Write 7 random facts about yourself, then tag 7 people to do the same.

1. Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath saved my life.

2. My husband is listed as one of the producers on the recent Nirvana boxed set because he recorded them for a school project at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington in the late 80’s. That previously never-before-heard recording was tucked away in our bedroom closet for years; Gregory thought that no one, aside from the still-living members of the band, even knew it existed. Apparently, they did…and they contacted him looking to procure it for the set. A few of the pictures from his private photo albums are also included in the accompanying booklet. I have to say that this entire experience remains surreal to me to this day.

3. In the fall and winter, I sleep curled around a hot water bottle every night, as do my husband and babies. It is an obsession with me…The Cult of the Hot Water Bottle. I scour ebay looking at all the different styles, sizes, and colors available…and I am currently looking to perhaps commission someone to knit me a cashmere cozy for mine.

4. And speaking about obsessions, my and Gregory’s most recent one is Persian rugs. We are besotted with them, and like hanging out amidst the towering stacks in old rug shops and bazaars — stacks, I might add, which are frequently far taller than I am (though that’s not saying much.) When it comes to rugs, we both apparently have impeccable taste…as in, our taste far outweighs our pecuniary resources. Bastard money.

5. I have never slept with a dame.

6. My maternal grandfather was born in the Philippine Islands; he supported his family by gambling and bookmaking. My paternal grandfather was born in New York; he was a nightclub and off-Broadway dancer in New York City. My maternal grandmother was born in Fresno, California; she was a nightclub singer and a waitress. My paternal grandmother was born in New York, and she was a sass, a tart, and a gangster’s moll with a mouth like a Teamster…and still is, even though she will be 90 in January.

7. Regarding a huge, gala event — I am horrible, terrible, and no-good at the planning and organization of such a shin-dig. At any of the more vital, necessary, middle-of-the-road co-ordination, I am woefully pathetic. I will certainly fail you — not because I want to, but because it is simply out of my range of accomplishment to do otherwise; I suck at matters of administration and management. However, when I show up for said hoedown, you can absolutely count on me for one of two things: Either hand me the microphone, throw me a spotlight, tell me, “It’s showtime!” and then step the fuck out of the way and let me do what it is I do best…or hand me a broom, apron, or wooden spoon and point me in the direction of the kitchens. The entertainment headliner for the evening — or cheery scullery maid. I am more than comfortable in either capacity.

I don’t tag. Do it, or fuck off, lady.