While wandering my favorite book store in search of that hidden, unmarked book that only I will see that will give me the answers to all of life’s problems, my pocket vibrates and I look down to see an incoming text that reads, “I can offer you sex and only that.”
I’m working on a project titled, “The Terrible Things We Do to One Another”.
I used to hate the Le Sac dress at American Apparel. You know, that huge sheet of fabric on a string that you walk by at the store and go, “How in God’s name…?”
A light bulb went off.
People in San Antonio just don’t get Pee-Wee!
Like most young people, I never give my urinary tract much thought.
So, I have this umm…friend.
She met this man that she really really likes.
Makes perfect sense, right?
“I like you.
I obviously have the emotional maturity of a gerbal that’s preventing me from telling you that.
It seems I’m only able to convey my feelings through texts, blog posts, and the occasional Facebook status update as of late.
That means that unless I grow some cognizant balls quickly, you will probably never know how I feel and walk away.”
What the hell happened to you, Lau-, I mean, Lorraine? What happened to the girl who made herself a badge once that said, “The #1 Most Self-Aware Person in the World”? The girl who champions communication! Why is it, that upon being asked what she wanted out of their frequent rendez-vous, she immediately did an impression of a deer caught in headlights and proceeded to zero in on the soup she was eating and exerting all energy (more…)
I blame you for my warped view of love!
Our intern, John, comes running past.
“Quick! Rob is parking. Everyone hide!!!”
John is adorable in that rosy-cheeked-just-fell-off-the-bus-into-Los Angeles-and-hit-my-head-on-the-pavement kind of way. He is in his third year at journalism school and takes his job here very seriously. I’m sure he had three tasks today; stock the fridge, take out the mail, and be on the lookout for when Rob gets back from lunch. And I’m sure he accomplished all three with admirable conviction.
My co-workers scramble under their desks in anticipation of saying “Surprise!”, which seems like a wasted effort to me as we’re all respectively engulfed by cubicle walls as it is. There are eight of us in the bull pen: Amy, our office manager and resident struggling actress, sits at the front door, Kyle, our style editor and resident struggling musician sits in cubicle number #1 a.k.a. “The Love Den”, Brad, our field writer and resident struggling screenwriter, sits in cubicle number #2 a.k.a. “Deathstar”, Ginger, (more…)