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Denial

Having just completed a seemingly promising first draft, the patient begins the editing process with hope and misplaced confidence. Upon her first reread, she is struck with the creeping realization that this piece is a literal butthole, but perhaps after a few hours and Red Bulls and shame cigarettes something beautiful will emerge?

Anger

The patient recalls the hours and dollars spent on her creative writing degree. “Those bastards swindled me,” she grumbles, shoving inspiration nachos into her gaping maw and picking furiously at a loose thread that had wriggled free after the cat decided to Mission Imclawsible across the underside of the couch which Amazon willfully neglected to mention would smell like an old yoga mat after being digested by a pitbull with IBS and then shat through a withering onion. “What a joke,” she hisses, smashing the backspace with a closed, clammy fist.

Hello loyal readers/Aunts Kathy & Diana. Thank you for your continued support of my blog! I really appreciate you slogging through almost three years of stories about/reminiscent of turd to drive those traffic numbers up into the dozens. (There was that one dazzling epoch where my blog was the target of a bot-farm in Oregon, but they eventually abandoned me because my “relentless” thank you emails demonstrated I “didn’t understand the intended purpose of a bot-farm” and I was apparently not supposed to take their hits against my page as “a sign of encouragement”. Or something to that effect.)

In order to keep this blog a-rollin’ and give a little something back to my fans, I’ve started this Patreon. Any donation or sponsorship is deeply appreciated. I would be honored to receive your support…

• I’m sorry your wife died…

• I didn’t steal those artifacts…

• Of course I packed your parachute…

• Your mom is nice…

• I’ve never seen those handguns before…

“My grandparents met on Tinder”: “I saw this on Buzzfeed. I still quote Borat a lot.”

Shirtless selfies: “I can crush a walnut with my butt cheeks but I’m still not clear on who Paul Ryan is.”

Fishing pictures: “My dad dragged me to Wisconsin for a ‘guy’s weekend’ and I had to miss Lollapalooza, but I made the best of it and murdered this fish.”

“I’m laid-back/easygoing”: “I have the personality of a packing peanut.”

Reviews (e.g. “The best guy I know!” -My Mom. “His breath always smells like chamomile and unicorns!” -New York Times): “The only original thought I ever had was for a sitcom called ‘Carol of the Balls.’ I was six Jack and Diets deep when I thought of it, so I don’t remember the premise. Except Carol’s a skank. And something about the Yankees. I was hungover until midnight the next day.”..

If You Love Something, Publish It, Panic, and Then Delete It

I wrote a post a while back that I really liked at first so I posted it, and then the more I reread it, the more I realized it was a hot flaming stink carcass and I would have been better off scribbling it onto an old Hardy’s receipt and then throwing it in front of a train. Mistakes were made. Lessons were learned. Egos shattered. Files deleted.

Requiem for a Bee

I got stung by my very first bee this year at the tender age of 31. I had spent the previous three decades dealing with bees by flailing my arms maniacally and screaming into the sun, so I felt entirely justified in my lifetime of pathological terror because I now know I have a “very mild” and “unconcerning” and “not worthy of such a big reaction” bee allergy (according to my rather patronizing G.P.)…

• Let’s ride!

• *Snaps fingers and a lackey appears*

• You’re dismissed.

• Bring me the man responsible for this.

• Move out!

• You call this coffee?! *spits*

• Fly, my pretties!

• Anybody else have somethin’ to say?

• Heads will roll!

• You’re on thin ice, pal.

• Henchmen, attack!

I sat upon the train today

Having had enough of work.

A dame was seated next to me

As the train began to lurch.

She made a move as if to leave

So I offered up a path.

“Oh no,” she muttered quietly.

“I’ve a different pressing task…

Hi Carol. Thank you for coming in. Please shut the door behind you and have a seat. How’s the day treating you? I know, I’m absolutely swamped. Hopkins used the wrong slide deck template again, so I’ve been playing catch up all day. TGIF, am I right?

Look, I wanted to touch base with you this afternoon because I don’t like the direction we’re going in. To be honest, I’m not finding you to be much of a value add anymore. We’ve gotten way off target over the last few months, and as much as it pains me to say this, I think it’s time to table this relationship…

I went most of my life without a credit card because I have the kind of self-control that would likely start with me buying a few moderately-priced but unnecessary items (“Hedgehogs are on sale? I’ll take thirty.”) and would promptly spiral into a situation in which the floorspace in my apartment would be replaced with puppies, stylish boots and “As Seen on TV” x-ray goggles and then I’d have to buy a jetpack to get to the bathroom without smooshing them all. This way of life is probably not a good idea for health and noise complaint reasons, but the thought of jetpacking around my apartment shooting dog treats from a hand cannon while drinking milkshakes out of one of those beer helmets almost mitigates the fear of devastating credit card debt and potential eviction, particularly the prospect of training my seven puppies to howl in harmony like fuzzy widdle von Trapps and riding their coattails to the top since I seem to have no discernable talents of my own. I’d make my curtains into dog costumes if they weren’t so ugly and my idiot hands didn’t have the dexterity of a toddler doing calligraphy with their feet.

• I thought my coworker was from Barrington. He’s from Highland Park. His name is Barry.

• I thought Treasure Island, the discount grocery chain, was a sex shop. This led to a lot of confusion about my friends’ discussions of their weekly trips to Treasure Island and all the great deals they got there, and my uncertainty as to how they were regularly incorporating pork chops and cheese puffs into the bedroom. Although I was very impressed with their attitudes of sex positivity.

• I once thought I had ringworm but it ended up being eczema, as the CVS pharmacist so kindly pointed out.