crazy for april

I like to stalk my friends from time to time. Emails. Texts... whatever strikes my fancy.

April recently went out of town and this hilarity ensued. Enjoy.


First I send some random message to April, and then... AutoReply:


Hey kids--this is an auto-response.

I won't be checking email for the next few weeks so please try to hold off for a while.
(Oh and I won't have my phone or have access to vm either).

Feel free to contact Mike if need be---he'll be around taking care of things.

Thanks!

Smooches & ass slaps,

A

My Response:

Your smooches and ass slaps are no good to me now. I miss you.
Where are you?
Is it warm?


Another AutoReply:
Hey kids--this is an auto-response.

I won't be checking email for the next few weeks so please try to hold off for a while.
(Oh and I won't have my phone or have access to vm either).

Feel free to contact Mike if need be---he'll be around taking care of things.

Thanks!

Smooches & ass slaps,

A


My immediate response:

Oh is that you? I got all hopeful. It isn't you. You aren't back.
Your auto reply taunts me.
Taunt.
Taunt.
I was holding a piece of your hair and thinking of you.
and stroking the hair.
While watching Private Practice.
And thinking of you.
And Indian Food.
And Rice.
And Beads.
I miss you. Your pretty eyes.
The way you make my ass quiver.
Your hot tub.
The sexy way you take off your braces before you eat and floss and brush your teeth when you are done.
That's hot.

Call me.
Lover.

Wait, this hair isn't yours.
Gross.


And the next day... I send yet another message:

So, I was just curled up in a ball on the floor in a corner in the dark. Rocking back and forth, holding a crumpled, moist photo of you and me... together. And I made a haiku for you.

I call it... "Impatiently waiting for you to return home because life just isn't the same"

Lonely for April
Showers of love to bring me
Fowers of Awesome.

I will read it to myself over and over again until you return. I will cry until there are no more tears.

Smooches.


And it's immediate follow-up:

In my impatient-ness and brainstorming I messed up your haiku.
Please still be my friend. I will make it up to you!

Fowers = Flowers.


P.S. If you were stung by a jellyfish I'd pee on you.


A few hours later that day.... more emailing:

I googled "haiku" and it said you're supposed to make an image that goes with your haiku.
Attached to this email is an image that I think accurately reflects the haiku I wrote for you.

I also wrote a song.
But I cannot tell it to you.
And I cannot sing it.
I'm afraid the pain is so palpaple, (in my song of mourning)
That to release it will make all the unicorns in the world die.
And David Bowie will no longer be able to rock it.
And Chuck Norris would collapse and weep.
And all the puppies in the world would leap off a tall, tall cliff.
And Rapunzel, oh dear sweet Rapunzel. Need I go on? How much longer can I describe
the torture of innocent things that would surely happen, should I set free the song of such pain?
Of such longing? Of such hopeless need?
I could not tell it.
I could not sing it.
For I love the unicorns and do not wish them to die.
For I love David Bowie, and his ability to rock it.
For I love Chuck Norris and his rock-hard man exterior of shiny shining glory and strength. I do not
wish to see his tears, which is sad, because they can cure world hunger.
For I love all the puppies in the world and do not wish them to leap off a tall, tall cliff.
For I love dear sweet Rapunzel and wish her no harm.

For them, I will not do it.
For you, I would do anything. But I won't do that.

Sweet dreams.

And this image was attached:


See in this image I made, there's April's favorite things. Little Johnny Depp's, Penguin's and Prince's!

And soon. Soon April returned and replied!!!

Emails like this just make me love you that much more

I saw a tree in the Philippines and it reminded me of you. I took a picture —it was called a “Golden Shower”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassia_fistula


April's second reply:

I finally got to open the image.

I mistakenly drank vernor’s as I opened the file.

Vernor’s in your nose is not nice. My nasal passages are moist from Vernor’s now.

You have to sing me my song on Saturday—why must you abandon me in my time of desperate need? I shall cry myself to sleep tonight.

Never gonna give you up.


And my response?:

Oh no,
You should not consume liquids when looking at such things. They will spray.
I apologize for the moistness of your passages. Giggles abound when melissa can't sleep and has the power of photoshop at her fingertips.
Moist.

I do not want to abandon you in your time of need, but cannot help it - I must go. I will be with many dogs on Saturday and will not see you.
/frowny face

And how can you suggest I sing to you the song of great mourning?!
Have you no love for the unicorns, Chuck Norris, David Bowie, puppies, and dear sweet Rapunzel?

I'm never gonna give you up.
Never gonna let you down.

Fondly,
-m


Let that be a lesson to you all.... I'm a stalker.

because I can't do better

That beagle just robbed a starbucks
Jack Gray
AC360° Associate Producer

Move over, Sully. The Westminster Dog Show is in town. It’s like a canine version of Fleet Week, only with more one night stands. In fact it’s the one week of the year when Manhattan’s fanciest hotels can be trashed by long-haired creatures roaming the hallways on all fours and management can’t automatically blame Mickey Rourke.

Like all visitors to New York, the Westminster participants try to strike a balance of business and pleasure. The Poodle window shopping at Cartier. The Bichon having his picture taken in front of the Seinfeld diner. The Schnauzer trotting into a Times Square massage parlor.

But if you think an influx of dogs into one of the world’s most populated cities might cause problems, think again. In fact, one of the reasons why I like dog tourists better than regular tourists is that they’re much less disruptive. You’ll never come across a Welsh Corgi blocking a busy sidewalk, digging around in his fanny pack for misplaced tickets to Mamma Mia.

And you don’t have to worry about a posse of Great Danes strutting through SoHo, clad in leather pants, pestering you for directions to Dolce and Gabbana.

Sure, not every dog is perfect. Border Collies are Kleptomaniacs. And Pugs have an insatiable penchant for prostitutes. But just remember that for every Cocker Spaniel who steals your iPhone there’s a civic-minded Pekingese willing to give you CPR…even if you don’t need it.

It is exhausting, though. There are so many different breeds in the city this week, it’s almost overwhelming for a dog lover like me. As you’ll learn if you watch the telecast of the dog show, each breed has its own special qualities. Take for example the Maltese. They excel at cuddling and conning senior citizens out of their Social Security checks. Then there’s the Scottish Terrier. They’re known for their loyalty and fondness for black market handguns. To say nothing of the Dachshund, a dog small in stature but big in ability to launder money through the Cayman Islands.

And don’t even get me started on Saint Bernards. They say they’re there to rescue you but they’re really just there to steal the gold fillings out of your teeth.

In the meantime, watch out for the Basenji, the so-called barkless dog. As if that isn’t a scam.