Reverse Therapy

Sitting comfy-cozy cross-legged sharing secretz with mah sistah/grrlfriend/BFF-style on the couch in the living room, I had just gotten off the phone with a bosom buddy of mine when my priceless mother walked over and asked completely innocently, “Remember when you used to complain to me about not having any friends?”

Aw gee. And I was doing so well trying to forget.

Tune in next week for another heartwarming to the point of blood-boiling episode of “Living With Parents!”

Feelin’ (op)pressed.
photo courtesy of Flickr and boboroshi

Everything I Need to Know I Learned From Craigslist

Dear Craigslist Potential Purchaser of My Brand-New Size 8 Purple Classic Cardy Ugg Boots,

Um, where to even start?

I have a wishbone to pick with you.

[It’s a wishbone and not a regular bone because I really wish that you would take things between us a little more seriously. So along with my grievance, I am also sending some well-intentioned hope and goodwill that we can come to a place of mutual understanding.]

When you decided that you wanted my impulsively-bought purple corduroy Ugg boots which I put up for sale solely on the basis that I did not want to be rocking yarn legs for the summer plus I did not know they were made with sheepskin, just how urgent exactly was your desire for them?

At the time, I thought you were for real. Yeah, that’s right, for real.

I offered the boots at half off the sale price at which I originally bought them. Already a serious bargain. You offered me your genuine interest in owning said boots and 80 percent of my selling price. This is not a word or logic problem. It’s just the facts. As far as I could tell, the boots were as good as yours.

Except something went awry, didn’t it?

Where exactly?

Oh, I don’t know.

How about that you never responded when I asked for a good time and location to make the exchange? You just somehow expected the boots to magically teleport into your possession and my wallet to simultaneously fill with chump change.

The travails of “communicating” on the Internet.
photo courtesy of Flickr and CarbonNYC

Then, a few days later, apropos of nothing, you wrote me again asking if I still had the boots and quoting a price even lower than your first price and offering a location for the drop-off.

Scare tactic or just plain gumption?

Sadly, I still had them as you were the only person who expressed any interest in purchasing winter boots in the summertime to begin with. I did appreciate that about you. We did share that quality.

Then the gears ground to a halt once more because I agreed again quite naively, asked for your original offer, and put forth an acceptable time frame and place. Again, you did not respond.

If anybody would believe it because I can’t at this point, about three weeks later, you wrote me again asking about the boots. This time, it was like I had won a little of your trust. You not only gave a location, consistent price, and date for the exchange, you also went ahead and gave me a time block.

Aha! The wary stray pup is finally eating right out of my hand.

But alas, I got too confident. I put the boots in the trunk of my car and expected the best possible outcome.

But when push came to shove, you just couldn’t deliver, could you?

I had the boots, the time frame, the location, the vehicle, and the date in aligned harmony. All that was left was an exact time for the physical exchange of goods for money.

But you, you left me hanging! You let those poor woven feet-n-calf-clingers melt in the back of my car.

It was all over as far as I was concerned.

It is like a frustrating and lonely game of Whack-a-Mole, in fact.
photo courtesy of Flickr and CarbonNYC

And now, two months later, the coup de grace, you write me again just to “check in if I still have these boots! Let me know! Thanks!”?!?!

As if it’s no big deal! Dishonoring everything that has already happened between us! What do you take me for? Probably the guileless naif that I am, but camman.

As far as I can tell, the sacred vendor-seller covenant has been violated not one, but copious times, with your dubious behavior. Please desist with your tomfoolery and pull-over-eyes-woolery!

In fact, I think the boots leave all that is left to be said, plain and simple: Ugg.

I just want a clean break.

Sheepishly & Anonymously,

Joke’s on Me! *Hahahahahaha…Cut to Sobbing*

Tragically, this is not an April Fool’s day fake post, but oh, how I wish it was! But it’s so rather bizarrely fitting anyway.

Recently, I got a very nice fan email. I know! A fan mail! I was equally as bemused as you, gentle reader.

This person caught an improv show of mine recently and “didn’t really get where I was coming from” (red flag? prrrhaps) so they did some Web-vestigating, and said, upon perusing some of my other comedy clips, that they enjoyed my work. Very nice, very nice indeed. I did a standard amount of bragging about it within my inner circle.

But then. I broke a golden rule of the performer-audience member continuum. I wrote back and opened up with some sincere sentiments of gratitude and tiny, well-intentioned overshares such as my comedic history, current musings, etc.

Which led to him writing back and opening up with some sincere sentiments of his own…


…I don’t think you’re ready…

…no, wait for it…

…seriously, just wait…

…it’s coming, and you better be prepared…

…ok, last warning…

“To be totally honest: when I saw you in the [improv show], I thought you might have a speech problem or developmental disability. Having seen your [YouTube clips], I no longer think that. It seems you’re trying on different approaches.”

My first reaction was I just choked on what would usually be considered a standard breath of oxygen.

Excuse me while I go look up feedback and see the part I overlooked where it involves commenting on my brain capacity. The best thing is that this person was, by all appearances, trying to be encouraging. I am at a loss for words probably due to lack of bloodflow to my amygdala (where the emotions/fear responses lurk).

Thank you! And good night!


Maximum pwnage achieved!
original photo courtesy of Flickr and bread_man_017