Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Warning: All Emails are Considered for Publication Without Consent

I've teased a few times that I was going to start publishing emails between my good friend G and myself. Because I'm narcissistic and vain like that. But also because she's hilarious. And also, I'm lazy. So, there you go. I got her to unwittingly write half my post. SUCKER!

*****

To: G
From: K

Dude, I feel like I haven't talked to you in 16 years and it's weighing on my heart. Along with my overindulgence in baked goods.

So how are things? What's new with the house? Any crazy neighbors?

The boys are taking over this house, forming alliances and secret societies. Plus One is partly potty trained, but uses this to assert power. I am dominated by shit. In a literal sense. Please cry a bit for me.

T9 is a climber and when I scold him, he giggles. I hope he's not like that Good Son kid in the movie. Again, crying is appreciated.


*****

To: K
From: G

Oh, Kristine. I will surely shed a tear for you. Those boys are too smart for their own good. Secret societies already? Damn. You need to infiltrate that shit.

We DO have a bit of entertainment lately here at the house. It's in the form of a 21-year old Irish dude. Yup, we're hosting a kid for 6 weeks.

So, basically, we're getting a glimpse at what it would be like to have a teenage boy in the house.

There's lots of doors slamming (this kid does nothing gently); we go through pounds of deli ham and mayonnaise (he even eats ham and cheese sandwiches for breakfast); I totally found that he was surfing porn on my computer (ew. gross); his room is gross and smelly (will need to clean with gasoline when he leaves); and we've had 2am phone calls (from his friend who couldn't remember where he lived). Oh, and the cops (got picked up walking on the highway). Oh, and weird friends staying over. Oh, and he totally lent my deodorant to his weird friend.

But really, he's super nice and charming! Heh. I'll miss him when he goes. (Seriously, he came home one day after being missing for 3 days. He was limping. His shirt was covered in blood and Hawaiian punch and he reeked like booze. Ah, youth.)

But how are you doing?

*****
To: G
From: K

Excellent idea! I think I'll infiltrate the group by posing as a member. Still not sure if I should don a full-sized teddy-bear costume or a baby get-up.

Get back to me with your opinions.

And, I'm not even sure what to say about the Irish kid. The mother in me is itching to scold him, hide his money, and send him away to rehab. But the awesome in me is making a little "rock on!" sign with my right hand. WHILE TYPING. See?--> \m/

I can't wait to see you when you're in town next. I am doing remarkably well; I am staying on the sane side of the crazy fence, thanks to my therapist. [Ed note: Yes, the one who likes lesbians. And Harleys.]. I kind of want her to be my friend in real life, but that's the kind of creepy stuff they are probably medicating me for in the first place.


*****

To: K
From: G
I'm glad to hear you're staying on the sane side of crazy.

I think I have the extreme version of the PPD or whatever they call it. I mean, seriously, for about one day out of each month I'm just one crazy bitch. My poor husband. I totally get angry at inanimate objects and everyone is out to get me. And then he totally breathes wrong.

And then, THEN, I'm all "Wow, do you remember how crazy I was yesterday? Wasn't that a trip?" Then I laugh and I look over and my husband is shaking and crying in the corner. He better stock up on armor for menopause.

OH . . . I'm going to ramble for a second:

At work, I'm working on these little books for urban schools and I was told that my vocabulary wasn't hip. Not hip, as in, I don't know what the kids are saying these days. WTF? And you know who told me this? A lady(ies) over the age of 60. Again, what the hell. THEN. The girl I sit next to who is "put together" and dresses "professionally" for work and who I think probably showers more than me, SHE was told that she needs to read all the manuscript for "hipness." Fucking hipness. She was born in 1980. When was I born? 1979. I felt shamed and old. Then, I noticed a grey hair and some wrinkles. I'm going to buy some slacks tomorrow and watch my stories on teevee. And then I'll use my typewriter and write someone an effin letter.

*****

I believe she's for hire, kids. Typewritten emails (is that possible?) are extra.



4 comments:

  1. Oh, these are a scream. But that is so not a hip word. Then again, I graduated HS in 1979 so you know what MY hipness factor is...

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  2. Nice blog you got here... Just droppin' by to say hi! http://www.arts-and-entertainment.info

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  3. As entertaining as this is, really the part that spoke to me was the part about wanting to be friends with the therapist.
    I totally feel the same way about mine. He's so great, and I could be wrong, but I really feel in my soul that he and his partner would be great at drunken charades. I have an instinct about these things.

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