Tag Archives: relationships

This Time, In NA…

5 May

Studied up and ready to open “Water By The Spoonful” tonight, with an energized and eager company. Fantastic post-preview talks, last night, with some of the production-family, reinvigorated my brains within Odessa’s headspace. 

…I love nothing better than spinning those connecting webs of collaboration…from the AD to the Costume Designer to the Actor, and how each take and builds from the others’ contribution, making this art-from-art kind of Celtic knot of seamless (we hope) common goal-reaching.
Am proud of this team, and honored to be a part of it.

…And honored to portray those who struggle with substance abuse issues…to tell their story as truthfully as we can, as raw and naked and serving the fact of that moment to moment struggle. Am very thankful at how much research I needed to do on the NA side of things…in that I have been fortunate to not have the first-hand knowledge of its world. The devastation it leaves in its wake is such an astonishing payment with ripple effect. After living in that headspace even only as an actor, the empathy for its victims is another study on the frailty in our humanity…but also the stubborness of our strength, the frustration in our circumstance, the fate of our birth, the pomposity and arrogance of our gambles with death, and the fight and fight and fight we can put up, when life throws fists in our faces, time and time again.

It’s a hell of a piece of theatre.

…And a pretty damn good production. (If I do say so myself.)

And: I do.

Happy Opening, team!


A New Chapter

25 Jan


I am a very strong person. No, not only as a woman, as a human. I don’t take shit. I’ve been programmed not to. Preconditioning in childhood, saw to that.

…The thing is, sometimes difficulties tear you down and down and weaken you, sometimes they do the opposite and stiffen your guard. It isn’t always one way or the other, nor from person to person, a consistency. Life is too harried and messy to allow for this perfected conclusion and plan of attack. Which means that even very strong people can get caught up in a circus freak-show of an abusive and toxic relationship every now and then, which in any other circumstance, they would see for what it is, and set fire to the bastard, instantly.

…Only life is…messy. Politics are messy. Relationships, friendships, family ties, can get so deep and scarred and reheal over twists of rusty barbed wire and promises, which shouldn’t be allowed to. Allegiance is a wonderful thing, but not to a cancer. The thing is, when these deep seeded relationships are finally seen for what they really are…the cancer is already alive and well and breeding. It takes over. And your history and time and family and everything else becomes twisted up into the mix as well.

…So what do you do?

…Ignore it? Excuse it? Try to relabel and reclassify it to sound like it isn’t what it really is? Because that way might be easier? Socially. Politically. And even in that deep down part of your heart that says, “Yes, but it wasn’t always like this, some good has come of it.” Or, “But family, is family…the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

As a strong, imperfect human, who sucks at forgiveness of others, who builds walls (plural) around them, and trusts almost no one (related or otherwise)…the fact that when someone actually scales the walls, earns the trust, and then fucks with it…should be soundly aware, they will swiftly be dealt a death blow. In case they aren’t aware, I have thoroughly educated them.

…Except “sometimes.” And I don’t always know why?

…The inconsistancy doesn’t make sense. Even to me. Why is this person excommunicated, while that one gets a slap on the wrist?

I don’t know.

…It’s a thing that has bothered and baffled me about myself. Upon further reflection, sometimes I can find a “reason,” but is anything worth ignoring a deep seeded “wrong” at a level so spurious that it eats at you across weeks, months, even years at a time?

…Do you owe anyone your self respect? For any reason? Do you “owe” anyone anything?

I feel that an uncomfort I have lived with for far too long, a history of me that I have always felt ashamed of…for no reasons which I was responsible for…a thing which shaped so much of me and my life…somehow became a mantle I felt I had to wear and suffer through for reasons which were never good enough.

…The truth is: no reason would have been good enough.

I have been a very strong person who has allowed an abuse, long scarred, to eat at me. There are no visible bruises, no scratches, no bodily violations. But there were lies, manipulations, continual boundary crossings, assumptions, and suffocations. There was a loss of innocence, a reiteration of trust issues…together with family and hardships and what I believe at the core, might have also been real actual love. It is after all, family.

…But that does not excuse, it does not diminish, the egregious wrongs.

…And when I see its pattern start to reveal itself again, in a whole new light of circumstances…only then can I truly see-SEE it for what it truly is. And was.

I am a very strong woman. I am a very strong person. And I am at last saying to this circumstance: I am done with you now.

I owe you nothing.

I never did.

I am free of this thing, whatever it has been.

And I am putting it in print. Not because you will read it. But because I needed to say it.

…And for all the strong people out there, feeling stuck in a circus merry-go-round of fucked up exceptions and reasons to know:

“You are amazing, and I know it is difficult to imagine: but it’s okay to let go now.”

It’s okay to say: “I’m done.”



26 Feb


I have to write a letter tonight, to a man I haven’t spoken to in nearly 14 years. 

…It’s about another man, whom I haven’t seen in almost as long. 

I feel side-swiped, and ill prepared, though there were signs that were telling me to get ready.  Signs that this was coming.  But I was so consumed with trying to dig out of the last family loss, that I didn’t give this next one the attention I should have, nor the people on the other side of family tree, sharing limbs with me.

Tonight, they are gathered, there.  I know what they feel. I know the loss of appetite and swell of pain ripping upward from the throat which comes from trying to hold back tears.  I know they are huddled together, speaking comforts to one another. Uncles are picking up Aunts from the airport. Everyone seems to be whispering, with grim-faced stares.  Children are fussing and crying because they don’t understand what it all means, only it is the most terrifying thing in the world to see your father cry.

…I imagine.

They are at a loss, with a loss, which seems somehow removed from me. I don’t like to admit it, but I want to comfort them, without being hypocritical. Having a loss that rips you in two deserves its proper mourning, and sympathy. They knew and grew up with this man their entire lives, and the simple fact is: I did not.

This afternoon, I found out that my Grandfather had passed away.

The man has given me my name, by once marrying my Grandmother, and adopting my Father and his sister, before carrying on to grow the family further. From them grew cousins I adore, and their sweet babies I wish I could snuggle. He may not have been of my blood directly, but it was a proud name, and he was a proud man, and his life, though almost exclusively separate from mine, helped to make me who I am today.

Our ancestors are our roots, seeding us, growing us, anchoring us into our places on this earth in a true marriage of “for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” For this, I am truly thankful to him, but I know it is not the same as the pain the others are feeling tonight.

…And I feel really badly about that.

Frankly, I feel like a total asshole.

For over an hour today, I haunted the sympathy card aisle, trying to choose something to send to my family. Something that recognized the epic loss, without making it sound as if it had nothing to do with me…yet nothing which might hurtfully presume more of a relationship which I hadn’t earned, and would have no right to presume upon them now in their grief.

…Just so you know: They don’t make those kind of cards.

I’m literally faced now with two “blanks.” Something calming on the outside of water and blooming life: on the inside: nothing.

One for my Grandmother and family.

One, for my Father.

I have a pen sitting right there, on the table, but I’ve no idea whatsoever where to begin.

…Even just starting the first one is odd.

“Dad,” it says.

Simple enough I guess, only not so much when you haven’t spoken the word in one and a half decades. Two years before that. Four before that.

I don’t know my Father, any more than I knew his.

So now I must write of one to the other, and have suddenly a minefield stretching out before me of all the things NOT to say, yet no idea how to get to the things I should.

What, for instance, can I write, which won’t dig up past ghosts, and hurl them at him blind-sidedly…triggering whatever regrets and/or guilts he might have held onto all these years, as people from broken relationships do? Now is not the time to appear to be throwing loaded emotional bombs at people in their grief…even less, at your own Father. Because you actually harbor him no ill will, that was all over…long ago.

…You just don’t know him, is the end result.

…So what in the hell do you say in a card on the loss of your “Dad’s” Dad, when you can’t seem to even think of the title yourself without quotations marking it’s specific significance?

I don’t have the proper practice it takes to say it without sounding foreign.

Love of family can be an odd happenstance, a Frankenstein-and-the-Monster kind of thing. Sometimes it is a comfort from stability and encouragement. Sometimes it is a flamethrower away from all-out war. Sometimes it resides in the symbolism. Mostly, I’d say, in the “shared experience”…good, bad, or otherwise. Because of this, you can hold that fierce connection and devotion, no matter how far apart you roam from one another. You belong to the name. You belong to the history. You belong to the gene pool, and its every harbored secret and horror and wonder and joy and regret.

…Because of this, I can say, “I love my family,” and mean it…whether I particularly know them well…whether I’ve met their spouses, or children…whether I attend the potlucks and football games, show up at Easter…or not…because we are linked by these viciously intense, and invisible tethers. They are my people, and I am there’s.

…I want to tell them: “I’m sorry for our loss” without sounding condescending or belittling the depth of their grief in any way. After all: they’ve been there through thick and through thin…and I have not.

…I want to say things of comfort, give hugs that will help, and be an ear to talk to…should any of them want or need that essential sounding board when lost in the anger, confusion and sadness of what has happened and what is yet to come, from it’s repercussions.

…And if I knew how, I’d want to tell my Dad…

…I guess I’d tell him…


…In all seriousness? Waiting for Godot would not be as long as waiting with this pen sitting in front of me tonight…

I really just need to not fuck this up.


Pavlov’s Dog & Other Schemes

24 Jul


So, I was talking to a friend the other night about dating disasters. 

…The kind of stories that completely kill your self confidence and self respect directly after they occur, but later laugh at…once time has set aside enough distance and perspective to truly appreciate the morbid crappiness of it all.

I have less stories than most, due to adamantly being against the whole function of dating to begin with. I used to blame the fact that I’m terrible at it, as an excuse…until I realized that everyone is terrible at dating, and that’s just how people accumulate good party stories.

…So now, to fight off the regret of not having the great humiliation coos, I indulge in other peoples. Like a sport. And collect them as if they were trading cards, to whip out and use as my own fake arsenal when we have had one too many and someone in the group begins with the age-old:

“…So this one time? I was on a date and it was so bad that…”

…Anyway, the conversation brought up so many good horror stories from the past, (as I dug out my fake ammo and compared it with her real stuff), that I thought I’d reflect on them a bit.  The true distance a person will go to to achieve certain ends, the failed sexual exploits, the maxed out credit cards in lingerie, the  date prep, the wimpy sex, the psycho stalkers, and more!

True life stories I have (along the way) collected, include:

Woman One: Debating if boyfriend of six months is uber religious or just gay (because he refuses to get intimate with her) she lays out an entire scheme associating herself with a trench coat.  Every time she wears it, she surprises him with a special event, or sneak-meet, or lunch date or what-have-you. A training ground, set up like Pavlov’s dog, to be unconsciously receptive to said trench coat and whatever neat delights become associated with it. This all culminates on Valentine’s Day night, when wearing only lingerie underneath, she invites him over to watch movies and secretly seduce him.  She sets the tone with honest-to-god Barry White music, pre-cued up, and does her little dance and unveiling, only to realize by the totally horrified look on his face that the Pavlov experiment does not (in fact) guarantee a goddamn thing.  And also: Yeah…he’s prob’ly gay.

Dude One: Breaks up with Dude Two. At around three o’clock in the morning. Dude Two is thrown out of the apartment…toasted beyond repair, and in the kind of weep-screaming meltdown usually reserved for teenage girls having something to do with Justin Bieber sightings. He does not leave or in any way attempt to save his dignity. Instead he goes on a tangent of, “I love, you…you fucking whore!” intermixed with “No one EVER will treat you as good as me!” and “Why are you such an asshole?! Baby, open the door!” This goes on for some time. Hours. Ending (eventually) the following morning…with people on their way out to work, stepping over his crumpled form, asleep in the doorway…his body reduced to a sour chemical compound of sick, last night’s dinner, and heartbreak.

Woman Two: It  had been a while. Things were getting rather rusty from lack of use and our lady fair needed a good old fashioned lay.  So, she set her eyes on a sure thing, a beautiful recommendation of a past casual sexing friend. At a party, she goes for it. Problem is, he’s about five gallons of the hard stuff, ahead of her. So far ahead, in fact that at the casual hint of possible seduction, she finds herself mid-party, thrown over his shoulder a-la Tarzan, and carried off into the night. The miracle of arriving safely to her apartment, and in such a blatantly virile capacity, all but undoes Woman Two. She is ready for this! This is EXACTLY what is needed! Casual! And immediate! Animalistic! No strings attached! With endless possibility, as there is no fucking way he will ever remember a beat of it, so wasted to the world he clearly is. But first: to pee. Empty out his bladder of half a ton of tequila and cheap rum…naked, wandering out into the apartment: roommates be damned…he finally reaches his intended destination. He thinks. And then: it happens. By the gallon. A non-stop stream. As Woman Two, hugs onto whatever bedclothes she can manage to save…while he empties his tank (despite her screaming protestations) all over her entire bed…before passing out. Directly into it.

Dude Two: A stalker magnet. Has the habit of dating what would be referred to as the, “bad girl type.” Which is exciting and eventful and incredibly hot…in true pattern…until he breaks up with them. And then: it’s not. Or rather: it still is, but in the not-so-good way. In his short span of (still young) dating life…he’s had tires slashed, windows broken, cell phones annihilated, walls fisted, table tops cleavered, his face sharpee’d in his sleep…closet set on fire, and sofa…literally…pooped on. Apparently it is either worth the end-game, or he’s an unteachable idiot…because as of current time of print: he shows little sign of habit change, despite.

Woman Three: A little bit of a badass in the bedroom, she finally hooks up with a new fella she’s been psudo-dating for nearly a month. Schedules finally align, the stars in their orbit, the ex has the kids, and by god, some serious sexing is gonna be going down. And it does. Apparently blowing his mind. Which rather rises her self-confidence higher (as it would), influencing her to really go for the finish line. Only, oops! Wouldn’t you know it? Perhaps he’s been benched too long…or maybe he’s playing a different position from what he’s used to. Either way, mid-tackle, said fella locks up in a seizure of pain, the pass is incomplete, and two days later…as she listens in total silence to his voice on the other side of the phone, she receives news direct from his doctor’s office…where he’s on his third testing round. Apparently, the tackle was too much for the rookie. She had broken him. His sentence of a good long benching, confirms it. Needless to say a confirmed “obituary lister”…thus ends the season. And they never met on the field again. So much for the playoffs.

Dude Three: Crushes old school, and crushes hard. He’s picky, and doesn’t feel the need to wander once his ideal is found. Even despite the total and complete lack of forward momentum. Being inventive, he creates a host of marvels and continues to throw them at her. She responds in bud-ship. Which sucks to every outside observer. In fact, it becomes the butt of jokes and for reasons far surpassing anything intelligent continues to this day. And most likely into ridiculousness of decades. Cuz its just the way he is. Stupid woman…

Women Four & Five: Getting to know one another (as people do), Woman Four and Woman Five, seated side-by-side in the dressing room, share the kinds of bits n’ pieces intimacies that people do, while performing in a show. Where they grew up…their first pets…their weird relatives…crazy dates…and eventually (as it almost always does, with show-people) the weird and funny sex stories. Like this one guy: Really good in bed. Who liked to do this one thing. Very specific. Like a calling card, so to speak. But wait. Suddenly, as Woman Five talks on, Woman Four’s face begins to harden. “When was this?” she finally asks to her astonished new “friend.” “Um. Him? Well…I mean we’ve only hooked up the one time really…but who knows, right?” “–When.” Insists Woman Four, without a flinch. “Um. Geeze…I dunno. Like…a month ago, maybe?” Woman Four slowly puts her eyebrow pencil down. She focuses her gaze on Woman Five’s reflection before her. “What’s his name,” she questions, evenly. “Oh, come on…it’s theatre…ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. You know how it goes,” quips Woman Five. “WHAT. IS. HIS. NAME.,” insists Woman Four with an unmistakable intensity. So: Woman Five tells her. And needless to say…the engagement ended soon after.

Dude Four & Woman Six: She’s gone on him. Maybe at first because he isn’t interested in her that way. Maybe because of the challenge. At the beginning: anyway. She’s kinda famous for tackling the particularly hard stuff and kicking it’s ass into submission before it even knows it. Why shouldn’t a dude be the same? So: she chases him. She chases him HARD. Subtlety isn’t a talent she possesses…(though she ‘s packed with eleven-hundred other kinds.) It becomes like a rather frustrating sexual game show in the play-by-plays to the people who know of the intent, and have been following from the beginning. An exhaustive campaign. She really goes all out. And for reasons, passing understanding, he manages to hold his ground, despite this hurricane of humanity whipping all around him. Until…that is…one day. When for reasons we may never know for sure (except we really do): he doesn’t. Which will prob’ly go down in the annals of history, sexual antagonism, theatre, life, sex and happy-endings…for all of time.

…Just a choice few of the prob’ly zillions of such stories, I have currently clogging my head, waiting for the day I get that gossip columnist gig, or tell-all book deal.

…Not that I’d name names. That isn’t playing by the rules.

…I’d NEVER renege on confidences.

(…She says…holding the tarnished halo at a tilt, just above her head.)


We Three

29 Dec


Marty, our “Joe,” the Rat Pack, Oceans 13 and an a lotta smokes are still occupying mi casa as I speak.  Post a very hit-and-miss rehearsal, a couple bottles of wine, and some killer tofu stuffs hidden behind the mask of many, many good spices. 

…We are bonding hard core right now.  We may be BFF’s  by the end.  I dunno. 

Mostly we are trying to accomplish compare-contrast of our personal relations of the past and why they suck…sorta like an ongoing Oprah episode, minus the baby-daddy moments. This is why theatre families are so valuable. It almost never matters how fucked up you are personally, there is always another person at LEAST equally, if not more screwed up, or codependent than you are or have been. It’s sorta like comparing scars. “Here, I have this one from that one dude that totally fucked with my head.” “oh, yeah, but I have this one from that one chick that la-de-dah’d.”

Always raising the stakes.

…It’s like Improv really…you always say yes, and add on.

It kinda amazes me how totally screwed up actors are. I know we are by “reputation,” but I almost never believe it, really. We are all a hot mess for our own reasons, and part of the joy of what we do is realizing that a ton of other people are equally fucked up…and that’s why they understand what we do when we do it.

Right now they are on the sofa, YouTubeing this ghetto South African group, Die Antword…which is a particular favorite train wreck husband/wife music group that Marty found this one time and is obsessed with. It’s sorta her party trick. And its beautiful.

…Like many things that Marty does.

Dear Lord…they found a new video of them.

…Also, it’s three in the morning.

…But we are at my house, being totally responsible. And cheap. By drinking free booze.

Rehearsal for tomorrow (or today, if you count by sleep) was cancelled again, for reasons that I still don’t understand. Our “Joe” is tending to the tater tots in the oven, I’m posed over the keyboard in responsible notation of events, and Marty is Nicki Minaj-ing. We are a hot mess of ridiculousness.

…Again: its 3 a.m.

It’s what we do, as a race: “actors.”

…And magically: tots are suddenly before us in a bowl, Regina Spektor is hallooing to us, in a Capella, and we are wearing shit-eatin’ grins.

I love us.

A lot.

I feel a giant glass of water and sleep is soon on the horizon. And as the “old lady” in the room (by like 7 years), I call the bed.

…Let it be known.


Dear SWAL 1.0

19 Nov


It’s time for another installment of Marty’s Job Goes Viral. 

…For those of you just joining: read last month’s edition here.  For our frequent patrons: enjoy another select group of sexually frustrated and emo-fucked relationship questions, answered by yours truly.  These actual texts, IM’s and emails sent to Marty’s day-job inbox, are the top ten reasons we’ve found this month (in no particular order), of why working in the sex industry isn’t as glam as it seems.  (With all their original spelling and sentence structure.)

…These people exist, friends. 

And they are breeding. 

(Or at least are trying to.)

…God help us all.


Question: “From which planet u come from dear u re amazing u know how and when to say it. I like this topic u sent me, It’s a bomb ,sent more And it help my friend who was in need of it I just read to her before I forward it. Thanks and keep well.”

Answer: “We are happy here, on planet Earth, that you find our product of explosive goodness.”


Question:  “Hi its [Name] I have a question this girl he’s bin friends with my boyfriend for 6 years well he’s wasent seen her for a while And she finally shows up And they would hang together every day when I’m at School one day I vited her to Draink with us And a couple of my friends one of my friends caught Her kissing him now now a couple days later she texe him saying everything that happend was it all a lie I’m wondering what is everything And my boyfriend says its Nothein a day later he tells he’s come over when I wasent thar And I caught her my boyfriend told me becuse he wanted her to say sarry to me now what do you thank about this.”

Answer: “Dear [Name], (huge intake of breath) I-have-an-answer-for-you-but-you-might-not-like-what-you-hear-dude’s-been-cheating-on-you-with-this-“friend”-who-is-a-girl-and-there-are-just-no-two-ways-about-it-though-I’m-sure-if-you-asked-he’d-be-open-to-a-three-way-and-that’s-the-truth-so-how-I-look-at-it-is-either-sit-down-and-have-an-honest-talk-with-him-about-it-sharing-that-you-feel-he-has-an-inappropriately-close-relationship-with-this-chick-and-you-are-not-okay-with-it-then-see-how-he-reacts-and-go-from-there-or-you-can-just-go-all-loranna-bobbitt-cut-his-junk-off-and-hand-deliver-it-in-a-box-to-her-saying-‘found-this-in-my-bed-sorry-was-it-yours?-I-feel-really-bad-about-that.’ (huge intake of breath) Signed, SWAL.”


 Question: “my ex dumped me…saein v fought alot she cant handle d pressure…n it wasnt working well i met hr n decided v will b frnds bt since she dumped me i cudnt coop up vd it n fought again she tld she needs brk bt 4 me it wasnt possible i cnt stay away 4rm hr i dont knw wat happnd 2 hr she blockd me on watsaap n fb n she saes she cnt take me as frnd wat shud i do 2 gt hr back as my gf i still alot 4 hr”

Answer: “I’m sorry, we have no one at SWAL who speaks your native tongue. Please bare with us as we attempt to Google Translate your text, and transcribe our answers.”

Translation: Sory wat 4 no spake you-talk. giv min.

(Question Translation Of Question To English: I’ve been dumped, cuz I’m too much work for her right now, but she wants to be friends. I can’t be her friend so decided fighting with her about it would make her take me back, because I just have this stalker-like obsession with her and can’t let her go. Now she’s blocked me from every social network and form of contact in the free world, and says we can’t even be friends anymore. What should I do to get her back, I’m still obsessed.”)

(Answer In English: Look, I feel really badly for your loss, but you are swiftly approaching a point here where calls for restraining orders start getting distributed. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out, but you can’t force people to love you. It’s probably the most difficult lesson our program teaches: there is not always a “happy ending” to our love affairs. We must just accept that sometimes, we just need to let go, and move on with our lives. I firmly suggest, that you consider that, at this time.)

Answer Translation: “Dawg, m’gutz b twist wiv sory. But cheeze it, d fuzz b all in dat grilz shud u nt stp ghostin’ yo’ bitch. Naw ri’t. Naw sqr. She nt tap yr ass no mo’. No mak wiv d bee-bop, no bling-bling, no, “bitch, cal me?” Chill. No mo’ wiv it. She dun. Lots mo’ ass 2 b gt. Kick wiv othr n’ gt dwn wiv some “wat uuuup?!” axun in hr who-haw.”


Question: ” how..? as u wish bt i want she…. i love her”

Answer: “Straight up, we don’t know how the ‘Princess Bride’ is so brilliant with subtext either. ‘As you wish’ = ‘I love you?’ That shit is GOLD…and if WE had thought of copyrighting and marketing it as part of our product-base 20 years ago, I would be retired on a private island by now. However, what valuable lesson we CAN take from that quote, perhaps, is well-placed persistence and dedication to your courtship. Fear not, stable-boy Wesley…we have several ideal products to help you win your Buttercup, at last. (with a money-back, guarantee.)





Question: ” hi | can you plz help me ? by answering my question how can i make my bf love me more and more and never plane to leave me thanxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx”

Answer: “Get a credit card that doesn’t accrue airline miles, and let him play video games whenever he wants.”


Question: ” It was he contacted me…I haven’t even started text him. He came to me told me how much he missed me and wanted me back, i told him i will go out the next day with another guy. Then at midnight he messaged me said he think he is not good enough for me, he doesn’t know what he can give me. I replied to ask him get lost, and called him loser. Then he disappeared. What’s going on with him??”

Answer: “One hopes: a good woman who appreciates humility, affection and effort. Way to fuck it up, babe.”


Question: ” hello …i broked up with my ex 2years ago.. he left me for someone else n they are still together.. we seldom talked to each other but not publically .. actually her g.f even dnt knw dat he talked to me.. but i find one thing very unusual is dat.. he talked to me nicely for 3-4 days n after dat again he quit talking to me.. plz help me .. thanks!”

Answer: “Sorry, am a little confused on the number of people we are talking about here and their gender specificity. What I can say is that s/he sounds like s/he wanted a little side action, (despite being in another long-term relationship), but got caught by sh/iz significant other. Let it lay, is what I advise. There’s already a Queen bee in his life, no good comes from poking the hive.”


Question: ” Please refund me for the [product name.] I downloaded up to day 4 and haven’t returned. I’m sorry the vibrational energy is not compatible with me.”

Answer: “We will certainly refund your money, should you wish…however, before we do so, are you aware of our large product line available, outside of our fine vibrator collection? We would be more than happy to send you more info.”


Question: ” I would like you to email me….so that will can now talk better and will can now each other better and i wil like you to drop me your email so that will can now talk better and will can now know each other better……….i will be waiting for your reply asap..”

Answer: “You’re getting better…but we still need to work on our pronouns. Much better than the 59other passes, though. And you thought learning English just to woo a Mail Order Bride would be hard! Pfft! One more time, now…I feel 60 is your lucky number!”


…That’s all for THIS month, kids. See you with our next installment in December!

Best of Sweaty, Sexy Wishes To You All,



Dear SWAL…

25 Oct


“M” happens to have a fantastic job as a sort of expert relationship rejuvenation texting therapist, for a specific brand of products.  It’s a legit gig, for which she gets paid, and is the source of many wonders in conversations we have, day-to-day.

…The fact that this is a “thing” in today’s day and age, is mind-blowing to me. The fact she gets to sit at home in PJ’s and talk about sex, while eating a whole tube of Pringles in one sitting, and get paid for it, seems not quite fair.  And I told her this.  Often. When we first started hanging out.

…Which is when she started posting me actual questions that she fields day-to-day, via text, FB and private IM. 

And that’s when I stopped being covetous of her. 

…Because her “people” are actually much worse than my “people”…and the fact that she has to get them with others of their kind to procreate…as like “her job,” and things…made me feel less envious and hateful toward her.

…If nothing else, it always offers a laugh to my day…and makes me feel less of a personal disaster area than I thought previously.  And because she is a good egg and all, she thought it might be an amusing anecdote to carry around with you from time to time, as well.  Which is how this: the FIRST of a series we will be calling “Dear SWAL,” came to be.

…The questions will be plucked directly from her inbox, and the answers: from my brain.  The final product should be a terrifying look at why you should never ask me relationship advice.  And also (hopefully) spin some of her headache days into a new field of appreciation in idiocy.  No changes will be made to spelling or content.  This is particularly important, as you will soon see.

This one’s for the “Marty” to my “Roz.”

Dearest “Marty”: Here is why I could never do your job…


Question: “I fil lyk m tryin so hard in mi afair thou i no dat he ain’t a talker.”

Answer: ” Lt mi giv 2 u str8: eye donut tink are progrm will hlp u much. we bass r produck on txt skilz and the anglish lingo. if u aint of the haven it, we aint able 2 hlp. sorry 4 realz.”


Question: “I sent my first ‘crossing the bridge’ text to my ex girlfriend and her response was ‘Fuck off’. What does that mean?”

Answer: “She just blew up the bridge. Put the phone down. Attached is your refund code.”


Question: “A man who’s very capable of clipping his own fingernails and toenails but still asks you to do it for him. Is that any indication that he’s into me?”

Answer: “This is only indicative of him having a certain grooming/mothering fetish, or just being a lazy bastard. My advice in both instances: run.”


Question: “Can you tell me why a man would be so wrapped up in hobbies and cats and have 400 cat pics and be too stubborn to take pics of me or want to have any pics of me on his computer or Facebook?”

Answer: “The Greeks called it ‘Zoophilia,’ a sheep calls it ‘the back 40,’ I call it: ‘prob’ly not what you’re looking for.’ Trust me. Move on.”


Question: “I am 16 years old and she is 17 we had a relationship for almost 3 years and she claimed she fell out of love with me or just was not feeling it. She said i was just immature. I want her to fall in love with me again because we had promise rings and everything to spend the rest of our lives together and i loved the thought of that. i\’ve tried other girls but she is the only girl for me. I am meant for her, wha do i do?”

Answer: “Dear ’16’: I remember you. So I’m not gonna tell you all the things everyone else is going to…about how ‘you’re young,’ and ‘things will change,’ and ‘time will pass,’ and ‘you’ll move on,’ and ‘there will be others,’ and ‘you can’t make people love you.’ Instead I’m just gonna state: ‘Yeah. What they said.'”


Question: “why is my account auaoened?”

Answer: “Because gerfuoded.”


Question: “what are the first 3 methods to getting her back into my life”

Answer: “Have you tried asking her yet.”


Question: “Plz help I won\’t something to say to my ex to win her back plzzz with u help me”

Answer: “I need you to put the bottle down, calmly turn around, and walk away from the car. I have her on the other line, she’s locked herself in, and you’re really freaking her out right now…”


Question: “Am a virgin, and we both agreed that i keep the virginity. But recently, he started cheating on me. I confronted him and he denied it. And since then, he has been acting so mean to me. Am so confused do not know what to do, because i still love him”

Answer: “Yes. You keep your virginity. He’s obviously already got several others’ and there’s no reason to let him be a pig about it. Meanwhile, the local chapters of Catholic and Jewish Mothers With Of-Age Sons, would like to field your interest in dating registrations…”


Question: “i hate my ex i think i should kill him….i hate this feeling”

Answer: “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are asking. Please clarify in a ‘question’ format. Or for all ‘general statements,’ please press ‘4’ to re-send text to appropriate mailbox.”


Question: “you mention ’emotional intimacy’. What is that exactly?”

Answer: “Funny, that’s what my date said last night…”


Question: “When a man says to you ‘lets get together soon…’ what does he mean by ‘soon’? days ? weeks ? months ?”

Answer: “On the twelfth. Of never.”


Question: “How forward is too forward for a woman to be?”

Answer: “Are you the only one naked, and is he calling the Police…?”


Question: “When a guy is ignorant I get attracted to him , as soon as he gets attracted to me n show he is interested I lose interest !? why is it so? am I normal?”

Answer: “Sadly, normal. But we have ten or twelve products that can fix that!”


Question: “What can you reply when someone tell you this: ‘I’ll never be happy unless I cheat from time to time’.”

Answer: “Goodbye.”


…That’s all for now, Cuties. Happy texting!


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