I was dumped recently.
Should you feel sorry for me? Sure, why not? I like attention. But here’s the good news. According to my single lady friends, the quality of men who are forty years old and single are a real horror show. So are most of the women, but I’m not worried. Crazy people find crazy people. And, thankfully, according to my therapist I’m not crazy. I pay her good money to re-confirm this opinion every week.
In case you didn’t see the previous announcement, Allison Arnone and myself are here to fix your stupid problems. First up is the hassles around your work environment. You wrote in, and we wrote out. Enjoy.
What should I do about a coworker who talks incessantly at my neighbor’s desk, who fails to recognize my “go away glares”.
I always wanted a writing partner. One with boobs, preferably.
Well, let me back that up. Actually I have never wanted a writing partner. I’m far too controlling and I believe my creative ideas are superior to others. Or, if someone was more talented than me and I knew it, the unconscious jealousy would cause me to undermine our efforts until the whole thing imploded. Plus, I just do not play well with others when it comes to comedy. Now, that being said, I’ve always still wanted to be around people as funny as me. Or funnier. Years ago I started writing for Aiming Low, when that was still a thing. I was hired on their JV squad with two other humorists. One is a syndicated columnist in 400 newspapers. The other received an “A” from Entertainment Weekly on her recent book. Both are insanely funny. When it was announced I’d be on the team, I became very scared. This is a good thing. It caused me to up my game and compete at their level. Someone thought I had enough potential with literally zero writing credits to my name. That meant something to me. And I wasn’t going to let them down.
I don’t know why I’d never thought of this before.
Over the years I’ve been asked to do interviews. Most of the time they go live (like this one on InThePowderRoom). But other times, for reasons not disclosed to me, the interview never surfaces. Which is fine, of course. This has happened about a dozen times. I never take it personally aside from setting up a fake Twitter account to troll the publication incessantly with tweets about how the head editor sleeps with livestock and may be involved in terrorist sleeper cell recruitment.
Sometimes I have to let an idea incubate.
Every month I pen a short piece for InThePowderRoom, probably the greatest humor blog on the web. Or, more accurately, the greatest humor blog on the web that has asked me to contribute. And every month, the head editor Sarah reminds me a week before my deadline. The column is titled “What Does He Think?” and involves reviewing products designed for women, but from a male perspective. And since I’m not a broad, each month I freak out because I don’t know much about women’s products. Obviously I’m up on all the latest lip plumper glosses (who isn’t?), but I can’t write about that every month. I’m a professional, dammit!
Once in a while I make a good life decision. Recently, I worked out an exclusive content agreement with beloved humor site InThePowderRoom. This means I write fresh stuff for them every month.
My deadline for this month’s article is Thursday. I’m nowhere near finished. It’s a funny idea but I need to cram in a few more jokes before submitting it to the head editor, Sarah. She and I go way back and the last thing either one of us wants is for her to have to tell me the piece sucks and to rewrite.
Menstruation is both gross and offensive.
It is, however, one of those unavoidable consequences that a male must endure if he so chooses to co-habitate with a female of breeding age. Sure, the lady also endures, I SUPPOSE, but they’re not on the other end of the wild mood swings, irritability, and all of that howling during a full moon. Oh, and once a woman starts “the turn,” even though her cycle stops I hear all sorts of other craziness begins. Like chin hair and loss of bladder control.
Is meeting me in person going to fulfill a life-long fantasy for you?
Judging by the number of people who show up randomly at my doorstep (zero) and those that I’ve needed to get a restraining order against (not one), I would assume I’m not on too many bucket lists. Which is okay, I SUPPOSE.
Normally, I mail out a handful of holiday cards to readers.
In previous years I’ve held contests to win these valueless (but sentimental) items. I’ve sent cards to Africa, Australia, and a bunch of other continents that I can’t recall at the moment. This year, however, I wasn’t able to get the whole thing going prior to the holidays. Yes, I completed the card, but it was only sent to my innermost circle. Friends and family. Oh, and the fishmonger with the shop a few blocks over. He gave me a good deal on tuna steaks last fall. The good news is that even though only my close friends and family members received a card, you too can electronically enjoy this year’s creation. In this very post, no less! What good fortune!
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
