Missives from the Mailbag

From Pink-Haired Housewife:
Ignore the ex. Exes are exes for a reason, and - if he broke up with you it's totally his loss. I loathe that whole breaking up then attemping to get back together thing. It's so ninth grade. It's so...walking around with your hand on someone's butt sort of almost touching their crotch from BEEE-HIND. It's so...listening to Journey's "Open Arms" with tears in your eyes too messed up on Break Up to realize that it's Journey and it's shitty and it's wrong to even be listening to it muchless crying real tears while Steve Perry wails like a banshee.

Whatever.

---

Did I mention that at the park there were Christian children piling into a kiddie pool filled with Cool Whip...having Cool Whip fights...in bathing suits.

It's a sad world when I am no longer able to differentiate between Reed College students and God-Fearing Christians, TM.

From Friend "Omega"

I saw a movie tonight starring Steve Guttenberg as Santa Claus's
grown-up son, wooing Crystal Bernard.

Now, I understand that sometimes you just never know when a movie is
going to turn into a smash hit. There's often no rhyme or reason to
what becomes a classic and what doesn't. Then again, sometimes you DO
know. And anything starring Steve Guttenberg as Santa Claus's
grown-up son, wooing Crystal Bernard is a pretty safe bet.

---

(after forgetting to call as I promised):

Oh, I was worried maybe your house had exploded or that you had fallen violently ill with an allergic reaction to some cheese.

THANK GOD YOU ONLY FORGOT ABOUT ME!!!!!

From Friend R:

(upon my deciding, and redeciding, to move to another city):

Look, plans were made to be scrapped. Yeah yeah, I know. The kids. But you're just looking at it the wrong way. They're hostages to fortune. They have no say in the matter. You're all worried about them needing therapy when they get older because of whatever you do now. That's the wrong tack. Instead, do whatever you can to make their therapy sessions interesting -- for god's sake, they'll spend time there no matter what you do, so the least you can do is think of the poor wretch who has to listen to them whine. Hell, move to Portland for the weekend, then move back, and tell them it's their fault you didn't stay. That's a fine start. You have a responsibility to them to make sure they have enough to talk about in their inevitable therapy sessions. I don't want to hear about you slacking off.

From Friend One:

Work is for email!

From Friend Two:
You know, this new draft? I think it's working much better. I like what you did here. Maybe this is it?

---

This is the best draft of this story. Ever.

---

Why do you keep rewriting this and sending it to me? This is great. This is wonderful. Crack open a beer, boys, it's Pushcart time!

---

Alright, I know you don't listen to me, but this story is done. WHY DON'T YOU EVER BELIEVE THE THINGS I TELL YOU! I TAUGHT IN MISSISSIPPI! I KNOW GOOD WHEN I SEE IT!

*tm

Comments

[Friend One]

1. He's trying to GET BACK TOGETHER WITH YOU?!?!?!?!?!!? He's dead.

2. Friend Two is right: Send the fucking story out and when a big prize, already.

3. Oh fucking hell, I miss you.

[Friend One]

That "when" was "win" by the way.

[Terrible Mother]

I should clarify that Pink-Haired Housewife wasn't responding to me saying that the Sweet Boy definitely wanted to get back together, but more or less that I thought a reunion was possible and that he might be orchestrating one. I don't think so anymore, and I'm glad of it. Though I miss him, and go through spates of much gnashing of teeth and keening.

Okay, just the gnashing of teeth.

No, we aren't going to get back together. And my windows of opportunity are narrowing. Like, I'm down to about two ten-minute windows a day (meaning, if he called and/or showed up within those two ten minute windows, and asked me back, I'd go back). This is an overall improvement of the 23 hour and 52 minute window I had going about a month ago.

Let us also remember, though, that Friend Two is right. If he really wanted me back, he would get me back. And if he did want me back, he'd dump me anyway eventually. Period.

[Terrible Mother]

Also, I miss you too.

[Friend2]

All I want is a framed, full screen size print of the words:

"...FRIEND TWO IS RIGHT."

That's not so much to ask, is it?

And why am I always so much funnier when some genius recreates my emails?

[friend omega]

i'm 72% certain that i never said any of those things, though i'm 83% certain that i agree with them.

[Terrible Mother]

only 83%? What is going on down there, Omega?

I cannot believe I just called you "Omega." You suck.