EMAIL MOMENT!

From:Intrepid reporter friend.

Subject: Editorial Integrity

Excerpt:

“As you may have heard, Mark told some brilliant lies and almost got me a job, but the facade cracked when his boss asked this pointed (and loaded) question: “Do you even know what newspapers do?” I mean, how are you supposed to answer that? Apparently, not with “no.” So, providentially (which means “and then Fate/Satan played another cruel joke”), the building trade magazine I was freelancing for offered me a full-time job. They have a new Editor-in-Chief (third one in the same year — how’s THAT for job security), and she’s got grand visions about making it a “real” magazine. Bless her heart. She’s still fighting the good fight. Today, a guy from advertising came in and said, “Can you do a story on this roofing manufacturer? They just bought an ad,” and she replied, “We don’t do that anymore,” and stared him down. Wow. She’s going to get fired real soon.”

11:55 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Affection.

Excerpt:

And Tom in love is an absolutely sickening sight. Like if you go on a double date with him, which I did once, you put your date in the car, get into the driver’s seat, and wait three and a half minutes for Tom and what’s her face to make out and debate who sits on what side in Lady and the Tramp voices. This is all very strange to a guy whose idea of romance is saying “you wanna be on top or on the bottom?”

3 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Summer jobs.

Excerpt:

The first thing I found out about selling cars is that the dumber you are,
the better. These women come up and say, “What’s the difference between
these two convertibles?” So I say, “This one has 190 horsepower, and this
one has 170 horsepower.” And then they say, “But this one is purple.”

3:47 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Toledo and the state of higher education.

Excerpt:

“At the University of Toledo today, the sidewalk was chalked up with all
kinds of misspelled school spirit: ‘Your here!’ ‘Sign up for the ski
raceing team!’ What the fuck are these people going to do?”

11:05 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: More about the bad things that happen when you include the word “girl” in your blog title.

Excerpt:

Have you looked at your search engine keywords thingy lately?!

  • Father fucking girl
  • Erotic stories of little girl pajama parties
  • Naked girl fighting
  • Thick free black girl

Man, you have all the cool parties.

3:58 p.m.

To the person who found my site by searching for “this girl i’ve been following:” I found your sleeping bag and toothbrush in the crawl space under my house. They’re on the porch. I’m keeping the photos. (Call me.)

10:45 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Modern dance.

From: A college friend.

Excerpt:

“Dance is the bomb, and I don’t need to tell you that! I wonder what Jenny Smith [college choreographer, whose name has been changed to protect my ass] is up to these days. I still think it’s the funniest thing that she would always be Miss Purity, but all her dances would totally be about sex. She’d be like, ‘It’s not sexual. It’s SENsual. Now rub your chest and roll on the ground.'”

4:45 p.m.

My friend Sean posted an almost comically offensive Black History Month lunch flyer that he found in his office. Can you believe that this was produced last year?

9:57 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Med school epiphanies and my bony ass.

Excerpt:

“I learned how to calculate my body mass index today. There’s overweight,
obese I, obese II, and obese III. After that, there’s just a picture of
Jabba the Hut.

Take your weight in lbs. as the numerator.
Divide by your height in inches, squared (e.g. if you’re 60″, that’s 3600
inches squared). Take this number and multiply it times 703. If its greater than
than 25, it’s time to get your fat ass to Gold’s (me). If it’s less than 18, it’s
time to get your bony ass to Sizzler (you).”

3:23 p.m.

From Accidental:

100 Ways to say I LOVE YOU: I’m still waiting for “100 Ways
to say LET’S JUST BE FRIENDS,” or “100 Ways to say IT’S
NOT YOU, IT’S ME.” Or how about “100 Ways to say I
DON’T REALLY LIKE YOU, BUT WE CAN STILL HAVE
SEX.” That’s the clincher, in my book.”

10:05 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

From: A guy who reads my blog

Subject: Bloggers say the darndest things

qt_freak:

Damn, I like your site, it’s pretty funny. If only you had more substance to it. A better lay out would be cool too, but yeah, just saying you have a fan.

Me:

Hi, thanks for the note. I clicked around your site a
little bit. Just like you, I’m a big Slurpee fan.
Jesus, we’re like the same person. Well, except that
I’m not big into “dressing up like a ninja and tagging
your mother’s bearded biscuit from the back.” But I’m
funny that way.

[Now he’s plugged me, and I’ve plugged him. I’m sitting back and saying a little prayer to the absurdity gods that I get audience overlap with a site that has a “Bitch of the Week” feature. Rad.]

2:14 p.m.

My knee is knee shaped again. When I stand, I no longer feel extraneous fluid rush down my leg. These are good things. For those of you who don’t care, here’s some Etch-a-sketch art. Callous bastards.

9:18 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: On distaff and my bony ass.

Me:

What is it with men and baked goods? A man may be
impressed by your brain, or your body, or whatever, but if you walk into
the room with an apple pie, his eyes roll up into his
head and his mouth starts frothing. It’s like,
“Well I knew you were hot, but I didn’t know you
baked..”

Him:

It speaks to our lizard brain. It is hard to starve with a woman who
bakes. A woman who bakes can compensate for myriad detrimental
evolutionary traits, such as narrow hips, an waistline that suggests
infertility, and a brain that is too smart or too dumb for her prospective
mate. Baking is tantamount to survival. Additionally, very few men have
the moxie, time, or inclination to bake. Baking is a place that is solidly
in the woman’s world. Women bake, lap dance, look pretty on game shows,
heal, and mediate. Men bust broncs, and philosophize. Just the way it is.

Me:

You have such an odd, offensive little take on things.
Remind me never to bring you cupcakes lest you request
a lap dance.

Him:

Your butt would poke holes in my jeans.

4:28 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Dave responds to an inquiry about his health.

Excerpt:

Yes, I feel much better today. I’m not sniffling and sneezing anymore, but I
do have a splitting headache. Also, I saw these strange lights in the sky
last night, my bedroom window is broken, I woke up on the balcony, and my
ass is on fire. Weird.

12:26 p.m.

I have messy party ideas. Example 1: Cover the garage in plastic bags, make about 300 pounds of mashed potatoes, pass out some goggles, and stage a massive food fight. Example 2: Make a mud hole in the back yard and pit my friends against each other in teams. Very few parties I’ve been to couldn’t use a little more texture. But I know what you’re thinking, it’s the same thing all my friends say. “You want to have mud wrestling in your backyard? You want a bunch of people to come over and smear food on each other?” Yes. Yes, I do. All of us are adults here. (Adults coated in a creamy layer of mud and mashed potatoes, but I think we know when to say when.) Anyway, my point is that marker fights sound just as cool. A lot less cleanup and no kinky undertones.(Via Strange Brew.)

9:52 a.m.