Category Archives: Relationships

I Called Mitch….


Some of you have expressed skepticism regarding my previous post.
I would like to double confirm the truth of it, with one more juicy tid bit.

I called the anecdote line.
Mitch answered.
I asked for an anecdote.

He seemed only moderately flustered by the call.  I did not mention knowing Heather.
I asked for his best material.

Mitch started in on a story about staring out a window.  Judging by the convoluted blather-tale that followed, I came to two conclusions:
1.  Mitch does not understand the concept of a story arc.
2.  Mitch has a severe case of ADHD.

I completely understand why Heather did not want to pursue things with him.  I’ll never understand the whole – offering a stranger a foot rub bit – but I do relate to her finding Mitch boring.  It was like listening to mulch.  I thought the story might have potential, when four minutes in, he said, “And then, out the window…I saw it!”   But, I was wrong.  He saw a cloud.  Clouds don’t make good protagonists.  Unless, they have been sent by an evil wizard named Darken Rahl, but even then they’re not that scary.

I had to interrupt Mitch at the nine minute mark.  I’m a relatively busy person.  I don’t have time to listen to someone ramble on about their blossoming existential crisis.  I have goats to play with.

“Mitch,” I said, “I don’t think this is going to work.  I don’t sense a climax coming, and I have to be honest, I’m not particularly interested in clouds.”

Mitch tried to hold onto me.  He pulled out every used car salesman trick in the book.  I think I heard him growing a mustache through the phone.  His pleading was difficult to listen to.  I might have felt some empathy, had I not known that he was a dirt bag trying to get a friend of mine to pose nude for him.  (That she agreed is beside the point)  He wanted another chance to prove he could tell a good story.  I should have suggested he spice up his own life, to spice up his stories.

For someone looking for anecdotes to tell…I can think of no better person to spend time with than Heather.  He would’ve had stories (and glitter) coming out of his ears.


Stalker or Romantic – You Decide


You know how sometimes you watch a movie and think, “This is unrealistic.  Things like this don’t really happen.”  Like a woman is prancing around her house wearing a thin nighty at 3 a.m., investigating a noise she heard in the basement that sounded like a werewolf because it actually is a werewolf.  Well…

I’m about to tell you about a friend of mine from New York.  When you catch yourself thinking, “This is unrealistic.” – Stop.  I’m not making anything up.  I’ve seen this friend, we’ll call her Heather, do things that would terrify and confuse even a werewolf.

Heather saw a man one day in a building.  She thought he was handsome.  I’m sure most of us can relate to this.  Nothing weird right?  Heather went home and thought about the man for a few days.  He was really handsome.  Instead of being passive, Heather grabbed life by the face.  She made up a poster.  It said:  ‘To the man with brown hair and a guitar, who was in this building on such and such a date at such and such a time:  Please, call XXX-XXX-XXXX.”  She hung it in several locations around the building where she had first sighted him.

She never received a call.  Obviously, he never saw the poster.  Heather let him go…for a while.

Several weeks later, she had a few minutes between classes, so she did an internet search.   He was really handsome.  The building in which the original sighting had taken place was a hub for graduate students in the local university’s music program.  With some perusal of college records, graduate student photographs, and class schedules, Heather found him.  His name was Mitch.  Mitch had a website with contact information.  Beneath his email address there was a phone number with the caption ‘Call for anecdotes.’

She called the number.  When Mitch answered, he didn’t bother asking who was calling.  Instead, he began a long winded tale of his visit to Poland.  (Incidentally, Mitch had never been to Poland)  Heather was smitten.

I’m trying very hard not to insert my personal opinions about this story, but I can’t resist.  What? 

Every several days, she would call the number.  Mitch would tell a story, she would listen, they would both hang up.

Heather spent a great deal of time thinking about Mitch.  In her defense, she was taking Organic Chemistry.
The next logical step (obviously) was to find out where he lived, so that she could walk past his house on occasion.  Through a series of unusual stalking techniques, she discovered a photograph of his residence on the internet.  She jotted down the description of the building, then began to systematically explore New York City to find it.  It’s sort of hard to believe, (if you don’t know her), but she succeeded.

A couple of times a week, she would walk past his house on her way home.  She began to fantasize about ‘accidentally’ bumping into him.  They would hit it off, and begin seeing one another.  She would not mention to him that she was the one calling for anecdotes.  Never mind the likelihood that he would recognize her voice.  Once they became a little more serious, she would begin to get jealous of the girl he was always talking to on the phone (her).  She would ask him why he spent so much time telling stories to strange women. She would accuse him of cheating.

I’m not postulating here.  Heather mentioned thinking all of these things.  She explained, “How could I not think of the possibilities?  An opportunity like this may never again arise.”

Eventually, Mitch asked to meet her.  Heather didn’t want things to change.  She liked listening to the anecdotes, and she liked her anonymity.   According to her, anonymity prolonged the period of time between meeting an attractive man, and when he vanished.  Mitch was firm.  He suggested that he bring his camera to the meeting, for some nude photography, which Heather was not fundamentally opposed to.  In fact, Heather had suggested something even more unusual.  She had suggested that he wait for her on the roof, blindfolded, so that she could give him an anonymous foot rub.  I can’t express how gross this sounds to me.  I can’t imagine offering to touch a total stranger’s feet.  I’m nauseated writing about it.  Even Mitch found her suggestion creepy.

This is where the story starts to lose believability, or perhaps you think that might have been several paragraphs ago…  But, Heather agreed to meet him at high noon at the top of a building for a photo shoot.  She waited for him there, wearing a mask elaborately decorated with fake flowers and birds. (photo below)


In addition to the mask, she wore a furry vest, hat, scarf, and gloves, and a neon pink muppety-jacket recovered from a dumpster.  When he arrived, slightly past noon, she threw glitter and balloons at him, and pretended to be an animal.

Mitch didn’t bring up nude photography, which was slightly insulting (according to Heather), but he did take an entire roll of film.  She posed in cat-like crouches, lunges, and acted like a coy animal-creature.

Up until this point in the story, I had assumed that Mitch was a predator, despite how strange I found Heather’s fantasies, in the a game of cat and mouse, I would have called Heather the mouse.  I worried about her ending up in a terrible, scary situation, like cut up into pieces and wrapped in plastic.  Mitch, in my mind, was a dangerous cat, ready to pounce.

The surprise ending to this tale is that Heather was the cat.  The face to mask meeting left her disappointed.  Mitch was boring.  She thought his conversation skills were poor, his spontaneity muscles weak, and his outlook, dull.  The chase was over.

Today’s lesson:  Sometimes, when you think you’re the cat, you’re the mouse.  Be careful out there.  It’s a strange world.

She Only Murders on the Weekend


This weekend I went to my nephew’s birthday party.  He turned nine.

If you want to have fun at a party, I highly recommend going to one for a nine year old.  Although, it’s probably best if you don’t show up at one of these parties uninvited.  That might be inappropriate.

At my nephew’s party, there were four kids present.  Two nine year olds, a six year old, and an eleven year old.  Our dinner conversation was both stimulating and confusing.  The kids decided to tell scary stories.  I tried very hard to concentrate, but there were entire plot lines that bordered on nonsensical.  My favorite story went like this:

There was a boy, and he um, was upstairs sleeping.  His friends told him about a booger monster, but he didn’t believe them, and he was um, um, upstairs, but he wasn’t really sleeping, he was just laying in bed, and then his parents went out for a party.  He heard the door open and thought that his parents were home, so he yelled, “Mom?  Dad?” but they didn’t answer and then he um, the stairs were creaky, um, then the door closed, and he heard someone coming down the hall, and then, and his parents weren’t really home yet, but there was someone coming, and he thought, oh, it must be my parents, and then, um, a booger monster yelled up the stairs, “Billy, I’m a booger monster, and I’m on your first step.”

Um, then billy knew it wasn’t his parents.  Then the monster went to the second step.  He yelled, “Billy, I’m a booger monster, and I’m on your second step.”  And Billy had twenty five steps, so this took a long time, and the monster kept coming, and then it reached the door, and came into Billy’s room, and um, Billy was under the covers, and then it came up to the bed, and then Billy threw off his covers.  And then…and then..Oh no!  I forget the end of the story!

I could barely contain myself.  Most adults can’t tell a story that keeps me on the edge of my seat like this one did.

After dinner we made ice cream sundays.  I was sitting nearest to the cake cutting knife, so I kept a hand on it.  I didn’t want one of the kids to get a wild hair and try to grab it to cut their own cake.  My nephew’s nine year old girlfriend screamed when she saw me gripping the knife.  “Ah!  Jenny is going to kill us!  She has a weapon!”

I stared back into her little round eyes and whispered, “The last kid who tattled on me was never seen again.”   At this, my nephew started cracking up.  He assured his friend that Aunt Jenny wouldn’t hurt anyone.  The little girl realized it was a game, so became bolder, “You’re a murderer aren’t you??”

Nathan leaned in, “Don’t worry, she only murders on the weekends.”

The girl relaxed, then her eyes shot to mine as she screeched, “It’s Saturday!!!”

Kids are fun.

I’m Reading an Article


Just a quick one today…Then I’m off to work.

Yesterday Nathan helped me edit my book for almost eight hours.  At one point, I peeked over at his screen and saw that he was watching some kind of slide show.

Me:  What are you up to over there?

Nathan:  Oh, I’m just reading an article.

I was fairly certain that the slide show he was watching was of women, dressed in fancy clothes.

Me: An article?

Nathan:  Yes, a Huffington Post article with a slide show that goes along with it.

Me:  What is the article’s title?

Nathan:  (silence for several seconds)..Celebrity Boobs.

Me:  Seriously?  Are there any words in the article?

Nathan:  Uncomfortable laughter.

Sentence Structure Strikes Again


This morning I realized there was no soap in the shower only after having started the water.  I heard Nathan brushing his teeth, so I screamed for some help.

Me:  “Hey, can you…in the little white cabinet…pull out a bar of soap please?  It’s in the back.”
Nathan:  “I don’t think he heard you.”
Me:  “What?”
Nathan:  “The man in the little white cabinet,  I don’t think he heard you.”