An Open Letter

Dear Joel,

I just wanted to let you know that I hate you. A lot.

Your book is so funny it made my boyfriend snort. In public, no less. And from a book, to boot!

Just because you are funny and famous and sexy doesn't mean that you can go around making people's boyfriends look like geeks. Said people's boyfriends don't need the help.

Love and Kisses,
Bob

"Volumes to Go Before You Die"

As a warning, this post might be unsafe for work environments

Recently, the New York Times reviewed an book titled 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die, and the author of the article basically made the point at what a skewed, biased book this is, a parlour game for snotty pseudo-intellectuals to see who can come up with the most obscure classic. It's a coffee-table book to set up literary based arguements for English majors who don't do anything but sit at home and read books and need an outlet to express their superiority.

Being a snotty pseudo-intellectual, I immediately checked the book out from the library and counted to see how many books on the list I had read. The reviewer estimated that he had read 303 titles, which I totally thought I could beat, seeing as how I average about three books a week.

Unfortunately, I was schooled. Schooled hard. After making checkmarks in the index, I realized that I have only read 212 of the 1001 books I need to read before I die. That's a measly 21%.

Fortunately, my current crop of books covering the naughty bits of hot guys include five books on the list, so at least I'm on the right track. I had started all of them before I found the article, and the sixth is non-fiction.

Now if 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die had been made my way, using mostly naked men, there's a coffee table book I would actually buy.

War and Peace by Tolstoy, trans Bromfield



Man in the Grey Flannel Suit by Sloan Wilson


Life of Pi by Yann Martel


Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe


Foe by J.M. Coetzee


United States of Arugula by David Kamp

I'm Sick

And despite Initials best intentions, he's not doing such a great job taking care of me. I give you three examples why.

1. He says things like "I know how you feel. I feel miserable most of the time, so I guess I'm just used to it."

2. He gives me a choice as to what I want for dinner-- "You can chose either red or orange pepper in the saffron rice we're having as a side to the tuna steaks."

3. He cuddles and makes sure I'm nice and snug in bed, but that means he can't cover his mouth when he coughs, and I wake up with spittle on my cheeks and shoulder.

Ew.

At least he gets points for trying.

If you can't say anything nice, post a quiz!

Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2

"Sky falls, you feel like It's a beautiful day Don't let it get away" You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments. And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too.

What's Your Theme Song?

That quiz sucked. I hate U2.

Here's a muxtape with some better suggestions of my theme songs.

Karma?

Even though I graduated a year and half ago, I live closer to campus now than I ever did as a student. Sure, it gets kind of annoying when the entire downtown revolves around the campus, but that's not always a bad thing, especially when the weather starts getting nice and there are more and more shirtless guys playing frisbee and going for runs and all sorts of physical exhertion without a shirt. There's a lot of eye candy usually visible from my window. There's that, and also I really like living two blocks away from work.

Except for three houses down. The ugly frat house is right there, and the ones you'd want to be shirtless are never shirtless and the ones who shouldn't be, are. They're always covering up the sidewalk with their stupid cornholing game (and no, not the fun kind of cornholing) so I have to walk on the grass to bypass them. There's always at least one pile of vomit-like substances in the hedges or on their driveway that I have to sidestep to avoid. They're not one of the loser frats, they're just one of the dirtier, annoying frats.

Or at least they were, because last night, after after-rehearsal drinks, I could hear the sirens and see the flashing lights, growing stronger as I got closer to my building.

The motherfuckers are on fire. Or at least the frat house is (everyone survived). Normally I would feel bad, but it's the annoying frat, and it means that I'll be able to walk to work without them covering up the sidewalks. If they were the cute frat boys, I might feel bad that their house burnt to the ground in the middle of finals. But it's not them, so instead it's just schadenfreude.

Plus, now my apartment kind of smells like campfire, which is nice.

Note to Self:

As much as I consider myself to be one of those "classy homosexuals," on occasion going to the crappy gay bar with the boyfriend and our threesome partner and singing "Hot in Herre" and "Bootylicious" at Karaoke Night isn't the end of the world.

Well, for me at least.

Initials and I left around midnight so he wouldn't turn into a pumpkin, and our threesome buddy was having some success with one of the more attractive people at the bar (even if he was wearing a retainer). We thought we were leaving him in good (or at least busy) hands (and lips).

Fast forward to 2 AM, when a police officer uses our buddy's phone to call me to take care of him that night, because he was found passed out on the side of the street with a homeless person rifling through his pockets and a couple of nasty scrapes on his forehead and arms. It was either spending the night in the drunk tank or having a responsible friend take him home and watch him. And that was me.

Initials slept through the entire thing, though I did wake him up and inform him that my queen-sized bed was going to feel a little crowded tonight. Somehow, I got stuck in the middle, and was clamped like a vice for the duration of the night. Also, both of them snore. Loudly. And they were drunk and sweaty and handsy while they slept. Plus a car alarm went off in the parking lot.

Consequently, I only slept for about two hours last night. And I leave for work soon, and looking at the schedule I'm going to be dealing with roves of preschoolers for most of the day.

Did I really say that going out to Karaoke wouldn't be the end of the world at the beginning of this post? Because I'm pretty sure I take that back.