Oh I must have been a dreamer, and I must have been someone else.

When it was decided at Collective HQ to turn the microphone on you lot, I yelled and screamed and held my breath until everyone gave in and let me interview one of my most very favoritest bloggers in the entire internets, Ms. Eclectic herself, Shari. You see, she's part of a super-secret crime fighting organization, so she was understandably in very high demand. But since I'm the only one who has been lucky enough to spend time in her glorious presence, I got dibs.

Here are the lies my dear Ms. E told. You know, when she wasn't busy running around faster than a speeding bullet and leaping tall buildings in a single bound and whatnot.

So, tell me, how long have we known each other now?

Well, letsseee… I started stalking reading you after finding you through One Child Left Behind, which is now -- sadly -- on permanent hiatus. You left comments there that I identified with, so I followed you and lurked awhile at your old site. That would probably have been the summer of ’05… so 3 years?

What she really means is: 3 years.

And how did we first become acquainted?

I believe I emailed you. I had this confession to make, and you were the nearest priest.

What she really means is: I emailed you.

What was it, exactly, that drew you to me?

Your magic, magic words.

What she really means is: Pity.

What is your favorite thing about me?

Aside from your ability to melt my soul and pierce my heart with your writing? Aside from the creativity that causes you to craft origami waterfowl and silken catnip mice? Aside from your tender, tender soul and your “cold, black heart”? Aside from your tendency to capture an entire experience in the fleeting moment of a photograph? Aside from drinking me under the table and making me laugh? Well, okay, aside from all of that, it would have to be your ability to wonder. To find, to believe, and to communicate wonder.

What she really means is: Your cold, black heart.

If you could pick one thing, and one thing only, what would be your favorite of everything I've ever written?

I object to the question. SO NOT FAIR! Everything that you write becomes my favorite as I read it, and that is a true story. But… in the spirit of actually trying, and not copping out here, I will choose this. And though you did not ask me to provide my rationale, it is this: because I love when you engage, at least occasionally, in your own extraordinary life.

What she really means is: Good God, could you BE any more boring?

If you could take me on vacation anywhere in the world, where would we go?

My vote would be Nicaragua – to the (as yet) undeveloped beach near San Juan del Sur. Because I think maybe you haven’t been there yet, and besides, the food’s incredible. Also? The effect of the essentially greedy nature of humans is harder to detect in a subsistence culture like that, and I kinda dig the perspective.

What she really means is: You don't deserve room service.

How would you entertain me when we got there?

You’d bring a book or 12, as would I. Plus there’s drinking, and beaching, and the ever-entertaining spectacle of me trying to communicate to the residents en Español. Please do not underestimate the entertainment value of that. I’m told by previous traveling companions that it can be highly amusing.

What she really means is: You'd better bring a whole lot of books because I ain't talking to the likes of you.

If you could cook me one supremely awesome dinner, what would you make?

Oh sure… like I’d cook for YOU? HA! However, if we assume that you’re unavailable and the only means of sustaining nourishment involves me cooking, then I’d very likely make grilled salmon filet with pesto linguine, and steamed asparagus with a basil vinaigrette. The most awesome part of it, however, would be the wine.

What she really means is: You don't deserve being cooked for. Have some arsenic with your wine.

How would you spend your ideal day with me?

You know? I just realized I don’t actually know if you drink coffee. But, no matter, I’d drag you along to my favorite, favorite coffee shop, Café Mela, where you can get tea or an amazing fruit smoothie if you don’t partake of the bean. We’d go from there to the little used bookstore that I love, because it’s little and sincere and bookish and lovely and I want you to see it. Then we’d ride bikes out through the orchards and vineyards, have lunch with friends – H!A!, Jennie! and Abigail! obviously, although I’m all for including as many as will come along. And since this is all make-believe, I can defy the space-time continuum, and I will be included in the Thanksgiving Miracle of ’07 for the afternoon/evening.

What she really means is: I'm just using you as a means to hang out with the much cooler members of The Collective.

Finally, why do you keep ditching me every time we make plans to hang out?

HA! I’m intimidated because you’re prettier, smarter, younger and more talented than I.

Hey -- everyone has a talent, mine just happens to be bailing on plans made. I am supremely gifted in this regard, as countless people over the years can attest. I think it has mostly to do with my imagined self being ever-so-much more capable and organized than my actual self. That, plus a husband and children who really believe they have a claim on my time. Whatever. :)

What she really means is: Because I don't like you.