I worked my very first twelve hour day yesterday.
Here’s how wacky I was by the end of it: I almost bought a hot dog. From a vending machine.
Last night kids were lighting off fireworks at two in the morning. I went outside in my robe and yelled at them to shut up. I’m officially a grown-up, you guys.
Needless to say, I’m exhausted. I have about 20 entries swimming around in my head, but I need to save my typing fingers for Day Two of Hell Week.
So here’s where you come in: I’m putting you to work. I found this on a friend’s page a long time ago, and I’m passing it along to you. Ready?
“If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don’t speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.
It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.”
Naturally, I reserve the right to censor these memories (TONY), but give it a shot. I know most of you and you’re funnier than me. I write happies all the time, but I really need some happies from you today. And a nap. And possibly a hot dog in ten hours.
EDITED TO SAY: Dude! If you get a Happy Meal right now, you get an INFLATABLE PIRATE SWORD. FYI. I am the coolest girl at the office right now.
3 responses to “I’m Tired. You Write It.”
Okay. One time when I was in St. Louis, Steph called me and told me to come over to her apartment. It was a rainy, stormy night, and she is deadly afraid of thunderstorms. I went over there to comfort her, when she offered me two pills. One pink and one blue. I thought I was in The Matrix. So being the metrosexual that she thinks I am, I took the pink pill. After about an hour, I started to feel a little sick. I went outside to get some air, when she came out to smoke a cigarette. “How do you feel?” “I don’t feel too good babe,” and as I said that I had to run inside and sit on the toilet. Steph came to the bathroom door and said,” you chose the peptobismol when you could of had the viagra. Nice choice Tony. That was your one chance and you shit on it.”
One time Steph and I were in Paris at the top of the Eiffel tower and we were debating how much to take a zip line from the top of the Eiffel Tower to a building about a mile away and land in a tank of sharks. Of course you would be wearing a roast beef ski mask and trunks while doing this but you would get a spear. So then someone pointed out that this zip line did exist and so did the shark tank and roast beef accessories and spear. So I did it for ten thousand dollars and lost both my legs. Steph then stole that money and knocked over my wheelchair. Thanks alot.
Tony, your story was super cute and clever.
Meursault, your story kicks ass. Although, the first half is completely true. I’m not sure what that says about us, except that we fucking rule. Now I finally know what would’ve happened with that zip line. Whew!
I think Frank needs to write a story about Capri.