Getting to Know Your Friends

How many times in any given year do you think you receive this email? You know the one, "Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?" "Any tattoos?" "Craziest thing you've ever done?" and so on. My sister-in-law (who, as far as I know, doesn't read this blog) forwards hers to me so often that I have made a kind of game out of memorizing her answers. Like, "Wait, wait--I know this one! You like vanilla! With chocolate sauce!"

Not that I mind, really. And out of sheer boredom (read: "denial of all the things I should be accomplishing" or "post-3 a.m.-feeding insomnia") I usually take time to cut & paste it back to her with my own reliable answers. Lately I have even been guilty of forwarding it on to a few close friends who, I hope, will read it as the desperate, hollow gesture it is intended to be. I don't expect any responses. It's more like a calling card left in their tray, corner bent (top left). In some bizarre way answering those ridiculous questions helps me to remember who I am. Or who I was. Or who I might be if I were getting enough sleep to allow me to remember my own name most days.

While I'm usually able to recall the basics ("Where were you born?" Council Bluffs, Iowa; "Favorite day of the week?" Monday), other answers are slower to surface and frequently threaten to turn into novellas.

"Any tattoos?"
Yes, one. A long-stemmed rose on the inside of my left ankle, near the bone. In memory of my friend Monica, on what would have been her 30th birthday. The suggestion of back-story without really going there.

"Craziest thing you've ever done?"
My answer to this one changes depending on how I'm feeling and what I can remember on any given day. Last time I drudged up this little gem: Made out with an Australian guy in the ladies' room of a night club in Inverness, Scotland. Granted it's not that crazy, nor is it the classiest thing I've ever done, but the complex location seems to lend it street cred. Sometimes I use, Made a bong using an empty pop can, my earring, and a Bic pen, but that's only crazy if you've never done it, and I have actually had people point out that the earring isn't really necessary, especially if your Bic has a fine tip.

See, at one point I was actually out in the world. Before marriage. Before kids. Before my 30s. Before I realized that more or less things are the same wherever you go, and hangovers are a bitch, regardless. I don't really think that anyone but me is interested in what time I started filling out this questionaire (2:47 p.m.) or whether or not I've ever broken someone's heart (I hope so). Sometimes it's just nice to remember where I came from (Glenwood, Iowa) and think about something other than the next child who will need fed (Lucas) or the next load of laundry that needs to come up from the basement (towels).