“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!
Sunday, February 14, 2016
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!
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Your Dog Ran Away Day!
He was found several towns away. It’s a miracle. Someone’s driving him up your driveway right this minute.
“Starsky!” you shout as he slides out of the car.
You run down the driveway and wait on your knees with open arms. Starsky trots up the driveway towards you.
“Come on, Starsky!” you shout.
Starsky slows as he approaches you. His shoulders fall. His head bows, reluctant. But also, ashamed.
You hold your arms out, but you don’t know if Starsky wants your embrace.
He halts just a few steps before you. Finally, he looks up and meets your eyes with his own.
You see it then. This runaway. It was no accident. Starsky wasn’t lost.
Your arms lower. You nod at him.
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s okay boy. I understand.”
Starsky turns from you. He trots away. The man who returned him to you moves to stop him but you raise your palm to tell him to let the dog go.
You know when it’s over. You know when someone’s done with you.
Happy Your Dog Ran Away Day!
“Starsky!” you shout as he slides out of the car.
You run down the driveway and wait on your knees with open arms. Starsky trots up the driveway towards you.
“Come on, Starsky!” you shout.
Starsky slows as he approaches you. His shoulders fall. His head bows, reluctant. But also, ashamed.
You hold your arms out, but you don’t know if Starsky wants your embrace.
He halts just a few steps before you. Finally, he looks up and meets your eyes with his own.
You see it then. This runaway. It was no accident. Starsky wasn’t lost.
Your arms lower. You nod at him.
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s okay boy. I understand.”
Starsky turns from you. He trots away. The man who returned him to you moves to stop him but you raise your palm to tell him to let the dog go.
You know when it’s over. You know when someone’s done with you.
Happy Your Dog Ran Away Day!
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!
“I just felt an instant, mutual connection,” he says.
You stand stock still, waiting as your soul rises out of your body.
“I hope I don’t jinx this by talking about it.”
Say to him, “Well, that’s nice.”
Remember that you have power of attorney so his money’s locked down. If he wants to start a new relationship at the age of 82 now that your mom’s been in the ground for over a year, so be it.
“So is she around your age? Younger?”
“Younger.”
“How young?”
“Around 25.”
Hold on to something, steady yourself. The back of a chair. Something.
“And when did you meet her?”
“In Spain.”
He’s never been to Spain.
“You might have dreamed this whole thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
You let it go.
“Just don’t tell my son about this okay, Pete?”
You’re his son. Your name’s Lance.
Happy Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!
You stand stock still, waiting as your soul rises out of your body.
“I hope I don’t jinx this by talking about it.”
Say to him, “Well, that’s nice.”
Remember that you have power of attorney so his money’s locked down. If he wants to start a new relationship at the age of 82 now that your mom’s been in the ground for over a year, so be it.
“So is she around your age? Younger?”
“Younger.”
“How young?”
“Around 25.”
Hold on to something, steady yourself. The back of a chair. Something.
“And when did you meet her?”
“In Spain.”
He’s never been to Spain.
“You might have dreamed this whole thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
You let it go.
“Just don’t tell my son about this okay, Pete?”
You’re his son. Your name’s Lance.
Happy Your Dad Says He’s In Love With One Of The Aides At His Home Day!
Friday, January 29, 2016
You Stopped Sleeping Day!
Your boss noticed you’ve been looking tired.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
Tell her, “I stopped sleeping. My dreams have gotten as bad as my waking panics. Worse, some nights. I haven’t tried giving up sleep yet. They say I’ll go mad but I’m already mad so maybe a madness I know the cause for will be a better madness than the one that showed up one day and wrapped me in its great dark arms promising to never let me go. It’s been eleven days now and I can’t quite see anything but blurred shapes and I can’t quite hear anything but elderly people’s sobs but trust me that’s an improvement.”
Your boss will say that’s all, then she’ll go home and throw away her bed hoping for lack of sleep to overtake her lack of will to do anything but curl up in a ball and moan faintly.
Happy You Stopped Sleeping Day!
“You doing okay?” she asks.
Tell her, “I stopped sleeping. My dreams have gotten as bad as my waking panics. Worse, some nights. I haven’t tried giving up sleep yet. They say I’ll go mad but I’m already mad so maybe a madness I know the cause for will be a better madness than the one that showed up one day and wrapped me in its great dark arms promising to never let me go. It’s been eleven days now and I can’t quite see anything but blurred shapes and I can’t quite hear anything but elderly people’s sobs but trust me that’s an improvement.”
Your boss will say that’s all, then she’ll go home and throw away her bed hoping for lack of sleep to overtake her lack of will to do anything but curl up in a ball and moan faintly.
Happy You Stopped Sleeping Day!
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Date With Loretta Day!
You have a date with Loretta tonight but you’re not going to make it on time because you’re going to get kidnapped.
“Please,” you say to the masked men who threw you in their van. “I have a date with a girl I’ve loved from afar for years. This could be the most important night of my life. Please don’t deprive me of it.”
“Godammit Steve,” one kidnapper screams at the driver.
“No real names!” the driver screams back.
“Sorry. Goddammit Kevin! We said no one would get hurt.”
Kevin/Steve yells back, “We’re not hurting him!”
“Standing in the way of true love? I’d say that’s pretty hurtful!”
“He’s got a point Ste– Kevin,” the third kidnapper says.
“Fine,” Steve/Kevin says. “Where’s this date supposed to be?”
They drive you to the restaurant and say they’ll be parked outside all night. If you try to escape they’ll kill you both.
The date goes wonderfully. You talk about your hopes, your fears, your childhoods, and your favorite episodes of Mr. Robot. At the end of the date you walk her home while the van follows. She invites you up and you make love. The next morning you come downstairs, the van still waiting for you.
“Looks like it went well,” one of the kidnappers in the back says. You can see his smile through the hole in his ski mask.
“It did,” you say, blushing.
“Ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin says.
“Wait, I told her I’d bring back bagels.”
They follow you to the bagel store and back, and they wait outside while you eat bagels and make love again upstairs.
Hours later, you come back downstairs.
“Now you ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin asks.
You nod, staring up at her window. “I am,” you say. “Now that I know my love will be here waiting for me, I’m ready to survive however long a kidnapping you have planned.”
They throw you in the van and speed away. Three days later your rich father delivers the money, but he ignores their demand for no cops. You’re killed in the shoutout. Loretta falls for one of your coworkers at your funeral.
Happy Date With Loretta Day!
“Please,” you say to the masked men who threw you in their van. “I have a date with a girl I’ve loved from afar for years. This could be the most important night of my life. Please don’t deprive me of it.”
“Godammit Steve,” one kidnapper screams at the driver.
“No real names!” the driver screams back.
“Sorry. Goddammit Kevin! We said no one would get hurt.”
Kevin/Steve yells back, “We’re not hurting him!”
“Standing in the way of true love? I’d say that’s pretty hurtful!”
“He’s got a point Ste– Kevin,” the third kidnapper says.
“Fine,” Steve/Kevin says. “Where’s this date supposed to be?”
They drive you to the restaurant and say they’ll be parked outside all night. If you try to escape they’ll kill you both.
The date goes wonderfully. You talk about your hopes, your fears, your childhoods, and your favorite episodes of Mr. Robot. At the end of the date you walk her home while the van follows. She invites you up and you make love. The next morning you come downstairs, the van still waiting for you.
“Looks like it went well,” one of the kidnappers in the back says. You can see his smile through the hole in his ski mask.
“It did,” you say, blushing.
“Ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin says.
“Wait, I told her I’d bring back bagels.”
They follow you to the bagel store and back, and they wait outside while you eat bagels and make love again upstairs.
Hours later, you come back downstairs.
“Now you ready to get on with this?” Steve/Kevin asks.
You nod, staring up at her window. “I am,” you say. “Now that I know my love will be here waiting for me, I’m ready to survive however long a kidnapping you have planned.”
They throw you in the van and speed away. Three days later your rich father delivers the money, but he ignores their demand for no cops. You’re killed in the shoutout. Loretta falls for one of your coworkers at your funeral.
Happy Date With Loretta Day!
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!
You don’t get any info about who’s getting married. You get a phone call with the address of the events hall and a one hour window to confirm you’ll take the shift. It’s not until you’re there in the thick of the reception, a tray of canapés held high above your head, that you start recognizing ex-mutual friends’ faces.
“Holy shit, Christine,” one of his work friends says to you.
“This is pretty messed up,” says Clara, who you got really close with but who ceased talking to you when the divorce went through since she’s married to his high school best friend.
“You guys, who’s getting married?” you ask.
A cheer erupts through the room as the double doors to the dance floor open. You see only the top of his haircut through the crowd and you know today is the wrong day to have been available to fill in for Melanie, who has the flu.
“And now the bride and groom invite you to witness their first dance as man and wife,” says the DJ before he spins “At Last.” (Your song was a Sugarcubes song, at your demand.)
The crowd parts and you find yourself standing in the center of the dance floor, holding your tray of tiny food.
He sees you.
She sees you.
They all see you.
“Congrats?” you say to him.
They don’t move. Their first song keeps spinning. You do the only thing you can think to do.
You dance.
It’s an elegant, solo routine. You glide and sway across the floor, occasionally miming someone in your arms, someone whom, over and over again, breaks free of your embrace, leaving you to wave goodbye to the apparition.
The song ends. Your ex and his bride are stunned. A slow clap begins. Your ex’s father. He always liked you. Others clap along, growing louder, faster.
They believe it was planned. A gift to the bride and groom. Before they can dance, his ex must dance him free of her, a farewell spin across the floor. Tonight’s the night the “Ex Dance” is introduced to wedding planners as a new tradition in matrimony. You leave the venue, get in your Corolla, and make a plan to go back to being an office temp in the morning.
Happy Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!
“Holy shit, Christine,” one of his work friends says to you.
“This is pretty messed up,” says Clara, who you got really close with but who ceased talking to you when the divorce went through since she’s married to his high school best friend.
“You guys, who’s getting married?” you ask.
A cheer erupts through the room as the double doors to the dance floor open. You see only the top of his haircut through the crowd and you know today is the wrong day to have been available to fill in for Melanie, who has the flu.
“And now the bride and groom invite you to witness their first dance as man and wife,” says the DJ before he spins “At Last.” (Your song was a Sugarcubes song, at your demand.)
The crowd parts and you find yourself standing in the center of the dance floor, holding your tray of tiny food.
He sees you.
She sees you.
They all see you.
“Congrats?” you say to him.
They don’t move. Their first song keeps spinning. You do the only thing you can think to do.
You dance.
It’s an elegant, solo routine. You glide and sway across the floor, occasionally miming someone in your arms, someone whom, over and over again, breaks free of your embrace, leaving you to wave goodbye to the apparition.
The song ends. Your ex and his bride are stunned. A slow clap begins. Your ex’s father. He always liked you. Others clap along, growing louder, faster.
They believe it was planned. A gift to the bride and groom. Before they can dance, his ex must dance him free of her, a farewell spin across the floor. Tonight’s the night the “Ex Dance” is introduced to wedding planners as a new tradition in matrimony. You leave the venue, get in your Corolla, and make a plan to go back to being an office temp in the morning.
Happy Cater Waiter Your Ex-Husband’s Wedding Day!
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!
You and your girlfriend are so in love some guy just died.
“This is the news,” a TV newsman says while you and your girlfriend are kissing for like the hundredth time this hour. “Some guy died today because these two are too in love.”
A photo of the two of you is on the TV. You can’t see it because you’re busy getting naked again. You just put clothes back on. Naked again?
“Apparently this couple’s love is so strong that it needs to feed on the life force of others,” the Newsman continues. Not that you two would know. You’re too busy holding each other’s naked bodies and crying.
“If anyone can think of some way to break these two up,” the newsman says. “Please contact the police with your plan. Before their love comes for us all.”
You’re inside each other as the police meet with several of your respective ex-lovers who are busy detailing your emotional pressure points and relationship deal-breakers that might be exploited to bring an end to your love affair.
“This just in,” the newsman says. “A family of six was just found dead. They were just lying there in their house, like they all just dropped. It’s assumed the mass death occurred when these two came at the same time.”
Your picture on the TV again, not that you’d see it since you’re still marveling at the simultaneous orgasm that just made you both scream at God.
Happy Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!
“This is the news,” a TV newsman says while you and your girlfriend are kissing for like the hundredth time this hour. “Some guy died today because these two are too in love.”
A photo of the two of you is on the TV. You can’t see it because you’re busy getting naked again. You just put clothes back on. Naked again?
“Apparently this couple’s love is so strong that it needs to feed on the life force of others,” the Newsman continues. Not that you two would know. You’re too busy holding each other’s naked bodies and crying.
“If anyone can think of some way to break these two up,” the newsman says. “Please contact the police with your plan. Before their love comes for us all.”
You’re inside each other as the police meet with several of your respective ex-lovers who are busy detailing your emotional pressure points and relationship deal-breakers that might be exploited to bring an end to your love affair.
“This just in,” the newsman says. “A family of six was just found dead. They were just lying there in their house, like they all just dropped. It’s assumed the mass death occurred when these two came at the same time.”
Your picture on the TV again, not that you’d see it since you’re still marveling at the simultaneous orgasm that just made you both scream at God.
Happy Your Love Just Killed A Guy Day!
Monday, January 25, 2016
Your Two Dads Day!
They’re fighting with knives.
“Dads, stop it!”
Your adoptive dad slashes your biological dad across the face. Your biological dad digs his blade deep into your adoptive dad’s gut. Your adoptive dad uses the last of his strength to land his blade in your biological dad’s heart.
“She’s my…daughter,” your adoptive dad whispers.
“No, she’s…my daughter,” your biological dad whispers back. They both die.
You really shouldn’t have gone looking for your real parents.
Happy Your Two Dads Day!
“Dads, stop it!”
Your adoptive dad slashes your biological dad across the face. Your biological dad digs his blade deep into your adoptive dad’s gut. Your adoptive dad uses the last of his strength to land his blade in your biological dad’s heart.
“She’s my…daughter,” your adoptive dad whispers.
“No, she’s…my daughter,” your biological dad whispers back. They both die.
You really shouldn’t have gone looking for your real parents.
Happy Your Two Dads Day!
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Lose At Pool Day!
Tonight at the bar, challenge another bar patron to a game of pool. Don’t make any shots.
“Are you losing intentionally?” the other player will ask.
Say yes.
“Then I don’t want to play,” the other player will say.
Tell him you’ll start playing for real, then don’t.
“Were you lying when you said you would play for real?”
Say yes.
“Then I don’t want to play!”
Tell him, okay, you admit that you were losing intentionally and you were lying when you said you’d start playing for real, but it’s just because you like to give yourself big challenges, so you let him get a major lead on you. Now, though, it’s a big enough challenge so you’re going to try to come back from your deficit by playing the best game you’ve ever played.
After your next few shots are just horrible, the other player will say, “Were you lying about that wanting a challenge stuff?”
Say no.
“Are you lying now?” he’ll ask.
Say, “What is truth?”
The other player will beat you with his pool cue until you’re dead. Hooray, you died in a bar, just like you always wanted.
Happy Lose At Pool Day!
“Are you losing intentionally?” the other player will ask.
Say yes.
“Then I don’t want to play,” the other player will say.
Tell him you’ll start playing for real, then don’t.
“Were you lying when you said you would play for real?”
Say yes.
“Then I don’t want to play!”
Tell him, okay, you admit that you were losing intentionally and you were lying when you said you’d start playing for real, but it’s just because you like to give yourself big challenges, so you let him get a major lead on you. Now, though, it’s a big enough challenge so you’re going to try to come back from your deficit by playing the best game you’ve ever played.
After your next few shots are just horrible, the other player will say, “Were you lying about that wanting a challenge stuff?”
Say no.
“Are you lying now?” he’ll ask.
Say, “What is truth?”
The other player will beat you with his pool cue until you’re dead. Hooray, you died in a bar, just like you always wanted.
Happy Lose At Pool Day!
Saturday, January 23, 2016
King Fun Day!
Today you’re King Fun.
“Chop off everybody’s heads,” you tell the people who do whatever you say.
Everyone in your kingdom is lined up and one by one their heads get chopped off. Until one small boy is about to be placed on the chopping block when he says, “For a guy named King Fun, you sure are a downer!”
You think about what the boy said. You take off your crown then hold your head in your hands.
“Oh my God! He’s riiiiight! I am a dooooooowner! I’m supposed to be King Fuuuuuun but instead of I’m King chop off everybody’s heeeeeeeads!”
You cry and cry and cry until everyone gets sick of hearing it and they start asking to have their heads chopped off so they don’t have to hear you anymore.
You wake up the next morning feeling better after having a good cry. You resolve to change your ways and live up to the name King Fun by being a little more positive and fostering an enjoyable atmosphere in your kingdom, but everybody’s already dead. Even the executioner. He cut off his own head. That’s how sucky it is to hear you cry.
Happy King Fun Day!
“Chop off everybody’s heads,” you tell the people who do whatever you say.
Everyone in your kingdom is lined up and one by one their heads get chopped off. Until one small boy is about to be placed on the chopping block when he says, “For a guy named King Fun, you sure are a downer!”
You think about what the boy said. You take off your crown then hold your head in your hands.
“Oh my God! He’s riiiiight! I am a dooooooowner! I’m supposed to be King Fuuuuuun but instead of I’m King chop off everybody’s heeeeeeeads!”
You cry and cry and cry until everyone gets sick of hearing it and they start asking to have their heads chopped off so they don’t have to hear you anymore.
You wake up the next morning feeling better after having a good cry. You resolve to change your ways and live up to the name King Fun by being a little more positive and fostering an enjoyable atmosphere in your kingdom, but everybody’s already dead. Even the executioner. He cut off his own head. That’s how sucky it is to hear you cry.
Happy King Fun Day!
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