Saturday, August 10, 2013

D for doughnut

"I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughnut. I don't need a receipt for the doughnut. I'll just give you money and you give me the doughnut. End of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I can't imagine a scenario in which I would need to prove that I bought a doughnut. Some skeptical friend? 'Don’t even act like I didn't buy a doughnut, I've got the documentation right here. Oh wait, it's back home in the file... under 'D', for 'doughnut'..."

~Mitch Hedberg


Friday, August 9, 2013

Good with Kids

When you've dated a younger guy, everyone is curious about how to the two of you met. Spoiler alert: it wasn't through the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.

At a happy hour one night with my single girlfriend, we start chatting up two cute but baby-faced bachelors. They were adorable diversions from the usual DC bro-man and I'd had just enough glasses of celebration juice to drown my lingering fears that at any moment Amber Alert Agents were going to burst through the windows.

So no one was more surprised than me when a few weeks later I find myself at Junior's surprisingly spacious, well-located, apartment. Of course, there's no food or toilet paper, and his roommate's ex is crashing there, but otherwise it's very comfortable.


We had just ordered a pizza, when somewhere between the couch and door — and completely absent a logical cause such as a carpet nail, warped floorboard, or pile of broken glass — I manage to slice my toe open. Within seconds my foot looks like a cadaver prop they pull out of a swamp on NCIS. In addition, there was a red footprint trail running from his couch to the apartment foyer and back that might draw the police's attention should anyone from his building disappear anytime soon.

How did Junior react to a
living room that looked like a crime scene, the inevitable loss of his security deposit to bio-hazard cleaning fees, and Papa John's new, but disappointing, garlic dipping sauce?

Like any former eagle scout, he quickly rigged a makeshift tourniquet, elevated the cut, and microwaved the dipping sauce, which really does improve the taste. God bless the younger guy libido. Well-feed and slightly giddy from blood loss, I was ready to get down to business.

So, the night wasn't a total bust and the doctors think there's a good chance I'll be able to keep my toe.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Am I really a writer?

"If you find yourself asking yourself (and your friends), 'Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?' chances are you are. The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death." 

~Steven Pressfield