Sunday, June 5, 2011

Some Notes For Your Next Breakup

To: prednisone@blessingandcurse.drug
From: joe@mostlyharmless.patient
Date: June 5, 2011
Subject: Things I'd really like you to stop doing

Hey you. How's it going? Sorry I haven't returned any of your calls. You know I totally want to, but I just can't. I know by now you know this is not a drill. I'm not bluffing. It really is *over*. And I know that sucks. I know it does. But we are both adults (well, I'm an adult - you're more of a steroid). If we can't part ways as friends - and it is looking more and more as though we cannot - then we need to just part ways. Period.

You say you want to stay friends. If that is true, then there are some things I really need you to do or, more to the point, stop doing.

  • If you're going to send flowers, here's a tip: send live ones. The stuff with which you've been flooding my life of late has been shriveled enough to adorn an Addams Family set.
  • You know I love chocolate. You know from that one Valentine's Day that those sugar-free chocolates are really quite powerful laxatives. Yet, lo and behold, that is what you sent me. I lost a half-day of work and the respect of everyone in my office. Thanks a lot.
  • Do not reenact the climactic scene from "Never Been Kissed" at the Frederick Keys game - especially on a night when I'm not even there. It's just embarrassing.
  • I'd rather you didn't drunk-dial me late at night, especially if you're too drunk to hear the beep, leaving a voicemail of mostly dead air and inebriated steroidal breathing. Or if it's karaoke night wherever you are. Or if you're drunk enough to dial my mom's number instead of mine. Just stop. Get a wing-man or something - someone to take custody of your phone until the danger has passed.
  • You know I love gifts, and you know I like cool toys for my cubicle at work, but seriously dude - a whole case of mortar-and-pestle-shaped stress balls emblazoned with "CADISTA PHARMACEUTICALS" is not exactly going to win me back.
  • Yes, I loved the 1980s - music, TV, movies, Presidents - you name it. But OMG do NOT stand in my front yard holding up a boom box bellowing as loudly as its D-cell-powered wooferlets can bellow, especially if your "come back to me" songs of choice are The PiƱa Colada Song or Fat-Bottomed Girls.
So. Just to recap: Stop trying to stop me from breaking up with you. It won't work. There's nothing you can do to change my mind. I get no joy from seeing you suffer, and even less from seeing you make a fool of yourself, but this is happening. PLEASE do us both a favor and move on. Please?


  1. No mean No and the court said 500 yards NOT 500 feet. There's a difference, ok?

    Whatever happened to "your money on the table, sweetheart, get out"?

    thanks for my blog comment...mate

  2. Brilliant. Where were you 10 years ago when I was weaning off Zoloft?

    One more month? Good luck!

  3. Hey, thanks! If a Becky can do it, maybe a Joe can, too. And if, 10 years from now, I am HALF the writer and brave (sorry - fearless) amuser of people that you are, well that'll be just fine.

  4. Prednisone. What an unbelievably fucked up drug. Synthroid is just as terrible. At least for me. My hypothyroid symptoms are easier to tolerate than that shit was. Blech. I hate needing doctors.

    1. Amen to all of that, Aimee. I went from no doctors to a half-dozen of them, overnight. Bleah.