Start Collecting Your Teardrops In A Jar Day!

If you start collecting your tears in a jar then one day you'll be able to tie someone who's made you cry to a chair and pour the jar of tears down his or her throat so that he or she can literally choke on your tears. Make sure when you pour the jar of tears down the person's throat that you pour it really fast to ensure that they'll choke. If they manage to just swallow your tears, that's a sign of strength or resolve or something, and all this collecting your tears in a jar stuff will have been for no other reason than to make the person who made you cry feel good about him or herself. Though, the "swallow my tears" thing is usually about swallowing your own tears. Swallowing someone else's tears just means you managed not to choke when someone poured a jar of tears down your throat.

This making someone choke on your tears thing is worrisome. Just start collecting your tears in a jar (do it by crying over an open jar!) then when the time comes maybe we'll just have you throw it in someone's face or pour it down the waistband of their sweatpants or something.

Happy Start Collecting Your Teardrops In A Jar Day!

The Ballerina With The Terrible Father Day!

You are the ballerina with the terrible father, the father who yells and did the hitting in the house before Mom got away. He's the father that the neighbors shake their heads about when they hear the yelling and the drinking. You find your escape in grace.

"Such grace," says one of the dozens of ballet critics watching you float like a feather on your show's big opening night. You're the star of the ballet about the kitchen utensil that comes to life but instead of murdering the whole town it dances.

"You know hers is the terrible father," says the other ballet critic.

"She clearly finds her escape in grace," the first ballet critic says except now he's getting shushed because shut up!

Everything will seem to be going smoothly until your terrible father makes a racket in the lobby then shoves his way past some ushers and into the aisle of the theater. He'll stumble down toward the stage shouting about how beautiful you are and how beautiful your mother was and how they all escape into some kind of grace or other in the end. You'll pause in your dance long enough to catch his drift, then you'll lock your eyes with his and you'll get up on your toes and here it comes, the dance that says everything to Daddy that you never ever could've said with words, the dance that with every bounce and jump and kick-ball-change (what's ballet?) tells Daddy you're angry and you're sorry and you wish it could have been better for him and you and mom but this is it for you two, you're done with all of it.

You will dance and the terrible father will weep with fallen shoulders in the aisle and everyone will say “we were there when a peace was made between a father and his little girl. They might never speak again, but only because her feet already said everything that needed saying and man we had great seats.”

Happy The Ballerina With The Terrible Father Day!

The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving Day!

On the day you discovered the true meaning of Thanksgiving, you woke up at the bottom of a 20-foot pit dug into the floor of a basement. You were naked, the rocks underneath you were cold, and there was a bucket on a rope descending down toward you.

The bucket was being lowered by a man in a burlap mask leaning over the top of the pit. When you asked him why he was doing this to you, he stopped lowering the bucket so that he could lift his burlap mask to reveal the most disfigured, disgusting face you’ve ever seen. Then he continued lowering the bucket.

When the bucket finally landed beside you, you were terrified to see what was inside. Was it lotion to rub on yourself? Acid to throw at your face so you could look like him? You kept your hands over your eyes while the man at the top yelled wordlessly. Then he threw something down at you.

It was a salt shaker.

When you finally looked inside the bucket, you saw a plate overflowing with turkey, stuffing, cranberries, sweet potatoes, the biggest most abundant thanksgiving plate you ever laid eyes on.

You looked up and saw the man had lifted his mask just enough to free his mouth, and he was eating from a plate of his own.

You realized then that you’d only been kidnapped and dropped into that pit because this man was lonely, and he knew that the only way he could avoid another Thanksgiving by himself was to dig a twenty foot pit and trap someone he'd abducted inside it, forcing them to have dinner with him.

You lifted the plate from the bucket and began devouring the food. You had never eaten anything so delicious. Looking back, you're not sure if it was the food you were tasting, or the togetherness, the joy of knowing that just by being there at the bottom of that pit, you made someone feel a little better on Thanksgiving day.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” you shouted up at the man.

“RRRHGHHHA RGGHA RGHHHA RGHHA,” he shouted back.

When you finished your plate, you asked the man if you could have your clothes back. That's when he started dropping bugs on you and he ordered you to masturbate while he watched or else there'd be more bugs. You did what he said, because you didn't want the bugs. It's been many years now since your first Thanksgiving in the pit, and every day you do disgusting things to yourself so the man at the top of the pit will save you from the bugs. You've come to love this man, not just because he's the one who decides whether you get the bugs or whether you don't deserve the bugs, but because he's the one who, all those years ago, taught you the true meaning of Thanksgiving, which is togetherness.

Happy The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving Day!

Vegan Stephen Day!

Today Vegan Stephen is going to pound on your door and beg you to let him in. You'll hear a mob outside in the street. Voices. Angry voices.

"I need a place to hide," Vegan Stephen will say.

"Are you that vegan?" you'll ask.

"It's a personal dietary choice! Let me in dammit!"

"It upsets me," you'll say. "When I found out you were vegan, I was kind of pissed. Why don't you just eat what I eat?"

Vegan Stephen will pull a wad of cash form his pocket. "Do you want money? Is that it? I'll give you money if that's what you want!"

"Vegan money? God no."

You'll hear pounding on the front door of your building. The people chasing Vegan Stephen are getting closer.

"Jesus Christ, do you know who's down there?" Vegan Stephen will plead. "Do you have any idea what they'll do if they find me?"

"Like, if it was your birthday and I baked you a cake, would you refuse to eat it just because it had some milk and eggs in it?"

"And butter! Yes! Save me, please!"

You'll consider it. "Jesus, butter too. I hadn't thought about that. It just seems like you're trying to call me a terrible person by living this way."

The first door to the vestibule will come off its hinges and you'll hear them pounding at the second door with their shoulders. They'll be on the stairs soon.

"They're after me because I found out something about the police, something that threatens us all! They want to silence me! I'll do anything if you just let me in."

Tell Vegan Stephen that you want him to eat a piece of bacon. If he eats a piece of bacon, you'll protect him. He'll agree and you'll let him in. While you're cooking bacon, he'll crack you over the head with your fireplace poker, run downstairs and open the front door to let in all the vegans outside who were only pretending to be a bloodthirsty mob. While you bleed on the floor, they'll rob your apartment of all of its possessions, then they'll look inside your refrigerator and judge you.

You trusted a vegan and look what happened. Look at what happens when you trust Vegan Stephen.

Happy Vegan Stephen Day!

The Boyfriend Pact Day!

You and your girlfriends have made a pact that you're all going to have steady boyfriends by the end of your senior year. It's going to be a fun, crazy time as you and your friends go on date after date with geek after geek, trying to decide how low you'll go to make sure you honor your pact and score yourselves a boyfriend.

Janice will end up with Greg, a kid on JV lacrosse.
Megan will end up with Joey, an asthmatic who's sweet behind those glasses.
Louise will end up with Keith, her chem lab partner who it turns out is secretly a really good website designer. He's gonna make something of himself.
Gina will end up with Walter. Walter's the class treasurer and he's had a crush on Gina since junior high.
You'll end up with Gina's dad. It just happened. He gets breakfast at the diner where you've been waitressing to pay the bills ever since your Dad went to Iraq. Gina's Dad is leaving his wife for you and Gina's furious. The other girls are on her side. Janice still hangs out with you sometimes, but you're pretty sure she just reports back to Gina what you tell her about you and her dad.

He's really good to you. And you like making him happy. You're 18, an adult, it's your life and your heart and you never expected to hang onto your high school friends forever. At least when you're standing alone at graduation, and you see Gina's dad smiling at you from the stands with nothing but love in his eyes, you can take comfort in the fact that no matter who you ended up hurting, you honored your end of the boyfriend pact.

Happy The Boyfriend Pact Day!

The History Of Melanie Day!

Your Dad and Mom have sat everyone down in the living room to tell them about this girl Melanie again.

"No one ever mattered so much to us," Mom says. "Not even you kids."

"You kids owe your life to Melanie," says Dad.

"If we hadn't both fallen for her so deeply," Mom continues. "We wouldn't have felt the need to be together, to be with someone else who understands how wonderful Melanie was. That's really the only basis for our love. We share a love of Melanie."

"One day you'll have kids too," says Dad. "And you'll realize that as much as you care about them, you can't help but care just a little bit more about this girl you dated for a few weeks in college."

"I dated her for seven weeks and four days," Mom jumps in. "Your father only dated her for three weeks."

Dad gets up and storms off, slamming the bedroom door behind him. You know he only went in there to pull out the box of photos of Melanie and he's laying on his back with the photos spread over his chest like a blanket made out of the days when it was still possible to believe he deserved a girl like her.

"It all started when Melanie came running into the lobby of my dorm to escape from the rain," Mom says. She tears up when she talks about the shape of Melanie's right breast which, as you've heard a million times, was slightly more oblong than her left.

"We stayed in bed for two days," Mom continues. "In a way, I'm still in that bed. Under those covers, feeling her bare stomach against my own. In my mind, I've never left that bed. When I married your father, saying I do, my thoughts were in bed with Melanie. When I was giving birth to you kids, with every pant and push, I imagined Melanie's breath mingling with my own. Her breath smelled like apples. Always apples."

She goes on and on like that, not even thinking about signing the bank papers. Just looking back on every milestone. Your first day of kindergarten. Your high school and college graduations. Your own wedding to your husband of seven years. During all of those special momentous occasions...

"I felt Melanie's lips against the skin of my neck," Mom says.

"But something about Mom must have been lacking, and she saw something in me that filled that void," Dad says from the doorway. He's come back out, his cheeks wet with tears.

"I only started dating your father to find out why Melanie left me for him," Mom says. "I'm still not sure."

Ask them once more if they're ready to sign the bank papers. The house sold a week ago and the buyers are wondering why they haven't received the notarized documents yet.

"What if Melanie's looking for us?" Mom says.

"We've had the same address for forty years," says Dad. "What if the day after we move, she finally decides to contact us again, and tell us which one of us she loved more?"

Get angry and make them sign. They'll do as you say, and they'll move out a week later. Not twelve hours after they've left their home, Melanie will arrive on the doorstep, looking forward to seeing faces she hasn't seen in so many years. She'll knock on the door, but there won't be an answer. She'll knock again. And once more. Then Melanie will peer through the window and see that the floors are bare. She'll know she's too late, and she'll get back into her car to go visit this couple she dated for a few months in grad school (MFA in Art History).

Happy The History Of Melanie Day!

Drug Dealing Nuns Day!

You're the Mother Superior of a nunnery that's about to be shut down by the city because your nunnery is behind on the rent and the city wants to build more bowling alleys. You need to come up with thousands of dollars very quick.

"We have no choice," you'll tell the bunch of nuns you have to see like every fucking day. "We need to sell drugs."

The nuns will faint. When they wake up, they'll ask, first, if they made a mistake going the nun route since it was either this or roadie-ing Lilith Fair and at least at Lilith Fair you don't have to dress in a glorified burka. Then they'll remember why they fainted and they'll ask if you're serious about selling drugs.

"We have no choice," you'll tell them. "We have to think of the kids. If we get shut down those kids will have no one to teach them Sunday School. It's for the kids."

"But who will we sell the drugs to?" the nuns will ask.

"The kids," you'll say.

The kids will love the drugs you sell them and you won't be able to re-up your supply fast enough. Sunday School will be a little chaotic since all of the pre-teens and young teens you teach will be on the floor high off their asses. As the kids get more addicted, raise the price on the drugs. Raise it just a little bit, but not so much that they'll go out to the street for cheaper stuff. Little kids can usually be counted on for the comeback when they find the right high.

When you've sold enough drugs to the kids to pay your rent, throw a little party telling them all that your convent isn't going to be shut down and Sunday School will continue without any interruption. The kids will ask what this means as regards them buying more drugs from you. Tell them there won't be any more drugs and then hit their hands with rulers until they kick their habits. All but two of the kids will kick. Those two will become prostitutes.

Happy Drug Dealing Nuns Day!

PS: I think I'm moving this blog over to tumblr. Make a note or something.

Ferry Murder Day!

Today you're going to be late for work because there's going to be another ferry murder. The lights will go out by the interior snack bar, and when they come back on the snack bar clerk will be dead. Written in his blood will be the letters P.F.

"Nobody leaves the ferry until we know who did it," the captain will announce. "Sorry, transit authority rules."

For the next four hours you'll float still in the middle of the river as a retired private detective, who just happened to be on board, engages you all in a game of cat and mouse, trying to suss out from each of your whether you had the motive, the weaponry, the appropriate temperature of blood in your veins. Though you were all told to stay together, you'll one by one wander off into other parts of the ferry where you'll be found murdered too.

Late tonight, after all of the questions have been asked and all of the brandy has been drunk, all but one of you will be dead. The one who is still alive is named Paul Frank. That's right, the Paul Frank. The one who puts the monkeys on his clothes. He'll steer the boat into dock, and he'll step onto shore to accept his new fame as the fashion designer who killed more people on water than any other fashion designer in history (behind Sergio Valente, Gloria Vanderbilt, and whoever was the guy who dreamed up those Ocean Pacific tee shirts because that guy killed a lot of people).

Happy Ferry Murder Day!

Love House Day!

You can hear Randy upstairs punching the wall behind his bed and screaming the name Marsha, the love of his life, the one who said no.

You can hear Louie in the room next door scratching against the wall as he writes the name Patty in his own blood.

You can hear Janine downstairs pacing the ground floor, dining room, living room, kitchen and back, as she tries to walk Darren's name out of her head.

Can they hear you? Can they tell by the sounds you're making that you're packing all your things into a couple of bags. Will they hear you crawl through the window and down the roof, tossing your bags to the lawn. Will they hear you drop to the ground below and take off running for a new place to live, one that doesn't remind you with every creak and footstep that you've never been in love?

"I tried," you told your roommates one night long ago, back when you were still able to talk about it, before it got embarrassing. "I drink a lot when I'm around people. But I still never seem to let anyone in."

"Sometimes it takes more than drinking to lower your defenses," Louie said. "Sometimes you have to give up on a dream or two."

You've given up on five dreams (wealth, beating your dad in a fistfight, taking a balloon ride around the world, learning to text and drive, and becoming an eccentric but brilliant barista) and you don't know how many more you have left to give up on. It's becoming clear, you're probably never going to fall in love. Your housemates know it. They had a meeting.

"How can we share a home with someone so incapable of feeling what we feel?" Janine whispered. They were at the breakfast table and you were outside, crouched down just beneath the open window.

"The other day I saw him trying to practice loving a pillow," Randy said. "After a while, he just started punching it. Broke my heart."

"I think if we ask him to leave he might be relieved, honestly," said Louie. "I mean, he can't enjoy having us walk around mooning over the objects of our affection all day long. Also, what if he's contagious?"

They said all in favor then they all said aye. You're getting the deed done before they have to do it. You're going to throw your bags out that window and you're gonna take off tonight, before they have to try to break it to you gently. Go find a new place to live. You never know, you might finally be able to find some love for yourself if you're living in a place where your dumb housemates aren't hogging it all.

Happy Love House Day!

Be The Airplane Crazy Day!

When you look at the seat next to you it'll be empty so you should go to the flight attendant and ask if she's seen your daughter. When the flight attendant says that they checked the manifest and you came on the plane alone, without a daughter, and that a half-hour ago when you were boarding you were telling everyone how glad you are that you don't have kids, tell her that she must be confusing you for someone else. Go back to your seat and sit next to the tall Asian man who's been sitting there all along, or so he says. Sit quietly and become suspicious that the flight attendants have stolen your daughter.

Go to the bathroom to look for your daughter and you'll find a bloody, murdered corpse slumped at the base of the toilet. Scream until the flight attendants drag you back to your seat. Insist to them that there's a dead man in the bathroom and there's clearly a murderer on the plane. They'll check the bathroom, then return to you and say that the bathroom is empty and free of blood. They'll even let you check for yourself. You'll go and see that the dead man is gone, and you'll become suspicious that the flight attendants murdered the man and threw him out of the plane and that they know how to clean bathrooms really fast.

Back at your seat, you'll suddenly be covered in bees. You'll jump up swatting at them to get away from you, then the flight attendants will tell you there aren't any bees. Look down at your body and become suspicious that the flight attendants can control bees.

Open the inflight magazine and you'll find nothing but articles about why passengers on planes should ignore strange activity and not ask questions because sometimes planes serve a more important purpose than mere travel. At the end of each article there will be a question in italics that reads: "Do you even remember buying the ticket to board this plane? Do you even remember where you're going? Or why you're going there?"

Show one of the articles to the flight attendants. They'll read it for a second, then show you the magazine again and point out that all of the articles are normal, and the one you were reading is about the new soul album by a reunited Eurythmics. Go back to your seat, certain that the flight attendants know how to change what's in magazines just by touching them.

Back at your seat, you'll find that someone booby trapped your seat with sharp spikes and when you sat down on them you died. Tell the flight attendants and they'll say that nope, you're still alive. They'll even pinch you to show that you're still there. You'll become convinced that flight attendants have the ability to control life and death.

Finally, make love to a flight attendant. He will impregnate you with the daughter you remember clear as day having boarded the plane with, the one who disappeared earlier. The flight attendant, you're certain, is able to take a life, snuff it out and regenerate it at the moment it came into being.

"Savor every moment," the flight attendant will say to you as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "Don't let her grow up so fast this time."

"Why did you take her?" ask him. "If you were only going to give her back to me."

While slipping back into his uniform, the flight attendant will tell you that they needed her for a few minutes, they needed all of you in fact, but that you're not needed anymore. You'll go back to your seat feeling those first tiny flutters of a beautiful new life inside your body. You've been given a second chance to enjoy those first seven magical years of your daughter's life again, all because you decided to save a few bucks and fly Spirit.

Happy Be The Airplane Crazy Day!

Last Will They/Won't They On Earth Day!

You used to say that you wouldn't have sex with Jeff if he was the last man on earth. Well guess what. The apocalypse just happened and Jeff is the last man on earth so it's up to you having sex with Jeff if you want the human race to continue.

"No," say.

Jeff will sit down on a piece of the broken Statue of Liberty and feel bad because there's still rejection even at the end.

"But... Then we're just handing it all over to the machines and the intelligent rodents," Jeff will beg.

"Sorry," tell Jeff. "I meant what I said at that Christmas party. Not if you were the last man on earth. How would it look? Everyone heard me say it."

"But they're all incinerated," Jeff will say.

Tell Jeff that you can't in good conscience unleash upon the planet the kind of human race that would be born from a sex act between disparate castes of attractiveness.

"That's not a race I wanna be a part of," tell Jeff. "Sorry."

You and Jeff will continue to live together platonically, working together to keep warm and fight off all the stuff that's turned huge and/or smart thanks to radioactivity. Jeff will grow stronger and a little more attractive, and he'll comfort you sometimes, but it's still not clear whether you'll ever be able to drop your superficial dating rules and finally realize that you two were made for each other since you have no choice, making you two the last will they/won't they couple on earth. Except this time we all hope it will be will they not because it would make us feel warm and happy, but because it's the only way there will be future generations who might tell our stories and carry on our traditions. Also, for there to be future generations not only would you two have to have sex but so would your kids. With each other. Sorry.

Happy Last Will They/Won't They On Earth Day!

Rooftop Rochelle Day!

Rooftop Rochelle has set up some plastic chairs on the roof of your building. She goes up there for a few hours every evening. You can join her up there if you want and listen to her talk about the time she talked a guy down from the ledge of a building.

"I still feel terrible about that," she'll say. "What was I thinking? He could have ended it right then and there. Now for all I know he's probably still out there, alive, trying to figure out how he's going to wake up again tomorrow. He has to get out of bed and get dressed every morning and it's all because I was so persuasive with my bullshit about how life is a gift or whatever."

"You didn't know then," tell her. "How could you, Rooftop Rochelle? You were so young."

Rooftop Rochelle will say that that's no excuse. She could have looked around and seen the looks on the faces of those who weren't 23. She could have seen how their mouths hung open just a little bit, like they constantly felt like they'd just been socked in the gut and they couldn't get enough breath. She could have taken a moment to think that maybe if a guy had the moxie to climb out onto a ledge, he probably knew something she didn't.

"If I could go back in time," she'll say. "I'd push him."

Rooftop Rochelle will ask you if you think she's a horrible person.

"No," tell her. "I think you might have been back then, when you decided to get a whole bunch of pats on the back for convincing a guy to live when he obviously wanted to die. That was selfish and cruel, but you know that now and you feel bad about it. And no one should expect more from you on that."

Rooftop Rochelle will hug you in gratitude and then she'll go in for a kiss. She just wants to work out some stuff on your body, but this is the only way you're ever going get the chance to do it on a rooftop. Lay back and let her get angry all over you.

Happy Rooftop Rochelle Day!

Switching Gears Day!

Karen had just decided she was done with Lenny, that New York is a mistake, that she wasn't going to get back into the car with him after the check was paid. She wasn't sure how it was going to work out, her getting away from Lenny, without a big scene, a lot of tears, Lenny pulling out all the stops to convince her to come along. Lenny had convinced her to give up on so many things over the past three years (a continuing education program, her brother in a mental hospital, cigarettes), he was a master at it. Karen knew she couldn't hold her ground against him, that a confrontation would end the way they always ended, with Karen agreeing to whatever Lenny was begging her to agree to. There could be no parking lot shouting match, no laying it all out on the line in an honest and direct manner, the way that Lenny maybe deserved after three long years taking care of her (he covered more than a few months of her rent). Karen knew the only way out was to sneak out a bathroom window, slip into the kitchen and out the back by the dumpsters, pretend she left something in the car while they were still eating and then take off with the first trucker who might think this was his lucky day. Time's running out for all of us, so if being honest is going to keep you from doing what needs getting done, fuck honesty is how Karen saw it.

But the check was paid, the coffee cups were almost dry, and New York was only a short walk through the parking lot and ten more hours of driving away. That would be that, she was certain. If she left that restaurant through the front door with Lenny, that would be that. But leaving that restaurant through the front door with Lenny was looking like it might be the only option, at least until the front door opened and the men in the rubber masks started yelling for the cash drawer, unaware of the cop in the men's room already radioing the two squad cars parked in the back.

How we gonna get out of here?

I ain't goin' to jail.

If we don't step out soon, they're comin' in.

Karen tried to disguise it with a pretend cough when she said, "Hostage!"

"Karen?" said Lenny. "You okay?"

Suppose we could take some hostages with us.

Hostages?

It's the only way I can see.

"Human shield!" Karen said, under cover of a loud pretend sneeze.

"Karen," Lenny said. "Try to hold them in. Don't draw attention to yourself."

Cops won't shoot at us if we got one of the customers blocking their line of fire.

Which one should we take?

Not sure. Who would cops be least likely to shoot at?

"Women!" Karen fake coughed. "Brunettes!" she fake sneezed. "Late twenties in the booth by the window!" she fake hacked and fake wheezed and even faked snorted a tiny little snort.

I think I know which one.

They took her with them, drove her halfway across the country before finally agreeing to set her free and never tell where they last saw her. She lives in Flagstaff now, happy enough, occasionally wondering if trying to end it with Lenny in a more confrontational manner would have been better than spending 18 months tied up in the backseat of a stickup team's Cutlass, but she's pretty sure she did the right thing.

Happy Switching Gears Day!

Talk This One Through Day!

When your best buddy in the whole wide world comes home from the war he'll find you in bed with his wife, the woman you've loved ever since he introduced her to you as the only woman in the world for him.

"Whoah!" your number one pal will say. "Some welcome home party."

"Let's talk this through," you'll say.

Spend the first hour telling your friend how important his friendship is to you, and therefore you clearly love his wife more than he does if you were willing to sacrifice something so important to be with her, namely, his friendship.

Your friend will spend the hour after that telling you how well he knows you, which is why he knew the minute you were introduced to his wife just how in love with her you were, and it broke his heart to have to make you feel so much pain, seeing him and his wife together like that when he knew you thought it was you who was supposed to be with her.

"If I could do that to my best buddy in the world," your friend will say. "If I could cause him that kind of pain, a pain that I feel myself, deep inside, if I could hurt my palomine like that just to be with the woman I love, clearly that woman is very important to me."

Spend three hours confirming that yes, it pained you to see him and his wife together, but you knew that his wife wanted it that way, which is why you didn't try to steal her away. "I endured that pain for her, because that's what she wanted. Clearly, I love her, if I could stand by watching the woman I'm meant to be with spend her days with my best friend, if I could endure that hot jagged pain solely because I knew it's what she wants, clearly that means I'm totally into her."

Your friend will spend the next 50 hours describing the sex he has with his wife, and how with every kiss, nibble and thrust, he feels like he's driving a stake through the heart of his best pal, knowing how much his top cochise wishes he was the one administering those kisses, nibbles and thrusts. "But I couldn't stop," he'll say. "I just couldn't stop."

Spend the next six months chiseling a sculpture of your buddy's wife. When you're finished, all three of you will burst into tears at the obvious boundlessness of emotion present in your concrete rendering of the woman you love, the woman whose hand belongs to someone else.

Your buddy will spend the next five years writing a two minute song about his wife and when he finally sings it, you'll all three try to hang yourselves because you never knew a man could feel so much for a woman. Even your buddy didn't know, and he's the one who wrote it.

Finally decide that the only way this is going to be figured out is if you two fistfight for it. Spend the next two decades fistfighting until you decide it's a draw. By then your buddy's wife will have divorced him and remarried twice. You and your best buddy in the world should go and visit her and meet her kids.

Happy Talk This One Through Day!

Wine Store Full Of Fucktential Day!

You've toured all of the retail and food establishments in your neighborhood and you've decided the wine store has the highest fucktential, which is a word you made up that means potential for fuckatude, which is another made up word, though you didn't make that one up (your Mom used to use it before she died in Desert Storm). Anyway, the wine store seems to have a lot of fucklihood. Fucklihood is a way of describing a place that is fuckamentally sound, which is a way of describing a place that looks to be ideal for those interested in forgoing modern medicine and instead experimenting with natural fucklistic healing. Basically, the wine store looks like a pretty good place to go if you're looking for a little bit of true love and undying devotion. Just kidding, the wine store's a good place to try and get yourself effed.

Go down there today and hang around in the French wines section. When a nice piece of trim rolls up and pretends to be reading the wine bottles when what she really wants to do is read the "YKK" on your zipper, just pick up an expensive bottle and let her know what you wanna do with it.

"I want to drink this entire bottle as fast as I can," say.

She'll ask, "Why?"

Let some tears fall. Then say, "Not be me for a while I guess. Just kind of wanna erase me."

She'll nod. "I know what you mean." She'll pick up her own bottle. "I like buying bottles of wine because I like the suspense of wondering whether I'm going to finish the entire bottle before smashing it into pieces and slicing open my wrists with one of the shards."

You'll both just stand there, your heads bowed as tears flow from all four of your eyes onto the floor.

The wine store owner will come over to the two of you and say, "I could tell from all the way over there that we seemed to have a fuckuation back here, which is a fun word for situation of fuck."

The wine store owner will lead you both to the stock room, wrapping his big beefy arms around your shoulders, then he'll make the two of you have sex for him at gunpoint. It will ultimately feel a little fuckapointing.

Happy Wine Store Full Of Fucktential Day!

Desk Instructions Day!

You're temping at a new desk today and the secretary you're filling in for left some instructions to give you the lay of the land:

1. Director Harris likes to keep his door closed at all times, and he especially likes it when you knock on his door but don't come in even though he says it's okay to come in. Do it at least a few times per day, making sure that on one of the occasions, you do end up coming in. He loves to feel the anticipation build for the moment when he says "come in" and after so many fakeouts, the door finally opens and you give him his messages.

2. Director Harris hates a gossip, but he isn't sure what the definition of gossip is. So to be on the safe side, never share anything remotely personal about yourself or anyone else, no matter how trivial. If you tell him that today is your daughter's birthday, he'll chastise you as a gossip and fire you on the spot.

3. Director Harris has never killed a man with his bare hands and so you should never ask him if he has. You have the answer. He hasn't.

4. Director Harris likes his mail to be removed from the envelopes, dipped in lemon juice and baked in an oven until the paper has browned to look like parchment so that he can pretend it's revolutionary times.

5. If Director Harris's wife should call, ask her where she is and what he said to make her go.

6. There's a heart shaped locket in the top left drawer of my desk with a photo of a young girl inside. Wear it around your neck and tuck it under your blouse. When Director Harris asks where the locket is, tell him "It's safe."

7. If the CEO should come by asking whether Director Harris has been a good boy or a bad boy today, tell him you're just the temp and so he can shove his fucking questions up his fat hairy ass.

8. Don't sit in my chair. Bring your own chair if you want to sit. Or stand. Fuck you.

9. If Director Harris should bring you into his office and tell you that it's about time this company brought in a fresh point of view and so would you like to be hired full-time as Senior Vice President of Operations and Future Planning, it's a trick. Get out of there. Get out of there immediately.

10. By now you probably realize that Director Harris doesn't exist. Hopefully you're already across state lines. Dye your hair and get underground. I'm sorry you got involved in this mess Denise. God, we had such big plans for you. You were gonna be the one to go all the way. You were gonna be the one that we looked at and said, "See, this ain't a dead end. Some of us get out." Aw Denise, hold onto your heart okay sweetie? Keep that sweet, golden heart safe and sound.

Happy Desk Instructions Day!

The Desperate Man's Guide To The Rest Of His Life Day!

Today someone is going to throw a book through your window called "The Desperate Man's Guide To The Rest of His Life." After you clean up all the shattered glass you're going to crack open the book and start reading. You'll find that you really relate to the book, with chapters like "Oh God What Next What Do I Do?!!" and "Maybe I Should Just Give Up But Then What?!!!" and "Ahhhhh! Trying To Live A Life And Make The Most Of Your Potential Sucks!!! Ahhhhh!"

You'll do the exercises at the back of each chapter and you'll realize that when it comes to living a life in a constant state of desperation, panic, and quiet certainty that everything's going to just get a little worse as you get a little older and a little more tired with every passing day, you score in the 87th percentile! Congratulations. Now use the stick taped to the back page of the book to slap yourself on the thigh until the physical pain makes you forget that tomorrow's going to happen.

Happy The Desperate Man's Guide To The Rest Of His Life Day!

Magic Mirror Day!

Hang your magic mirror on the wall, turn around so the back of your head appears in it, then say three times, "Cillian Murphy and me are friends, but he's kind of a liar."

Then poof! Cillian Murphy will call you up and tell you how glad he is to talk to you, his old buddy. You'll tell him you're glad to talk to him too, then he'll say that he just found out he's related to Bill Clinton.

"Not like first cousins or anything, but we do share an ancestry," he'll say.

You won't challenge him, because really, how do you challenge something like that? And seeing as he's already a movie star, why would he feel the need to lie about being related to Bill Clinton? All the same, you don't really believe Cillian Murphy, and it makes it hard to be friends with him even though you only just became friends thanks to your magic mirror.

The big question: was Cillian Murphy kind of a liar before you bought the magic mirror, or did you make him into a liar when you intoned your spell before the magic mirror's reflection?

The even bigger question: Why doesn't your magic mirror do anything else?

Happy Magic Mirror Day!