Please Enjoy This Lovely Hold Music
We started this little experiment in the blogosphere at the beginning of the year and said we'd give it a month or two. And then we gave it another month or two. And then another. And before we knew it, half a year had flown past.
Meanwhile, we have GOT to get some other stuff done. We both have some big work/volunteer commitments piling up. And you would not believe the toll this has taken on JD's hair. He never takes the time to apply sufficient product anymore. He's gotten way too busy trying to learn how to use commas.
Anyway, we told ourselves we'd post this little chat-fest up until our college reunion, and then we'd take a break. So the time has come. Trust us -- this is better than the alternative. All we'd have to post this summer is bickering over who has to take time away from his nachos at the pool to get online and who has to put down her margarita on vacation to edit emails.
Big thanks to our Breeze readers and everyone who clicks those "likes" we covet so much. ML is currently searching for something else to count compulsively every day. JD just keeps checking his mailbox to see if the book offers are coming in yet.
We love making you laugh. With us. At us. Whatever.
Catch you later. - JD and ML
Elusive Sleep and a Dirty Sheep
A little something by JD to pass the time. With just a bit of editorial assistance ("use commas, dummy") from ML. Inspired by actual events.
There now. All tucked in. Now if only this bed had a few restraining straps to ensure you’d stay that way.
No, tonight – night four of our vacation – will be different. I can feel it. Tonight you will finally feel safe in the strange surroundings of what has been designated “your” room in this beach house and sleep all the way until morning. Yes, I understand that it lacks all of the colors and accessories of your room at home. And while I know you miss her presence, you understand why the cat isn’t curled up at your feet, don’t you? We had to leave her home, because part of Daddy’s vacation includes taking a respite from sifting cat turds out of a litter box. But you’ll be just fine, right? You won’t wake me up in the middle of this night, will you? No. I know you won’t. I believe you when you say that.
Look – here’s Baa, the stuffed sheep you’ve had since birth. Even though his once fluffy exterior has taken on the texture of corrugated cardboard, he still manages to bring you peace. You know, I found him plopped on the bathroom floor right next to the toilet earlier. Now there he is, cuddled lovingly against your face. Maybe I should quickly throw him in the washing machi- (No. NO. Pushing down the OCD… Now is not the time.) If cuddling with a filthy, disease-ridden carcass of a stuffed sheep helps you sleep, then so it shall be. Good night – we’ll see you in the morning.
Back in my own room, I think sleep has finally pulled me down. Am I dreaming? I think I am! It’s been way too long since I’ve been to this world. Oh, what’s this? Why, I’ve been transported to the Italian Riviera! Ahhh. This ought to be [Dad] great. I’m swimming in the [Dad] Mediterranean. Whoa! I just [Dad] swallowed a whole school of [Dad] sardines with one gulp. This is AWESOME [Dad]. What? Wait. No. [Dad?] Shhhiiiiiiiiiii[Dad]tttt. No, dammit. Not now. [DAD!]. Ignoring it, ignoring it, ignoring it. Staying in the dream… [Dad. Dad! DAD!] Fuck.
Hey. What time is it? Oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to tell time. Your throat is dry? OK, I’ll get you some water, but then it’s right back to bed. What? You need to go potty? Yes, of course. Let’s prolong this little conference a little longer, because the whole “getting you a drink of water” episode didn’t quite rouse me completely from my slumber. OK, back to bed. And don’t forget Baa. He’s right there where you dropped him. On the other side of the toilet.
No, no, no – stop following me down the hall. You have to go back to YOUR bed in YOUR room. Because. That’s the way it works. Just because. I don’t know. Because your mother says so. Please don’t ask me to explain. It’s 2 a.m. Do you have any idea how much rum your Daddy consumed tonight? This is not easy for me right now. Scared? Scared of what? No. No tears. Don’t start with the tears. You’ll wake up the friends we are staying with. Oh, fine. Come on in bed with Mom and me.
Now, this is just until you start to get settled, do you understand? You know, you woke me up while I was in the middle of a pretty awesome – what the shit? Are you already asleep? How the hell did you do that so fast? Unbelievable.
Oh my God. You emit more heat than a uranium rod. How can you be so small and yet take up so much room? You cannot possibly get closer to me. You look like my smaller, younger, cuter Siamese twin of the opposite sex. Oh, fine. I give up. You stay here. I’m moving into your room to sleep in your little miniature twin bed.
It’s dark and cool and peaceful in here.
But kind of lonely, too. Damn. I kind of wish I had Baa.
The Grandparental Hand-off
ML's visiting Errant Parent today. Click on over if you like. Stay and hang out, whatevs.
Reunion: The Recap
Friday Afternoon
From: JD To: ML
Reunion time. There is talk of people beginning to gather on campus. My concentration at work is waning. What's your ETA?
From: ML To: JD
I can see the skyline now. We're almost there. My poor hubby -- he's sitting next to me trying to have a serious, important work conversation on the phone, and I'm in the passenger seat dancing around and silent-screaming, "COLLEGE!!!"
I think my head is about to pop off and fly into orbit, I am so excited.
From: JD To: ML
Sweet.
Don't get me wrong, but I was thinking earlier -- I know I'm excited for the reunion, but why is ML SOOOOO excited? And then I remembered: I go back there all the time. I think I'd be as crazy-ass excited as you if I lived farther away and didn't get to go as often.
From: ML To: JD
Dude -- I only go once every five years, for reunions. My parents met there. I met my husband there. My brother went there. Almost every one of my closest, oldest friends is from our time there. It's mythical to me. Its like Heaven meets Utopia meets Candyland meets the Emerald City.
Hope I can contain myself. Going to need to remember to drink water and eat throughout the night, or all my college-excitement may result in not monitoring my beer intake like I should.
From: JD To: ML
Eh, we're all adults now. Between being busy talking to everyone all night and trying to keep it together for the rest of the weekend, I think I'll be fine. Just may stay up past my bedtime.
OK, see you in a bit.
Saturday Morning - 18 Hours Later
From: ML To: JD
I smell like the dumpster behind a bar. And I cannot feel my hands.
From: JD To: ML
Oh, dear God, why? It hurts to blink.
From: ML To: JD
Sweet Jesus. The room is spinning. Make it stop. Is this my phone? I hope so.
Valuable lesson learned: Being on college campus NOT THE SAME as being college-aged. Holy hangover. I'm afraid if I go into the next room, there's going to be a tiger or Mike Tyson in there.
From: JD To: ML
Been staring at the wall since 4:30 a.m. Do the math... I've been lying in bed trying to fall asleep for a full six hours. Killing me. Feel like death.
From: ML To: JD
Same. I wandered out to get coffee just now, saw one of my best friends and her sweet baby. Held baby for a minute but had to give him back, because I was afraid I was going to drop him or throw up on him.
From: JD To: ML
It doesn't help that the dorm room I decided to sleep in is the size of a tin can. CLAUSTROPHOBIA.
I can't believe we spent four years in rooms likes this, WITH ANOTHER INDIVIDUAL. When I was a kid, my brother and I converted a cardboard box that came with a piece of furniture into a fort. Slept in it for months. I would advise everyone heading off to college to do the same, just as preparation.
From: ML To: JD
OK, I have to get up and rally. There may be professors there today, and I want to make the impression that I have matured at least a tiny bit since we last met. Someone's going to name some new book and ask me what I think of it, and I'm going to stare blankly. I can at least try to have both my eyes open when I do.
Saturday Afternoon - 6 Hours Later
From: ML To: JD
I love Tylenol! And naps!
From: JD To: ML
I hate you.
Sunday Morning
From: ML To: JD
I have rolled back the years not just to age 21, but to age 2. I am thinking of throwing a tantrum. I haaaaate leaving here. Can't pull it together. Forgot how homesick I get for this place after these things are over.
From: JD To: ML
I choked up driving off campus. Just told my wife to expect me to slip into a deep depression for a few days.
From: ML To: JD
Yes. There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Or at least much staring out the window and wistful humming of Dave Matthews songs.
Sunday Evening
From: JD To: ML
Oh! I meant to tell you -- after the slideshow last night where they showed our baby pictures, I kept waiting and waiting for at least SOME of the ladies to comment on my six-pack.
But no. I got ONE compliment on my physique. From one of the gay guys.
He (and his partner) probably thought it was weird when I embraced him for a good 10 minutes after that.
From: ML To: JD
I am watching some of the video from the weekend that folks have posted on FB.
Nice to see you haven't outgrown the muppet laugh. You are laughing in every single video. All the time. How do you throw your head back like that? Is it hinged?
You're like a little Pez dispenser. But no candy comes out of your neck when you laugh, so it's less of a win-win.
From: JD To: ML
I think the laugh is actually getting worse.
By the way, I have a new nickname for you: Wet Noodle. Maybe just Noodle, for short.
Seeing you in action for the first time in a while, I had forgotten that you turn into a jellyfish when you drink. Whether you are actually amazed or simply feigning surprise when someone says something you like, you seem to have the ability to keep your feet on the floor and bend your back such that it is perpendicular to your legs while you gasp, "WHA?!?!" at whatever it is. Your arms are constantly flapping around, too. Much like those windsock-inflatable-puppet things you see at car dealerships.
Oh, and furthermore, the things people were saying that would elicit this reaction were NOT amazing things like, "I was just awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics." It was more like, "I drove up this morning from South Carolina." You: "WHA?!?!?!?" Or: "Did you hear they renovated one of the dorms?" You: "WHAAAA?!?!?!"
Comical.
From: ML To: JD
I talk with my hands. And yes, removing my spine is part of my going-out ritual.
There was a lot to be legitimately impressed with. When I'm standing in a group of folks that includes book authors and a Rhodes Scholar -- and all I can offer up is, "Look how shiny my fingernails are!" -- I get overwhelmed with amazement.
From: JD To: ML
Whatever, Noodle.
Me: "I think they just brought out more appetizers."
You: "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!?!?!?!?!?!?" [folding yourself completely backwards]
Survey Says...
Our college reunion is coming up in mere days! And we're not the only ones. It seems to be reunion season. A friend enlisted our help in filling out a reunion survey, the goal of which apparently was to catch everyone up on classmates' progress in adulthood since last they met. We provided two sets of answers to choose from.
1. Tell us! Where are you living now, and do you like it?
JD
I am plugged into the Matrix. What difference does it make?
ML
I live where I moved that time I moved and said it was just for a couple of months. It's too late to start following dreams now.
2. What are some of the greatest challenges you have faced since graduation?
JD
Balancing a dual life with two sets of spouses and children has proven more difficult than I imagined at first. Still trying to figure out which family to bring to the reunion. (So please leave my set of nametags blank.)
ML
Parking my SUV. Walking in heels. Not slapping the whorebag at Pilates who asked me if I had scoliosis.
3. Describe a meaningful lesson you took away from your time here.
JD
Being stuck in detention in the library on Saturday with four other students, each of us a member of a different clique, taught me that all of us are surprisingly alike deep down inside. Don't you forget about me.
ML
I learned that holding my hands up in the shape of a W in front of my face to indicate "whatever" is not considered an appropriate answer to any question from a person of authority. Nor is it acceptable to sleep on the kitchen counter of a fraternity house just because it's late and it's raining and you're blind drunk -- especially if there is an alumni brunch to be held there the next day. So I rarely do these things nowadays.
4. How do memories of your time here play a part in your life today?
JD
To put myself authentically back in that time and properly access the parts of my psyche needed to answer this question, I hung out in my high school parking lot yesterday. Turns out, only creeps and perverts hang out in high school parking lots after high school. My court date is about three weeks from now.
ML
When I am at the grocery store, and I am paralyzed in the produce section -- wondering, "Broccolini? Or eggplant?!?" -- I say to myself: Remember that time I lived on a hall with 30 other girls and we shared a bathroom and one day I couldn't find my shower kit and I had to borrow some shampoo but it turned out to be mouthwash and I was all minty-headed for like three days? I stand there reminiscing, and then I don't care about the vegetables anymore.
5. What are your goals for the next decade?
JD
Master the art of the turntables; invent the 27th letter of the alphabet; figure out how to apply the perfect pH balance to my lawn; survive to fill out another asinine reunion questionnaire so I can be reminded (again) how I have utterly failed to live up to my hopes and dreams.
ML
Finish my PhD in archery; get at least one of my kids on the Disney Channel; conquer my fear of ham; start exfoliating regularly; travel the Mississippi River inside a giant ventilated beach ball.
6. If you could say something to today's incoming freshman, what would it be?
JD
Girls looooooooove a good Austin Powers impression.
ML
1. If you call me ma'am, I will rip your lips off your face.
2. I was smarter and cuter back then than you are now, because the standards have really slipped; but whatevs, enjoy your youth.
3. Think twice before joining the "Women's Issues" club, because it is really very serious and not as much fun as it sounds.
Poker Face
From: JD To: ML
Played poker last night.
It's official. I am awful at games that require mental toughness and competitiveness. This should exclude me from pretty much any sports, card games, board games, etc. (I'm OK at Candyland, though.)
From: ML To: JD
Oh, MAN. From the subject line of this email, I thought we were about to have a Lady Gaga conversation! And I was thinking, "Well. This is not how I thought this day would go."
But I was ready to go with it.
From: JD To: ML
Rest assured: You NEVER have to worry about my dropping a Lady Gaga reference.
I usually point to one of four factors from my youth as the reason I'm so bad at sports/games:
1) competitive genius older brother
2) smallest kid in the neighborhood growing up
3) coordination-challenged
4) more interested in girls
From: ML To: JD
Aww. Number 4 is kind of sad.
From: JD To: ML
Anyway.
After a lifetime of beat-downs and close second finishes (in competitions involving two people), I have adapted quite a nice little coping mechanism: smart-assery. I employ it in all game situations.
This is why I don't play games like golf. I can't handle the seriousness.
"We're back at Augusta. Tiger Woods is paired up with JD. Tiger is lining up a 14-foot putt on the 8th green, and... what? is he? yes... JD has walked around to the hole and is standing over it, facing Tiger, with his putter through the zipper of his trousers, simulating... Ah, good. He's been tackled by our 80-year-old gallery guard and is being carted off the green now."
From: ML To: JD
I also am very uncoordinated and bad at games. But even smart-assery can't help me. I have broken two ankles, an arm, and several fingers and toes attempting to play sports.* Stopping to make a snarky comment would likely only result in further injury.
(*OK, some of these I broke attempting to walk and hold a conversation at the same time. Point is, I'm uncoordinated.)
I have a splint on my hand right now, because I broke my finger yesterday cleaning my kitchen counter. I am not making that shit up.
From: JD To: ML
I recognize that the appropriate response would be to act shocked by this. I cannot muster even faint surprise.
How are you able to type? Is someone typing this for you? Oh! Can you get them to type "balls"?
[Dear Hired Hands Typing for ML: Whatever you are getting paid, it is not enough.]
From: ML To: JD
Balls. NO, MAKE THAT ALL CAPS, AND THROW IN SOME PUNCTUATION DAMMIT. BALLS??!
No, it's just me. I have already adapted a new typing style that leaves out my broken finger. I am so good at overcoming adversity.
I really can't explain how it happened. It just did. Also, I spilled coffee in my eye -- my EYE -- this morning. I can't explain that one either. I could manage to hurt myself playing poker. I best not try.
From: JD To: ML
I remember the first time I played with this crowd -- the inaugural game. A bunch of them came all geeked up with sunglasses and iPods and the like. Some of them had watched hold 'em events on the Ocho at 2 a.m. for weeks. I did not know these guys well at the time and thought, "Ohhhh, boy. Inviting me here was a huge mistake." Coping mechanism, activated.
So I started with, "I'm just going to give you guys my tell: when I have good cards, I pound my head on the table and scream obscenities." Then when a hand got intense and quiet, I'd pipe up and ask if they'd seen the latest bestiality video circulating on the Internet.
I suspect these guys seriously hate me, but they keep inviting me back. After seven years, I still don't know what denominations all the chips are. I end up having to ask every time, usually several times a night.
Oh, and this was my point: I have absolutely no poker face. It's hard to develop a hide-my-thinking expression when I don't *know* what the hell I'm thinking. Last night, I had to check the cheat sheet hanging on the wall to see if I won the hand. (I did.)
From: ML To: JD
Are you really that clueless? Were you... [cue the Lady Gaga! see, I worked it in!] born this way? Or is this all an elaborate act? Is the whole "I'm too dumb to understand" thing really just your poker face?
From: JD To: ML
Well now, no one will ever REALLY know, will they? [Confident wink, followed by slow sip of dry martini.]
No, I'm kidding. I really am that clueless.
The Force Is Strong With This One
From: JD To: ML
Inexplicably, my daughters have suddenly taken an interest in Star Wars.
From: ML To: JD
Inexplicably? Perhaps it's explicable by the Star Wars jammies you wear with Yodas and shit on 'em; and the Star Wars lunchbox you take to work; and the Star Wars references you work into every conversation; and the fact that you've tried to name all your pets, male or female, including the fish, "Vader"; and the way in which you try to talk everyone else into being Jabba the Hut at Halloween so you can be a cross-dressing Princess Leia in the gold bikini sex-slave costume. NO ONE WANTS TO DO THAT.
Wait. You don't actually know what "inexplicably" means, do you? You think it means "awesomely" -- am I right?
From: JD To: ML
Laugh it up, fuzzball.
It is possible that I am not subtle about making sure my children understand that Star Wars triumphs over every other movie ever made.
Child: "Dad, will you pass the ketchup?"
Me: "You know what Darth Vader would do? He'd use the force to transport the ketchup through the air, and then he'd do like this [demonstrate Force choke move by pinching fingers together] to extract just the right amount of ketchup from the bottle to your plate."
[Child rolls eyes and reaches across table to grab ketchup.]
Vader is a badass, and I played him on many an All Hallows Eve in my day, but I've always fancied myself more the Han Solo type (naturally).
From: ML To: JD
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. HAAA haaaaaaaaaaa. Haaaaaaaahahahah. Haha. Ha. Heh.
You are so not Han Solo.
You are all the clean-freak prissiness of C-3PO and hairy nonsense-talk of Chewbacca. A C-3PO/Chewbacca bastard alien love child. That is you.
From: JD To: ML
Only you would fantasize about Wookies having sex with Droids. You disgust me, sir.
Anyway, I didn't want to pass up what might just be a fleeting interest by my girls, so I suggested last week that we all sit down and watch the original movie together. Everyone was excited -- the 5-year-old even more so than the 8-year-old.
The 60 seconds it took everyone to get camped out on the sofa with necessary blankets and pillow pets was the only uninterrupted minute of the entire experience.
From: ML To: JD
You mean they were asking questions during the movie? Can you blame them?
Did you expect two little girls to watch a movie about warring alien factions and a princess who wears no glitter or tiara whatsoever without needing a little clarification?
From: JD To: ML
Good Lord. It was like a bad Japanese game show where the rule is they have to think up and yell out three questions every half-minute or one of their stuffed animals gets blown to pieces.
Highlights:
- Every alien or droid had to be identified immediately upon appearing onscreen as one of three things: a good guy, a bad guy, or their new favorite word, "neutral." The subsequent conversation as to how I could possibly be sure the good/bad/neutral guy was in fact good/bad/neutral would then take up the entire scene wherein we could have watched and discovered for ourselves just why he was good/bad/neutral.
- "Dad, explain it again -- what is the Force?" To me, this is akin to asking someone to compare and contrast all world religions in two sentences or less. I can't do it. But if I didn't try, they would just keep asking.
- During the Cantina scene, after Greedo gets it, my oldest was shocked by the lack of community outrage over the murder: "They just killed two guys in that place, and no one sitting in there seems to care at all!"
- In the final action sequence, my youngest wrapped herself in a blanket and danced around the room, proclaiming that she was an "alien from Star Wars," paying no attention to the drama unfolding on the screen. I said, "See, guys! Luke just blew up the Death Star!" She said, "What's the Death Star?"
- During the awards ceremony: "Are they getting married?"
From: ML To: JD
I'm impressed you made it to the end.
I have no patience for constant interruptions.
"Do you want me to drive you to this birthday party, or do you want me to answer 40 questions about where volcanoes come from?" [slamming on brakes]
"Either I can braid your hair, or I can explain again why God let your pet frog die last year. I cannot do both. You choose." [slamming down brush]
"No. I do not think anything is wrong with your fingers. Take your socks off your hands and get out of the kitchen if you want me to finish making dinner. You like to eat, don't you?" [slamming down spoon]
From: JD To: ML
Lest you think me so saintly, I should tell you I dealt with it in a similar way of my own:
"Eh, he's a good guy. No, wait -- a bad guy. Oh shit, I don't know. Neutral, maybe? I love you guys." [slamming beer]
From: ML To: JD
I do think it's nice you shared your favorite movie with them. I'm thinking through my favorites, and between the grossly inappropriate comedies and the torturously dark dramas, I'm not sure that would be wise.
"What's that, son? You want to know why Sophie had to give one of her kids to the Nazis?"
We don't watch a lot of movies together. It rarely goes well. We have had good luck with Despicable Me, though. That's a hit around here. Animated Steve Carrell is the great one-size-fits-all of family movie enjoyment.
Did they love it as much as you do?
From: JD To: ML
After all that -- totally exhausted but at least happy I was there for their first Star Wars experience -- I turned to my youngest, the one who had been begging for days to watch it: "Well? Did you like it?"
"No."
Baby Pictures
From: ML To: JD
I just looked at the calendar. Our college reunion is LESS THAN A MONTH AWAY.
I don't know about you, but I have taken the following steps in preparation:
1. Stopped eating carbs.
2. Discovered the carb-free lifestyle makes me prone to violent outbursts and nonsensical diatribes.
3. Resumed eating carbs.
4. Diagrammed 48 hours worth of outfits and shoes on a dry-erase whiteboard.
5. Held this debate inside my head: Bring kids? Or don't bring kids?
6. Decided: No kids. No one needs to see mama in the state I plan to be in.
We are supposed to be sending in photos for the slide show, too. I got nothin'. Probably hid / boxed-up / threw out scrapbooks during a fit of manic domesticity sometime. Do you have any?
From: JD To: ML
Ohhhhhh, do I. One of the reunion committee members just sent me a slew of photos. Among them, may I present this gem from the first week of freshman year...
From: ML To: JD
AAHHHH!!! Baby-you and baby-me!!!
Holy crap. Is that really what I looked like when I got to college? Was I not the least bit concerned about first impressions? Or was I just so high on freedom that the euphoria caused me to forget all wardobe/grooming concerns?
From: JD To: ML
Stop looking at you. Look at ME. Specifically: LOOK AT MY BODY.
I cannot stop staring at it. I have mixed feelings: amazement over what it was, and disgust over what it has become since.
Full disclosure: I was so mesmerized by the sight of myself in this photo, it took me a good 20 minutes before I realized (1) there was anyone else in the picture, and (2) that it was you.
Why would the gods have done this to me? Given me a body like that and a face like the Joker? It's like an underage Abercrombie model wearing a Rod Blagojevich wig after getting hit in the face with a frying pan.
From: ML To: JD
I think you photoshopped my abs onto yourself in this. In the original, I suspect you were wearing the purple parachute and I was topless.
I see that, as in 80% of photos taken of me, I'm talking in this one. I wonder what I'm saying.
From: JD To: ML
I have no doubt that you are bossing around the person behind the camera.
From: ML To: JD
Dude -- you are a scrawny little thing, but you are RIPPED. Look at your baby-JD-abs, man. Wait -- look at the veins in your arm. Are you making a fist and getting ready to punch me?
From: JD To: ML
Well, I'd known you for all of a few hours in this photo. So yes, probably.
Seriously -- is there a word for when a heterosexual male is attracted to a photo of himself from 20 years ago? Because if so, that is what I am.
And where is all my body hair?? Oh, that's right. I didn't hit puberty until sophomore year.
Your arms are freakishly long, by the way. Like octopus tentacles. It looks like there should be a third person's head between ours the way your left arm goes over my shoulder and wraps halfway back again.
From: ML To: JD
Your arms are just stumpy in contrast. My arms are elegant. Don't be a hater, muppetface.
Some more observations upon further study:
- I was 17 years old here. Why hadn't I discovered sunscreen by then? Or eyeliner? I look like a blinky, fried, albino baby squirrel.
- We are at a lake. Yet neither of us is wearing a bathing suit. So why were we at a lake?
- This is an interesting way you're wearing your shirt here, skirt-style.
- Am I TAN??? No, I think that's just a deep beige. And a shadow.
- I would like to point out that I did not break 100 pounds until second semester. (Thanks, beer.) That is why I looked like an Ethiopian refugee. I weighed as much as a shoe. LATE BLOOMER.
From: JD To: ML
You must be a gazillionaire, because you invented the Snuggie with that shirt. Actually, it's more of a half-Snuggie. Unless the rest of it is somehow tucked into your bermuda shorts.
Also: I see this was back when I was in the habit of applying red lipstick to my nipples.
From: ML To: JD
You should have given me some. Why are my lips white??
From: JD To: ML
God, this is so depressing. I am beginning to regret the 32,000 Big Mac combo meals I have consumed since this photo was taken. The folks from P90X should use this photo and one of me from present day to show what happens if you DON'T buy their product.
I can't stop looking at this.
From: ML To: JD
Yeah, you should quit admiring your baby-self or you won't get any work done today.
From: JD To: ML
I put the picture away. But then I saw my reflection in my computer monitor. And now I've found myself admiring my hair. I just can't quit me.
Stranger Danger
In this, our week of brevity, two more short exchanges. This is what happens when we talk to strangers.
What Kind?
From: ML To: JD
Just got home from a party with a bunch of people I don't know. Want to know the number one thing I get asked when people find out what I do for a living?
From: JD To: ML
How much for an hou- I mean, how much is your hourly rate?
From: ML To: JD
No. It goes likes this:
Person at party: "So what do you do?"
Me: "I'm a writer."
(Here it comes.)
Other person: "What KIND of writer?"
Me: A mean one.
From: JD To: ML
I would agree with that.
From: ML To: JD
I have other responses. I just rotate through them.
They include:
- A bad one.
- A hot one.
- A fake one.
- You know, that kind.
- I make rhymes and drinks with limes.
- What? No, I said a rider. I ride mini-giraffes.
The Hep
From: JD To: ML
I just had a whole conversation with a guy, and then shook hands with him, and THEN he told me he'd recently had a bout with Hepatitis C.
From: ML To: JD
I can only imagine the panic. I've never known anyone more germaphobic than me -- until you.
From: JD To: ML
Me [out loud]: "So when a judgment is filed in a county, it attaches to all property in that county."
Me [inside]: "Holy... fucking... SHIT. SOAP! WATER!! NEED SOAP AND WATER!! CAN I PUT HAND SANITIZER ALL OVER MY BODY?!? WHAT THE FUCK IS HEPATITIS C? IS IT WORSE THAN A AND B?? IS IT THE KIND YOU CATCH FROM LICKING TOILET SEATS?? SOOOOOAAAPP!!! DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE, DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE, DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE!!! OH GOD, WHYYYYYY??!?"
Just Chatting
Not all our email exchanges are 20 paragraphs long. Sometimes, there's just not that much to say. This week, we're into brevity.
Barstool Shoes
My sister-in-law and I just went shopping and came home with the same pair of FABULOUS hooker he- I mean, new shoes. They have 4.5 inch heels. I will probably break both my ankles.
Anyway. My mom was observing us as we modeled them upon returning home. ["Your feet look hot in those." "No, YOUR feet look hot in those."]
Mom: "Don't they hurt? Where can you possibly wear them?"
Me: "They're barstool shoes." [Sister-in-law nods wisely in agreement.]
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Too brutal to stand in, but too glorious to hide under a table while sitting down. So ideally, you wear them while sitting on a barstool -- you're comfortable, and everyone can still see your feet. Barstool shoes."
Mom: [thoughtful pause] "You are a slut."
From: JD To: ML
Fucking awesome.
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Gold Medal Parenting
From: JD To: ML
My wife is out, and both kids have friends over to spend the night. I just spent the whole day mowing and doing yard work, and now I'm home in charge of entertaining and feeding four kids. Papa tired.
From: ML To: JD
Good Lord. Dad of the year award.
[Two hours later.]
From: JD To: ML
I just put on a movie, because I can't entertain them anymore. Took everyone to the neighborhood picnic to be fed. Lots of kids running around, and daddy got to kick back and suck down a couple rum-and-cokes.
So to recap: I've not entertained them yet; but I can't entertain them anymore.
From: ML To: JD
Never mind on the award.
