A Rousing Finale!

So my last guest blogger flaked out on me. Lucky for her she has great hair, and as everyone knows I am a sucker for great hair.

Her only explanation was this email I got last night, which isn’t so much an explanation as it is an excuse. What’s the difference, you might ask? Well it’s kind of like the difference between Michael Richards saying he’s Jewish and Michael Richards actually being Jewish. (Zing! Two week old jokes! Yeah, baby!)

In lieu of me being unable to throw anything else up here because I’m getting on the road in five minutes for a seemingly impossible drive back north, here is that email, verbatim. Note that everyone should feel rightfully shafted, but shafted in the way that’s like, with one flip of her great hair, you forgive her.

Dear Dan,

First, let me say, having a paper due blows. It gave me bad flashbacks to college. Some might say that's because I did a lot of acid in college, but to those people I say, "Put down my monkey!"

Anyway, I never got around to writing a post for you. Here’s why:It all started back on Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. It’s the one holiday where the Jews and Christians come together to rejoice in the death of our common enemy – the Indians. Anyhow, between the eating and drinking, I was exhausted. I mean, kids wear you out. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, with their “Hold me,” and “Love me,” and “Stop it. You’re hurting me,” but frankly, they’re tiring. So, I decided to take a nap. I am an excellent napper. And thus was the beginning of the end.

See I have a small problem with insomnia. So that one harmless nap totally threw off my sleep cycle. Unfortunately, my quack doctor won’t prescribe me Ambien anymore (you wake up barefoot in New Jersey one time…). So instead of Ambien, he prescribed me a different sleep medication, Lunesta. It’s crap. I mean I’ve been popping Lunesta like it’s Vicoden, and nothing.

And then yesterday, like an overzealous secret agent at an all-girl detective agency, I discovered why:

I’m a compulsive reader. So when on the subway with nothing to read, I will occupy myself by reading any available words, including, but not limited to graffiti, other people’s newspapers, subway ads (How did the same lawyers nab both 1-800-Divorce and 1-800-Innocent?), and informational prescription packets. Lo and behold, I discover the following, “Eating before taking this medication will reduce its effectiveness.” (What!?!)

Now, if there’s anything you should know about me it’s that my three favorite things are eating and sleeping. I won’t tell you the third. (Fine, fine, it’s sex. Sue me.) Anyway, you can imagine my dismay. It’s like being in a relationship with sleep, but then you meet some food that you really like, but sleep wants to be monogamous. And even though you explain to sleep that wanting to eat has no bearings on your feelings for her (because it’s not that eating is better, it’s just different), sleep still claims that the two are mutually exclusive.

Thus, I plan to go to the doctor to see if there’s sleep medicine that still works when you eat, which, if there is, would be like discovering that Lunesta has a slutty twin sister.

The point is that I couldn’t write a post for you because I’m very sleepy.

I blame the Indians.

Love,

[redacted]

P.S. I think the reason salad is healthy is that midway through you get so bored you forget to eat, whereas, no one forgets when they’re eating bacon.

Have a great weekend. If you happen to live in any of the states between Florida and New York, keep an eye out for a blue Honda Civic with New York plates doing about 1000 mph. If you can happen to catch my deranged, desperate eye, give a little wave.