Which Personality Type Are You? A Quiz

Answer each question as truthfully as possible. Then tally your answers to find out your personality type!

1. Which vegetable would you rather be pelted with while running, naked and afraid, through the streets of Larchmont?
a. Beet
b. Rutabaga
c. Turnip
d. Cauliflower

2. Others perceive you as what kind of animal?
a. A prowling, sensual wolverine
b. An herbivorous donkey
c. A jellyfish
d. A fire ant

3. You are at a party at a fancy club in Mamaroneck and someone offers you shellfish. You're allergic! Do you:
a. Punch the nearest person in the eye
b. Throw the shellfish out the window
c. Eat the shellfish, and die dramatically
d. Poop in the punchbowl

4. Your firstborn son's name would be:
a. Testicles
b. La-La-La Phoofa
c. Jiggles
d. Rump

5. Your firstborn daughter's name would be:
a. Vagine
b. Juicy Greenteeth
c. Arfy McWoof-Woof
d. Dave

6. You come home to catch your spouse snacking on a doo-doo he/she just fished from the toilet! Do you:
a. Yell, "I was saving that for a midnight snack!" and then laugh uproariously together
b. Stare quizzically, yet penetratingly, at the offending object whilst raising your right eyebrow ever so slightly
c. Turn around to leave the house, and quickly drive off the nearest bridge
d. Start singing and dancing to an impromptu jingle that begins: "Everything tastes better with butter!" Get a brainwave to launch a butter empire.

7. Your idea of the perfect date is:
a. Makin' a baby
b. Egging a neighbor
c. Fornicating
d. Toilet-papering the statue of Thomas Paine

8. Your favorite charitable cause is:
a. "Everything Tastes Better With Butter!" (tm) Campaign to Bring Butter to African Children
b. Help for Middle-Aged People Who Are Funny-Looking and Portly
c. Scataholics Anonymous
d. Support New Ro's Wild Shopping Cart (WSC) Population

9. If you ran for office, your campaign slogan would be:
a. Cheaper Cigarettes for the Elderly
b. Make My Mama Proud
c. I'm Here to Burn Your Village
d. Hot Buttered Everything for the Poor

10. Your favorite toy as a child was:
a. Fuzzy, the Carnivorous Whelk
b. Daddy's gun
c. That gnawed-on, disembodied Barbie Doll head
d. An ancient, cursed amulet that brings with it 600 years of blight

11. You live in Southern Westchester because:
a. Snuggly opportunities on the commuter trains
b. Good cheese
c. You're just that wealthy, damn it
d. The sex offender registries in some other communities are more stringent

12. Your favorite local merchant is:
a. Silkies Saloon
b. Craftform Apparel and Mastectomy Supports
c. That New Ro brothel that went out of business (no thanks to your generous patronage)
d. Silly Little Fripperies for Your Other Summer Cottage

If you answered:
Mostly As: You are ruthlessly unappealing and are shunned at nearly every social gathering. Someone will soon try to poison you.
Mostly Bs: People with pitchforks and flaming brands are currently approaching your place of residence. I would have said it faster but I didn't want to give you a head start.
Mostly Cs: You are an noxious mugwump with questionable hygiene. Expect someone to send you a turd by U.S. Priority Mail in the coming weeks.
Mostly Ds: You are an unlikable lumpen. People are signing a petition asking you to leave the country.

My Memphis Sojourn

Part 1: I arrive at La Guardia Airport and wait at the security checkpoint. An older woman who has clearly had "some work" done arrives and demands to be taken to the front of the line. She carries about 18 Louis Vuitton sacks and satchels and wears a conspicuous diamond-crusted bracelet. The man behind me shouts "Well, aren't we special!" When I board the plane, there she is in First Class. Gosh, I think, people can still afford First Class! Things aren't so bad!

Part 2: I arrive at my hotel in Memphis, The Crowne Plaza. As I'm checking in, the man behind the desk excuses himself and disappears for about 10 minutes. "This hotel is just as lousy as they say!" I fumed. Back he came, only to announce that the hotel had no room for me as was overbooked. But! They would put me up at another hotel downtown for free, shuttle me there, and buy me a cocktail or two to make up for it. Things were looking up! I enjoyed some wine at the bar and then the manager of the hotel drove me to my new destination.

Part 3: I ventured out from my new hotel, The Holiday Inn Select, and headed down toward Beale Street to get some food. On the way, an aggressively friendly gentleman leapt out and inquired as to my business there. "Why, just looking around," I said. "You going to Beale Street?" he asked. "Sure," said I. "This way!" said the gentleman, and made a quick left down a dark and abandoned street that was in no way the direction of the famous Beale. Dark and abandoned street? Strange town? I sure wanted to follow him! But, a police officer hove up and chased the fellow off, with many rude words.

Part 4: I sat down to dinner at the Blues City Cafe. Fantastic! They served something called Texas Toast, which is like toast, but made with lard instead of wheat. It's really good dipped in garlic butter. I also had some gumbo. I read my book while I ate, until the guy at the next table yelled out "Whatcha reading? Good book?" I normally think such questions are deeply criminal--who wants to be disturbed while they read? But he was so friendly my annoyance fled. And then he and his wife talked to me for the entire course of the meal. Welcome to Memphis!

Part 5: The next day, I visited the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. Absolutely amazing place. Give them all your money now. The hospital was founded by the entertainer/comedian Danny Thomas after he made it big. While we were on a tour through the place, I spotted a familiar-looking "worked-upon" face. "Hey, that woman was on the plane with me," I said. "She's the one who cut the line!" Our tour guide didn't miss a beat. "That's Marlo Thomas," she said. That Girl! Free to Be You and Me!

Dead Rodents "R" Us

Today, my nanny reported that she had discovered a dead squirrel next to the (dead) tree in the backyard. It was lying on its back with limbs curled, affecting a realistic "dead" look. The deceased creature did not respond to any noise or human traffic. It lay there for several hours, proving its deadness. Looking to spare the boys, our nanny forbade them from backyard play.

Later, she returned to find the squirrel had vanished. Foul play? Is this something to do with Creepy the Squirrel, our basement friend? Or was the squirrel carted off by something more formidable and carnivorous? WHY WOULD A SQUIRREL CORPSE VANISH?

I have to go to Memphis tomorrow and, due to new corporate budget restrictions, am staying in the Crowne Plaza. I have just read a series of reviews that list "splattered poo around bathroom, an unidentifiable stench, a hooker in the elevator, and a decayed and rotting rodent in the hotel room." Hookers are one thing, but a decayed rodent? That is very bad! That is a very bad thing to have in one's hotel room!

Is this where cost-cutting measures have left us? First, they cut the coffee service. Next, the holiday party. I can live with that. But decayed and deceased rodents in one's hotel room go a step too far. This shall not stand!

The Stash-Hole, and Other Things They Left Behind

Now that we are the proud owners of a new house, we have spent many happy hours exploring the nooks and crannies of the old estate to discover ITEMS OF EXTREME VALUE that were unaccountably left behind by the sellers. I have been cataloguing these treasures and I would like to say one important thing. Clearly there is either cash or drugs (or both, or a quantity of valuable JOOLS) hidden in my home and I INTEND TO FIND THEM.

First of all, we know that the previous owners of our house kept things of extreme value around because they had what we now refer to as THE STASH-HOLE.



Over the weekend, while tearing away a particularly hideous railing in the living room faux-foyer, we revealed this secret cubby hidden beneath the top of a built-in bookshelf. Was it filled with Depression-era cash? Jewels? Pot? No! But if you were a drug mule or a gem thief, wouldn't you want a little stash-hole like this for your stash? No doubt the booty had recently been removed. But we are now wise to the game. Armed with my crowbar, I went prowling.

And I found this. Creepy the Squirrel!



Was he really sitting on the circa 1953 Speed Queen washing machine? No silly, I placed him there for the photo op. But look at the blackness of his black, beady eyes. The vacant hopelessness. Drugs, yes? Notice a theme? I searched inside Creepy the Squirrel's orifi but found nothing of interest.

Also discovered in an abandoned fridge in the basement: This fresh bottle of Rheingold Ale. Just as good as on the day it was fermented. Juicy good fun!



In the "Blair Witch" category, this birdcage dangling in the basement shadows, next to what looks like a miniature noose. It used to be in an upstairs bathroom. Now it's down there. Weird! I'm really sorry now that I drank so much of that Rheingold, because things are getting freaky. The bird's various orifi were also free of smack, crack, goofballs and downers. So where was the stash?



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Anyway, I thought for sure I was onto something when I found this "antiseptic." Isn't this for, like, people who shoot up and stuff? To clean their grungy old needles? This was out in the garage. We immediately used it to cleanse a number of minor flesh wounds we had incurred in the search for DRUGS AND CASH.



I went back for another slug of the verdammnt Rheingold (Gott in Himmel!) and noted this potential "stash" area. Meat-Keeper? My arse!

I don't want to talk about what was in the Meat-Keeper. Can you say "38-year-old pork product?" More Rheingold, please!

My Peter Pan Birthday Party

Astute readers of this blog know that The Pony has long been known as a hater of kiddie birthday parties. So it seemed particularly ironic (a la a black fly in one's Chardonnay) that Yours Truly was the lucky winner of a birthday party contest on The Loop.

I gloated about my win. The party was being offered by It's My Party, which then went out of business. It was later taken over by their partner, Applause. Applause runs Broadway Babies and Broadway Superstars, which offer classes and parties built around popular musicals, including High School Musical, Annie, The Sound of Music, and Grease.

Oh, this kind of twee gaiety would be ripe for my pen! Boy, was I going to slag these people! But then, a moral dilemma: How could I possibly be snarky about some nice folks who were offering me a free birthday party? How could I be the meanie that I am accustomed to being?

I went down to chat with the Applause folks and plan my party. When I arrived, a bunch of wee babes were experiencing a Broadway Babies class. The drooling infants were being serenaded by a lovely young blonde in full makeup and a buff, steel-jawed actor who looked very freshly bathed. The woman who ran the place was all smiles and excitement: "We just can't WAIT to have your party!" They were so earnest, so Broadway! I expected a chorus line of Zac Efron lookalikes, all abundantly gay and wearing mascara.

I had, in fact, been offered High School Musical as a theme, but I decided that was too, too much for my five-year-old boy, who doesn't know Sharpay from a Shi'Tzu. Instead, I chose Peter Pan. Flying! Pirates! Lost boys! Crocodiles! How could it go wrong?

Oh, I wish I could say that the party had scarred me, my children, and all their friends for life. But no, dear readers. The party was an absolute delight. The three young performers, all actors from NYC, sang, danced, and engaged the children with songs from the Peter Pan Broadway musical. Before the party even started, my two boys were dancing madly to a CD of tunes from The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, and other fodder that makes my husband cringe and gnash his teeth.

A young woman played Peter Pan, and she whispered to some children early on that Captain Hook was terrified by the sound "Tick tock." The children went wild over this, and proceeded to attack the actor playing Captain Hook with a delighted frenzy (After har-harring and fleeing the scene repeatedly, he wound up at the bottom of a pig pile after being pelted with beach balls to the head. I suspect his "My Career Sux" blog will read more rudely than mine will). Wendy, in a white nightgown, backed up Peter at every turn.

From the start the children were transfixed and thrilled. They loved every moment of the show, and you could see it on their faces. Gosh, it even warmed our cold and prickly hearts to see them all leaping about the room with shiny pom-poms to the tune of "I Can Fly." My almost 6-month-old infant nearly flailed right out of his diaper in an effort to join the festivities.

After the show, they served pizza (Sals, overrated as it is) and juice boxes to the kids, and then a giant cake with my son's face embossed on its chocolatety surface. He laughed most uproariously when he saw himself on the cake. Then the kids all walked the plank, shouted out their names, and received goodie bags.

I confess that at times during the show I wanted to be a part of it all. Performer! Birthday guest! It didn't matter. Everyone was made to feel welcome and it was just a lot of gosh-durned fun. I batted a ball toward the ceiling and popped bubbles with my infant's toe. I found myself smiling with glee. Aw, ain't life sweet? And I'm old and withered, too!

The cost for all this hilarity? The party that I won would have run us a nice four figures. Plus tips for the performers. I can fly, indeed! Because I'm on crack! Well, if you have the dollars floating around, it's pretty swell.

Note: Send someone up the street for a box of Dunkin Donuts coffee. The caffeine makes the party extry-special.

Photo Credit: Cristina Costa-Cerone

I Just Turned 40

Today I was reminded by a friend that one day my blog may disappear--left untended, it may be swallowed into cyberspace or, if I'm lucky, sit unnoticed for year upon year and finally peter out when the entity that manages it goes defunct in the year 2056.

I sort of thought my blog was eternal. But now I feel the need to make a paper record. I like paper. It has the peril of forever attached to it, although moths and mealyworms may render it worthless. When humans go extinct (as they surely will), won't there be some wan scraps of poetry still floating about? Maybe, for a time. But I doubt the bound printouts of my blog will survive much, printed as they are on non-archival paper unprotected from the onslaught of fire, water, mold.

Why so dire, little pony? Maybe, upon learning that the best friend of a friend has died yesterday, I renounce my earlier proclamation that Death Is a Media Conspiracy. I don't know too many people who have died. Mostly the very, very old. Someone who is 30 is not supposed to go. Oh hell, I don't like to be proven wrong! Can someone show me the death certificate?

The other night my friend said "I just turned 40. Soon I'll be 50. Then 60. And soon I'll be dead." I laughed most heartily, but then I stopped.

I went to a funeral earlier this month. It was for my godmother. I brought my young baby, only 5 months. I walked down the aisle before the ceremony, and saw old face after old face. All of them were tearful, pinched, hunched--looking as if their best friend had died. Oh gosh, people, why do you have to look that way, I thought, as I wheeled my baby down the aisle. They all must be about 98 years old! What was their problem?! Their best friend had just died.

Everyone loved that the baby was at the funeral. I felt it was OK to bring him, because a baby at a funeral just says that things are going to go on. The big circle of life and death and all that. When my godmother's brother, a dear man who is a pediatrician, saw the baby, he clutched him to his chest and would not let him go. Other people clutched him, until he had been clutched in a circle of young and old, hoping to smell his sweet baby hair and feel his hands pulling at their lapels.

I'm continuing this post the next day and I just have to say "What a bummer, man! Why do you have to go on and talk about death and all that shee-ite? Just stop, man! Man!" (I'm not a man but I like to use the word "man.")

I thought that I might send this blog dark, because I'm gittin' real old and if I don't work on my novel now I am going to RUN OUT OF TIME AND DIE. But then I realized:

Without humor we are lost
I don't have the wherewithwhatever to work on my novel yet
Drunken typing fingers do not produce novel
Novel can be %^$^%#$%^ published on my ^^&$%^ blog if I so choose, blow ye all!
Novel sucketh? No, it's brilliant, and there's the rub.
Too many bottles. So little time.
Cannot type without serois mispellings.

Death come quick like dagger!

Exposed Breasts, the Rabbi, and the Ham

Live election blogging! Or, just something to kill the time while I gnaw my nails.
Unfortunately, I just shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate the closing of our house. Ah, yes. Let us revisit this bizarre and heretofore unparalleled weirdness that is our new home purchase. Several months in the making, it's a story involving;

Holes dug on the premises
A garage 1 foot and 2 inches from the neighbor's property (variance required 2 feet)
One skunk
A weird living room addition built in the 40s to house an old auntie/uncle
A missing land survey
Electric lines so low a child could grab 'em
A swollen laundry hose, about to explode and flood the basement
A dryer that vents into a crawlspace
A bad cop, a good cop, and a cop with a difficult-to-observe hair appendage
One sweaty guy who ran the open houses
A master bedroom with no doors
A bathroom with no shower
Doorknobs that pop off when you touch them

[Obama now showing a 55% advantage in Florida. "You can see where the night is going" says CNN.]

But first! The story of my birthday party. This blog goes everywhere! It laughs at non sequiturs!

The party started off strong at about 7:15 p.m. when the first neighbors rolled in. We drank, we passed the cheese. All was very pleasant.

The party went on. Our neighbor banged out a Happy Birthday song on the piano to much raucous singing. My husband made a movie-worthy speech from the stairway landing, and delivered unto me a house for my birthday gift. I would like to add here that I will never forget that.

The party went on. Several infants arrived in baby-carriers, and were googled over. A pinata arrived, but I was cautioned not to hang it from the acoustic-tile ceiling. A spiral-sliced ham was heated and plopped on a plate.

Midnight arrived, and I was ready to go to bed. But just then! A silhouette of a strange figure appeared in the back door, as I sat in the back yard. She drew closer. I saw that it was S____, my best friend from CA, fresh in from a delayed flight from Rome. Glory be! S____, for those who know her, lacks inhibition.

She quickly gulped down two large glasses of whiskey, and the conversation between the late-night partygoers (gathered at the picnic table in the back) went horribly awry. I would like to apologize for the following snippets of conversation that the neighbors may have overheard. I also apologize for anything overheard by their impressionable children:

"Some people have their anuses bleached."
"My pudenda are dangling in the wind."
"Do you ever get into girl-on-girl action?"

Sometime around then--or was it before?--the Rabbi arrived.

To be continued!

[New Hampshire will go for Senator Obama, says CNN.]