A Love Connection

Dear SWC:

I am writing to apply for the position of Friend as listed on blogger

I have been wiping my own ass for over 35 years and have not
encountered any complaints about my work in that time. Nations have
formed and dissolved, wars have been waged, the environment has been
thrashed, the sea level has risen, the global economy has inhaled and
exhaled, and still my ass wiping has endured with steadfast tenacity
and unwavering dedication. But my missive runs amiss, I am not one
to ever discuss the color, texture or frequency of anyone's poop
(save for one funny story which happened about 38 years ago which I
may only share with you at the right time and place). This is the
extent of what I have to say on the subject, whether or not you find
my other qualifications acceptable.

Though I reside on a very different kind of island, perhaps the one
you'd like to reside on, I seem to have shed my close friends
somewhere along the way. They have either morphed into occasional
pals or slipped off somewhere; perhaps through my neglect or
otherwise. I do not have leprosy, though feel I have been
blacklisted. I have not been to Thailand. I do not wear workout
clothing as haute couture. I have no interest in 5-star hotels
(except occasionally from an architectural or design perspective) and
I do not have a maid, underpaid or otherwise.

I do like books, magazines, newspapers and the internet (a little too
much). Recently I have even embraced podcasts and blogs. I find the
Bible grossly overrated and very poorly edited. I share with you
three articles I have recently enjoyed, not for the quality of the
writing but for, well, call it a bit of titillation:

for the shock of it

for laughs

for the way I was drawn into wanting to believe some "scientific" study of questionable validity but learned about the history of racism in drug policy instead

I welcome the opportunity to meet with you at your convenience. My resume, references and writing samples are available on request. I am available for long lunches, binge drinking, word games, random acts of kindness, snide remarks, and any and every form of revelation, aha's and hhhmm's especially. Please note that without an appointment, I may be caught in my workout clothes, though I promise there will be nothing haute about them.

Many thanks for your consideration.



*photo by Porgunnur Porsdottir


The Impotence of Being Ernest

I have been living in a dry spell over here, a real desert oasis. It’s been at times painful, numbing, crazy making, lonely and down right tragic. Yeah, I am married. And I know what you are thinking. My husband, when he doesn’t have a headache or isn’t going blind from his Blackberry, is a dream, a lovely guy and all, but I have to admit that I am seeking a bit more variety.

I suffer from a condition far worse than leprosy, though that is exactly the disease that I feel that I have these days.

I need to be titillated.

I need some friends.

I have lived here for a while now and though I have tried, really, really tried, I cannot seem to make any friends. Sure I have met people. But I have not met anyone that I liked.

Don’t get me wrong; I am not a friend snob. I mean yes, I have standards but in addition to my “shit happens” philosophy, I also take to heart the nugget of truth that is the foundation of Scientology: We are all way fucked up but it is nothing that a new set of fake boobs and a set of false teeth can’t help you over come.

So yeah, I am tired of not having friends. But I am also tired of trying to make friends with women who wear workout clothes as haute couture and who do nothing but complain about their underpaid live-in maids, and talk about 5 star hotels and discount toy shopping in Shenzhen.

So I decided that I am going to place an ad. I am thinking that it will read something like this:


Married women seeks platonic friendship with similar or single female or male for irreverent drunken cackling at the absurdities of life. Please share my interest in anything other the your last trip to Thailand, unless you were arrested for smuggling drugs—because that makes for a really funny story. But please know that stories that are not funny include anything having to do with the color, size, smell or texture of your child’s bowel movements or any story that involves the phrase “I think my husband is cheating on me, what should I do?” more than 50 times in a fifteen minute conversation. Must like books and I don't mean the Bible. Also, please know how to wipe your own ass.