My actual 200th post. So part II really

Hurrah!

Can you tell the difference between a real 200 and 199?

And I'm pretty certain I'm counting right. For once. And If I'm not, I forbid you to correct me.

Let me have my illusions and consider yourselves forbidden. Thank you. So nice of you.

Since the draconian part of the day is thus executed with success, here are some more of my answers to your thought and lengthy-answer provoking (by which I mean more than yes or no) questions:

I think I'll start out with our international section today. Or as I like to call it now you see her, now you don't parade.

Chelsea who writes a funny, but ever so difficult to track down and often vanishing blog It's just the way it goes today asked me how many different countries have you lived in and how many more do you want to try?

To which I'll answer (and this is without the deceptive fingers) 10, and how many more are there that aren't legally dry?

CrazyCris who also gets ants in her pants asked me what (not who, who is a given) do you miss most from the places you've lived in?

I miss the food, the ocean, the coffee, the beach, the desert, the mountains, the wine, the safety, the feeling of danger, the no-prescription-needed medicine, the humidity, the dust, the language, the restaurants, the birch trees, the snow, the palm trees, the traffic, the empty roads, the solitude, the crowds, the cities, the country side...

I miss every single place. But then again. New experiences really rock.

Steven Anthony asked me of all your travel, if you could only pick one place to visit, live and die in, where would it be?

Copenhagen or Mexico City. Depends on whether I've already eaten when you ask me. And since I'm currently indulging in a mountain of cheese I'm left undecided for now.

Cyndy, my... what was your title, Güss, about again (read the comments)? I may or may not have been severely inebriated when we were deciding on that whole bloggy relationship thing... err. Anyhoo, Cyndy writes at 110 Penned and wanted to know where is the one place you stayed the shortest but still called home and where do you want to go next? 

Bristol, England and back to Latin America. Although, Zambia I would also very much like to call home, or Tanzania, or one of the Congos, or Nigeria, or Kenya, or Burkina Faso, or Senegal, or Indonesia... Hubby did always love Indonesia...

If I haven't been and they serve wine, I want to go. Words to live by.

Some of you (Nabula, Fidgeting Gidget, Leenie) were wondering about my name, Extranjera, where it comes from, and what it represents.

Extranjera is Spanish and means foreigner. I think that the name captures my personality and a lot of what makes me the way that I am. Nothing less. It's all very thought out and such.

Or perhaps I'm just making it all up. Could be. Sounds nice and deep, eh?

And now it's time for some assorted questions, before we delve into the perverse and otherwise intriguing ones:

Breenuh asked me if you could freeze your life at any year what would it be and why?

I don't think I've hit that year yet. None of the ones so far have been perfect runs. Right when I think that I'm in the middle of a perfect year someone either dies, I effectually become unfriends with someone, or I have to get emergency surgery. Also, food poisonings feature prominently in many of my 30 years and shrimp on the way up doesn't make for time well suited for freezing.

Ekanthapadhikan wanted to know have you ever believed in Santa? Ever?

To which I can only reply, all Kanye-like: DUDE HE OUR RULER AND WE HIS MINIONS!!!! DONT DISS SANTA!!!!! FEAR THE REINDEER!!!

Kim asked me why Steve?

That was the name of the guy in my dreams. Duh.

Novelista Barista wanted to know how did you get the followers?

Dunno. Your guess is as good as mine.

Jen asked me what else do you want to do with your life?

Love, travel, read, eat well, taste excellent wines, learn, drink some good tequila, hug the Hubby, make people laugh, sing, meet honest and fun people, get that tooth fixed, hold hands, drink awesome lattes, sleep well, kiss, dance like a maniac, smell something nice, take interesting photos, find my golf swing for good, and the list goes on...

Ducky Loves Minnie wants to know which fear drives your thoughts and actions the most?

Easy. Fear of being able to see along the straight line from here to when it all ends. I'm a squiggle kind of girl.

Cyndy was also curious about the Hubs and whether he reads your blog(s)? Knowingly or anonymously?

He does. All of them. Sometimes we don't have to talk for weeks.

My real life friend who really should be blogging, Ph.D. Mommy, asked me what is your favorite word?

Well, I know that the word I use the most is just, which from a Freudian point of view must signify all sort of peculiarities, but I kind of like it. Still, right now, I'm totally in love with the Tswana word ee for yes, I understand, I see. The word is (just spelled that id. Hullo Freud my man.) pronounced ee-ee-ee, drawn out, and almost sung in three different keys. I can spend hours, such as the hour I spent this morning sitting in traffic, trying to get the pronunciation right. I also like to try out my excellent Tswana skillz on unsuspecting people peddling stuff at stop lights.

More fun than you think. Or I'm just easily amused.

Not so glamorous housewife, who is a crocheter par excellence and also writes a not so glamorous blog (at first I thought she was fibbing, and might have actually been Martha incognito, because she was glamorous enough to get hate mail, but then she posted a picture of a porcelain teapot-santa and that closed the book on the issue) wanted me to make a Sophie's choice between wine and meat, but I know she would never really ask me to choose, so I'm completely disregarding that question and jumping onto if you were an animal what would you be?, what was your favorite crochet project of all time? and how do I make my children leave me alone for a couple of minutes while I type this?

And I can only say: not the neighbor's pug because his owners have the worst fashion sense and the poor pooch is visibly suffering (still aiming for an intervention and/or dognap at some point), the time that I made the thing at Blog Camp after I suddenly remembered that I do know how to crochet, and either unhave them, but if that is a too-permanent solution for your taste, just stick them back into the womb to cool off until they hit 13.

Aren't you all glad I don't have offspring?

Iasa who also loves Patsy and Edina of Absolutely Fabulous at Blissfully Unaware Loungesinger wanted to know how much distance is one allowed to go in order to circumvent the police before one is just being silly? and which musical celeb would you have a fantasy about in which 10 foot red licorice whips play a prominent role?

Depends on whether one is for example driving illegally, in which case the further away the better, but other than that I would say 1,4 miles. Beyond that seems a little much. Unless of course you're a criminal.

Are you?

(begin questionable section)

And make that black licorice and no celeb will be necessary. However, if the color of the licorice is non-negotiable then Brad Paisley for his lassoing skills (Does he lasso? Don't know. He wears a cowboy hat though, and that must mean that he can lasso too? Right? Stereotype my patootie.) or the Dixie Chicks for their Bush criticizing ways. Yup. All three.

(end questionable section)

And finally Optimistic Pessimist had some important issues she wanted my opinion on. Such as how do you know you really exist?

Duh, I Googled myself, and I came up.

In Mexico, but nonetheless.

And If there was a war between leprechauns and aliens, who would win?

Dude, the multitude of mercenaries the leprechauns can buy with that gold tilts the scales so much I can't even really bring myself to comment.

Ya.

Done! Can't do no more. Ta.

The rest will become posts in their own right at some point. Promise with my fingers only a little crossed.

Air kisses and I've-just-had-my-boobs-done hugs. Till tomorrow!