the cheese stands alone

You Asked, They Answered ("They" Meaning Me and the Little Voices In My Head) Part Deux

Lovely Maura asks:
1. Of what are you most proud in your life?
I'd have to take the easy answer here, Maura, and say of course my marriage to the GM1. It's my one shining successful move in an otherwise self-checkmated game.
If you want the SECOND most proud moment, a moment where I felt like a peacock in full flaunt, see the continued answer to this in the extended entry**
2. Top Ten DVDs if you were stuck on a deserted island (with a DVD player, TV with surround sound, and a generator).
Holy crap, Maura, you play rough, girl. Lessee.....
Fifth Element
Kill Bill Vol. 1
Fight Club
The Thin Man series
Moulin Rouge
Grease
Paint Your Wagon
Princess Bride
Young Frankenstein
and of course, Chicago
3. Here's a million bucks. What would you do with it (it doesn't all have to go in one place)?
I'm about to get all Responsible and Boring now. I'd pay off all my debts, give cash gifts to all my family, and buy a house so the GM1 can have a dog. Oh, and buy the dog as well.
And maybe a cruise.
With Tom Hanks.

Pixy, who obviously has forgotten who (or what) he's dealing with, asks:
1. Is the Goldbach conjecture correct?
I believe not. It's socially impossible to get three primes in a room without all that nitpicking and infighting that makes the soiree just impossible.
2. What "proof" did Fermat have in mind that would not fit into the infamous margin?
He intended to prove that, at the time, the margins were just too damn small. He succeeded.
3. Why does the universe appear to have one time and three space dimensions?
Because there's never enough time but you can always find room for jello.
(Sorry to have to go all super-genius with a non sequitor complex on you with this one, but sometimes rational thought just won't do...... okay, yeah, like rational thought and I were ever in the same room.... HA!)

**1. My second most proud moment was a very fleeting one, and trivial, and probably stupid. But it's mine, I tell you, mine!
At one time, I could dance. I don't mean classically trained ballet or tap, nothing any self-respecting terpsichordian teacher would cop to. I mean shake dat booty and wiggle dat thing. This was back in the late 80s, when club dancing was all shimmy and big hair and spandex.
So one New Year's Eve, having just moved to San Diego, the soon-to-be-ex (may he rot in a hell of moldy fishhead stew and crotch-itch) and I called a truce in our ongoing war and went out. Being the big spender he was, we walked four blocks down the street to the local dive. STB-ex had thoughtfully taken the opportunity while I dressed to get shitfaced in advance, and by picking a fight with the bouncer before even setting foot in the place managed to ensure I'd have a lovely New Year's Eve all on my own.
Did I mention that I had all our celebration money in my own hot little pockets? Yeah.
So I went on in, commandeered a tiny table next to the dance floor, had a couple of beers for Dutch courage..... and I danced all by myself for the next four hours. I knew no one there. No one knew me. And all us no ones had nothing to prove and no rep to uphold.
Clothing stayed on. Movements never went lewd. Gravity remained my buddy and didn't suck my ass to the ground in a sudden power display.
At one point, the band, before going on break, applauded me.
A couple of women asked me if I gave dance lessons. I drank free the entire night. And no one (yep, the infamous No One again) made any kind of advances or hits or whatever.
Maybe it was coming through that I wasn't dancing to entice or lure. I was dancing to celebrate. Celebrate the new year. Celebrate that I was young and healthy and living in SoCal. Celebrate that final sweet "click" in the brain that made me realize it was absolutely 110% over with the Ex and I could move on.
Danced my ass off, I most certainly did.
And the next business day, filed for divorce.