“Fuck!” you shout. “I wanted to date more. Put myself out there. I can’t do that if a whole Goddamned state is looking to me every goddamned time they need shit.”
Your assistant gets up from her chair and slaps you across the face.
“I am sick of hearing you make excuses for why you’re still single!” she says. “So you’re the Governor. Big fucking deal. Everyone has a job. If you want to meet someone you have to make time to get out there and meet them! I won’t hear any of this ‘I’m too busy thwarting a public employee strike’ or whatever the fuck.”
You look deep into your assistant’s eyes.
“Maybe I don’t need to date,” you say. “Maybe the one I’m supposed to be with is right here under my nose, but I’ve just been too blind to–”
She slaps you again.
“You’re not going to pussy out of this,” she says. “You need to put in the work. Quit looking for the quick fix!”
“Fiiiiine!” you moan.
Your assistant clears your schedule and commands you to spend the next hour Tindering.
Happy You’re The Governor Of A Whole Goddamned State Day!
Monday, February 29, 2016
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Cremains Day!
Everyone in your family is fighting over who gets to keep your dad’s cremains. Your sisters are grabbing at the urn and then it spills and the ashes land on the prayer card you were given at the church service.
“It’s sizzling,” one of your sisters says.
The prayer card turns black and floats up to the ceiling.
“Did Dad sell his soul to Satan?” you ask.
Your sisters remind you of all the get rich quick schemes your dad was into.
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” your sister Janet says.
Then the blood pouring from the light fixtures drowns you all and you die wishing you had a dad with better business sense.
Happy Cremains Day!
“It’s sizzling,” one of your sisters says.
The prayer card turns black and floats up to the ceiling.
“Did Dad sell his soul to Satan?” you ask.
Your sisters remind you of all the get rich quick schemes your dad was into.
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” your sister Janet says.
Then the blood pouring from the light fixtures drowns you all and you die wishing you had a dad with better business sense.
Happy Cremains Day!
Friday, February 26, 2016
Just The Mattress Now Day!
His stuff’s all been put into storage. He moves into his roommate situation in two days.
Your stuff’s in the middle of the floor at Harold’s. You’ve yet to begin blending your things together.
It’s just the mattress now. That’s all that’s left from your three years in this one bedroom together.
“Nowhere else to sit,” you say as you take your place on what’s always been your side of the bed.
“Harold excited to have you all to himself now?” he asks.
“Don’t,” you say.
He says no. He says it’s okay. He says he’s curious.
“Harold’s happy I’m moving in,” you say.
“You’re still moving in?” he says. “I thought you were already fully in there.”
“He’s in Singapore until Thursday,” you say. “And you and I still have two days on this lease.”
“So for the next two days…”
“Technically, yes.”
“We still live together.”
“Technically,” you say again. “Yes.”
He pulls a beer from the six pack sitting on the floor by his side of the bed. Hands it to you.
“So,” you say. “What should we talk about?”
“How this was?” he suggests. “How we did? Three years living together. Five years dating. Lot of ground to cover.”
“Like a post-mortem?”
“If you’ve got the time.”
You take a sip of your beer. Two days later you finish talking and head off to the rest of your lives.
Happy Just The Mattress Now Day!
Your stuff’s in the middle of the floor at Harold’s. You’ve yet to begin blending your things together.
It’s just the mattress now. That’s all that’s left from your three years in this one bedroom together.
“Nowhere else to sit,” you say as you take your place on what’s always been your side of the bed.
“Harold excited to have you all to himself now?” he asks.
“Don’t,” you say.
He says no. He says it’s okay. He says he’s curious.
“Harold’s happy I’m moving in,” you say.
“You’re still moving in?” he says. “I thought you were already fully in there.”
“He’s in Singapore until Thursday,” you say. “And you and I still have two days on this lease.”
“So for the next two days…”
“Technically, yes.”
“We still live together.”
“Technically,” you say again. “Yes.”
He pulls a beer from the six pack sitting on the floor by his side of the bed. Hands it to you.
“So,” you say. “What should we talk about?”
“How this was?” he suggests. “How we did? Three years living together. Five years dating. Lot of ground to cover.”
“Like a post-mortem?”
“If you’ve got the time.”
You take a sip of your beer. Two days later you finish talking and head off to the rest of your lives.
Happy Just The Mattress Now Day!
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Hitchhike To Work Day!
Today you’re going to hitchhike to work. It will take you three different rides and two fended off assaults, but you’re going to experience the open road of your commute for once. Let those other suckers take the subway six stops, huddling underground like rats for the 20 minutes it usually takes you to ride in. You’re a dweller of the land and it’s time to see that land, to hear the stories of the people roving between your apartment and your office. When you finally make it in 90 minutes late and the other board members ask where you’ve been, you tell them, “America, man. America.”
Happy Hitchhike To Work Day!
Happy Hitchhike To Work Day!
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Stay Up And Listen To His Voicemail A Hundred More Times Day!
“I’m turning in,” your husband says.
"I have some work to do,“ you tell him.
He kisses you on the lips. It’s a sweet, happy kiss. He loves you and he never fails to let you know how lucky he feels to have you. You love him too. You know you hit the jackpot with him. And you can’t imagine a better way to live your life than to grow old with your husband by your side.
But he’s going to bed right now. So it’s time to stay up and listen to the voicemail from Steven, who you haven’t stopped thinking about since he became your office-mate four months ago. He left you a message on Monday morning telling you he’d be in late. An email would have sufficed, in fact it would have been more practical. But there was no real reason for him to have your phone number when you gave it to him on his third week on the job, so why should he have a real reason to dial it?
You’d never do anything to hurt your marriage. But you’ve listened to Steven’s voicemail about a thousand times since he first left it, and you’re just going to listen to it a hundred more times before bed.
Happy Stay Up And Listen To His Voicemail A Hundred More Times Day!
"I have some work to do,“ you tell him.
He kisses you on the lips. It’s a sweet, happy kiss. He loves you and he never fails to let you know how lucky he feels to have you. You love him too. You know you hit the jackpot with him. And you can’t imagine a better way to live your life than to grow old with your husband by your side.
But he’s going to bed right now. So it’s time to stay up and listen to the voicemail from Steven, who you haven’t stopped thinking about since he became your office-mate four months ago. He left you a message on Monday morning telling you he’d be in late. An email would have sufficed, in fact it would have been more practical. But there was no real reason for him to have your phone number when you gave it to him on his third week on the job, so why should he have a real reason to dial it?
You’d never do anything to hurt your marriage. But you’ve listened to Steven’s voicemail about a thousand times since he first left it, and you’re just going to listen to it a hundred more times before bed.
Happy Stay Up And Listen To His Voicemail A Hundred More Times Day!
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Tell Your Mom You Just Got Your Heart Broke Day!
“Good,” she’ll say. “Sounds like you fell in love with the wrong guy.”
Ask her to have some sympathy for you.
“The girls I have sympathy for are the ones who slide into a marriage like it was a pair of flannel lined pants. So easy and comfy. No one remembers being comfy. On your death bed you’ll remember this pain, and you’ll know you loved, little girl.”
You remember the phone call during which he told you he was lying to himself when he thought he could be with you, and you double over on the couch.
“Goddammit, Harold!”
Your mom’s soap opera has been interrupted by a freeway chase. The cops are chasing after her new boyfriend, Harold, who’s driving your mom’s car.
“I really thought he might be the one,” she says.
You both eat ice cream while she watches the chase, yelling at the screen every time Harold sideswipes another motorist in her car.
Happy Tell Your Mom You Just Got Your Heart Broke Day!
Ask her to have some sympathy for you.
“The girls I have sympathy for are the ones who slide into a marriage like it was a pair of flannel lined pants. So easy and comfy. No one remembers being comfy. On your death bed you’ll remember this pain, and you’ll know you loved, little girl.”
You remember the phone call during which he told you he was lying to himself when he thought he could be with you, and you double over on the couch.
“Goddammit, Harold!”
Your mom’s soap opera has been interrupted by a freeway chase. The cops are chasing after her new boyfriend, Harold, who’s driving your mom’s car.
“I really thought he might be the one,” she says.
You both eat ice cream while she watches the chase, yelling at the screen every time Harold sideswipes another motorist in her car.
Happy Tell Your Mom You Just Got Your Heart Broke Day!
Saturday, February 20, 2016
You Wouldn’t Have To Negotiate With Hostage-Takers If Larry Listened To You At Home Day!
You used to be a hostage negotiator just to pay the bills and to have a good spot for yourself in the department. Over the years, you’ve ascended the ranks to become known as the finest hostage negotiator in the city. Anytime someone gets a gun pointed at their head, you get called in. And you owe all your success to Larry losing all interest in hearing a single word you say at home.
“Listen,” you tell the bank robber. “There’s no rush here. No need to start throwing out bodies, and no ticking clock on the demands. I can sit here on this megaphone all day.”
“But these people’s lives are in danger,” the bank robber shouts back. “And you’re wasting the department’s resources.”
“Forget those people and forget the department,” you say. “It’s just you and me, Larry.”
“Why’d you call me Larry?” he shouts.
“Larry’s my husband’s name,” you say, with a little feedback on the megaphone. “And since you won’t tell me your name, I’ma a call you Larry, since it’s nice to talk to a Larry who’ll hang on my every word. For once.”
The bank robber’s silent. So is everyone on the street.
“Oh you used to,” you say. “You used to cherish what I had to say, Larry. In those early days, it was like every single word that fell off my tongue held the secret of the universe for you. But those days are long gone.”
One of the snipers gasps audibly.
“I mean, did I change, Larry?” you ask. “Or did you just explore every nook and cranny of me and decide this mystery’s been solved? I come home every night telling stories about saving the day from desperate gunman threatening innocent lives, and for all the attention you pay me, I might as well have just asked you to remember to pick up a gallon of milk.”
Gusts of wind rattle through the police tape.
“Have you told him that?” the bank robber asks. “Have you demanded more from him?”
You chuckle into the megaphone. “My career has made me way more suited to listening to demands than making them, Larry.”
Everyone laughs. The bank robber, the bystanders. Even one of the hostages shouts “Good one!” before getting a rifle butt to the forehead.
“Besides,” you say. “What if he tells me why he stopped listening?”
“Leave him!” the bank robber shouts. The front door to the bank opens and as he steps out into the plaza, he shouts again, “Leave him and find someone you des–”
He’s tackled by police before he can finish giving you relationship advice. You drop your megaphone to the street, and you accept the pats on the back from your colleagues. Then you get in your car to drive around for a few hours before heading home to your husband.
Happy You Wouldn’t Have To Negotiate With Hostage-Takers If Larry Listened To You At Home Day!
“Listen,” you tell the bank robber. “There’s no rush here. No need to start throwing out bodies, and no ticking clock on the demands. I can sit here on this megaphone all day.”
“But these people’s lives are in danger,” the bank robber shouts back. “And you’re wasting the department’s resources.”
“Forget those people and forget the department,” you say. “It’s just you and me, Larry.”
“Why’d you call me Larry?” he shouts.
“Larry’s my husband’s name,” you say, with a little feedback on the megaphone. “And since you won’t tell me your name, I’ma a call you Larry, since it’s nice to talk to a Larry who’ll hang on my every word. For once.”
The bank robber’s silent. So is everyone on the street.
“Oh you used to,” you say. “You used to cherish what I had to say, Larry. In those early days, it was like every single word that fell off my tongue held the secret of the universe for you. But those days are long gone.”
One of the snipers gasps audibly.
“I mean, did I change, Larry?” you ask. “Or did you just explore every nook and cranny of me and decide this mystery’s been solved? I come home every night telling stories about saving the day from desperate gunman threatening innocent lives, and for all the attention you pay me, I might as well have just asked you to remember to pick up a gallon of milk.”
Gusts of wind rattle through the police tape.
“Have you told him that?” the bank robber asks. “Have you demanded more from him?”
You chuckle into the megaphone. “My career has made me way more suited to listening to demands than making them, Larry.”
Everyone laughs. The bank robber, the bystanders. Even one of the hostages shouts “Good one!” before getting a rifle butt to the forehead.
“Besides,” you say. “What if he tells me why he stopped listening?”
“Leave him!” the bank robber shouts. The front door to the bank opens and as he steps out into the plaza, he shouts again, “Leave him and find someone you des–”
He’s tackled by police before he can finish giving you relationship advice. You drop your megaphone to the street, and you accept the pats on the back from your colleagues. Then you get in your car to drive around for a few hours before heading home to your husband.
Happy You Wouldn’t Have To Negotiate With Hostage-Takers If Larry Listened To You At Home Day!
Friday, February 19, 2016
Bottom Day!
Tell your man, “This won’t get any worse.”
He’ll say he doesn’t think it’ll get any better either.
“But if we are cool with this,” say, “At least we know we can count on it. Like, we can know that tomorrow will be like today. It won’t be worse than today. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“And it won’t be better,” he’ll say.
Ask him what his fascination with things getting better is.
“I just feel like I have potential for better,” he’ll say. “And this won’t fulfill that potential.”
Ooooooooh. Nooooow you realize the problem.
“I feel like i have potential for worse. Much…much worse!” you explain. “And this doesn’t feel like it will fill that potential.”
Tell him your potentials aren’t compatible.Tell him you need to go find someone who believes, like you, that everything could go crashing through the floor at any moment, then ask if you can borrow his Vespa.
“I just need to drive until I find him,” say.
He’ll give you the Vespa key and a last kiss.
Happy Bottom Day!
He’ll say he doesn’t think it’ll get any better either.
“But if we are cool with this,” say, “At least we know we can count on it. Like, we can know that tomorrow will be like today. It won’t be worse than today. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“And it won’t be better,” he’ll say.
Ask him what his fascination with things getting better is.
“I just feel like I have potential for better,” he’ll say. “And this won’t fulfill that potential.”
Ooooooooh. Nooooow you realize the problem.
“I feel like i have potential for worse. Much…much worse!” you explain. “And this doesn’t feel like it will fill that potential.”
Tell him your potentials aren’t compatible.Tell him you need to go find someone who believes, like you, that everything could go crashing through the floor at any moment, then ask if you can borrow his Vespa.
“I just need to drive until I find him,” say.
He’ll give you the Vespa key and a last kiss.
Happy Bottom Day!
Thursday, February 18, 2016
There’s No One At Your Office Anymore Day!
“Guess you didn’t get invited either,” the maintenance guy says to you.
“Invited to what?”
“Yesterday they were all like, ‘Let’s work somewhere else.’” he says. “They invited everyone they thought was cool.”
You ask him where the new cool office is.
“Dunno,” he says. “All I know is they think this office is played and for lame-o’s.”
The elevator door opens. Harold, the smelly guy in HR, steps onto the floor and looks around at the empty desks.
“Goddammit!” he says. “This happens at every place I work!”
You and Harold marry.
Happy There’s No One At Your Office Anymore Day!
“Invited to what?”
“Yesterday they were all like, ‘Let’s work somewhere else.’” he says. “They invited everyone they thought was cool.”
You ask him where the new cool office is.
“Dunno,” he says. “All I know is they think this office is played and for lame-o’s.”
The elevator door opens. Harold, the smelly guy in HR, steps onto the floor and looks around at the empty desks.
“Goddammit!” he says. “This happens at every place I work!”
You and Harold marry.
Happy There’s No One At Your Office Anymore Day!
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Bloodstains Day!
“Are you killing again?” you ask her.
She shakes her head no, her eyes fixed on the TV.
“There’s bloodstains on the carpet,” you say.
She shrugs.
“And on the basement floor.”
“Maybe some kids got down there. Drank? Fought?”
“And on top of the refrigerator.”
“When did we last clean up there?”
“And under the bedsheets on my side of the bed.”
“Maybe your skin is dry.”
“I opened your dresser drawers. Nothing but damp bloody rags.”
“Hey,” she shouts. “You knew I was sloppy when you asked me to move in!”
“You’re covered in blood. Right now. Head to toe.”
She looks at the clock. “Oh jeez you’re right. And it’s already 8. I’m late for work!”
She gets up and runs to the shower. You get on your knees and start sopping up the puddle of blood she left on the couch.
Maybe she’ll quit tomorrow. Cleaning up after her kills might make you an enabler, but wanting her to quit shouldn’t mean you have to live in a messy house.
Happy Bloodstains Day!
She shakes her head no, her eyes fixed on the TV.
“There’s bloodstains on the carpet,” you say.
She shrugs.
“And on the basement floor.”
“Maybe some kids got down there. Drank? Fought?”
“And on top of the refrigerator.”
“When did we last clean up there?”
“And under the bedsheets on my side of the bed.”
“Maybe your skin is dry.”
“I opened your dresser drawers. Nothing but damp bloody rags.”
“Hey,” she shouts. “You knew I was sloppy when you asked me to move in!”
“You’re covered in blood. Right now. Head to toe.”
She looks at the clock. “Oh jeez you’re right. And it’s already 8. I’m late for work!”
She gets up and runs to the shower. You get on your knees and start sopping up the puddle of blood she left on the couch.
Maybe she’ll quit tomorrow. Cleaning up after her kills might make you an enabler, but wanting her to quit shouldn’t mean you have to live in a messy house.
Happy Bloodstains Day!
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
All Your Hostages Are In Love With You Day!
Your partner hangs up the phone with the FBI.
“They need three hostages.”
You pretend to not be listening.
“You go tell them or I will! Ask some of them to leave. You’ve got like nineteen guys back there.”
As you step into the vault you see their eyes light up.
“I need volunteers,” you say.
No one raises their hand.
“In honor of what we shared together?”
One raises his hand. “I’ll go. If the way to show my love for you is to leave you behind, then I’ll–”
“Fine, get your coat. Who else?”
Another raises his hand.
“We’ve only just gotten to know each other, yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years. So yes, I will honor our–”
“Great. One more. Come on. I promise to date you when I’m out of prison.”
Five hands go up. You pick the hottest one. Then you send the three volunteers out to where the police are waiting.
Back in the vault you can hear the racket. They’re writing songs about you, composing poems, screaming at God for making them meet you under such impossible circumstances.
“I might just go shoot them,” your partner says.
“Wait,” you say. “This one guy’s song about me sounds pretty good.”
Happy All Your Hostages Are In Love With You Day!
“They need three hostages.”
You pretend to not be listening.
“You go tell them or I will! Ask some of them to leave. You’ve got like nineteen guys back there.”
As you step into the vault you see their eyes light up.
“I need volunteers,” you say.
No one raises their hand.
“In honor of what we shared together?”
One raises his hand. “I’ll go. If the way to show my love for you is to leave you behind, then I’ll–”
“Fine, get your coat. Who else?”
Another raises his hand.
“We’ve only just gotten to know each other, yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years. So yes, I will honor our–”
“Great. One more. Come on. I promise to date you when I’m out of prison.”
Five hands go up. You pick the hottest one. Then you send the three volunteers out to where the police are waiting.
Back in the vault you can hear the racket. They’re writing songs about you, composing poems, screaming at God for making them meet you under such impossible circumstances.
“I might just go shoot them,” your partner says.
“Wait,” you say. “This one guy’s song about me sounds pretty good.”
Happy All Your Hostages Are In Love With You Day!
Monday, February 15, 2016
Ask Your Mom What Made Her Fall For Your Dad Day!
“He blackmailed me,” she’ll say. “I did a hit and run. Thought I got away clean. But then there was a note on my door that read ‘I saw.’ We met and he gave me my options. Marry him or go to jail.”
You ask her why she didn’t just kill him.
“I planned to,” she says. “But he had a fail-safe. If anything bad ever happens to him a letter gets sent to the police telling them everything.”
She still doesn’t know where that letter is. You offer to go looking for it but she says no.
“I don’t want to kill him anymore,” she says. “I’ve seen what you’re going through on that dating scene and no way do I want a taste of that. Besides, people get married for far worse reasons than avoiding prosecution for vehicular manslaughter and fleeing the scene of a crime.”
You both look outside and watch your Dad shoveling snow.
“You’ll see, sweetie,” she says. “You get used to people.”
Happy Ask Your Mom What Made Her Fall For Your Dad Day!
You ask her why she didn’t just kill him.
“I planned to,” she says. “But he had a fail-safe. If anything bad ever happens to him a letter gets sent to the police telling them everything.”
She still doesn’t know where that letter is. You offer to go looking for it but she says no.
“I don’t want to kill him anymore,” she says. “I’ve seen what you’re going through on that dating scene and no way do I want a taste of that. Besides, people get married for far worse reasons than avoiding prosecution for vehicular manslaughter and fleeing the scene of a crime.”
You both look outside and watch your Dad shoveling snow.
“You’ll see, sweetie,” she says. “You get used to people.”
Happy Ask Your Mom What Made Her Fall For Your Dad Day!
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Terrible Mistake Day!
“Hi,” he says, letting you in.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you say.
He nods and lets you in. You sit at his kitchen table. His roommates pass in and out of the kitchen, saying hello, gathering their coats, preparing to leave. There seems to be an understanding that sometimes they have to go when an important encounter is afoot.
“I remember this,” you tell him. “When I was your age. My roommates would vacate when I had a boy over.”
“And tonight I have a girl over,” he says.
You nod. Your eyes are on the one bottle of liquor on display in his kitchen. He grabs it and pours it and puts a glass in your hands. You down it while he opens a beer.
“So you’re here,” he says.
You nod, holding your already empty glass out to him. He pours.
“Can I just be a fun thing you did?” you ask. “A story you tell everyone? The older married lady you banged? You can even make fun of me. How old I am. If you just let it be nothing more than that?”
He lowers himself to his knees. His blue eyes are close enough to yours you have to down your glass to keep from looking away.
“I’ll tell this story,” he says. “I’ll tell it to you when we’re growing old together.”
“Oh fuck, man, come on,” you say. But his hands are already on you and you slip out of your clothes so fast you wonder if you were ever wearing any at all.
Happy Terrible Mistake Day!
“I shouldn’t be here,” you say.
He nods and lets you in. You sit at his kitchen table. His roommates pass in and out of the kitchen, saying hello, gathering their coats, preparing to leave. There seems to be an understanding that sometimes they have to go when an important encounter is afoot.
“I remember this,” you tell him. “When I was your age. My roommates would vacate when I had a boy over.”
“And tonight I have a girl over,” he says.
You nod. Your eyes are on the one bottle of liquor on display in his kitchen. He grabs it and pours it and puts a glass in your hands. You down it while he opens a beer.
“So you’re here,” he says.
You nod, holding your already empty glass out to him. He pours.
“Can I just be a fun thing you did?” you ask. “A story you tell everyone? The older married lady you banged? You can even make fun of me. How old I am. If you just let it be nothing more than that?”
He lowers himself to his knees. His blue eyes are close enough to yours you have to down your glass to keep from looking away.
“I’ll tell this story,” he says. “I’ll tell it to you when we’re growing old together.”
“Oh fuck, man, come on,” you say. But his hands are already on you and you slip out of your clothes so fast you wonder if you were ever wearing any at all.
Happy Terrible Mistake Day!
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Don’t Sleep Day!
“Why do you love me?” he asks.
You don’t have an answer.
“You can split or you can explain.”
You sit down on the floor, bundling up your coat under you for a cushion since he doesn’t have any furniture in his apartment.
“I’ll explain,” you say. “Just give me a minute.”
You drove a thousand miles to this tiny one-room apartment where he hoped to start his life again, alone, resigned to not building a life with you. And now here you are, and you should be able to come up with a reason why.
“Maybe I need five minutes,” tell him.
He pours some bourbon into glasses and he gets comfortable. It’s going to be a long night for the both of you.
“Just because I don’t know why I’m here doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend every single second of my life with you until you die first or I die first,” you tell him.
“I want a reason,” he says.
He hands you some paper and pens and you start drawing diagrams.
Happy Don’t Sleep Day!
You don’t have an answer.
“You can split or you can explain.”
You sit down on the floor, bundling up your coat under you for a cushion since he doesn’t have any furniture in his apartment.
“I’ll explain,” you say. “Just give me a minute.”
You drove a thousand miles to this tiny one-room apartment where he hoped to start his life again, alone, resigned to not building a life with you. And now here you are, and you should be able to come up with a reason why.
“Maybe I need five minutes,” tell him.
He pours some bourbon into glasses and he gets comfortable. It’s going to be a long night for the both of you.
“Just because I don’t know why I’m here doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend every single second of my life with you until you die first or I die first,” you tell him.
“I want a reason,” he says.
He hands you some paper and pens and you start drawing diagrams.
Happy Don’t Sleep Day!
Friday, February 12, 2016
You’re A Bronte Sister Day!
Today you’re Amber Bronte, the Bronte sister no one knows about because you’re still temping until you can get your Life Coach business off the ground.
“That’s so great!” your three sisters say to you when you tell them you now have four steady clients and your friend says he can build you a website for free. You don’t add that you think he might want you to sleep with him, and you don’t add that you might go ahead and do that if it means free website by summer.
“You have such persistence!” your sister says.
“Seriously you never give up, no matter how discouraging things are,” your other sister says.
The backhanded digs have begun. Time to throw the focus away from you.
“How are your book tours?” you ask.
They spend the next hour complaining about lackluster promotion from publishers, poorly appointed author accommodations provided by far-flung bookstores, and fans who want too much from them at book signings.
“Oh, Amber, I based a character on you in my new book,” Charlotte says.
Oh dear God.
Happy You’re A Bronte Sister Day!
“That’s so great!” your three sisters say to you when you tell them you now have four steady clients and your friend says he can build you a website for free. You don’t add that you think he might want you to sleep with him, and you don’t add that you might go ahead and do that if it means free website by summer.
“You have such persistence!” your sister says.
“Seriously you never give up, no matter how discouraging things are,” your other sister says.
The backhanded digs have begun. Time to throw the focus away from you.
“How are your book tours?” you ask.
They spend the next hour complaining about lackluster promotion from publishers, poorly appointed author accommodations provided by far-flung bookstores, and fans who want too much from them at book signings.
“Oh, Amber, I based a character on you in my new book,” Charlotte says.
Oh dear God.
Happy You’re A Bronte Sister Day!
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Wear Something Remarkable Day!
“Remarkable blouse,” your temp will say.
“Thanks, Dylan,” you’ll say to him.
“Remarkable,” he’ll mutter to himself as you step into your office to call your ex-husband.
“He noticed me.”
“That’s great, hon,” your ex-husband will say. “I really hope you find someone.”
“How’s house arrest?”
“Dullsville.”
Your husband is charged with violating building code, reckless endangerment and fraud after putting up a new construction slum and renting it out for $5000 per unit without ensuring even basic support to keep the entire structure from collapsing. You divorced him to keep the tenants from going after your money too, and after being separated for a while you both felt like it worked.
“Go tell that temp your blouse would look even more remarkable on his bedroom floor.”
You do what your ex-husband says and your temp immediately reports you to HR for sexual harassment. You’re fired and humiliated in the press. They’re excited to revisit the one-percenter slumlord story by taking down his ex-wife too.
Why do you listen to your ex-husband? The only thing remarkable he wears is the location bracelet on his ankle.
Happy Wear Something Remarkable Day!
“Thanks, Dylan,” you’ll say to him.
“Remarkable,” he’ll mutter to himself as you step into your office to call your ex-husband.
“He noticed me.”
“That’s great, hon,” your ex-husband will say. “I really hope you find someone.”
“How’s house arrest?”
“Dullsville.”
Your husband is charged with violating building code, reckless endangerment and fraud after putting up a new construction slum and renting it out for $5000 per unit without ensuring even basic support to keep the entire structure from collapsing. You divorced him to keep the tenants from going after your money too, and after being separated for a while you both felt like it worked.
“Go tell that temp your blouse would look even more remarkable on his bedroom floor.”
You do what your ex-husband says and your temp immediately reports you to HR for sexual harassment. You’re fired and humiliated in the press. They’re excited to revisit the one-percenter slumlord story by taking down his ex-wife too.
Why do you listen to your ex-husband? The only thing remarkable he wears is the location bracelet on his ankle.
Happy Wear Something Remarkable Day!
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Steal A Bike Day!
When you get the stolen bike home, a man in futuristic dress will be sitting in your living room.
“Oh, you already stole it,” he’ll say.
Roll the bike into your bedroom then sit with the man.
“Do you have any idea who you stole that bike from?”
You shake your head.
“The future. My future. That man is meant to lead the movement that will one day bring America under the rule of fascist tyranny for centuries…if someone can prevent you from stealing his bike. Because when he decides to walk to work he crosses against the light and gets hit by the front of one bus throwing him into the back of another bus, killing him instantly.”
“Oh my God,” you say. “I killed a man. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. In another timeline I come back a little earlier and kill you before you can steal his bike.”
You just stare at the assassin.
“I undershot it by a half hour,” he adds.
You still aren’t sure what’s happening.
“So you’re good. You can live the rest of your life peacefully until the end.”
“But in another timeline you came back at the right time and murdered me?”
He shrugs. “Shouldn’t steal stuff.”
All of this absorbed now, you ask him, “So what are you going to do now?”
“Dunno,” he’ll say. “Can’t exactly go back. It’s a one way time portal only. Guess I gotta find a place to live.”
And that’s how you become roomies with the assassin from a fascist future America who was sent back in time to murder you but got here too late.
Happy Steal A Bike Day!
“Oh, you already stole it,” he’ll say.
Roll the bike into your bedroom then sit with the man.
“Do you have any idea who you stole that bike from?”
You shake your head.
“The future. My future. That man is meant to lead the movement that will one day bring America under the rule of fascist tyranny for centuries…if someone can prevent you from stealing his bike. Because when he decides to walk to work he crosses against the light and gets hit by the front of one bus throwing him into the back of another bus, killing him instantly.”
“Oh my God,” you say. “I killed a man. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. In another timeline I come back a little earlier and kill you before you can steal his bike.”
You just stare at the assassin.
“I undershot it by a half hour,” he adds.
You still aren’t sure what’s happening.
“So you’re good. You can live the rest of your life peacefully until the end.”
“But in another timeline you came back at the right time and murdered me?”
He shrugs. “Shouldn’t steal stuff.”
All of this absorbed now, you ask him, “So what are you going to do now?”
“Dunno,” he’ll say. “Can’t exactly go back. It’s a one way time portal only. Guess I gotta find a place to live.”
And that’s how you become roomies with the assassin from a fascist future America who was sent back in time to murder you but got here too late.
Happy Steal A Bike Day!
Tuesday, February 09, 2016
One Night AirBnB Day!
When you arrive at the AirBnB, your kids are bouncing off the walls they’re so excited. You open up the trunk and hand them each a shovel.
“It’s a fun project in the back yard.”
You dig in the far corner of the yard, by the rose bush. You do most of the digging, your older son helping some, but your younger son and daughter can’t hold the shovels very well, so you instruct them to just pick up the rocks when you hit them.
“Can’t we go and play by the stream?” your younger son asks.
You don’t answer because your shovel just made a thud against something wooden.
You and your kids dig the chest out of the ground. You open the lid and reveal the remains of the man your father murdered 39 years ago, the man you helped him bury when you were no older than your youngest.
“He was a threat to our entire family,” you tell your kids. “When your grandad killed him, we were set up financially for generations. But all this land is being leveled for a condo, so we have to get these bones out of here before someone finds them.”
You and your kids carry the chest into the car and head to the stream. You spend all night digging. Once you have the chest in the ground, your oldest jerks his head up the hill.
“Someone’s watching.”
“Robby!” you say. But your son is already on the run.
When you get over the hill you find Robby standing over the body of a drifter who has a shovel shaped gash in his skull.
“We need to dig another hole,” Robby says. “For the family.”
Somewhere, you know your dad is smiling.
You dig as fast as you can so you can get someplace with a signal to try and extend your AirBnB rental, but they’ve already rented the place and you haven’t filled in the hole yet. You’re still digging when the new renters arrive with their kids.
“Robby!” you say. But he’s already run inside the house with his shovel.
Happy One Night AirBnB Day!
“It’s a fun project in the back yard.”
You dig in the far corner of the yard, by the rose bush. You do most of the digging, your older son helping some, but your younger son and daughter can’t hold the shovels very well, so you instruct them to just pick up the rocks when you hit them.
“Can’t we go and play by the stream?” your younger son asks.
You don’t answer because your shovel just made a thud against something wooden.
You and your kids dig the chest out of the ground. You open the lid and reveal the remains of the man your father murdered 39 years ago, the man you helped him bury when you were no older than your youngest.
“He was a threat to our entire family,” you tell your kids. “When your grandad killed him, we were set up financially for generations. But all this land is being leveled for a condo, so we have to get these bones out of here before someone finds them.”
You and your kids carry the chest into the car and head to the stream. You spend all night digging. Once you have the chest in the ground, your oldest jerks his head up the hill.
“Someone’s watching.”
“Robby!” you say. But your son is already on the run.
When you get over the hill you find Robby standing over the body of a drifter who has a shovel shaped gash in his skull.
“We need to dig another hole,” Robby says. “For the family.”
Somewhere, you know your dad is smiling.
You dig as fast as you can so you can get someplace with a signal to try and extend your AirBnB rental, but they’ve already rented the place and you haven’t filled in the hole yet. You’re still digging when the new renters arrive with their kids.
“Robby!” you say. But he’s already run inside the house with his shovel.
Happy One Night AirBnB Day!
Friday, February 05, 2016
Your Daughter Might Be God Day!
“She doesn’t care about the suffering of Earth’s people,” your husband says.
“Teenagers,” you say with a shake of your head.
“When I bring up earthquakes and tsunamis in chit chat she says it’s all part of her plan,” he says.
“Why do you always talk about that stuff?” ask him.
“She won’t let anyone see her face,” he says. “We’re not prepared, according to her. So she just keeps wearing that Scream mask.”
“She’s a movie buff,” tell him.
“If she’s God we need to change our parenting strategy!” he shouts.
“So what? Put her back in public school?”
“To expose her to all that she’s wrought, yeah, maybe!”
Now you’re full on fighting. That’s when your daughter walks in. Through the air holes of her Scream mask she says, “Talking about how I’m God and it’s hard to be a parent to the all-seeing all-knowing Deity?”
“Yeah,” your husband says.
“Stand up straight,” you tell her.
“Can you keep it down?” she asks. “I’ve grown bored with this world and am busy creating another one. No humans this time. Just insects. They’re the only living things I fucking nailed. Everything else turned to shit.”
“We’re having chicken and Brussels sprouts for dinner tonight,” you tell her.
“Too busy to eat,” she says.
“You’ll take a break and you’ll eat your dinner,” you tell her.
Your daughter stomps away. Your husband falls to his knees in fealty while you finish moisturizing your pregnant belly. Maybe the next kid will be a little less of a bossy pants.
Happy Your Daughter Might Be God Day!
“Teenagers,” you say with a shake of your head.
“When I bring up earthquakes and tsunamis in chit chat she says it’s all part of her plan,” he says.
“Why do you always talk about that stuff?” ask him.
“She won’t let anyone see her face,” he says. “We’re not prepared, according to her. So she just keeps wearing that Scream mask.”
“She’s a movie buff,” tell him.
“If she’s God we need to change our parenting strategy!” he shouts.
“So what? Put her back in public school?”
“To expose her to all that she’s wrought, yeah, maybe!”
Now you’re full on fighting. That’s when your daughter walks in. Through the air holes of her Scream mask she says, “Talking about how I’m God and it’s hard to be a parent to the all-seeing all-knowing Deity?”
“Yeah,” your husband says.
“Stand up straight,” you tell her.
“Can you keep it down?” she asks. “I’ve grown bored with this world and am busy creating another one. No humans this time. Just insects. They’re the only living things I fucking nailed. Everything else turned to shit.”
“We’re having chicken and Brussels sprouts for dinner tonight,” you tell her.
“Too busy to eat,” she says.
“You’ll take a break and you’ll eat your dinner,” you tell her.
Your daughter stomps away. Your husband falls to his knees in fealty while you finish moisturizing your pregnant belly. Maybe the next kid will be a little less of a bossy pants.
Happy Your Daughter Might Be God Day!
Thursday, February 04, 2016
Tell Your Husband When He Touches You It Feels Like You’re Being Napalmed Day!
“Like,” he asks, “Like it’s really hot?”
Tell him yeah, dumbass, napalm feels hot.
“Jesus, read a book.”
“But like,” he asks, “Like your skin is falling off your body?”
With a deep sigh, open your laptop and bring up the Wikipedia page for the word “Napalm.”
“I’m going out to the bars,” tell him as you place the laptop on his lap. “Read this so I don’t have to answer any more questions when I get back. I’ll be too fucked up.”
When you get back at 4 am he’ll still be reading the wiki page.
“So yeah,” he’ll say. “Losing skin is part of it. But do you mean it like, I want you just to ravage me so hard until my clothes and skin are ripped to shreds?”
Murmur something non-committal as you pass out. He’ll move to pick you up and carry you to bed, but then he’ll look at the photo of Phan Thi Kim Phuc again and he won’t know what to do.
Tomorrow he’ll ask you if gloves will help.
Happy Tell Your Husband When He Touches You It Feels Like You’re Being Napalmed Day!
Tell him yeah, dumbass, napalm feels hot.
“Jesus, read a book.”
“But like,” he asks, “Like your skin is falling off your body?”
With a deep sigh, open your laptop and bring up the Wikipedia page for the word “Napalm.”
“I’m going out to the bars,” tell him as you place the laptop on his lap. “Read this so I don’t have to answer any more questions when I get back. I’ll be too fucked up.”
When you get back at 4 am he’ll still be reading the wiki page.
“So yeah,” he’ll say. “Losing skin is part of it. But do you mean it like, I want you just to ravage me so hard until my clothes and skin are ripped to shreds?”
Murmur something non-committal as you pass out. He’ll move to pick you up and carry you to bed, but then he’ll look at the photo of Phan Thi Kim Phuc again and he won’t know what to do.
Tomorrow he’ll ask you if gloves will help.
Happy Tell Your Husband When He Touches You It Feels Like You’re Being Napalmed Day!
Wednesday, February 03, 2016
Think About What You Want To Do When The Ransom Gets Paid Day!
First thing you’ll do when you’re free. The thing you’ve been dying for during this entire abduction.
“For the life of me I don’t know,” you tell your kidnapper. “I think about food I want to eat or places I want to go and it’s like, who cares?”
“You’re depressed,” she says.
“But I’m not. Not right now.”
Your kidnapper starts shaking her head.
“No.”
“I don’t wanna leave!”
“No!”
“Don’t make me go back out there.”
“We need this money. We need your dad’s money.”
You know it’s true. So you turn back to your list, trying to think of anything you want to do when you’re free. You write “Drink a milkshake?” then cross it off, crumple up your paper and throw yourself face down on the pull out bed.
Happy Think About What You Want To Do When The Ransom Gets Paid Day!
“For the life of me I don’t know,” you tell your kidnapper. “I think about food I want to eat or places I want to go and it’s like, who cares?”
“You’re depressed,” she says.
“But I’m not. Not right now.”
Your kidnapper starts shaking her head.
“No.”
“I don’t wanna leave!”
“No!”
“Don’t make me go back out there.”
“We need this money. We need your dad’s money.”
You know it’s true. So you turn back to your list, trying to think of anything you want to do when you’re free. You write “Drink a milkshake?” then cross it off, crumple up your paper and throw yourself face down on the pull out bed.
Happy Think About What You Want To Do When The Ransom Gets Paid Day!
Tuesday, February 02, 2016
Blackjack Day!
Tonight you’re going to lose at Blackjack and you’re going to lose big. So big that the Blackjack dealer will have a crisis of conscience and quit his job on the spot.
“I can’t be party to the ruin of lives anymore,” the dealer will tell his boss.
“Who cares?” the boss will say in acceptance of his resignation.
Wait outside the casino and when the Blackjack dealer comes out say, “Thanks for quitting for me. I guess we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”
Take the Blackjack dealer to the parking lot where all the casino buses empty their port-o-johns. Find a space between the buses and escort him through your many erotic realms.
When finished, take him home and give him a bath and your bed. Spend the next 47 years blissfully happy together until the day of the car crash.
Happy Blackjack Day!
“I can’t be party to the ruin of lives anymore,” the dealer will tell his boss.
“Who cares?” the boss will say in acceptance of his resignation.
Wait outside the casino and when the Blackjack dealer comes out say, “Thanks for quitting for me. I guess we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”
Take the Blackjack dealer to the parking lot where all the casino buses empty their port-o-johns. Find a space between the buses and escort him through your many erotic realms.
When finished, take him home and give him a bath and your bed. Spend the next 47 years blissfully happy together until the day of the car crash.
Happy Blackjack Day!
Monday, February 01, 2016
Bake Cookies Day!
Bake cookies so your mom will be surprised when she comes home. You know she likes ginger cookies, but you don’t have all the ingredients. So bake chocolate chip cookies. She’ll still be impressed that her little girl baked cookies all on her own.
Once you’ve got three dozen, set them out to cool and go upstairs to change into something nice before your mom comes home.
You hear the front door open while you’re changing, so you hurry up into a dress then you run downstairs to find your big brother inhaling the cookies on the counter.
“Those are for mommy!!” you scream as you throw yourself on his back trying to knock the cookies out of his hand. “They’re for mommy!”
He spins around, trying to shrug you off.
“Stop it!” he yells. “Get off!”
“They’re for mommy!”
He spins again and slams his head into the corner of the cabinet. You fall off his back as he slumps down to the floor moaning. Cookies are everywhere.
“You ruined it!” you cry.
“It’s okay,” he says, holding his head.
“No you ruined it!” You try to gather the broken cookies but they keep falling apart.
“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s not coming back. She doesn’t deserve your cookies because she’s not coming back. She doesn’t want us.”
You give up collecting the crumbs and you cry into his sweatshirt.
“They were good cookies,” your big brother says. “I’m glad she didn’t get any. I’m glad she doesn’t get to enjoy all the good things you can do. She doesn’t deserve to.”
When your dad comes home he finds the two of you on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the mess. He doesn’t say a word. Just goes to his room and shuts the door behind him like every night since she went away.
Happy Bake Cookies Day!
Once you’ve got three dozen, set them out to cool and go upstairs to change into something nice before your mom comes home.
You hear the front door open while you’re changing, so you hurry up into a dress then you run downstairs to find your big brother inhaling the cookies on the counter.
“Those are for mommy!!” you scream as you throw yourself on his back trying to knock the cookies out of his hand. “They’re for mommy!”
He spins around, trying to shrug you off.
“Stop it!” he yells. “Get off!”
“They’re for mommy!”
He spins again and slams his head into the corner of the cabinet. You fall off his back as he slumps down to the floor moaning. Cookies are everywhere.
“You ruined it!” you cry.
“It’s okay,” he says, holding his head.
“No you ruined it!” You try to gather the broken cookies but they keep falling apart.
“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s not coming back. She doesn’t deserve your cookies because she’s not coming back. She doesn’t want us.”
You give up collecting the crumbs and you cry into his sweatshirt.
“They were good cookies,” your big brother says. “I’m glad she didn’t get any. I’m glad she doesn’t get to enjoy all the good things you can do. She doesn’t deserve to.”
When your dad comes home he finds the two of you on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the mess. He doesn’t say a word. Just goes to his room and shuts the door behind him like every night since she went away.
Happy Bake Cookies Day!