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9:39 am | 27 June 2003 | YMAW guest feature

Today, i bring you a very special guest entry by Yermomsawookie.
Oh, it was at first just an email to me, an email like any other. Except it was frickin' hilarious. So it gets posted. (Sometimes i will do that--post emails--so i encourage you to email me. But don't go askin' to get posted, suckas, or i'll cut you. This ain't McSweeney's.) Enjoy! (And YMAW is really being terribly horribly awfully cute about this. Go ahead and email him.) clm.
p.s. One more thing: my sister's blog is particularly funny today. She had to go to PA on a family trip (i ducked out of that shit a few years ago, thankfully). haaa.


What Yermomsawookie is Thinking About This Summer

1.) My new Albuterol inhaler. Who knew fighting allergies could be so sexy...or so much fun! I know I'm not "supposed" to enjoy prescription medication, but I have to say that I haven't been this fucking productive since I stopped drinking triple mochas and snorting crank. Oh, the shaking is rather sucky, and so is the elevated heart rate, but I figure I'm burning extra calories with every little tremor. It's an allergy fighter! It's a diet aid! It ROCKS!!! (Note: I may come down at some point during all this...my apologies ahead of time for the sudden drop in coherence. But for now...ROCK THE FUCK ON!)

2.) Boobies. OK, I'll be honest. I like the boobies. Actually, I like the whole "summer wardrobe" package, but the boobies are particularly noticeable this time of year. I don't think that makes me a bad person, or a chauvinist, especially because nobody informed me that it recently became appropriate to wear skin-tight clothing to the office. Tube tops? Micro-minis? The hell? Let's just say that the morning commute has been rather interesting/troubling of late, and I am deeply afraid that all this distraction will lead to an unfortunate encounter with the bumper of a bus. Tourist hoochies I'm used to, but corporate hoochies? Does. Not. Compute. And then there are the boobies of the dumb-ass variety -- the older, non-anatomical definition of the word. The worst, was (as Sars says) "that guy", AKA "frat boy" "chipster" "idiot", sporting the blue biz-dev oxford tucked-in to the below-the-knee khaki shorts. And flip-flops. To the office. Yeah, the sunglasses perched atop the head? Perfect for that afternoon board meeting/beach party, bro! And he's not the only one, either. What the fuck is going on around here? Isn't "dressing for the office" part of the curriculum at the average Ivy League campus? Don't you have to own a pair of loafers in order to be admitted to U of Chipster in the first place? Did they stop giving away free subscriptions to "Esquire" with the Stanford MBA? If you can afford the BMW you can also afford a decent summer suit. *,** Clearly, he is of the "single guy in his late 20s/early 30s who lives in the Marina and drinks Amstel Light" chipster variety, but that's no excuse. Is the road to a corner office really flip-flop friendly? I mean, I know it's paved with VIP passes to the local strip club, but fucking flip-flops?!? I'm gonna hurl.

3.) The weather (The following to be read in "Teen Girl Squad" voice). "Dood. It's, like, soooo fuk-kin' hot and stuff, like, lately. Dude! I mean, god! Isn't this, like, supposed to be San Francisco? Dude, it's like, 80 degrees! Noooo shit! I SWEAR to GOD I am going to die of heat stroke!! Thank god I had time to stop by Paul Frank after work yesterday and buy this tube top. Soooo good! I'm serious, Tiffany, if it's this hot tomorrow I am sooo calling in sick to work. OMIGOD, we can totally spend the day at the beach! I'll call Becky up in HR and we'll totally make a day of it!! Sweeeet! By the way, did you see what Chip wore to work today? I KNOW! But I think he still looks kinda hot. SHU-UT UP!!" (San Franciscans totally lose their shit when the mercury climbs over 65 degrees. It's like "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" or "A Streetcar Named Desire" meets "MTV Spring Break" around here. Ugly. Clothes come off, inner divas come out, and brains are left at home. If my co-worker fans himself and sighs dramatically one more time, I'm gonna staple his fingers to the desk. Get a grip, fuckers. 80 degrees ain't shit. Now then, Stella dear, have you seen my sweet tea?)

4.) The writing. Our recent conversations (Editor's note: YMAW is all, "Waaaah! I can't write! I lost my notebook and I'm aloooone!" and I'm all, "Belly up to the bar, sucka. To paraphrase Winston in Ghostbusters, "You have the tools, you have the talent!" Carry on.) have done much to get me thinking about voice and process and the value of story. I realize that I've always had a problem with voice, and that my dislike of writing stems the fact that either a.) I hate the way I write, or b.) I hate trying to write like I'm somebody else. I also question the value of writing, which is kinda hypocritical considering how much I care about it. Actually, I question the value of MY writing, and whether putting something "out there" is ultimately worth all the pain and suffering involved. Strangely enough, I also have a tendency to cling to each and every word as if my very life depends upon it. The things I write aren't just stories, they're also snapshots of what I was thinking and feeling and doing at the time. As such, I don't always have the best luck with editing. Or re-writes. Who knew I was so emotional? Must be the heat. Anyway, the size of this paragraph is in no way a reflection of the amount of thought that I've been giving "my process" of late. Suffice it to say that it's been a great thing to talk about writing again.

5.) All this fucking work sitting on my desk. Shit, dude, I really should get going. I've had more peas rolling around my bowl, but I'm too buried to talk about them right now.

-Yermomsawookie

* Oops, there I go borrowing your stylish buddy The Asterisk. If you feel the need to restore the balance to the Force, go ahead and call my old friends Mr. and Mrs. Parenthetical Aside. They're always down for an e-mail party.

** In the interest of full disclosure, it is important that I mention the following: Although I do not have a BMW, the money for a decent summer suit, or an MBA, I do have a subscription to "Esquire." (Oh, the shame!) But how else do you explain your average honky straight guy knowing that wearing flip-flops to the office is a crime against nature? See. And besides, the fiction that they publish is nearly always sometimes usually occasionally brilliant. Usually. Ahem.


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unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04.
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