Eric checked my chart when he woke up. He doesn't usually do that, so I was a little surprised when he responded to my "I think I ovulated!" with "Yeah, but it was only a little temp jump." Heck, at this point, I'm happy to see any kind of rise, even a teeny one.

The Simpsons, actually, but that's mainly because Eric and I gave up cable when we moved into our new place. We can still get The Simpsons with our rabbit ears antenna, so we usually try to catch it when it's on. Not a huge addiction, though; the only show I try never to miss is ER.

Ugh. Neither. When I was at a county fair once, I tried Sarsparilla and hated that as well. I can handle Cream Soda lollipops, though, while I detest even candy which tastes like Root Beer.

Oh, Eric is going to kill me for this one, but I'm going to have to say '90s. I just was never much of an arcade girl! Pinball is fun, but I usually save my money: the five seconds of joy before I'm obliterated by the on-screen monsters just isn't worth the quarters to me. I chose '90s arcade games because I enjoy watching them more that I like watching '80s games. They have more interesting demo modes, and I like watching Eric beat the tar out of the creatures in fighting games.

Well, that is a question, isn't it? I'd have to go with "to be." I'm just not angsty enough to wish I didn't exist.

SHORT ANSWERS:

Very, very slightly browned in the middle. I like to sit by the toaster oven and watch the brown start to creep across the bread; when it has just about reached the edges, I pop the handle up to stop it. I like it crispy, but I hate crumbs. Very little butter, please!

Oh, I've run the gamut. First, there's every variation of "Carrie": Carey, Kerry, Kerri, Kari. Then there are the people with cotton in their ears: Sherry, Terry, Mary. When I was in high school, I actually embraced being called "Red"; at least people would remember it, and spell it correctly.

Before I was married, I could at least count on people getting my last name right. "Armstrong" is an easy one to hear, and a hard one to misspell. Then I married a Richmond. Since then, I've been Mrs. Richards, Mrs. Richman, Mrs. Richey...

That's easy! "Reading Railroad!" When I played as a kid, my first plan of attack was always to corner the railroad market, and I always started with this one, which of course was pronounced "Reeding."

Well, my notify list, certainly! Other than that, it would have to be SAH-AP, a mailing list for stay-at-home attachment parents, whose ranks I hope to join one day soon. It's really a bunch of great women, and there's always somebody ready to help out with any problem. True support environments seem rare these days, unfortunately.

I'd love to be able to teleport myself and others through space. Just think: I could live in Maui, work in Oregon, and have dinner with my family in Rome! If I were a less scrupulous person, I could teleport into bank vaults after hours and...well, that's neither here nor there, I suppose.

Music. Lots of music. I usually put my CD player on random and just let it go, so I get 14th century polyphony, followed by some Sting, followed by an aria or two from Berg's Lulu, followed by "The Stars and Stripes Forever." My husband and I have a rather eclectic collection.

I can't work very well with the television on, I'm afraid. I get distracted too easily by the idiot box. Music helps me think; television disrupts the process.

I would sing with Kermit, naturally. Really, was there another choice? Oh, but the little kiddies would have to have their eyes covered or leave the room, because Kermit and I are singing Act Three, Scene Four from Wozzeck, wherein Wozzeck, the now completely insane soldier, slays his mistress, Marie, with a knife to the throat. I get a kick out of picturing Kermit screaming in German and pronouncing me dead ("Tod!") with a deranged look on his face.

LONG ANSWERS:

Those vapid blond Old Navy guy twins arrive, grinning, at the door of the female twins' apartment, saying, "Hi!"

"Hi, guys!" Looks are exchanged between the girls.

Quick flash of the word "Later." The four of them are sitting on the sofa, the girls consoling the guys. "Don't worry." "It happens to everybody." Looks are exchanged. "Here! We have something for you!"

The guys open a large box. "Viagra!" Open-mouthed grins.

Cut to the old lady with glasses and Magic, the dog. "Viagra is key, right, Magic?"

"Arf!"

Cut back to the four twins, on the sofa, wearing bathrobes, giggling. "Thanks, Magic!"

"Thanks, Viagra!"

Nope. In order to believe that it would help, I'd have to first believe in predestination. Hitler did what he did in response to the set of stimuli provided by the environment in which he lived. Had society been different, he might have had a happy life as a painter. Had Hitler not responded the way he did to the stimuli, somebody else would have. As terrible as World War II was, it was probably unavoidable. Somebody would have played the "Hitler," even if Hitler himself hadn't.