Evan says:
“If one were to try, I bet one could discern at what points in the last three years I’ve had a girlfriend based, not on the content of my blog, but simply by analyzing the number nights in a given month I’m making posts between the hours of 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM. I let you figure out the correlation. (2:04 AM)”

In other words, he’s free man, ladies. But for how long? Let the frenetic email flirtations begin!

11:22 a.m.

A small slice of my 4th of July family reunion:

Me: You’ve got a big hunk of something in your teeth.

My sister Raina: (Smiles winningly, and moves her face closer to mine.)

Me: Ugh! Stop it.

Raina: It’s sexy.

Me: (Running my finger seductively over my peeling sun burnt shoulder.) No, this is sexy. Mmmmm.

Raina: I’m going to keep one of these teeth things at home, so I can have one ready when I go out.

My cousin Ryan: You’ve got a collection of dried chives.

Me: I think Madonna had one of those, hers was 14kt. gold, though. She’s into those felt syphilitic moles now.

Ryan: There’s a whole line of possibilities. Like fake boogers.

All: Gahh!

Me: 14kt. gold fake boogers!

Raina: That reminds me! I have a story.

Me: Do we want to hear this?

Raina: It’s not about boogers.

My cousin Ben: If it’s not about boogers, I don’t wanna hear it.

Raina: So I come home from work and there are tampons all over my lawn. I guess the kids found a box of my tampons and they were playing with them. I’m running around totally embarrassed scooping up tampons before the neighbors see.

Me: What the hell was the baby sitter doing?

Raina: She probably just thought they were playing out front. Anyway, Trevor comes outside the next morning and says, “Where are all my pop guns?”

11:10 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.

Everyone wants to know What Women Want. Sarah and Regina have some pretty clear ideas. An excerpt:

Sarah: Because the thing is, Frat Guy is often Balding And In Denial Guy.

Regina: I HATE THAT GUY!

Sarah: So do I!

Regina: And I don’t hate Regular Old Secure Balding Guy!

Sarah: Nobody hates that guy! He’s secure! He’s regular! He’s balding! We love him!

Regina: LOVE!

Sarah: He eats olives!

Regina: He wears PINK!

Sarah: Yes!

Regina: But not Balding And In Denial Guy!

Sarah: No!

Regina: Owns FIVE Frisbees!

Sarah: DOESN’T hide the porn!

Regina: WON’T go out for sushi!

(via attaboy)

1:45 a.m.

Conversation with my three-year-old nephew, Trevor:

Me: What do pigs say?

Trevor:…ahh…. Oink! Oink!

M: What do dogs say?

T: Bark! Bark!

M: What do elephants say?

T:…aaah….prrrrrbt!

M: What do Trevors say?

T: PLEASE!

2:52 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.

Seven cheesy things I love anyway:

  • Finger guns in photos
  • Black umbrellas with “sunny sky” detail inside
  • Gilligan hats
  • Fashionistas!
  • Talking to cashiers
  • What-will-I-wear-for-this-important-event? clothing-change montages
  • Old men who wink

9:48 a.m.

Me: Wait! That’s Prince!

R: That’s a good reason to put in my Wallflowers CD.

M: Are you kidding me?

R: Prince sucks big dick.

M: Whaaaat? What are you talking about? You have to love Prince. Did you not grow up in the ’80s? It’s your duty to love Prince.

R: Prince is a has-been, leftover pop-star wannabe, a-sexual, talentless chump. He’s no Jakob Dylan.

M: NO JAKOB DYLAN? Are you listening to yourself!? I don’t even know you anymore. “Purple Rain?” “Raspberry Beret?” Where were you, brother?

R: Come on, listen to these lyrics, “It takes two to tango/but only one to let go.” That’s poetry.

M: All I have to say is, “She wore her raspberry beret/the kind you find in a second-hand store/Raspberry beret/ And if it was warm, she wouldn’t wear much more.”

(extended pause)

R: Touche.

9:43 a.m.

From a “Survivor” party e-vite:

“Hey folks. With less than a week away, Survivor tension is building, especially in our legs and lower backs.”

11:04 a.m.

Overheard

Scenario: My trusty companion and I hike four hours to a remote campsite to find that it’s been overtaken by a Boy Scout expedition.

Characters: Group of 14-to-17-year-old boys whose food has just been stolen by enterprising raccoons.

Boy 1: They got everything, the marshmallows, the beef jerky, everything.

Boy 2: How did they get into my pack? Raccoons know how to work zippers now?

Boy 3: They took the last bag of Rasinettes!

Boy 4: Forget the Rasinettes, dude. (mock serious voice) They took the last of the plutonium.

All: Crap!!

10:43 a.m.