Wednesday, March 30, 2011

He’s A Nobody Day!

When your husband leaves the room to get more wet wipes, lean into your baby’s crib and whisper, “Don’t worry about him. He’s a nobody.”

Your husband will come in and say that he heard you. Explain that you just didn’t want your baby to think he was some kind of big shot just because he’s the tallest guy in the room.

“I’m not a nobody,” he’ll say.

Ask him if he’s famous. Ask him if he’s been given any awards recently. Ask him about the last time his name was a trending topic on a social media site. You’ll be out of breath by now, but if you can, ask him what would happen if he walked into a fancy a restaurant tonight and didn’t have a reservation.

“I read about this in the books. You’re claiming her. In the first few months parents can feel like they’re competing for the baby’s love.”

“I’m just telling my baby the truth.”

“I don’t want my child–”

“To know her father? These are all facts. If you want to hide your true self from your baby then why don’t you just leave us alone? I won’t have my baby raised by a duplicitous man.”

Your husband will walk out of the room, his head hanging low. When he does, lean into your baby’s crib and whisper, “See? Total zero.” Then pull out the past five year’s tax forms and read your husband’s total net gross income to your baby until the little angel falls asleep.

Happy He’s A Nobody Day!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Blame The Gangs Day!

If you’re having an affair and you get home from the affair-having too late to not arouse suspicion from your husband, tell him the street gangs held you up.

“They grabbed my purse and played keepaway,” tell him. “I had to jump up and down for a half hour trying to get it back while they laughed.”

“Damn gangs,” your husband will say.

“Then they made me pick which public building they were going to graffiti. I told them I didn’t want to, but they made me choose. So now, whenever I drive past the post office and see the graffiti on it, I have to know I had a hand in that.”

“I wish I could clean this world up for you,” your husband will say. “I want you to be able to live in a better world.”

“I can still smell their leather jackets,” say. “I’m going to take a shower.”

When you go into the bathroom you’ll find your husband’s secretary naked and hiding in the shower and your husband will run in and shout “Where’d she come from? A street gang must have put her there!"  You and your husband will laugh together and then amicably divorce.

Happy Blame The Gangs Day!

Monday, March 21, 2011

Your High School Boyfriend Is Dead Day!

The principal keeps calling your house, just to check up on you and let your mom know that you can take all the time you need.

Your teachers keep stopping by to drop off your homework, as well as some novels that aren’t a part of the curriculum but that they think might help you get through this.

Your little brother comes home every day with his backpack filled with notes from your friends, little crafts that other boys, breathing boys, have made for you in wood shop.

Ever since your high school boyfriend died, you’ve been able to stay up in your room listening to music and watching cable. Your blinds are drawn and no one makes you eat anything. The whole school, the whole town, is aware that this is your time to grieve.

“We all knew Ricky. He touched all of our lives. But no one understood him better than the girl who held his hand on the way to English class.” So began the local newspaper’s editorial on the morning after Ricky gasped his last and finally succumbed to the injuries sustained in the car crash. So began the shift of concern for Ricky to sympathy for you.

You’ve stayed in your room, for 22 hours out of ever day, sneaking out every night at one am to meet Henry in the woods behind the school. You don’t kiss, you don’t drink, you don’t do anything but sit next to each other in those dark woods and stare at the tree branches lit up by the moon. Henry was Ricky’s best friend. He’s the only one who knows what a relief it is that Ricky is finally gone.

“He shone too bright,” Henry said to you on the first night you met him in the woods. “I was grateful that he chose me as his friend. I hated him for how grateful I was.”

“I knew I could never be anybody but Ricky’s girlfriend,” you told Henry.

“And I was Ricky’s best friend. My entire high school existence was nothing more than an orbit around Ricky.”

You get sick of Henry’s complaining. At least no one cares about Ricky’s best friend. At least he’s not expected to spend the rest of his senior year in mourning. He doesn’t have to play the part of widow at 17. You’ll tell him that tonight.

“Let’s go then,” he’ll say. “Let’s run away.”

“What’ll we do?”

Henry will shrug. “We’ll get jobs. We’ll go and work somewhere where they never heard of Ricky.”

Henry will rise and give you a hand to pull you up. You’ll go to your house first to get a bag of clothes and food, then to Henry’s. Then you’ll disappear forever, and everyone from your high school will hate you forever. You were supposed to be there for them. All year, until graduation day, you were supposed to let them know that Ricky will live on in the girl who would never feel better again.

Happy Your High School Boyfriend Is Dead Day!

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Onboarding Day!

Take him there on the confidentiality agreements. Use that pile of unread yet signed and dated promises to keep things hush hush as a cushion while you engage in three of the seven behaviors detailed in the employee conduct manual section 3C-12: “Inappropriate Relationships and Mediation Processes Preceding Disciplinary Action.”

He’ll have some questions when you’re both buttoning.

“What now?”

Now you’ll direct him to fingerprinting and set up a time for him to get his ID photo taken.

“No, you and me now.”

Tell him if he intends to blackmail you, his name will go out to every HR admin in the city. Tell him your kind sticks together. Tell him the HR network would never let one of their own take a fall for tappng a piece of ass during an onboarding.

“I wouldn’t,” he’ll say. “I just want to know, do you do this a lot? Or was I…”

This was your first. Something in his eyes flicked a switch inside you that made you want to be reckless, do something to burn your career to the ground, maybe send you home with a cardboard box and a confession to your husband. Would that switch have been flicked had you not been staring into those new hire eyes? No telling. More importantly, will the switch be flicked again when you bump into him in the copy room? No telling.

“I do it all the time,” tell him. “You’re just a file I have to alphabetize.”

The buttoning (the buttoning takes forever!) will be just about over. You’ll keep your eyes on your daughter’s photo, knowing he’s keeping his eyes on you. Staring at your daughter’s face, you feel only chaos.

“See you around the office,” he’ll say, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Welcome to the company,” tell him. Once he’s gone, find a band aid to cover the wound you just dug into your palm with your fingernail.

Happy Onboarding Day!

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Get Away From The Window Sarah Day!

Get away from the window Sarah. You’re not in love you’re just unemployed and that boy down there on the sidewalk in the rain he’s never going to go back home if you keep giving him a face to moon up at.

Get away from the window Sarah. Girls are human like everybody else. Girls get those dark times, the ones that last two years and eight months, when they’re pretty sure that nothing better’s ever going to happen again. Boys like the one on the sidewalk, they prey on those moments. It’s all they have. They pout like puppies and try to convince you that love is supposed to happen between a pretty girl up in a window and whichever boy is willing to embarrass himself the most for her.

Get away from the window Sarah. You only have sixteen months left of this terrible week. Sink into alcohol or a cult or a job at a non-profit. Just don’t sink into a boy. Not until you find the boy who belongs up in the window, with you on the sidewalk, wondering what in God’s name you’re going to have to do, how cold that rain is going to get, before he finally decides he can’t do better and so condescends to buzz you in.

Just get away from the window Sarah. I promise there’s a boy out there who’s better, better than you.

Happy Get Away From The Window Sarah Day!

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

Fire Your Dance Boy Day!

The economy’s in the shitter so you can’t afford all your extra perks anymore. First and foremost is your Dance Boy. Give him the pink slip!

“Check out this new move,” your Dance Boy will say when you enter the 10,000 square foot studio you built exclusively for him. He’ll get up on his toes and spin once. It will be a really pedestrian move and he’ll kind of stumble at the end of it.

“That was great,” tell him. “But I have some bad news.”

“Wait,” he’ll say. “Check this out.”

Your Dance Boy will bob his head like he’s leaning up against a wall, absently grooving to a tune. It can barely even be called dancing.

“I need you to listen to me, Garret,” tell your Dance Boy. “I can’t afford you anymore.”

Your Dance Boy will grab a tee shirt and pull it on. Then he’ll find his underwear and pants, turning his back to you while he dresses.

“They’ll kill me out there you know,” he’ll say.

“You’ve never said who’s after you,” tell him. “After all these years, why won’t you tell me.”

Your Dance Boy will wave away your concern. “If you knew who they were they’d have to come for you too.”

He’ll ties his sneakers and start packing a back.

“You know I’d keep you forever if I could,” tell him. “But I just can’t afford to be so extravagant as to have a boy in the house who just lays around naked, occasionally getting up off the floor to groove a bit. Really, I thought you’d have learned some more steps by now.”

“I’ve been too worried!” he’ll say. “They could have come bursting through that door at any second.”

“Who?” ask him. “Ever since I found you running down that alley, you refused to tell me who was chasing you. If you’d just let me in, I could help keep you safe.”

Your Dance Boy will say, “Your obligation to me has ended. It was an honor to be your Dance Boy.”

You’ll grab him and stuff some hundred dollar bills into his pocket.

“Do you think that maybe you’re just making up these people chasing you?” ask him. “Do you think you’re just afraid of going out there and making a life on your own?”

Your Dance Boy will nod weakly. “Yeah, that’s probably it,” he’ll say. “I’ll be fine. Sorry you can’t afford me anymore.”

Your Dance Boy will hug you goodbye, then he’ll step out the door of his dance studio and immediately be shot in the top of the skull by a waiting sniper.

When you kneel beside him and scream no at the sky, focus your anger on the investment banks. They put you in the position of having to send your Dance Boy out to meet his assassin. The investment banks killed your Dance Boy. It’s not worth seeking vengeance or anything because how many people would you have to kill, really? But you could at least write an op-ed about it or something.

Happy Fire Your Dance Boy Day!

Tuesday, March 08, 2011

You Just Got Caught Fuckin’ Day!

Tonight is your anniversary and you and your husband are going to go to a hotel and have sex for the first time in five months. You’ve been terrified of having to have sex tonight. After so long, you worried that if the passion wasn’t there, it would confirm what you’ve been suspecting for over decade: that you married the wrong man.

You’ll be nervous while eating the room service dinner, both of you making chit-chat about work and the kids and the design of the hotel lobby. Each bite will feel like a turn of the arms on a countdown clock. As soon as you finish your dinner, you’ll have to rise from the table, kiss, then move to the bed. How on earth could that possibly happen?

“I had an affair in 2002,” your husband will say suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

It will feel like the room flipped through the air and sent you flying to the roof. You’ll be unsure of whether to scream, to throw a drink in his face, or what. Finally, you’ll settle on saying the following: “I had an affair in 2005.”

Your husband will ask, “Do you think about him a lot?”

Say, “No. I think about you a lot.”

You and your husband will rise from the table and move to the bed while kissing, you’ll move like water down a stream bed, fluid and perfect. In that bed, you’ll transform, you’ll know that a new wonderful stage of your marriage has begun. You won’t feel the passion you felt when you first met. You won’t feel the love you felt when you first married. You’ll feel something altogether new, and mature, and honest. You’ll feel like you and your husband possess a secret that could topple the world.

While he’s in inside of you, a panel will open in the ceiling and a TV monitor will drop from the ceiling. On the TV will be TV personality Larry Crowne. He’ll be standing in front of a studio audience and he’ll announce, “You two just got caught fuckin’!”

The door to your room will open and several dwarves will run into the room to present you with a check for $25,000. On the monitor, Larry will play back some of the footage of your sex act and the studio audience will laugh when they’re supposed to, and go awww when they’re supposed to. “Looks like you two really jumpstarted the old marriage engine tonight,"Larry will say. "Whatcha gonna do with all that money?”

You and your husband will say it at the same time. “We’ve always wanted to go to Paris!”

Happy You Just Got Caught Fuckin’ Day!

Monday, March 07, 2011

Let’s Pretend Mom And Dad Never Met Day!

Today you and your brother are going to pretend that your parents never met.

“That way we would never have been brothers and we would never have fallen for the same girl,” you’ll say.

“I fell for her first,” your brother will say. “12 years ago. I married her 8 years ago.”

“And then I fell for her three months ago,” you’ll say. “Yes, I know the dates. But if our parents never met, you and I would probably have never met either. We wouldn’t even have been in the same social circles. So we never would have come in contact with, and fallen for, the same girl. Right?”

Your brother will point out that if your parents had never met, neither of you would even exist.

“And we never would have fallen for the same girl!” you’ll say. “Then we definitely wouldn’t have! Right?”

Your brother will ask, “Do you love her?”

Don’t answer. Say, “I’d happily not ever have existed if it means that you and I wouldn’t be fighting over some girl. I’d prefer to be wiped from the universe’s memory than fight with you over what’s in our hearts.”

Your brother will ask, “Does she love you?”

Say, “Let’s just pretend. For the day. Let’s just pretend Mom and Dad never met.”

“Did she say she’s going to leave me for you?” your brother will ask.

Say yes.

Happy Let’s Pretend Mom And Dad Never Met Day!

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Digging Under The Girls Locker Room Day!

You and Felix are digging into the ground underneath the girls locker room so that you can drill a hole into the floor and look up at the girls as they undress.

“Why couldn’t we have dug under the girls locker room at school?” Felix will ask when he hits another layer of rock. “We don’t even know what kind of girls are members of this Crunch gym location.”

“Keep digging,” you tell Felix.

After digging for three weeks straight, Felix will start to go mad (the two of you have been living down there, sharing the air and sleeping standing up in that dirty four foot wide hole). He’ll decide that you’re going to cheat him out of his share of the treasure he discovered (his shovel hit a chest containing approximately $3.2 billion in emeralds. You explained that since the shovel he was digging with came from your dad’s garage, where your dad placed it after spending the 14 bucks for it at Ace Hardware, he has to split the treasure with you). Felix will confront you with bloody intent.

“Rrrrrghhaglllmmmmph,” he’ll say. His speech will have devolved considerably.

“No one’s cheatin’ nobody,” you’ll say. Then you’ll drive your hammer against the chisel aimed at the ceiling up above, and a beam of light will shine down upon you from the crack you just made.

“Felix,” you’ll say. “We done it!”

You’ll pin your good eye up against the crack to watch a woman in a sports bra and danskins remove a large bandage from the leaky blister on her foot.

“The promised land,” you’ll say.

Felix will drive his shovel into your neck, killing you instantly. The treasure his and his alone, he’ll stay down there with it in the dark hole to make sure no one tries to trick him out of it again. Fourteen days later, Felix will die.

When some of the fine ladies of Crunch Gym alert a trainer to the smell, Crunch Gym will dig into the ground and find you, Felix, and the emeralds. Since the treasure was buried under a Crunch Gym, the Crunch Gym company will claim the treasure and use the $3.2 billion to replace some treadmills.

Happy Digging Under The Girls Locker Room Day!