopolis.com. Feel free to link your Fluff up over at Jester Queen, she's taken the linky honours this week and will point you toward next week's Fluff if you want to get a head start.

And away we go ...

15 Would You Rather Questions Survey

Be a poison tester or suicide bomber?
Poison tester. I’d choose to inflict pain and suffering on myself over taking out anyone, even those who’s opinions and values differ from mine. But I still want to go out with a big bang. Please ensure there’s a big band at the ready every time I test a new poison.

Fat and short or fat and tall?
Hmmmm. I have always prefered my status as less than tall so I’ll pick the former. But I want it understood that I think the question is pitifully thin.

Wet and cold or dry and hot?
Wet and cold. Because at least there would be water to drink.

Vampire or a cat?
Ooh a cat for sure. I’d love to be able to slink around under bushes and shit, all dainty and screw you-ish, chase birds and butterflies, catch mice and get regular back rubs.

That said, I would far rather be licked by a vampire, particularly one of Ann Rice's *swoon*, than get licked by a cat. *shudder*. #sensoryoverload

Be george lopez or brad pitt?
George Lopez. Actually, to tell you the truth, I have no idea who George Lopez is, though the name rings a bell.

I simply don’t want to be world renown, nor do I want to have a body in any shape I’d grow paranoid about losing. From experience I can tell you that this is the best residual of being an overweight teen. I don't have to worry about losing the beauty I didn't think I had at 16.

Eat sand or dirt?
Dirt. Only because I’m pretty sure sand has no nutritional offerings whatsoever, unless it is mixed with dried up seaweed. Regardless I would not enjoy the grittiness of it. For this reason, I’d hope my dirt would be more compost than loam.

Be 30 or 1?
30 for certain. I would do anything, anything, to escape those horrendously painful teen years. Until someone figures out how to make that period of life less angst ridden and shitty, you could not drag me back there, no siree, no.

Pro skater boarder or singer?
Singer. For certain. I do not enjoy falling or getting bumped or bleeding. I do not wish to break bones, become airborne, fall on my head. What I would especially not want to do is tear something in my groin, as one young man with whom I am acquainted. Ouch.

Eat metal or bugs?
I’d of course rather eat bugs. And I’m so glad you’ve asked me this, as my children have just written a story about a restaurant that serves bugs. They spent some time at the blog, Girl Meets Bug, to gain inspiration. Yum!

Be a monkey or wolf man?
I just love monkeys. You have, no really, you have no idea how deep an obsession can be until you’ve met all of my monkeys.

Um, so monkey. Girl monkey of course, which is why I would never want to be a wolf man. I never, ever want to have a part of my body over which I have no control. Seriously. I think that is why men want to control women's bits so very badly.

(My mother gave me the new joy-in-a-box monkey yesterday, in honour of my 45th year. Woot! Mom! Best birthday gift ever!)

Work at google or bing?
I don’t know. I’d have to check and see what the lunch room facilities are like. I hear that high-tech companies’ lunch facilities are rather like the fancy food court at Food Republic in Hong Kong. Only it would have to be free, because I hate paying for my lunches. I'd make my choice based on that factor.

What?!

Make a board game or video game?
I have a great idea for a video game, based on the time I spent a great amount of the '90s being dripped on by faulty and illegal air conditioner drips, ducking under neon signs, zipping past falling cranes, beneath jetisoned dirty diapers and big-screen televisions, and avoiding umbrella points and old ladies sharp elbows in Kowloon, Hong Kong.

That would be one hellofa video game, I tell ya.

I have no ideas for a board game whatsoever. No inspiration. Nothing.

So I choose video game for the win.

Mini cooper or mustang?
Hey! I just drove a Mini yesterday!!! It's part of the fleet of vehicles I co-own in the car co-op ...

Hmmm. I have a pretty sweet sentimental connection to the Ford Mustang. You got a moment?

My paternal grandmother was quite a character: Widowed when my dad was only 10, she turned the war-bond shilling she’d done throughout her husband’s illness into an insurance selling business after his death. When she moved to the coast and married a slick insurance guy who was also an asshole, she also chose a faster life, wining and dining with people who considered themselves movers and shakers.

Apparently her VW Bug did not suit the new image (and image was always big for her) so she turned that insect in for a stallion. A 1967 Ford Mustang in green. The marriage did not survive, but my grandmother’s love affair with Mustang muscle cars lasted the test of time.

Grandma Cox only owned two of those cars: the ’67 which rusted in her driveway the year she slipped on ice and broke her leg, and a Charlie’s Angels Mustang Cobra she carefully picked up to replace it.

You would not believe the stress she caused all of us toward the end of her life, when she absolutely refused to stop driving the car. She could barely see over the steering wheel what with age-related shrinkage, and the lady wore a lead right shoe. She drove fast.

Mix macular degeneration into the mix and as a passenger I white knuckled, white knee capped it through a few trips before I convinced her I might be the better driver. I remember how she'd hold her head turned just so, to better use her peripheral vision which was all she had left, to avoid hitting things. At 100km/hr.

I could have easily inherited that car -- I was totally entitled -- but a younger nephew was lusting after it more. I also knew that it sucked gas like a kid drinks a milkshake through a fat straw and my enviro-conscience was too strong for that kind of guilt.

Ultimately, the nephew couldn’t afford the insurance and sold the car to someone who was cross-eyed with desire. I figure that beautiful car, in all of it’s silver outer, red interior glory, deserved someone with the right kind of lust in their heart. I think my grandmother would have appreciated that.

So I guess, in the end? The Mini. Even though we would have to strap a kid to the top of it because it only seats four and we're a family of five.

Dead or alive?
You know what I don’t want to do? Malinger. If the world goes seriously sideways, I’m not entirely sure that I will be the type that will live at all costs. A blaze of glory, like Elsie. That's how I'll go. But not a suicide bomber blaze, nor glory, that's for sure.

Singer or actor?
Oh both. Always both.

I’m not sure that I could be one without the other.

Which brings me to something I’ve been jonesing to discuss for years, and dying to discuss for weeks: Whitney. But the good news for those of you who might be exhausted now is that I've decided this mess has gone on long enough. I don't know about you, but I'm in dire need of a milkshake with a gigantic straw.

So if you want to know my take on Whitney (RIP), I'm posting that on a separate page sometime later today, or maybe tomorrow. Because Whitney deserves more, don't you think? At least coherent, edited theories on a separate page.

Anyway, it is something to look forward to, right?