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21 Questions That No One Wanted to Ask Me

I really wanted to title this "21 Questions but the Bitch Ain't One."  Unfortunately, that not only doesn't make any sense, it's not even close enough to Jay-Z's song to be pun-worthy.  It would have to be like "99 Questions but the Bitch Ain't One."  or "21 Problems but the Bitch Ain't One."  It can't be ... okay.  You get the idea.  I'm dropping it.

Anyway.  So New York magazine's blog has this fairly amusing feature, called (duh) "21 Questions," where they interview New Yorkers of varying consequence about random things.  Since I won't be of consequence for at least two-five years (according to the Staten Island psychic I met last week), I thought that I'd go ahead and just, you know, interview myself.  Um ... right.  It sounded like a cooler idea in my head.  But whatever, it's already done, so I'm posting it.

Name: Julia Allison
Age: 16. Or 25.  Depending on who you talk to …
Job: ex-dating columnist, AM New York; writer for Maxim & Cosmo; on-air commentator about all things fluffy.
Neighborhood: Gramercy.  ish.  Well … a little bit east – 21st and 2nd.  I’ve dubbed it, not that cleverly, “Ghetto Gramercy.”

Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional?
Carrie Bradshaw, of course.  Do I really have another choice?  After all, it’s her fault I’m I was a NYC dating columnist.  Thanks for making it seem glamorous!  Liar.

What's the best meal you've eaten in New York?
The Soy Gouda sandwich from Liquiteria on 11th and 2nd avenue.  I eat one every day.  Maybe twice a day.  It's all I ever eat - they think I’m insane.  I probably am, from all that soy.

In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job?
Frantically bail out my email inbox (publicists, spam), procrastinate writing my column procrastinate writing other stuff, frantically bail out my email inbox some more (editors, spam), dance around naked in my living room “thinking” of column ideas, frantically bail out my email inbox (boyfriends, spam).

Where do you get your coffee?
When I drink coffee (only in emergencies), from a cheesy, sugar laden machine at my corner deli, which I actually think is named “Corner Deli.”  Mostly I drink beet juice.  No, seriously.  I do.

What's the last thing you saw on Broadway?
RENT, for it’s 10th anniversary.  I’d seen it before, but never in New York.

Do you give money to panhandlers?
No. I’m a journalist.  Panhandlers make more money than me.

What's your drink?
The kind bought by men.

How often do you prepare your own meals?
Every day in the first year I lived here, and never since then.  Although I did put some frozen spinach in the microwave just last week.  That was big for me.

What's your favorite medication?
Multi-Herb, Multi-Vitamin, prescribed by a dietician “to keep ya regular.”  Let me assure you, it works.

What's hanging above your sofa?
A giant graphic portrait of me done by the guy who also does IKEA’s art, a one-year anniversary present from my ex-boyfriend.  It's less narcissistic than it sounds, I promise.

How much is too much to spend on a haircut?
Anything more than $70 makes me hyperventilate.

When's bedtime?
Midnight if I’m being good, 4 am if I’m not.

Brunch: pro or con?
Hell yes, every weekend without fail I get an everything bagel, scallion cream cheese and nova lox from Essa Bagel on 21st and 1st.  I die a little from happiness each time.  Or maybe that's the feeling I get from my arteries slowly clogging.

What's your thread count?
I have the most life-changing “beech sheets” from the Chelsea Bed Bath & Beyond.  They don’t even have threads.  They’re made of air.

What do you hate most about living in New York?
The freaking noise!  At 7 am!  On a Saturday!!  Car alarms, ambulances, jackhammers, children shrieking.  What the HELL!?!?  WHAT ARE YOU SHRIEKING ABOUT?  MOVE TO BROOKLYN, MOTHERF--KERS!!!!!!  I’m just saying.

What's your brand of jeans?
Seven.  I think they make me look like I have a Brazilian butt.  I don’t know exactly what that means, but I know it’s good.

When was the last time you drove a car?
When I borrowed my ex's to see what "driving around the city" was like.  It didn’t go well.  I really don’t miss tickets, accidents, or frantically seeking parking spots.  Or car insurance.  Or … did I mention accidents?

Who should be the next president?
Dear god, let it be a Hillary/Barack ticket.

Times, Post, or Daily News?
Gawker, because I have an attention span like a six year old boy on three cans of Diet Coke.  And then the Times, and after that the Post (Page Six), but only occasionally.  I won’t pay for it though – I skim it for free while I’m waiting for my Soy Gouda.  It’s not the quarter.  It’s the principle.

Yankees or Mets?
Um … I wouldn’t know a Yankee from a Met if I were naked in the bedroom with them.

What makes someone a New Yorker?
They’re ruthlessly ambitious.  Or ambitiously ruthless?

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