Never Asked Questions. Or...um...NAQ

I have this fantasy where I'm an internet celebrity. (My fantasy standards are significantly lower than they were when I was eight and wanted to earn my celebrity status through inventing new snack foods and being the prettiest girl EVER...but it's a fantasy nonetheless.) I think it's due largely to the fact that a good portion of my day is spent at a desk waiting for the phone to ring with nothing to entertain me but this keyboard and the vast, magical expanse of friendship, laughter and sexual predators known as the world wide web. While mindlessly poking through endless archives of fondue recipes, I find myself slipping into daydreams where I have reached the kind of blogging status where I receive hundreds of comments in regards to my controversial spelling of the word "badonkadonk."

When I was eight, my only aid in playing out my snack-food fantasies was a cardboard box with spirals drawn on top like a "stove." (By the way mom, thanks for that and all the emotional scarring. It went well with my "toy" sink.) But, now that I'm grown up, I have my very own real-live blog with which to pretend to be internet popular! Lucky you. Before I go on vacation, I'm going to tie up some loose blog ends for the fans I wish I had by answering some questions that have never been asked, contained in e-mails that don't exist but would if I were internet famous like I deserve to be.

Dear Caitlin,

What was it like in Aquarius? My mommy goes there almost every night. I asked her what's inside and she said it's like a giant playground for grownups. I read your "Aquariawkwardness" entry and was hoping you could be a little more specific. What did you find?

Timmy,
Age seven

Answer:
Um...I only stayed for fifteen minutes so it was a little hard to tell, but it sure looked like magic and unicorns to me, Timmy.

Dear Caitlin

I am a junior in high-school and I really identify with you because I too have an almost pathological self-esteem problem. Last night I was so depressed about getting a "B+" on my last geography quiz that I watched four episodes in a row of "Flavor of Love" with a bag of chocolate chips as my only companion. But then I thought to myself, "Hey. It could be worse. I could have fewer facebook friends than that bitter internet girl. Which I don't." Once I saw clearly how good I have it compared to you, I gathered the strength to trade my chips in for a granola bar and change the channel to Laguna Beach. You are truly an inspiration!

Molly,
Age 17

P.S.
What did you decide about transferring to Kenyon? I'm thinking about applying there myself.

Answer:
First of all Molly, Facebook is by no means a reflection of your worth as a person in real life, so I wouldn't store those chocolate chips out of reach just yet. I mean, I don't know you or anything, but it's quite possible that you are every bit as pathetic as you thought you were. Second of all, to answer your question: Yes. I decided to transfer to Kenyon. This is partly because I think it will help me begin a career as a working writer, and partly because I want to prepare myself for Hell -- you know, just in case -- and I thought another round of orientation "getting to know you games" would do the trick. However, if your self esteem problems are as acute as mine, I don't recommend applying to Kenyon or any other even mildly selective schools. The rejection will drive you back to Flavor Flav's sexy sexy embrace faster than you can say, "you know what would be good with these chocolate chips? Some deep-fried stuff." In fact, to be safe, I recommend not applying to college at all. Get yourself a nice, mail order groom from like, the Ukraine, and start making babies. Trust me. Learn from my mistakes. It's the only way to avoid the heartache. Good luck!

Dear Caitlin

I really liked The Notebook and I'm a big fan of Valentine's day. And "The Christmas Shoes" is a lovely tune that is as brilliantly constructed as it is heartwarming. What is your problem? Why are you so afraid to feel feelings?

Also, I'm the one who called in about the pollen count. Bitch.

Celeste
Age twenty-seven

Answer:
Well Celeste, I may have a problem feeling feelings, but you have a stripper name. Yeah, that's right. Touche.

And that's all from the mailbag for now kids, but the imaginary letters are constantly pouring in so keep your fingers crossed for another installment soon.

Wish me luck on the open Wyoming range!

The Age of Aquariawkwardness

Monday night I tried to go clubbin'. Emphasis on tried since I failed miserably. I didn't fail in the sense that I clubbed poorly...I failed at ever getting through the metal detecting door. Right now, in your heads, you're thinking it's because I'm not of age. You're picturing some big bouncer type with a lot of gold jewelry glancing at my learners permit, shaking his head at me and saying, "What are you tryin' to pull kid? It's twenty-one and up here at Aquarius." But you're horribly wrong. I was turned away because I'm too old.

No, seriously.

For the two of you who don't know, Aquarius is the hottest club in Rochester if you're talking to someone who's thirteen and owns multiple halter tops or someone who sells drugs. It's the only club in town if you're talking to anyone else. From everything I've heard (which isn't much since I can't seem to find any hipsters who've ever...you know...been there...), it's pretty gross and sad. But, seeing the neon sign blink across the way, constantly radiating above the city street lights mere blocks away from my home of eighteen years has had a profound effect on me. Aquarius Club is the Daisy to my Gatsby. I've been fostering a sick curiosity mingled with terror and hope about that place since, at age eight, I first asked my mother, "Mommy, what do they do in there?" and she hurriedly answered, "Um, they dance. Who wants ice-cream?" Nice try mom, but your sly subject-change only served to deepen the mystery.

A mystery that can only be solved in one way: I have to go. Colleen, Tracy and Christa have also felt the mysteriously drawn to the Roch's "hottest" night spot, and we've been planning a visit since last summer. "Do you still want to go?" we ask each other. "No, not really," we answer, "But I feel that I must." Really, its almost noble.

Finally, the big night rolled around and the four of us met at my house where we stalled for about an hour before setting out to stall in the Aquarius parking lot for another ten minutes. When we finally got up the nerve to actually enter the club, a girl behind a cash register took Tracy's money, looked at her and said, "How old are you"

"Um, twenty." She and Christa answered.

Though the girl behind the counter could have easily begun her response with a polite, "Oh, I'm sorry," or an empathetic, "How unfortunate for you!", she chose "uh-uh." for an opener. Like, "nice try, creepies." She continued with, "It's teen night. Thirteen to eighteen only." So we turned around and left for Denny's. Broken, ashamed and all together anticlimatized.

I wish I could say that we showed up on teen night accidentally, but that would be a lie. The truth is, we thought thirteen year olds would be less intimidating and less likely to carry switchblades and fire-arms. We wanted a relatively tame environment for our entry into the lusty, glamorous nightclub world, and we figured middle schoolers and free soda would do the trick. Also, we knew we wouldn't have to compete with other women our age. I don't know any thirteen-year-olds who have a rack like Christa. But, alas, our plan failed due to the fact that Aquarius has no interest in catering to pedophiles. Now the stakes have been raised. Since we still feel that we must go, we are forcing ourselves to try again on Thursday which is "eighteen and up." Now we'll get the full effect.

I don't know what I expect to find beyond those taupe colored walls. I keep picturing that brilliant episode of the Tyra Show where the always eloquent Miss Tyra went undercover as a stripper and kept saying, "I feel...Icky." Icky indeed. Because you can shower all you want, but there are some things that you can't wash away with cucumber-melon body wash and a loofa. Like shame. and Chlamydia.

Now, I have to whoreif...I mean...beautify myself. Wish me luck finding those fishnets.

Let's Get Quizzical (Bite me, Olivia Newton John...)

So far, my summer has been driven by serious mental turmoil. My mind has been beaten to hell by confusion, huge decisions about my future, and phone-calls from batty old ladies. So, I've decided to use my spare time at work to untangle all my jumbled feelings and search through my tumultuous soul. And when I say, "search my soul," I mean "take an unhealthy number of online personality quizzes."

At first, I stumbled into the quiz section of the-n.com because I wanted to find out just how "Moesha" I am, (The answer, by the way, is very. I am very Moesha. In fact, according to the quiz I took, I am "so Mo'.") but I found myself wondering the answers to some other questions posed by the miriad of quizzes on the page. Am I punk? Really? And if I were to date an animal, with wich one would I be the most compatable? Soon, I had been introduced to a whole new world of cybernetic psychotherapy.

I love the rush. I love pushing all of those little buttons, clicking "get results" at the bottom of the page and holding my breath while I hope that my cosmic Smallville twin is more Chloe Sullivan than Lana Lang. Sometimes My heart gets broken. Like the time I learned that, if my life were a TV show, Jessica Simpson would have written its theme song. Or the time I found out that if I were a character from High School Musical I would be Sharpay...but these are all things about myself I'm going to have to face sooner or later on my journey toward self actualization. I'm working on learning to love me for me. Even with all my quirks and flaws. Here are just a just a few of the ways my soul has been revealed to me:

I am less Ashley, and more Mary Kate.


Justin timberlake is my soulmate.


I'm sort of a downer. (I'm not surprised there wasn't a snazzy little badge/logo for this one for me to cut and paste here, but I really wish there was. It woud go something like:"You're Little Miss Sunshine's deformed step-sister! You hate everything! Whenever you speak, people don't know whether to laugh or cry! You're going to die alone!"

My inner self is a brunette and...has really nice eyelashes. Also: "If [I'm] attracted to someone, [I'd] rather share 30 seconds of intense eye contact than spend an hour chatting on IM." So true. You know how I love me some "intense eye contact."


If I had a superpower, it would be "superfly dressing."

***

Sometimes, when I take these quizzes, I get a little bonus guidance when a pearl of wisdom is offered up with my results. Like this one from The Spark: "talk to yourself less. Other people more." Or this one from my old standby, the-n as it revealed that "me + myself = enemies": "Don't let your self-deprecating inner voice prevent you from trying new things -- the next time you catch yourself saying, 'I'm so stupid,' yell back, 'No, I'm not!'" Dulely noted, the-n.com. That sounds like it will do the trick. You probably just saved me a few years of therapy with that one.

No I'm Not! Sorry...where were we?

I know all of these things the internet has told me to virtually error proof because the questions that compose these quizzes are crafted too expertly to have been created by anyone who isn't an emotional genius. Note the finesse of this example from the above mentioned self-esteemed quiz:

When you look in the mirror, your inner voice is most likely to say:

a)“damn, I’m hot!”
b)“I look alright, I guess.”
c)“I look like total crap.”

(Luke, don't pretend you wouldn't pick "a"...)

And examine the delicacy of this carefully crafted moral dilemma from the "how compassionate are you" quiz:

"Your class is throwing a benefit for homeless children. On that same night, your absolute, total and complete favorite actor is doing a book-signing at a local mall. Which do you go to?"

Remember, there are no right or wrong answers on a personality quiz. No one will judge you if you prefer nice, clean "favorite actors" to all those smelly little "homeless children." (Christa.)

Just like I hope you won't judge me because of this new tool I've found for self examination. I too was once a doubter. Until that "what does your DVD collection say about you" quiz saw into my soul and knew somehow that I giggled all the way through "The Notebook." Then, I knew that these almighty quiz creators had abilities not to be taken lightly. Really, it's a completely healthy processs and I can stop whenever I want to. I just don't want to.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find out just how well I know Hilary Duff.