TO: Amazon Seller

Hello. Unfortunately I just received the wrong shipment from you. I was expecting a grey ClaraClark full-size sheet set but as you can see, I was sent a king-size pillowcase which was meant for Daron Crowder in Conyers, GA. I live in California. Nonetheless, Daron's gonna be stoked. Can you please remedy?

[true story]

Beauty and the Beat

Have you ever dated an NCAA Division 1 athlete (let alone captain) despite barely making the varsity squad for your high school tennis team? No way! Me too! In that case, add this to your arsenal of daytime dates to not attempt.

     It was the dead of winter in Los Angeles, the sun was blazing, the birds were singing, and both of our day jobs were on hiatus. Staycation had officially begun and the burden was on me to come up with something fresh to do on that Tuesday morning. I know… a daytime hike in Griffith Park! What could be more “L.A.” than that? Perfect. Only I’m not exactly the athletic outdoorsy kind of guy I like to daydream that I am. Let’s just say I don’t relate to the band Weezer solely because of their music. 

     So on we went from her Fairfax apartment north towards the forsaken valley. Traffic. Shocker. Thirty-five minutes later we arrived at our dusty destination. It’s on. Daytime fun here we come.

I’m starting to get the hang of this, I think. So you just walk and talk and gawk? Ok I can handle that for sure. During a conversational lull I thought back to last night when we were high and she told me how she loves to run up the hilly parts of her hikes, and that way the hard stuff is over so much quicker, and its downhill thereafter, literally. Sounded like a swell idea to me. So right then and there I decide to spontaneously book it up what seemed to be an appropriate hill.

I feel her smiling eyes behind me and look forward to her praise for my refreshingly adventurous spirit, and she followed my lead. Just shy of 30 seconds later, as my pace rapidly dwindles to a halt and hers remains steady, I’m doubled over with hands on shaky knees and beyond winded. More like gusted.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“Yea I’m great,” I try to convince us both.

“You sure?”

“Yea why?”

“Because your face is bright red, and people can hear you breathing down in the parking lot.” An artery was bulging out of my neck in unison with every audibly wheezy gasp for oxygen. Fantastic.

     At this point I’ve crawled my way over to a random bench in the middle of all this nature and I’m lying on it as you would a stretcher. I’m trying not to die from equal parts shame and exhaustion (celebrity style). At first I used last night’s smoke sesh as a potential culprit, and of course tried the ‘I’m weedzing’ joke, but clearly that didn’t make me feel any better. Nor did talking, or sunshine, or even breathing at that point. I much rather would’ve preferred to squeeze into a gopher hole and just hibernate/die peacefully but obviously didn’t have the energy to squeeze then either.

     She quickly picks up on my request for silence and self-disdain, and wound up lying beside me on my scenic hospice bench until life returned to me. Needless to say we never hiked again, nor did she have to give me a ride home (on her back).

DADmail

"...I am pleased to announce that this is the first e-mail I'm sending with our new computer keyboard.  We had $30 Reward Points from Best Buy as a result of the purchase of a new clothes washer/dryer.  Mom wanted to use it to buy a new keyboard because some of the letters had worn off from the old one.  I am proud to report that I was able to attach it to the tower on my own."

I don't want you to worry but...

Mom: "I don't want you to worry...because I'm not worried, and the doctor's not that worried... but Dad's blood sugar is high and the doc's not too happy about it and he told Dad to buy the book Diabetes For Dummies."

me: "Oh wow. Does diabetes run in the family?"

Mom: "Hmmm. Let me think.... No. Oh wait. Yes. My grandma had diabetes, but she was a big woman and then she lost a lot of weight and by the end she was a stick."

me: "....Great. Solved. Thanks mom."

state of mind (similar but different to Empire's)

In 20 years I'll be 50.
And the last 20 years flew by, relatively speaking of course.
Point is: enjoy it while it lasts.

Yike. gtg

#shitmydadsaysabouttheamericasgottalentseasonfinale

-----Original Message-----

From: Chadurday <****@gmail.com>
To: Dadurday <****@aol.com>
Sent: Thu, Sep 15, 2011 11:17 am
Subject: AGT

were you guys pleased with the America's Got Talent result?

 

 

 

---------- Reply ----------
From: Dadurday <****@aol.com>
Date: Thu, Sep 15, 2011 at 4:44 PM
Subject: Re: AGT
To: Chadurday <****@gmail.com>

NO, if I want to hear Frank Sinatra, I will buy some of his old records.  Besides that, I never liked Frank Sinatra's voice.  I was rooting for either Silhouette or Team iLumination.  I thought that they were both very creative and unique.  What say you?  Love, Dad

===================================================

PostScript: My later response would reflect that I don't actually watch the show like he and mom do, so like Paul Rudd post-Bar Mitzvah MC days... I'm Clueless.

Pps Dad still pays $30/month to keep his AOL account going, despite also paying for DSL at the house and not actually needing the ancient dialup service anymore, because he doesn't wanna lose his email address that everyone now has for him and his wonderful jokes and urban legends and virus warning forwards. I then let him know AOL now lets you keep your old email address even if you cancel your account with them (because most of their clientele is dying off) (I didn't tell him that part of course). He then told me he wouldn't want to chance it though.

Same title as that Michael Jackson music video where the faces morph into each at the end

An ex-girlfriend from my college years (Saved by the Bell style) wrote this about me. http://parlourmagazine.com/2010/04/the-second-break-up-are-you-a-victim/

Here's my response.
-------------------------------------


NO GAMES, IT’S SIMPLY ME NOT YOU: A response, a year late and a shekel short
August 26, 2011 | Ben aka The Unresponsive aka Jewfro


So when we last left off, you ended your post with “Whatcha think, should I hold my breath?” Well it’s a damn good thing I didn’t hold mine considering you were an hour late to our long-awaited ‘beer and catch up.’ Was that payback? That’s cool.

For starters, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings Steely D. That surely wasn’t my intention and as you may or may not have figured out by now, the space I created was more about me than you (as it is in most cases). To take this “second break-up” notion into a context outside of our own, when a split occurs the dude’s not trying to be friends with his ex again until he’s at least got his feet back under him - aka another girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or number of regrettable and meaningless hookups under his belt (pun intended). Like Mahogs’ comment so gently put it, “men have a hard time dealing with rejection and break-ups.” She’s right. We’ve got pride. We’ve got ego. Yet for me it seems that I require more than just new experiences with fresh layers of sweet soft skin and counter-brains to go back to being friends (to borrow a phrase from the great philosopher David John Matthews). I can’t speak for all guys, because I’ve got friends to whom this doesn’t apply, but for me it does. I’m a sensitive little monkey, I get it from my mom (that and oodles of Jewish guilt). I cry in movies, I cry at commercials, I feel good when the underdog wins and maybe occasionally cry about it, and I refuse to watch those Sarah McLachlan abandoned pet ads anymore - for reasons already made clear. My point however is more than just acknowledging I’m a royal softy, its that it seems my willingness to “get over it” is akin to a pomodoro timer that has a mind of its own. What can I say, I’m a slow mover just like the pet tortoises I grew up with. I come around eventually - and hopefully its not too late. For us, I’m glad it wasn’t.

Interestingly enough, my track record since our Euromance has me doing more of the same: getting involved with girls I was friends with first and then taking my merry old time post-demise in being ready to rekindle friendships of days gone by. But you know what, that’s the risk we take when we jump in in the first place, hence voiding the warranty. I’m sure the obligatory conversation is had every time, about how this can’t affect the friendship and the others in the circle and yada yada yada…but fuck that nonsense. It will without fail, and that’s the price you pay for getting you some. And as well it should - beats payin for sex with money, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Now to bring it back to us, if my memory serves me correctly, our Anglo courtship ultimately led to a slow fizzle out with us having had the talk but still hooking up out of convenience and familiarity. But then the line in the sand was drawn when you ‘pulled’ the Ghanaian dude at the club on a night we went out together. Tight shit. I knew it was coming, but still it stung. I couldn’t let go as easily as I would’ve liked. Besides, he was proper African and I’m a NY Jew by way of LA. Did you ever consider that perhaps some penile envy seeped into the equation unconsciously? (Although for all you Parlour readers out there, I ain’t ashamed of my Hebrew National. Its surely served its purpose. And don‘t call me Shirley).

So all in all, even though we communicate bi-annually these days, I must say I’m happy we still do. You’re good people Hillbone and you make me laugh and we had a great time together then and I reckon we will for years to come. Every other year that is. And considering we did have that drink after all a year ago, I must say I’m greatly looking forward to our time in 2012. Hopefully the Mayan calendar doesn’t get in our way.

Yours in lactose intolerance, Ben


Ps what’s up with that line “my current boyfriend…who’s
honestly the best guy I’ve ever been able to call mine?” Makes me feel like
kosher chopped liver. Nah that’s cool though, Mazel Tov for him. You deserve
good good love, I hope you’re getting it.

Pps I’m glad you alias’d me as a ‘Ben.’ That was my
grandpa’s name. He was a great man. He also survived a hit to the head with a
hammer during an attempted robbery of his Brooklyn candy store. Crazy story,
but that’s for another time.

Ppps the Jewfro is no longer, but the legacy lives on.


SIDEBAR: In other news, I’d also like to thank you for the expression, “…So good to me.” It first came out of your mouth at the end of a long night celebrating my 20th birthday overseas in those British “The Shining”-esque dorms we called home for nine months. Whilst in the communal kitchen, you were drunkenly shoveling some green lettuce through your grill and in the midst declared, “THIS SALAD IS SO GOOD TO ME RIGHT NOW.” Thank you Hillary aka Steely D. My friends and I, including said songstress, have gotten many the miles out of that phrase and we all have you to thank for it. So cheers and L’Chaim to you.

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