1. How many credit cards do you own? Are they paid off?Let's see... one store card and two major cards. And, yes, they are paid off. I only use them for emergencies. Otherwise, it's my debit card all the way. And all the time.
2. Can you be in love with someone you don't trust?
Absolutely not. I learned this from my relationship with Michael over the winter. No trust, no, love, no dice, no way.
3. Should prostitution be legal?
Define "prostitution." I've never really thought about this, but let's face it. There's supply and demand. It's not necessarily safe. It's potentially destructive, even deadly. It's gross... kinda. But it's everywhere, everyday. And some people need to pay a little to feel good.
But if that's the case, try porn. No. It should not be legal.
4. On a scale of 1-10, how good of a lover do you think you are? (1 is lowest, 10 is highest)
When in a mutually loving relationship with another person, we are all 10's, right? Because if the relationship is healthy, there is open communication, and you can tell one another what you want and need, and they will do it. (That was a run-on sentence, and I apologize.) But truly, tell me what you want, and I'll do the same. It's not like you get one shot, and if the judges give you low scores you're out. It's a work in progress. For intimacy, honesty, sexiness, excellent oral skills, and great skin-- I am a 10.
5. What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?
First, talking about anything in "our" future, or referring to us in any kind of relationship context.
Second, anything involving drugs. (Except nicotine.)
Third, lying about something basic. Like their age. This is huge for me. First date, and they're already lying. It's over before it began.
Bonus (as in optional): Tell us about your worst date ever.
It was the one and only time I met someone who had no face picture on their profile. We met via an online personals site, and he invited me to come over for dinner on a summer Sunday afternoon. He was Italian, his name was Sam, and he was 45 years old. Charming. Funny. He gave me directions to his house in a nice northwest suburb of Chicago.
As I drove up to his house, he stepped out the front door. He was 5 feet 4, stubby, chubby, balding, and looked to be about 60 or more. And old-world Italian. I felt immediately foolish. I should have driven off then and there. But I decided to be gracious. He had cooked a lavish Italian dinner, which I had to sit through and eat. He told me of his family home in Tuscany, the estate which belonged to him, and said, "If you behave like a good boy, someday that home in Tuscany will be yours." Seriously. Fuck.
I had noticed a portrait of him and his parents on the wall in his living room (nestled between large and frightening statues of saints and Virgin Mary's and hideous, overwrought, Florida-colored velvet furniture). He said in the portrait his mother was 50 and he was 35. Later he said his mother had died at the age of 80. Do the fuckin math. I pretended that my cell phone vibrated, took a pretend call and excused myself immediately to attend to a "family emergency."
Scary. Awful. Funny now, but quite a lesson. Many lessons.
So I've been refurbishing my bedroom furniture. I'm re-doing the dresser and armoire. I pulled off the old (1970's, Spanish-inspired) mouldings. Then I gave everything a coat of primer, then three coats of semi-gloss black paint. I'm upholstering the insets of the doors and some of the drawers with off-white vinyl and topping the whole thing off with lovely brushed-nickel hardware. I'm going for a sort of 40's Hollywood look. We'll see. When I'm done I'm going to build a new headboard with the same stylings. The walls are now painted a taupe-brown... a color called "Poker Face" by the paint manufacturer but which I call... "I Drink Your Chocolate Milkshake." That's it on the right. "Poker Face?" What the hell?
