Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of April 1, 2018
• On the first of the month, I engage in that superstitions tradition of saying “rabbit, rabbit” when I first wake up, before I say anything else. When one does this, one is resigned to have good luck throughout that month. On Sunday, April 1, 2018, the first thing I said was not, “rabbit, rabbit.” I said, “Fuckinggoddammit, Harry! What is your fucking deal? I just changed you. You just ate. Is it gas? Do you have to fart? Jesus fucking Christ, calm down, please!” As a result, I’m gravely concerned over what my luck will be like this month.
He Was Born Of A Non-Virgin Non-Mary
He was born of a non-virgin non-Mary.
He was born a month prematurely, disrupting his mother’s plans for a large feast of Italian beef sandwiches, dipped, with all the fixings.
Born Angry
Some family stories get repeated over and over, become the stuff of legends. One such story is about when my mother was pregnant with me, and, from inside the womb, I was kicking so hard that I kicked the newspaper she was reading off her lap. Writing this now, I wonder if it was possible that the news was making me mad even then.
Jake and Caroline’s first date was at The Whistler. They talked about Ronnie, how much they loved The Diplomat, and debated the better ride-share service, Uber or Lyft. She was Uber, he was Lyft. They got wasted on Sazeracs and had sex at her apartment. It was incredible for both of them. Caroline stopped taking sex advice from Ronnie.