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 had never bought fireworks before.
As a child fireworks were illegal in Illinois. If, in high school, you wanted to shoot bottle rockets at your friends while running around a golf course drunk at midnight, you needed to travel out of state to procure the armament. The statutes must have been repealed because this weekend I came across a tent on the way to my parent’s home chock full of China’s best. Google Maps was navigating me through a rural part of the state when I saw the fireworks stand. It was situated in a cornfield with a huge sign revealing that that tent had the “best prices guaranteed.” I almost didn’t stop, however.
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.
Science class was always difficult for me.
Throughout my schooling I struggled to earn a decent grade in science. As an adult looking back I realized that most of my education consisted of being taught facts that I attempted to memorize and then retrieve. My memory is poorer than my intelligence would suggest. I’m not a dumb guy, but I have a dumb memory. Not a great combination – smart and forgetful. Thank God the internet came to be in my lifetime. I no longer have to remember much of anything. I have immediate access to facts and am not penalized on my inability to recall items from my swiss cheese brain.
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!
Tara Wood is a mother of seven, humor blogger, and public speaker. She writes at LoveMorningWood and routinely says things you would have loved to hear from your friend’s mom, but would have been horrified to hear from your own mother’s lips. This is why she’s on the show. She’s clearly in need of more effective contraception. Let’s get on that, eggheads!
When I sold the condo, I let the new owners keep the fire pit.
It was too heavy to move to my girlfriend’s place. I had built it eleven years prior – the first time my hands had ever touched a saw. The base was a wooden box that I cut and nailed together. If you’ve never built a box there’s a bunch of complicated math you have to figure out. I bought slabs of marble to affix to the sides and built up row after row of broken slate around the gas fire kit. Inside the box was a propane tank. Okay, enough talk about the stupid fire pit. It’s boring.
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.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
