Deflated Beach Ball Day!

Not enough sunny days.

"It just never got hot enough." She repeats this over and over again, each time her voice sagging further with disbelief.

"Sometimes, summer doesn't come through," you say. You don't know if you'll ever be able to lift her spirits, and you're beginning to think you don't want to try.

"So much cold ahead. So much gray. How will we make it through?"

"Maybe," you say. "Maybe the winter will be mild as well."

She looks at you like you just spent your savings on lotto tickets.

"We need to plan," she says. "We need to be practical. We got our hopes up for the summer and now I feel tricked naked and raped. We need to shop and prepare for the coming months of misery. And, perhaps, the months of disappointment after that."

She takes your head in her hands. "We should assume that we won't be happy anymore. If we start from there, it won't hurt so much."

You rip her hands from your cheeks and you lose your shit.

"Goddammit," you shout. "I won't do it. I won't live under your cloud of black. Rain or shine, there's beauty to be had. If it rains on the beach, I don't want to run into the house and play Monopoly with a cashew substituting for the missing race car. I want to build a castle from the wet sand, because wet sand is better for building castles."

She begins to shiver. "What are you saying?"

"I won't keep you warm anymore. We're breaking up."

You divide up your stuff that night. She sobs steadily, occasionally shrieking "Please," but it doesn't affect you. All you can see is the possibility for an Autumn not spent huddling underneath an afghan !!!WITH YOUR WET BLANKET OF A GIRLFRIEND!!! (that was awesome. truly. the wet blanket under the afghan thing. pure maximum adrenaline rock and roll.).

Happy Deflated Beach Ball Day!

Because Lesbianism Begins With A Stern Trim Day!

Until now, you've only known your 19 year old sister to pursue unattainable men. She's held on to long-distance boyfriends with a decided calm. Her crushes have all fallen on men far outside of her age group or male friends with girlfriends. Occasionally, you wonder at the last time she might have had sex, which makes you feel like you've invaded her privacy just within the confines of your silent conjuecture.

But you've never ever thought she might be gay. Until this afternoon, when she came home with a close-cropped "bowl" of a haircut. The same cut you had when you were 12 and playing soccer. No matter how she musses and fusses with it, there can never be anything remotely "feminine" about what's settled upon her head right now. And she's never looked better.

"Holy shit, she's gay," you thought. You thought it the minute she got out of the car. She said hey to you and walked up the stairs without waiting for a remark on her new 'do. You stayed in your seat, feeling like a master detective who's just cracked a case.

"No wonder," you thought. "She's always seemed so tense in the shoulders. A very aggressive driver."

Happy Because Lesbianism Begins With A Stern Trim Day!

Juggle Chainsaws Day!

Today, rev up three gas powered chainsaws and toss them all up in the air just above your head.

Happy Juggle Chainsaws Day!

Chef Dilly Day!

Dilly got high, went to the store, and came back with pasta and sausage. He's cooking it up for the whole house to eat.

"Good day and welcome to Chateau Dilly, yo," he says to everyone who comes in to see who's using the kitchen.

Dilly's in the middle of a big long monologue that he's laying on everyone who comes in and sits down for a bit. When someone leaves and someone else in the house comes in, Dilly just continues on with his monologue as if whoever's in there has been there the whole time.

"The car never really ran right after that but me and Larkin are still real cool. I've done a lot for him since then," he says when you walk into the kitchen.

"Is there meat in that sauce?" you ask.

Dilly laughs. "Yes Mr. Vegetarian, there will be meat in this sauce. Vegetarians must order from the Tibetan House if they wish to eat tonight." He stirs his pasta a little then continues with his story. "Jenny got out of the hospital about six days later, but it was like two months before she spoke to me. We shared a bed the whole time, but we didn't fuck. When I finally got work she…"

You leave the kitchen and wander out onto the front porch. You're not a vegetarian. Your girlfriend is. But she gets angry any time she finds what she thinks is meat on her plate. And if you ordered a meat dish, she'd get angry at you. So you stopped eating meat around her. And soon you stopped eating meat altogether. Now that you've decided you're going to break up with her when the time is right, you really want to eat Dilly's pasta. But you're not going to. It'll cause a fight.

Happy Chef Dilly Day!

The Marines Day!

If we pitted our branches of the armed forces against each other, you'd root for the Marines. The Marines are just a bunch of hard-luck cases. Like growed up orphans who know how to kill. No one would root for the air force because they have all the spaceships. If it's a bunch of guys running around on the ground versus a spaceship, only a dick would keep his fingers crossed that the spaceship might be able to come out on top. The Navy's more about keeping their boots shiny and staying out of trouble so as not to be banned from the Saturday Night "Everyone On The Boat Fucks Everyone Else On The Boat" Topside Orgy. And the army is all about road repair nowadays.

But the Marines. They're the guys who just don't wanna have to go home and raise their kids. Every last one of them has gotten into a mixed-race fistfight and they've all cried into the arms of a heterosexual member of the same sex. You want the Marines to win even though they make you feel small. You can't resist getting behind the guy who could snap at any minute.

Happy The Marines Day!

The First Conversation With Your Husband After You've Cheated (You Might Be In Love) Day!

Hi honey.

Hi.

He kisses your forehead.

How was your day?

Good. Yours?

Great. We saw the Des Moines presentation.

Oh?

It looks like quite a nice area.

Mm hmm?

I think you're really gonna like it.

Mm hmm.

I really appreciate this you know. You know that right? I'm only doing this because I think it's worth it.

I know sweetie.

For the kids, and for you.

I know.

He kisses your forehead. His firm is relocating you and your family 1200 miles away from the guy you think you might be in love with.

Happy The First Conversation With Your Husband After You've Cheated (You Might Be In Love) Day!

Facebites Day!

Your wife hates you. She hates you so much that she sometimes stares at you while you sleep, miserable with just how much ugly she has to cede half her bed to. The more she stares, the more her blood boils, until she spreads her jaw open wide, wracks her head down at your face and rips her teeth into the skin on either side of your nose, trying to rip the center of your face off in her maw.

You wake up screaming into her neck. She recoils and cowers into the corner of the bedroom. You pant by the pillows, blood pouring forth from the gashes in your face. She says, "I hate you so much I'm gonna kill you one night. While you sleep."

Happy Facebites Day!

Your Mom Loves Him, Your Dad Wants To Kill Him On Sight Day!

He's in your hotel room, the fiancé who jilted you, the one you were supposed to marry. He's in your hotel room and tonight's the night before your wedding.

"No worries about your tidy little groom dropping in and interrupting us. That'd be bad luck, after all."

"Get out."

He wants more than just to screw. "I want you. Tomorrow I'll lose you forever unless I wake up by your side. I'm not leaving."

Your Mom and Dad are gonna drop by to kiss you goodnight. When your Dad sees Jonathan he'll try to strangle him, but your Mom will put a stop to it. Your Mom thinks you're making a big mistake by marrying this Rick kid tomorrow. She knows that Jonathan is the one you loved. Even though Jonathan broke your heart so bad you got into a car accident that put a faint scar on your face, your Mom thinks he's the one.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about it," she once said when you confronted her. "There's nothing to be happy about when you find the one you love. But try too hard to deny that love and you're gonna die."

"Mom, he left me!" you sobbed.

Your Mom looked confused. "Yeah, but he'll be back. You know that right?"

Don't admit this please, but you always did know it. You couldn't imagine him staying away. Right now, you're just hoping you're more like your Dad now. You're hoping that the part of you that could love a cocksucker like Jonathan is dead. It's not.

Happy Your Mom Loves Him, Your Dad Wants To Kill Him On Sight Day!

Stop His Lotto Playing, He'll Leave You Behind Day!

The plans are laid for a beautiful future together. You're continuing your apprenticeship as assistant director of the Community Y. He's in his second semester at Community College in pursuit of a business degree.

"We're gonna make it right," you say.

"Then we're gonna make a family," he says.

And yet, every single day he buys himself a lotto ticket. Why even go to school if he's putting his hat in the ring to ride a gravy train outta town? Why all the planning? The promises?

"Why do you waste your money on those stupid lotto tickets?" you say.

"It's fun. I like to dream of what kind of life we'd lead if I won a hundred million dollars."

If he won a hundred million dollars, he'd go down to the office to claim the money. He'd call you up to tell you everything's right as rain and they're honoring his ticket. But he'd have to stay down there to meet with some financial advisors recommended to him by the commission.

The next time he'd call would be to tell you to watch the TV, because they're gonna announce him as the winner. After, when you tell him over the phone how handsome he looked up on that stage, he'd say he's not coming home because he's been told he'll be swamped with pleas for handouts, but he'll call soon to say where he is.

A few days later, he'll call once more, saying he's being moved for the third time. People keep tracking him down and showing up at his doorstep with their empty hats shining up at him. "Everyone wants a piece of me, here. They're trying to suck my blood. I can't trust nobody no more."

You'll say, "I love you."

He'll say, "Ah ha!" and hang up the phone.

You'll never hear from him again. I don't know what your mother will say to make you feel better about it all. I don't know if she's aware of what a team of financial advisors can do to a young couple in love.

Happy Stop His Lotto Playing, He'll Leave You Behind Day!

Unreasonably Impatient, Angry, And Profane For A Sunday Morning Day!

When you wake up say, "Fuck I'm awake and fuck!" Go to your favorite muffin store. It's called "Muffin On Out!" Ask for "The Fucking Banana and Cranberry for God's sake. Jesus! Does everything have to be so goddamn hard? Does everything...have to be...so goddamn...motherfucking...hard???" Pay.

Return home, place your muffin on a small plate and place the plate on your pillow, next to your sleeping bride. Gently rouse your wife awake. As her eyes flutter open on the muffin by her head, say, "Oh my God! Eat the Muffin! Fuck! Oh my God! Eat the Muffin!" Stomp away to the living room to sulk, swear, and wish that everything was moving just a little faster than it is.

Happy Unreasonably Impatient, Angry, And Profane For A Sunday Morning Day!

Cinnamon Day!

She smelled like clean sweat and that peach perfume she wore. Her hair stunk of streams. In the morning her breath tasted like hot rain squiggling through the whiskers above your lip into your mouth (kiss her awake and kiss her till she begs for coffee). One day you hope you forget what she looked like and only remember her odor.

Happy Cinnamon Day!

A Spoonful Of Heroin Day!

You are a terrible children's book author. You write stories about hard luck children who turn to prostitution and break-ins for money, and all of the characters in your stories are promiscuous teens who have AIDS but don't know it. No one will ever publish you. You will be investigated by the police briefly when you visit a teen chat room for research, but no one will ever prosecute. You'll give up writing in 2009.

Happy A Spoonful Of Heroin Day!

Verbs Day!

I kill for sport. I kill the elderly and the women, mostly, because I'm not very good at killing yet. I try to kill women who are unmarried and have no children. An unmarried woman's death attracts less attention than the murder of a married mother of three. And Providence is not so big a town. The elderly are easy to kill too, and it takes a while before anyone is willing to accept they might have been murdered.

Over the past six years of killing, only two of my victims were the subject of a large-scale murder investigation. One was a woman who had a brother in the Senate (Maryland, not Rhode Island). The brother pulled some strings and kept the police up here asking questions for close to eight months. The other was a young girl I thought was just a runaway. I found her hitching for a ride. Turns out she was a runaway, but wasn't even two hours out of the house. She never even made it out of the state before I got to her. The police found the body right away, but they spent most of their efforts trying to pin the crime on this older guy she'd purportedly been dating. They never came to me.

Kill, Kill, I'm, Killing, Kill, Are, Have, Attracts, Is, Are, To kill, Takes, Willing, Accept, Killing, Were, Was, Had, Pulled, Kept, Asking, Was, Thought, Was, Found, Hitching, Was, Made, Got, Found, Spent, Trying, Pin, Dating, Came

Happy Verbs Day!

What Nouns Are Day!

Birds, Coke cans, and Brad Pitt. They're nouns. Birds are nouns because they're so pretty they can fucking fly. That's noun up the wad. Coke cans are nouns because they're things, as evidenced by the fact that you can see and feel them. Brad Pitt is a noun because everyone knows who he is.

That's it for nouns. Birds, Coke cans, and Brad Pitt. Maybe Jesus too, except he's dead, and it's unclear whether dead nouns are still nouns.

Tomorrow: Verbs.

Happy What Nouns Are Day!

Have Fun You Two Day!

It's the way it's done. Sharon leaves in the morning, calls you at work when her plane touches down to let you know she's okay. You hang up with Sharon and call Joanne and tell her to meet you at your place at 7 and the two of you hump until sunrise. Repeat the next day only after you've gotten a call from Sharon telling you she misses you and she's still in Phoenix (or wherever). You never call first. You never want to give her the chance to suspect that you're keeping tabs on her. And you've been very diligent. Never once have you brought Joanne over without first getting a call from Sharon. Sickeningly enough, you're proud of this fact.

Tonight everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Sharon called from a hotel phone so that the foreign area code showed up on your office caller ID. Joanne didn't flinch when you gave her the go ahead to head over to your place (she can often make you prove that you care for her before she agrees to a tryst). Joanne was waiting at the coffee shop beneath your building when you approached. You threw a five on her table and yanked her giggling out of her booth and up the stairs.

Once inside you flung each other around the living room kissing and tugging off your boots. You found a note from Sharon reminding you about what's in the fridge. You only gave it a quick glance before Joanne grabbed your hands and pulled them to her naked waist. The note dropped back onto the counter and you and Joanne spent about ninety minutes in the bed Sharon purchased for the two of you.

When you'd finished fucking you ordered up Chinese food and a six pack of beer and watched HBO naked on the couch. After a little while you took turns giving each other head on the couch, then you hit the kitchen for some water before running out to walk the dog. When you got back, Joanne was hungry again and had started hunting around in the kitchen.

"There's some stuff you can't eat in there," you shouted while taking off your coat and returning to your spot on the couch. "Sharon will know I had someone over if you eat something I'd never eat."

Joanne came back to the couch and fed you from a plate of orange slices. She sucked one down herself, then put another slice up to your lips.

"You're quick with a citrus knife," you said before sucking the slice to your teeth.

"They were already cut up," she said.

You had the orange rind in your mouth like in the Godfather and your brow furrowed, which made Joanne laugh. You let the rind drop into your hand.

"They were?" you asked.

Joanne looked apprehensive. You both turned and stared at the kitchen. Her eyes on the fridge, Joanne said "There's some champagne in there too."

"And two glasses?" you asked. Joanne didn't answer. She turned her eyes to the plate if orange slices and wondered if they're poisoned.

You got up and went to the counter where you dropped the note that Sharon left for you.

Sweetie,

Drinks and snacks are in the fridge. I won't be back until Friday.

Have fun you two.

-Sharon

You went to the Fridge to avoid looking at Joanne. She was too nude on the couch. Too polluting, she was all over everything. You went to the fridge and opened the door to stare at the champagne and the flutes and the blank space on the shelf where the plate of orange slices sat. The first time you ever found champagne and orange slices in the fridge, Sharon snuck up from behind you and cloaked your eyes in her hands and pulled you to her naked body. The last time you found champagne and orange slices in the fridge was a year and a half ago.

It took a lot of silence, but eventually Joanne was good enough to get dressed and leave. You now have two days and two hours to wonder if Sharon cared whether you'd find the note and champagne and the orange slices before or after you fucked Joanne. If you had found it before, the "Have fun you two" might have referred to you and the dog. If you had found it before, it would have felt like there was still a chance that she might not know, that the orange slices and the champagne are a promise for when she comes back. It feels like finding it before might have erased all of the times you'd already cheated. If you had found it before…if only you had found it before.

Happy Have Fun You Two Day!

A Western Girlfriend Day!

If you move too fast, she'll shoot you between the eyes. If you cheat, at cards or at love, she'll shoot a hole clean through the offending appendage, so clean you'll be able to stare down the bullet hole at the cracks of the floorboards below before a single drop of blood pours forth, then she'll wash the wound clean with a splash of her shot of whiskey and say, "Let's keep playing" (note: if you cheat at love, the offending appendage might be your penis, the shooting of which appendage will understandably not be taken quite so lightly). If you sit on her hat, she'll shoot you so many times you'll end up in seven parts of the room at once.

She cries though. She cries so hard she's afraid she'll never stop. She's really just a girl beneath the gunfight saunter and the chaw. Surrounded by so much death she has no choice but to cry to keep from going out of her mind. If you ever breathe a word about her crying, she'll hold your head to the dirt and put a bullet through your temple so that the bullet buries some of your brain into the ground before the undertaker gets to take a crack.

It's clearly sexual, what keeps you two together. You're just a prospector who believes in God. You've never hurt a fly and when you stub your toe you say, "Drat." Neither of you are Olympiads in the sack. You both just want the same thing.

"For it to never end," she says.

"Inside forever," you say. You hold her hands down on the pillow up behind her head. She lets you keep her there.

Happy A Western Girlfriend Day!

Counting The Seconds Day!

Only 18,646 seconds left until the scheduled money drop. If it goes well, your kidnappers will make one phone call to the authorities, alerting them to your location (you've been blindfolded and bound for the last two days, but you think you're near the docks. You can smell the ketchup factory), and you'll be rescued.

If it doesn't go well, you'll either be killed or, if your kidnappers are killed before they let anyone know about your whereabouts, you'll be left to die. Why oh why did you have to be born the mayor's daughter?

Happy Counting The Seconds Day!

Die Humming Day!

You're a drug dealer who loves the music of Ben Folds because you're one of those "New" drug dealers who could be just a guy at the bar or a buddy at my wedding (you're white and young). Saturdays belong to you and for today's Saturday, you'll be taking some time to hang around in the park. You called some friends (again, you're a drug dealer, but you still call up friends and tell them that you're in the park and you have a Frisbee in case they feel like getting out) and some friends might come out to track you down later, but if not you'll be just fine on your own in the park all day.

At 2:20 you'll be sitting on a small hill on the outskirts of a field humming a Ben Folds song when a 17 year old soldier in a rapidly growing drug organization shoots you once in the chest and once in the left eye socket.

Happy Die Humming Day!

The Gown's On The Ground Day!

One out of five of your female patients over 40 end up saying it. You turn your back to ointment up a swab and you hear the sound of a gentle little flift. You turn around to find your patient standing in a pile of the paper gown she was wearing just a second ago. She says, "The gown's on the ground. Your move doctor."

Less than half of them are still wearing their panties when the gown drops. Most of them take off their panties and secret them into a handbag while waiting for you to return to the examination room.

Happy The Gown's On The Ground Day!

Surprise Party Day!

Your boyfriend of two months organized a surprise party for you. That's why the living room is covered in streamers. And that's why it doesn't look like he has anything planned for your birthday beyond the two of you sitting in a living room covered in streamers. There is a lot to eat in the refrigerator. A great variety of snacks and dips in large serving bowls that your boyfriend hastily hid away when he realized no one was going to come. You should sit him down and explain.

"Like the streamers?" he asks. "Hey, let's buy a movie off of digital cable. Whatever you want."

"Listen," you say. "I know what you tried to do and I really appreciate it. But there are a few things you should know about me."

"Mm hmm?"

You breathe deep and hope for the best. That's all you can do right? You never know, he might still wanna stick around.

"So here's how it is," you say. "I used to be friends with this girl Gina. Best friends actually. Since ninth grade we were inseparable."

"I heard her name come up some of the times we’ve been out but I don't think I've met her," he says.

"No," you say. "You wouldn't have. See, Gina was married to this guy Karl. And me and Karl, we kind of had an affair while Gina was pregnant with their first baby. The affair went on for a few months, but Gina got wise and started following Karl. She finally caught us together when she followed him here, to my apartment, where we were celebrating my birthday."

"Oh," he says. He's starting to stare at very little.

"So, yeah. When Gina saw us through that window there, she climbed up onto the fire escape, all eight months pregnant of her, and then she screamed Karl's name and jumped from the fire escape so that she impaled her belly on the wrought-iron fence, killing herself and their baby."

Big long silence from the boyfriend. Then:

"So that's why no one came to the party."

"Because it's the anniversary of my friend's suicide slash infanticide," you say. "Yup."

"Which you caused?" he asks. He's looking you in the eye. That's a good sign.

"Karl had a hand in it too, but yeah. Most people lay the blame on me," you say. Don't take his hand even though he seems to be laying it out there on the couch for you to take. "No one's heard from Karl since the big day, by the way."

He reaches across the couch towards you. You stiffen, afraid he's going to slap you. But he takes you by the shoulder and says, "My God your birthday's ruined forever by a sad memory you poor little thing." And holy shit if he doesn't fucking pull you into a deep soft hug.

"Oh. Oh, baby," you say.

"Well we're just going to smother that sad memory with a big pile of happy ones. Starting with some mini-golf. Get your pants."

You take a second to watch him standing there by the couch waiting for you to get your pants so he can take you to mini-golf for your birthday. Whatever happy memories there are to come, it will be hard to top this one.

Happy Surprise Party Day!

The Mouth Of A Cave Day!

You broke up when she went into the cave to live the life of a person inside of a mountain. You shouted at her back, "But your publicity firm!" She didn't turn around.

On the drive up to Enchanted Caverns, she was quiet. Staring straight ahead at the road up the mountain. The decision to go to the cave was the result of a dearth of ideas. Too gray for the lake, and you'd been fighting too much to stay inside the cabin. You grabbed the first brochure off the mantelpiece that would get you in the car. She shrugged when you suggested the cave.

As you parked the car, you noticed her arms were bright red where she'd been scratching. It was drizzling, but she left her windbreaker in the passenger seat. You grabbed it and brought it to her. She let it drop underneath her feet and kept on walking.

At the admission window, she didn't stop. The kid selling the tickets began to shout at her until you shoved your money under the glass for the both of you.

You grabbed at her elbow and said, "What's your problem?" She didn't answer. Just kept walking, step by step, up the path to the cave.

There was a tour group gathered at the mouth of the cave. She stepped right into the middle of it, parting the families, and shoved her way out of the thick to continue on her way into the cave. You followed her through all the people, noting their worried expressions in response to the look on her face.

Just at the mouth, you took hold of her by the elbow and she halted. But you could feel her continuing to pull forward, gently. It was like your grip was merely a tangle of weeds that she had to drag herself out of. She had no interest in what was holding her back; she simply wanted to get away from it. You didn't look at her face. It was blanked over, you knew, and you didn't want to see that.

You let go and she walked down into the dark.

Happy The Mouth Of A Cave Day!

Has He Really Taught You Everything He Has To Teach? Day!

You've packed a single suitcase. There's a young man waiting on the sidewalk. He'll be taking care of you now. But first you must say goodbye to your elderly mentor.

"You taught me so much," you'll say. "I can never in a million years repay you for sharing with me your brilliance."

"How is my shopping going to get done?" he'll ask.

Say, "I opened an account for you with Freshdirect. Anyway, I know our relationship was unorthodox. And I don't regret a moment of it. You were the father I never had. And the lover I always dreamed of."

"Does the UPS guy need to be called ahead of time if I need a pickup? Or does he just stop by every day?"

Take him by the hand and walk him into the bedroom. Point to where you posted the phone number for UPS pickup scheduling on the bulletin board. "I know this is hard. It's the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But what good is all you've taught me if I don't go out into the world and apply it to a life."

"My prescriptions?"

"You can pick them up every Friday."

"The cleaning lady?"

"She comes by on Tuesdays. Write her a check on the first Tuesday of the month."

"What about my fish?"

You suck in a breath. Those fish. Without you around to feed them and clean their tank, they'll surely die. But you can't let that responsibility hold you back. You can't be his student for the rest of your life. You have to live.

Kiss him on the cheek and run out the door, leaving behind his last question unanswered.

Happy Has He Really Taught You Everything He Has To Teach? Day!

She Is Waiting Up For You Day!

Are you going to tell her that you didn't want to come home?

Are you going to tell her you were up late judging a Strong Man Competition at the beach? That bright lights and turntables were hooked up to power generators while gigantic men tried to hoist heavy weights above their heads. That you were just standing in the muck of the crowd eating an Icee when the host and the sponsor's representative started looking for judges and the host pointed to you and said, "How bout that guy?"

And the sponsor's representative (Baja Fresh) said, "The guy with the Icee. Get on up here."

Are you going to tell her that there were two other judges? One a graphic designer. He leaned into your ear and whispered, "I'm new in town and I hope you'll be my first new friend." One a poet. She leaned into your ear and whispered, "Would you believe my boyfriend and I broke up just thirty hours ago? I haven't even slept yet, and here I am judging a Strong Man Competition." Would she believe it?

Are you going to tell her that you were the tie breaker that put a pale giant named Sven into the winner's circle? Are you going to tell her that you danced with two hundred people who had just been soaked with a hose? That you watched two dozen people jump naked into the ocean (too cold for you)? That you ate a dozen clams and drank a dozen beers? That you had so much fun so very much fun you just couldn't let the very best Monday night you've ever had come to an end?

Or are you just going to tell her that you didn't want to come home?

Happy She Is Waiting Up For You Day!

Drive Into Mexico Day!

You're 80 years old and you've never left America. You've lived 38 miles from the border for most of your life. Take a quick drive, widower. Cross the line and come home in time for 60 Minutes. It's way down at number four on your list of things to do before you die, but it'll be the first one you'll cross off. Don't let it be the only one. Number 7 (visit a waterpark) sounds way fun.

Happy Drive Into Mexico Day!

Speak Now Day!

You stand up and say, "I think she's making a big mistake."

The Priest says, "What are you telling me for? Talk to her."

"Marie," you say. "You don't love him."

"I love you," she says. "But you drink."

You nod.

Nothing happens until you realize the ball's in your court. "Oh, yeah, well I'll quit drinking."

Maria says, "Really?"

You try to say yes, but instead you say, "No."

The Priest says, "Shall we continue?"

Say, "No. Don't. Look, I'm still a big drink right now, but you never know what could happen over the next six months to a year. I might turn it all around. And you'll look back over your shoulder and see me all employed and shaven and shit. But you'll be married to a guy you don't love and you'll be kicking yourself."

"What are you saying?" she'll ask.

Say, "You don't have to come back to me right now. Just don't marry him right now."

"Done," she'll say. She'll give the guy she was about to marry (a millionaire, but soulless) a peck on the cheek and then take off like a bat out of hell.

Happy Speak Now Day!

The Carpenter Day!

He'd sleep with you. Just so you know.

You have a lot in common. You're both married. You're both in your forties. You'd both have sex with each other given the chance.

Except, you hired him. He's seen the way you hang out in the den while he's hard at work. He knows you downright ache for it. But were he to make the first move, your responsibility to your husband might rise up and force you to rebuff his efforts and fire him to appease your guilt for wanting so badly to feel his hands lift you up in the air by the small of your back.

You're going to have to make the first move. And there's only one way for you to go about it so he understands exactly what you want.

When he's down on his knees hacking into the baseboards to make room for the electricals, ask him, "Would you like me to fix you something to eat?"

He'll say, "Sure that'd be great."

Cross the room and stand just inches from his spot on the ground. Slowly lift your skirt until he is at eye level with your bare pussy. Say to him, "Chow down."

Happy The Carpenter Day!

Sit Around And Think About Kim Day!

You feel like a heel for never having visited her in jail. But you've spoken to others who have and you just couldn't bring yourself to see her like that.

"Like a monster," they said. "She's someone else now. She couldn't even speak in words anymore. Just in groans and punches to her own chest and belly."

Once upon a time you and Kim were gonna change the world. "Our love is our activism," she'd whisper just before a kiss. "Our activism is our love."

But the war against Choice escalated and Kim was called to the front lines to put a bullet through the windshield of an abortion doctor. You were behind the wheel of the getaway car. The bullet seared through the flesh of the doctor's shoulder and, as it happened, he lost the use of his left arm and bowed out of the practice.

But you and Kim got caught. The doctor brought suit against Mission For The Child because Kim proudly told authorities that she had been acting as a soldier for the Mission when she pulled the trigger. The Doctor was awarded millions and the Mission went under. And the criminal trial focused on Kim as the shooter. You were handed probation, but Kim was given twenty years in maximum security.

It's been twelve years now since the shooting. You are older and more tired. Your wife died delivering your second daughter Denise. You're not a militant anymore, you're just a father and a widower.

You wish Kim might have been killed in jail, or at least she might have served her full sentence. She might never come find you, but if she does you will have no choice but to give her food and a bed until she's willing to free you of your responsibility and move on. And now you're going to go into the bedroom and reread the last letter she sent you five years prior after you told her you were about to marry.

Happy Sit Around And Think About Kim Day!

The Minivan Company Isn't Going To Like Your Idea For Their Next Ad Campaign Day!

The guy buys his minivan and on the way home he is absolutely in love with the comfort and all of the handy compartments. So in love that he doesn't make it home to his wife and kids, but instead hits the road to the heart of America, filling up the handy compartments with cocaine that he will sell to continue to bring in a steady income. There's a montage at the end of the commercial, featuring clips of the guy's wife and kids being forced to move into a small apartment, interspersed with clips of the guy out on the road partying with biker dudes and naked moms in the back of the minivan. The slogan at the end of the commercial: "No attachments!"

You're going to be fired, but you're right. It is really funny.

Happy The Minivan Company Isn't Going To Like Your Idea For Their Next Ad Campaign Day!

Jeckyl, The Cutest Cat In The World Day!

Jeckyl, the cutest cat in the world, is being offered up for adoption on Craig's list because Jeckyl scratched a baby on the back of the hand.

Jeckyl's owners are devastated that they have to give Jeckyl away, but they just can't take the chance that Jeckyl might do something worse to their baby. Jeckyl, according to them, is the cutest cat in the world. Any cat lover should be more than thrilled to have Jeckyl in their home (cat lovers with babies that have hands excluded, of course).

Some of the other pet caregivers on Craig's List find Jeckyl's owners to be a tad cruel in the way they are willing to just toss Jeckyl to the winds the minute there's a little problem. One particular pet caregiver has already threatened the lives of Jeckyl's caregivers and their baby.

Jeckyl is nine years old and has no diseases. Jeckyl is the cutest cat in the world. If you have room in your home and in your heart.

Happy Jeckyl, The Cutest Cat In The World Day!

Mud Wrestle Day!

People who don't follow the sport think that mud wrestling is just a vehicle for slippery women to rip each other's bikini tops off. This is accurate.

Today, tell Marjory Kleinfeld that the next time she loads the printer full of three-hole punch and forgets to replace it with a standard ream after her job has printed, you're going to settle shit up inside the ring. Marjory will break your threatening stare and load up the printer full of three-hole punch, then she'll print one page, hand it to you, and walk away smiling, having left the printer full to the brim with three-hole punch. The page she handed you will read, "Bring it, cocksuck."

Summertime is about lightness and funfun. Marjory knows that and so do you. That's why you're both popping with anticipation to scrabble around in that pit of muck until the clothing has been ripped from your bosoms. After which point, one of you will climb atop the other's shoulders to welcome anyone who thinks they can take the two of you on in a topless mud-chicken fight. Immediately following the fights, shower up and hit the bar until you're all drunk enough to cheat on your spouses. The Office Before The Home, Know What's Right.

Happy Mud Wrestle Day!