Take The Are You Sexy Quiz Day!

Write yes for the question about whether or not you’ll sacrifice properly respectful attire for sexiness when attending middle school graduations or funerals.

Write yes for the question about whether you think about sex while you’re having sex. And write yes for what you’d say if a handsome stranger walked up and asked you if he could have your home address.

Write yes for the question about whether you’ve ever made love to more than two people at once, and write yes in response to whether you’ve ever made love to a door stop or a Pepsi can.

Write yes when you’re asked whether you’re afraid you have no sense of decorum and write yes when the quiz wants to know if you would rather be incinerated than wear underwear on Easter.

Write yes to the next five questions whatever the fuck they are, and write yes to the question about whether you’d consider having sex with an insect.

Wish you were having sex right now? Write yes.

Wish your body had extra genitals? Write yes.

Wish sex was a FDA food group? Write yes.

Prick your finger and scrawl the word yes in blood until the entire quiz is barely legible, wet and dripping red, the word yes spilled out from your veins and splattered across the paper.

Write yes when asked if you’ve ever had sex with someone you love. Write yes when asked if it was better. Write yes when asked if it was a lot better.

Write yes.

Check the results and you’ll find you’re a moderately steamy pot of sex juice but there’s still ways you can be sexier if you’d just quit being so proper and let that inner alley cat strut. Work on that.

Happy Take The Are You Sexy Quiz Day!

Call Alan Day!

Ask him if he remembers you and he’ll say he can’t talk right now he has a wife.

“But I’ve been drinking,” explain.

He’ll say he understands and he’s really sorry but he made a promise.

“I told her I’d be faithful,” he’ll say.

Explain to Alan that when he made the promise he couldn’t have known you’d call one night when you’ve been drinking. She’ll understand.

Alan will go to his wife and ask her if it’s cool if he breaks his vow of fidelity.

“An ex got drunk and it sounds like she’s down,” he’ll say.

“I guess you couldn’t have known way back when,” his wife will respond.

Alan will come back to the phone and shout, “I can sleep with you! She’s cool with it! Where do I find you?”

You fell asleep and the phone fell under your bed.

Happy Call Alan Day!

Pleasure Place Day!

You weren’t looking forward to taking your kids to Fun Town Place because you hate amusement parks. Then when you got there you found out that the park was safe enough for you to let your kids run free while you and your husband go to the adults-only section of the park called Pleasure Place.

At Pleasure Place, you can drink alcohol, eat delicious gourmet food, listen to educational lectures from people who’ve actually given TED Talks. And best of all, you can have sex with other open-minded couples in Pleasure Place’s massive erotic arena which is basically one giant rinsable mattress.

“Is this really appropriate to have in the middle of an amusement park?” you ask your waiter at the restaurant.

He explains that the park began with the sex arena. The goal was to build the largest swingers’ destination in the world, a mecca for the polyamorous.

“But the couples complained that they couldn’t get here often enough because they didn’t have anyone to look after their kids,” the waiter says. “So we built an amusement park around it.”

“So the only reason the amusement park exists is to babysit children while their parents fornicate with strangers?” you ask.

He says it’s not that uncommon. Six Flags began as an S/M dungeon, then they added roller coasters for the kids. Eventually the roller coasters became a bigger attraction than the dungeon, so they turned it into a haunted house.

“Also,” he says. “Dorney Park and Wildwater Kingdom started out as fight club.”

You ask about the delicious restaurants and the educational lectures.

“We’re verging on Six Flags territory now,” he explains. “We’re getting huge numbers of visitors who have no idea we’re just a sex club surrounded an optional amusement park for kids. So when a lot of parents find out, they need some warming up to the idea. So we let them enjoy a nice meal, listen to a ‘fascinating’ talk. Give them something else to pretend to focus on while they grow more and more curious about the arena.”

You admit to your husband that you’re curious about it, and maybe you and he should poke your head in after dessert. He admits that when he said he went to the bathroom he actually had a three-way with a couple in their 50’s from Saskatchewan.

“Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do,” you say.

Your husband gets the check, then you both go into the arena where he watches two Minnesotans double-team you until it’s time to go and find your kids.

Happy Pleasure Place Day!

Your Idea For A Smartphone App Called Draw Boobs Is A Bad Idea Day!

Your thinking on this is that everyone loves that game Draw Something, and everyone loves boobs, so why not come up with a game like Draw Something except instead of having to draw gophers and shit, you just draw boobs. Over and over again, you and your buddy draw boobs for each other. You draw boobs and send it to your buddy, then your buddy has to draw boobs and send it back to you. Every time you receive each drawing you’re asked, “What are these things?” And you type, “Boobs!” Then you draw boobs again.

“What do you think?” you ask your wife.

“I’m in love with my boss,” she says.

You drop your sketches for the Draw Boobs app on the floor and you and your wife sit down so she can explain how it happened, how she tried to stay true to you, and how in the end it was inevitable. This is just who she is now. This is the love she’s been consumed by.

You listen, stunned, and maybe it’s just an effort to protect yourself, but you start feeling glad that she is leaving you before you seek investors for the Draw Boobs app. You stare at the sketches on the floor and you dream of the wealth that’s coming your way, and you look forward to your wife wishing she’d stuck around. You’re certain that app is going to be a runaway hit, but it won’t be. It’s really a bad idea, and you should focus on healing your heart.

Happy Your Idea For A Smartphone App Called Draw Boobs Is A Bad Idea Day!

Your High School Got Together And Named You Boyfriend Of The Year Day!

But that wasn’t one of the categories in the yearbook questionnaire.

“Screw the yearbook questionnaire,” Jenny the yearbook editor says. It’s a surprise to see her so devil-may-care because Jenny is all about the yearbook. “We didn’t want to graduate without you being recognized. Your love for Pauline is an inspiration. We’re all going to look for men in college who treat us the way you’ve treated Pauline.”

Just spit it out.

“Pauline and I broke up.”

They all gasp.

“This morning,” tell them. “I decided that there’s no point in being her boyfriend if it’s not going to earn me any awards or accolades. Wish I’d known you were planning this.”

They all start talking at once, and after lots of shouting and bickering it’s agreed that you should call Pauline and ask her if she’d like to give it another chance.

“Will you take back the award if I don’t?” you ask.

They caucus and decide that no, you can keep the award regardless since it was based on your performance as boyfriend during the school year.

“Then I’m good,” you say. “Time to focus on numero uno, if you know what I’m saying.”

You point your thumb at yourself just to make it clear.

“Fine,” Jenny says. “But just so you know, having given you this award, and then watching you behave this way, it’s really not going to help us in our future relationships.”

And it won’t. Everyone, every single person in that room, will get at least one divorce in their lifetimes. Except for you. You’ll be dead next year. Campus shooting.

Happy Your High School Got Together And Named You Boyfriend Of The Year Day!

You Keep Having Sex On The Seat Of The Motorcycle You’re Trying To Sell Day!

The guys who keep answering your ad just happen to be your type, which is to say, guys who are in the market for a used motorcycle. Rough guys. Guys who are so far from settled down that they’re considering buying a cheap way to get out of town on nothing but a couple wheels and some handlebars. How are you supposed to walk around your motorcycle with a guy like that and not invite him to feel how the seat fits two with room to spare? But as soon as the sex is over you tell them you’ve decided not to sell and you send them on their way.

“Maybe you’re not trying to sell the motorcycle,” the precocious little kid who hangs out with you while you tend to your rose bushes says. “Maybe you’re looking for a man to share that seat with you?”

“Then why’d I post my ad in the for sale section of Craigslist?” you ask.

The precocious little kid says, “You’re scared to admit you need somebody.”

You tell the precocious little kid not to tell you what you’re scared of. The precocious little kid reminds you that he’s smarter than adults and you ask him if he’s smarter than a pair of garden shears. You throw the shears at him. He tries to duck out of the way but catches a blade in the thigh.

He doesn’t die, but the story about how a grown woman stabbed a little kid for giving her relationship advice makes big headlines. “How are we supposed to protect our kids from the single women who don’t want help with their love lives?” moms will demand to know. You’ll be tried in the media long before you make it to court, and you’ll be thrown in jail for three years, a merciful sentence, according to your lawyer. All because you keep having sex on the seat of the motorcycle you’re trying to sell.

Happy You Keep Having Sex On The Seat Of The Motorcycle You’re Trying To Sell Day!

Excerpt From An Oral History Of The Day Jeff And Christine Broke Up Day!

Anthony, Jeff and Christine’s deli guy: I felt like my organs were made of glass and someone took a sledgehammer to my body, shattering them to pieces. Now I’m just a skin bag full of broken glass. They should have gone the distance.

Phoebe, Jeff’s boss at Pfizer: He brought Christine to the Christmas party and the minute I saw them together I thought, oh of course. It just made you believe that there really is that perfect someone for everyone. They proved it. There was no doubt in my mind that they belonged together, and they were going to stay together. When I found out they broke up, I gave up hope of ever finding anyone worth my time. I’m still single.

Grey’s Anatomy star Sandra Oh: We had been shooting a scene where McDreamy finds out he has a rash and my assistant stopped the taping to tell me my agent had an urgent call. He said it plain. Jeff and Christine. I asked what Jeff had done and he said, “That’s the weird thing. I don’t think either of them really cheated or anything. I think they just decided.” I couldn’t get my head around that.

Mrs. Palmer, Christine’s mother: She was a willful child. When I heard that they’d broken up, that’s what I thought. She’d always been a willful child.

Country music singer Keith Urban: I’d been following their relationship from the beginning. We all had I guess. When they went home from that bar’s trivia night together, and they slept together for the first time, I think the whole world just knew. This is it, we thought. We did it. Two people finally got love right. And by them getting it right, it felt like we all had gotten it right. So when they broke up, I went to a dark place inside. I haven’t come out of it yet.

This guy Max who used to see them in the waiting area of a Thai place in their neighborhood, where they’d wait to pick up their takeout Thai food: I quit my job. I left my kids and my wife. Fuck it. Jeff and Christine can’t make it, fuck it. I got work on a boat and ended up in Alaska.

Barack Obama, current President of the United States: We were in the situation room, watching the live feed from the chopper as Seal Team Six approached Bin Laden’s hideout, when two of my staffers came in, their faces wet with tears. “We’re in the middle of something here,” I said. “Mr. President,” they said. “You’re going to want to hear this.”

Darren, their upstairs neighbor: I’m the only tenant who still lives in the building. Six tenants took their own lives within a month. Everyone else moved away. They couldn’t stand knowing that deep, wondrous love had moved out. I leased their apartment and I keep it empty. People on pilgrimage occasionally buzz the building so they can look at it. It means something to see the four walls. They need to know that kind of devotion can be contained in a space as small as a 1.5 bedroom apartment.

Gary Burghoff (‘Radar’ from M*A*S*H): I blamed Christine. For a while. Her job at that market research firm sapped a lot of her hours. And she started that book club in their apartment without asking Jeff. Eventually I realized no one was to blame. But the minute I heard, all I thought was, man, talk about incoming wounded.

Some robot: Jeff and Christine were important to the humans. They were ordinary people who worked for a living and had to struggle to make a life, so they represented the majority of the population. They found a love that, by all accounts and appearances, seemed to be the caliber of love that every human desires. When that love died, it made the humans lose hope that such a connection is sustainable. I don’t understand love, but I understood Jeff and Christine.

Neither Jeff nor Christine agreed to be interviewed for this project. These statements in no way reflect the feelings or opinions of Jeff or Christine.

Happy Excerpt From An Oral History Of The Day Jeff And Christine Broke Up Day!

Driving Lesson Day!

“Takin’ a different route,” he tells you, directing you to turn right and head onto the freeway.

You ask if you’re ready for the freeway and he grabs you by the shoulder. “Don’t waste your time!” he shouts. “Do what you need done. Say what you need said. Make sure you get it all out before the people you need to say it to are gone.”

“We’re going to another funeral aren’t we,” you say, turning onto the on-ramp.

“We’re going to another funeral,” your instructor says.

You’ve had six lessons so far, and four of them have been spent driving in cemeteries past funerals. They’re all funerals for women with whom your instructor had torrid affairs.

“Heather Bonaventure,” he says as you exit the freeway and head toward the cemetery. “She was married. Married to the wrong man, and she knew it. Way she behaved in bed, it’s like she was trying to cram in a whole lifetime’s worth of loving with me, even though we didn’t have but forty minutes before her mister came home.”

Your driving instructor is eighty-one years old and it’s clear he’s packed a lot of sensuality into those eighty-one years. But it seems he can only see the regrets.

“Did you love Heather Bonaventure more than you loved Felicia Campopiano?” you ask him as you creep his Buick past the gathered procession not fifty feet away. Felicia’s was the funeral he drove you past two lessons ago.

“No comparison,” he says. “Loved ‘em at different points in my life. Man who loves at 30 isn’t the same man who loves at 45. Aw God, Heather,” he bleats at the coffin, clenching his fist to his mouth to hold in his sobs.

“Did you ever love anyone but Italian Catholic women?” you ask, now doubling back as the casket is being lowered.

“No female blood hotter to the touch than Italian Catholic,” he says. “No offense.”

You’re a Russian Jewish woman but no offense is taken. You’d complain about all of his driving lessons being about how to drive slowly in cemeteries so you can spy on funerals, but you’re hoping he can teach you a much more important lesson.

“How can I be sure that when I die, I’ll leave behind men as heartbroken in love with me as you are with all of these women whose funerals we covertly attend?” you ask.

He wipes the tears from his eyes, takes a deep breath and says, “You give them a glimpse of your heart, then you hide it away forever. Now get me the hell out of this cemetery.”

You exit the cemetery and head back to the freeway as your driving instructor weeps into his hands. Give them a glimpse of your heart, then hide it away forever. It sounds cruel, you think, but necessary. If it means someone will be driving slowly past your funeral in tears, it’s necessary.

Happy Driving Lesson Day!

Adopt Norman Day!

Norman’s 7 and he is ready to give you purpose.

“Not a pyromaniac,” Norman tells you in his sales pitch. “Never beat an animal with a rock. Not overtly homophobic in my teasing of my peers. Getting B+ or higher in my schoolwork thus far.”

“This all sounds very appealing,” you tell Norman.

“Well in child-rearing, as in life, there are no guarantees,” Norman says. “That’s family.”

Explain to Norman that you never thought you wanted to raise a child.

“Let me guess,” Norman will say, turning back to his coloring. “You got older.”

Tell him turning 43 sent you into a kind of tailspin.

“What am I living for?” you ask Norman. “What kind of mark am I making?”

Norman will close his coloring book. “A cartoon I saw once,” he’ll begin.

“Go on,” you say.

“The duck. She rode a rocket into the moon and there was a giant puff of moon dust. Her ducklings watched her fly away, watched her explode in the sky,” Norman will say.

“Did it send them reeling?”

Norman shakes his head. “They just looked at each other, like they each wanted the other to provide an explanation. Surely their mother hadn’t just exploded in a puff of moon dust.”

Norman smiles.

“Had she?” you ask.

“She hadn’t,” he says through that adorable smile. “The rocket burst straight through the moon, rode a U-turn and soared back to Earth, dropping Mama duck in front of her babies, and they all cheered her return.”

Norman will place his little hand over yours.

“They knew she wasn’t gone. They had never before considered that she could ever be gone. She was more permanent than the moon in the sky.”

You’ll feel Norman’s words in your blood.

“There’s no more bold a mark you can make than when another human being takes you as a given,” Norman tells you. “A parent is more permanent than anything in a child’s life. Become permanent. Adopt me as your son.”

Tousle Norman’s hair, then stand up and shout at the orphanage director, “I’ll take him!”

As you count out the $80,000 in cash, Norman will say, “You’ve made the right choice, Dad.”

Say, “Speak when spoken to, son.”

Happy Adopt Norman Day!

You Have A Book Deal To Document Spending The Rest Of Your Life In Your House, But You’ve Fallen In Love With Your UPS Carrier Day!

She lives her life in transit, in constant interaction with the world and its inhabitants. It’s her work and her calling. She can’t shut out the world the way you can. Your love is valuable to her, but her work she values as well.

“What kind of a book is that anyway?” she asks. “What is there to document of a life lived in four walls.”

Volumes! you want to scream. You wish you could throw whole chapters at her mid-section to make her feel the heft of all the realms of experience you’ve toured. The wild flights inward. All the questions you’ve had answered by the silence. The many creative yet appropriate names you’ve given your furniture pieces and home accents.

“I once spent two years digging a hole in my kitchen so that I could reside at even further physical depths of my home,” you tell her. “It was a vast, vast land.”

She tells you that she simply can’t continue to see you unless you kiss her under the sun.

“But the book documents a man living the rest of his life under the roof of his home. if I step outdoors I am in breach of my contract,” you explain. “There can be no suspension of the project’s premise. If it were to come out that I occasionally left the house, think of the damage it would do to sales.”

“But you won’t even be alive to watch it sell,” she insists.

“True. The book is supposed to be sent into editing the moment I am declared dead,” tell her.

She says it’s all too sad, but she’s going and she’s never coming back, unless you step outside that front door with her.

Send her on her way. Your book won’t be worth the paper it’s printed on if the story it tells isn’t tragic.

“I love you, and when you go, I’ll love you,” tell her.

She’s crying. She’s angry that this is really your choice.

“Promise me that you’ll outlive me,” plead with her. “Promise me you’ll live long enough to read my book.”

She promises. She goes. You’ll spend some years in regret, and other years knowing it’s for the best. She’ll die two years and eight months before you.

Happy You Have A Book Deal To Document Spending The Rest Of Your Life In Your House, But You’ve Fallen In Love With Your UPS Carrier Day!

Avoid The Common Pitfalls Of Cheating On Your Boyfriend Day!

Pity. Don’t show your boyfriend any pity because you know how cheated on he is. You can’t say stuff like, “I feel so sorry for you” or he’ll start to wonder why and he might think it’s because you’re cheating.

Scattered knives. The guy you cheat on your boyfriend with probably keeps a knife in his boot or in a sheath strapped to the small of his spine and he’ll most likely take it off when he has sex with you in your house. Make sure he takes his knives with him so when your boyfriend comes home he doesn’t find a knife and think, “Hey this isn’t one of my knives. I am suspicious.”

New addictions. You and your boyfriend probably enjoy the same drug and alcohol addictions or you wouldn’t be together. You might be compelled to take on some of the addictions of the guy you cheat on him with just to make him feel more at home with you while you’re having your affair. Don’t. If your boyfriend sees you doing a new drug or drinking lots of alcohol when you normally only enjoy pills, he’ll wonder who exposed you to the new experience and then, ugh, the questions!

Gross new sex moves. Your side-ass will probably teach you how to bend yourself in different ways and he’ll ask you to rub yourself on parts of him you never thought to, and you’ll want to bring that home to your boyfriend to show him all the stuff you’ve learned. Rookie mistake! Your boyfriend and you decided a long time ago exactly what gets shoved where during sex. If you deviate from the plan, he’ll worry there are other penises.

Screaming wrong names. If your boyfriend and your secret mount have different names, you have to make sure you don’t shout the wrong one during sex or when something is about to hit your boyfriend in the head. Learn your boyfriend’s name really well. Use flashcards or iPhone reminders.

New diseases. If neither you nor your boyfriend have ever had AIDS, and then you catch AIDS from your covert piece, you can try to act like you’ve had it all along and you just never bothered to tell your boyfriend, but that might not work. Just to be safe, don’t catch AIDS.

A whole bunch of new stuffed animals all of a sudden. “WHERE DID ALL THESE NEW STUFFED ANIMALS COME FROM ALL OF A SUDDEN??!” That’s what your boyfriend will shout if you bring home a bunch of new stuffed animals that your secret hottie won for you by playing the hoop toss at the carnival. Boyfriends know where new stuffed animals come from. Boys! Stuff them all down a sewer before going home.

Finally, hickeys. Use coverup.

You’re ready. Sneak out the bathroom window and start cheating!

Happy Avoid The Common Pitfalls Of Cheating On Your Boyfriend Day!

Pillow Day!

Today’s the day you get to walk around in public holding a pillow to your chest. You even get to spend some time with your nose buried in the meat of it, breathing in the comforting stench of your own skull sweat. So whether you’re running a day care or you’re the CEO of a fortune 500 company, spend the day clutching a soft, warm, happy pillow to your chest whenever you feel threatened, sleepy, or in need of the mother who withdrew her love for you many years ago you fucking infant.

Happy Pillow Day!

Tell Him It’s Vengeance Day!

You’ve made your decision. You’re staying with Evan.

“Everything’s gray,” Jeff will say. “It’s like, the whole sky just went dark gray. How can you do this?”

Tell Jeff you must have experienced a brief period of insanity.

“Because of course you had to be insane to want to get back together with me,” Jeff will say.

Evan was being cold to you, explain. He was traveling and his phone calls were few and the few were also icy. And you were lonely, explain to Jeff, and so you ran back into a familiar embrace.

“You know this is cruel,” Jeff will tell you.

Tell him it’s vengeance.

“Vengeance?”

Tell him you’re sitting in the exact same office, talking on the same phone you spoke on six months prior when Jeff called to tell you he wanted to end it. Tell him he was careless with your heart, and so he shouldn’t be surprised that you’re breaking his.

“Vengeance,” Jeff will repeat, doubtful.

Tell him again, yes, it’s vengeance.

“This wasn’t vengeance,” Jeff will say.

It wasn’t. It was the irresponsible actions of a confused, under-loved girl who was unhappy with her boyfriend, who is still far from happy with her boyfriend, so she slept with her ex. But don’t tell Jeff that. Tell him it’s vengeance.

“You’re not allowed to call me anymore,” Jeff will say, now with his voice low, a tone devoid of anything resembling affection. “You’re not to speak to me. You can’t email me when you’re alone or when Evan isn’t being nice to you. I’m not going to be your surrogate goddamn boyfriend.”

Tell him you deserve that.

“You deserve nothing,” Jeff will say.

You could explain to Jeff that had he decided he loved you while the two of you were together, instead of six months after he ended it, this wouldn’t be happening. But there isn’t time to explain. Jeff already hung up.

Tell Him It’s Vengeance Day!

Your Husband Isn’t Over His Mother Yet Day!

You blame yourself. As you pour through the emails between them, him asking her how she’s feeling, her asking him if he’s been eating enough, you can’t help but feel like you’re lacking.

How long has this been going on? How long has he been keeping this relationship from you?

How long have you been such a disappointing wife to him that he still keeps in touch with her.

“Are you just keeping her in your back pocket, in case you and I don’t work out?” you should ask him when he gets home. “Do you want to go and see her, to see if there’s still something there between you? Were you lying in your vows when you said I would forever be the only woman for you?”

You could do what so many wives before you have done. Turn a blind eye. Pretend you didn’t read the emails, didn’t see her number on his caller ID, didn’t notice the birthday card.

Or you could work your ass off to be such a fantastic wife, emotionally, spiritually, and sexually, that he finds no need to ever even think about his mother again.

Or…You could suggest an open relationship. It’s gross, but lots of wives do it. You could let him go and visit her on holidays or weekends. Hell you could even cook for the three of you if she wants to come by. If you want to keep your man, even though you’re clearly not woman enough for him, you might just have to share him.

His car just pulled into the driveway. You don’t have to decide how to handle this right now. Just slam his laptop shut, fix your make up, and go give him a kiss that makes him remember why he chose you over her.

Happy Your Husband Isn’t Over His Mother Yet Day!

Harbor The Ex Day!

She’s on the run after an anti-war protest gone wrong (a bystander got burned bad) so you want to let her stay in your basement until the heat dies down. Tell her that if your wife asks, the sex you two had was awful.

“But it was the best sex of my life,” your ex will say.

“Mine too. By a mile. But my wife has to think you were awful in bed in order for you to stay in our basement and hide from the Feds.”

Your ex won’t like it. “Lying about lovers isn’t my style.”

“She’ll report you,” tell your ex. “She’ll have you thrown in jail just to make sure we never have sex again.”

Your ex will ask if she should just open the conversation with a false evaluation of the sex you two shared, or should she wait until the topic comes up organically.

“Just be ready,” tell her. “I’m going to go upstairs and tell my wife that you’re down here. When she comes down, she’s probably going to try and get a sense of the sexual connection is between you and I. She’ll probably just talk to you, and watch you talk to me, to see if there’s any spark. Just put all thoughts of sex out of your mind. Try to forget we were ever anything but good friends.”

“That’s impossible,” your ex will say.

“I know,” tell her. “But just try. My wife is very perceptive. She has ways of figuring out the connections between people. If she wants to know what our sexual chemistry is, trust me, she’ll find a way to figure it out.”

Your ex will agree to do her best. Go upstairs and tell your wife about her. After about ten minutes, you and your wife will come downstairs so you can introduce your wife to your ex.

“I want to watch the two of you fuck,” your wife will say to your ex.

Neither of you will move an inch.

“Take off your clothes and have intercourse,” your wife will say. “I want to know what the sexual kinship is between the two of you, and there’s no other way to do that but to watch you be entered by my husband. Have sex while I watch or I’ll call the police.”

“Told you she’d figure out a way,” you tell your ex as you take off your pants.

“You’re good,” your ex will say to your wife.

“The best,” your wife will say while watching your ex get naked.

“We’ll see about that,” your ex will say. She’ll climb atop you while your wife opens a Diet Pepsi and makes herself comfortable in an armchair.

Happy Harbor The Ex Day!

You’re The Town Breakup Memorialist Day!

You get people to tell you their stories about when and where they break up and what the major malfunction was that sent their relationship into a tailspin, and then you go to those locations and install little plaques without permission. The people of your town love looking under the tables at their diners to find a plaque that reads, “Jeffrey and Chitra. Broken up on these grounds December 5th, 2006. Jeffrey wanted kids. Chitra was looking for more of a cowboy type.” A lot of your plaques get removed, especially when you put them on park benches or other stuff owned by the town, but for the most part people are cool with it. Your town doesn’t really have any kind of historical society, so your obsession with relationship wreckage is the closest they get to a record of the life that’s being lived in your little hamlet.

Today you’re going to attach a plaque to a bus shelter that reads, “Alan and Olivia, May 16th, 2012. Alan cheated. Olivia inherited some money and it gave her a new perspective on what was available to her.” Alan will appear behind you and tap you on the shoulder and say, “You might not want to put that there. I’m going to get her back.”

Tell Alan, “You still broke up here. Even if you get back together.”

Alan will take a swing at you. Let him hit you. They always hit you. When they’re the ones who wish their name wasn’t on the plaque, they always hit you.

“Why do you do this?” Alan will shout down at you as you test the flow of blood from your nose.

Point to the plaque on the fence by the community garden. The one with your name on it, and the name Sylvia. The one dated October 12, 1991. “Thought he could do better. Not a day goes by when he isn’t stunned by how wrong he was,” it says.

“It’s important to me,” tell Alan. “These breakups can’t just be lost to time.”

“Some of us want to forget,” Alan will say.

Tell him he can forget what he wants. The town needs to remember.

“Love died in this town. Love died in this bus shelter. We can’t just sweep that under the rug.”

Alan will read his plaque, touching a finger to it and staining it with your blood. He’ll help you up and hand you your screwdriver. Then he’ll open his car door for you. You have three more plaques to put up before dinner. You’d better let him give you a ride.

Happy You’re The Town Breakup Memorialist Day!

Alan Goes To Jail Tomorrow Day!

Alan goes to jail for involuntary manslaughter and you totally ruined his goodbye party. A going-to-jail goodbye party is supposed to be a wild night full of drinks, prostitutes, running around under bridges shouting retorts at the traffic noise above, maybe a gay moment depending on the mood/weather, a big dinner followed by a separate trip to one of those new out of the way bakeries for dessert, a violent confrontation with the convicted’s accomplice who made a deal with the DA, the exchange of gifts and then bedtime. But your going-away-to-jail party was at a restaurant known for their slow service for large parties, which made the prostitutes sleepy from waiting for you, the dessert place was closed, and the accomplice ended up throwing himself off the back of a ferry before he could be confronted. All you were left with was the gay moment (which was really lovely, but does not a good going-away-to-jail party make).

“I’m sorry I ruined your party,” you tell Alan while he holds you in his arms. “I wanted it to be perfect and overthought things.”

“The fact that you tried to throw me a party,” Alan says. “That you tried to celebrate me, that’s all the party I need.”

Fall asleep for as long as the bridge traffic up above allows, then take Alan for some French Toast. Don’t try to make it perfect by going to a hard-to-get-into brunch place. It’s his last French Toast on the outside with his best friend, so no matter what it tastes like, it’s going to be delicious.

Happy Alan Goes To Jail Tomorrow Day!

Get Out Of Having To Pay Your Speeding Ticket Day!

You got a speeding ticket for doing 87 in a 15 MPH school zone but don’t worry, getting out of paying a speeding ticket is easy. All you have to do is challenge it in court and if the ticketing officer doesn’t show up, it gets thrown out. The key is making sure he doesn’t show up. So on the day of your court appearance, call the police station a half hour before the hearing time and tell them the officer’s wife has been in a horrible accident and she’s in the hospital. The officer will rush to the hospital while you have your hearing. By the time he finds out it was all a hoax, you’ll be watching your ticket get thrown in the garbage!

If you get a lot of speeding tickets, your local police might catch on to the hoaxes so you’ll have to start kidnapping and taking photographs of the policemen’s wives wearing ornate bear-trap looking contraptions like in the Saw movies and send the photos to the police with notes saying they have 15 minutes to solve a puzzle to get the bear trap off or something. The police will rush to wherever you tell them to go and they’ll find they’re able to just pull the bear trap off without any big to-do, but you’ll have already gotten your speeding ticket ripped up so problem solved.

If you really love speeding and you hate paying tickets, you’ll have to start abducting the ticketing policemen themselves. They’ll eventually get wise to you and start hiding their wives every time you get a ticket, so you’ll have to just snatch up the policemen and bury them alive while you’re at your court date, then come back and set them free and ask them if there’s no hard feelings.

Tune in next year to find out how to get points removed from your license using nothing more than a blow torch and an inability to be affected by the sound of human screams.

Happy Get Out Of Having To Pay Your Speeding Ticket Day!

Water Your Downstairs Neighbor’s Plants Day!

While watering your downstairs neighbor’s plants you’ll find a photograph on one of his shelves of your downstairs neighbor with his arms around your shoulders. The memories will come flooding back. Your downstairs neighbor will come out of the closet where he was hiding.

“I thought you were on vacation!”

“I wasn’t. And I’m not your downstairs neighbor. I’m–”

“My husband,” tell him.

“Yes,” he’ll say, smiling. “I got you the apartment above me after you started having spontaneous amnesia not long after our wedding.”

“Because I was so certain it was a mistake that we got married!” you’ll say, crying now because your memories have returned and you finally know who you are again.

“That’s right,” he’ll say, also crying because he’s so glad to have you back, if only briefly.

You and your husband will use your brief window of lucidity to talk about the old times, how he pressured you into marriage, how you agreed to settle for him but soon found it all too disappointing a reality to tolerate so your mind began tricking you into thinking your husband doesn’t even exist.

“I thought about just granting you a divorce,” he’ll say. “If that would cure you. But you didn’t remember ever having been married so no court would grant us one unless you could agree you that were in a marriage that you wanted to dissolve. So I bought the apartment above us. So you could lead your own life until the amnesia has set you free, and I could continue to keep an eye on you and care for you.”

“You did all that for me?” ask him. “You went through all that trouble for me?”

“Yes my sweet,” he’ll say. “Does knowing how much I’ve cared for you make you more accepting of the fact that I’m the man you married? Is it any more tolerable a reality knowing all of this? Do you think your memory might stick around for a while?”

Say to him, “I thought you were on vacation. Why are we sitting on the floor. You’re gross. I’m going back upstairs to my apartment.”

Happy Water Your Downstairs Neighbor’s Plants Day!

Find The Right Porn Day!

Keep searching until you find the right porn clip. The clip should feature two to five participants, it should be obviously consensual yet playfully violent, there should be a political message about economic inequity and also a dustbuster should work its way into the sex pile at some point, the photos on the walls of the set should be mysterious and they should call to mind your own grandparents in that picture taken just after they disembarked at Ellis Island and someone should drink semen from a juice glass, and also it should have Batman in it. Actually skip all the rest just put Batman in it.

Happy Find The Right Porn Day!