This is a little bit about me.
My wrists are shaped like those circular, foam-padded greenish-colored beer cooler things they used to give away to the first 100 people at Aqueduct racetrack, only with the bottoms punched out so they slip on easy, because I just did that! Man do these beer cooler things feel good. Look good, too. Like a superhero. The superhero of not getting carpal tunnel syndrome haha. I can't wait to show these to Sharon. Although she'll probably just sniff and be like, "You're an idiot."
God, why does she always have to be like that?
"Why can't you be happy for my carpal tunnel syndrome-wear invention, Sharon?"
"Why can't you recognize how pathetic it looks for me to come home and find you wearing beer coolers, Frank?"
"I was being resourceful, Sharon."
"No, Frank, resourceful would be to get a job."
"Jesus, how am I supposed to get a job when I have carpal tunnel syndrome, Sharon!"
This is the point in our conversations when Sharon, overwhelmed by the force of my logic, runs into the bathroom, locks the door and starts with the screaming. After a little while, after she's screamed herself out, she comes in the kitchen and finds me struggling with the scissors.
"I've been trying... my wrists they just... I can't bend... they won't...bend..."
"I know," she says, taking the scissors from me. "Let me help."
Isn't easier to just tweet: "Guess what? I'm going to fly on an airplane."
This post needs a little blue checkmark next to the author's name so people don't confuse it with satire.
I think the one in the blue dress really wants to smoke the cigarette and is only gesturing 'no' because she senses her friend's obvious revulsion to smoking and feels pressured to conform because she is overly empathic. She hates this about herself and wishes she had the courage... no, not courage exactly... that's overstating it... maybe self-confidence?... she wishes she had the self-confidence to take the cigarette and smoke it with this guy even though she knows Sharon would be mortified and even though his shirt is wrinkled and he seems kind of drunk. 'Damnit,' she thinks. 'What is wrong with me? I'd like a beer. I'd like five beers. I like to smoke when I drink. Why am I always deferring to Sharon?' She doesn't know this now, of course, but these feelings, this story, she'll share with the group for the first time later, almost fives year to the day later in fact, as part of her seventh universality and self-understanding session. 'I'm really impressed you're able to recognize that was a trigger,' Carl, the group leader, will say, and everyone will applaud. Immediately after the session, after hugging Andrea and Paul and Shelby and Carl, and awkwardly shaking hands with Victor, she'll buy a fifth of Aristocrat vodka on the way home, absolutely furious with herself for making up a stupid story about someone named Sharon - 'Sharon! Where the fuck did that name come from?' - just to get through another group session.
Aide: Good. You really leaned in on that one.
Romney: Hey, I'm starting to get the hang of this!
Aide: Much better.
Romney: What about when it asks me the question?
Aide: I'm sorry?
Romney: You know, after it asks the question. Do I look at it when I answer, or should I look at the camera?
Aide: It? You mean the audience member?
Romney: Yes, yes. I want to really relate to it, make it comfortable.
Dear Professor Prokop,
I read your study on female body hair preference with great interest and felt compelled to write you at once. Would it be possible to obtain the names of the 20 percent in your study who preferred men with body hair, massive amounts of body hair, body hair everywhere, back, front, just... God it's everywhere... it's literally everywhere.
In fairness, I consider my snake-handling more of a hobby than a religion.
Crap. Does my cat, Derrida, make me look poor?
I've never had a problem with the daily hangover. You just get right back up and get on that horse. If you can get back on before the eye sweats start, that dampness you get just under your eyes, like you washed your face but forgot to dab the towel there, you'll be fine. Once the eye sweats start you have to hurry though. Might take two drinks just to feel right, but if you catch it in time you can power through it, get back up to cruising speed; not too high, not too low. After you hang there for a couple of days you can chase it out. Chase it out of that bottle. Two days, twenty drinks just to see it through the glass. Three and thirty on a long weekend. Chase it right out of that goddamn bottle. Those are the ones that really hurt, the only ones worth the pain.
A cautionary tale, this story is really about what happens when Clay, a student at Camden College in New Hampshire, is too afraid to admit he is in love with his best friend, Julian, a heroin addict who must resort to prostitution to pay off his drug dealer, Rip.