Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Something really weird happened today. Like, Biblical weird. Like, I'm still reeling from the weird-weird. I was having a normal day at work, toiling for Uncle Sam, brokering deals and generally making Important Things happen, when in a burst of silliness (I know! So hard to believe!) I opened a new email message and typed, "Are you there God? It's me, Gwen."

And this is where the weird started go down. First, the email vanished. Disappeared. *POOF!* Gone. Just like that, de nada. I checked SENT MAIL and found nothing. I checked DRAFTS, nothing. And then, before I could start emailing y'all to find out which one of you was getting a free ride to the pokey for buggering with a U.S. government computer, I got this reply:

Yes, my child. What may I favor you with today? I know you don't need me to help grow your boobs.

Uh. Huh? Did I? What? Oh, holy crap, did I somehow email God? THE GOD? The man above? Lord and Saviour? Father of all fathers? Person I agreed was an opiate for the masses? Holy crap, I EMAILED GOD. And he made a crack about my boobs. He's real. And I like him. I'll be damned. Or maybe not . . .

Playing it totally suck-up safe, I replied:

I am sure there are other people whose needs are greater than mine. I just wanted to know if you were there.

But nobody talks to me anymore. They're all atheists or humanists now. So really, it's like you went to the deli and there was no one in front of you. You don't have to take a number from the little machine. Whether you need turkey breast or spiritual renewal, I am here.

Well, I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Did I just call you a horse? Should I have at least capitalized Horse? Do you care about that stuff? You know, all the hommy-glommy that surrounds you?

Also, I could use a soda. [Hey! He offered!] Pepsi. But I'd take an orange if that's all you've got. For some reason I suspect you drink Sunkist orange, like me. Maybe because it's so damnably (See what I did there? Do you like humor?) refreshing.

Oh, you know me. I'm low-maintenance, even for God. I don't need all that capitalization stuff. The way I look at it, if I need that for my ego then I must not be a very secure and powerful God, you know?

I can totally do a Pepsi. Although you should know that I drink Diet Coke. That's the Official Soft Drink of God. What do you think I could get for THAT kind of endorsement? If you ever visit me up here (and I pray to me that you don't for another 40 or 50 years), I'll let you try the soda flavors you guys don't even have on Earth. Orgasmberry Splash, anyone?

It pleases me that you are much like I expected. I bet you're cute, too. Are you allowed to make out? Wanna make out?

Just reading Orgasmberry Splash made my pink parts tingle a little. Good work, G-man. (OH! That makes me wonder if the G-spot is named after you. Is it? I almost asked if you could make it easier to find and then I remembered that things are better when you have to work for them.)

Speaking of endorsements . . . are the Cowboys really God's Team?

Are you Allah and Mohammed and Buddha and Ra and Zeus, too? Or are those different guys?

So many questions! You know, hiding from mankind is something I've always done out of habit, but this is fun. Maybe I'll call a respected journalist and do a sit-down TV interview. Who do you think would be best? A few years ago I'd have said Oprah, but now she's a bit of a wackadoo. Maybe I can get Letterman to give me a whole hour and let me pick the musical guest.

I have been told that I am cute, and I am allowed to make out. After all, I'm God, right? Who is going to tell me what to do? But I must warn you...making out with God is dangerous. Afterwards, no mortal man will satisfy you even a little. I mean, I INVENTED those pink parts. I know how they work better than anyone. So think carefully. And yes, the G-spot is named after me. Because if you find it, you see me and many have been known to call out my name.

I'm so glad you asked me about the Cowboys. They are NOT God's team. I don't care if they DID put a hole in the roof so I can watch. They are sinners and idolators, and they are unworthy before my eyes. The only time I visit the filthy hole they call a stadium is the one game each year when the Eagles visit. They are are pleasing to me.

While we're talking about football, let me make something clear - I DO care about the outcome of football games. Everyone who sees a player thank me and says "God has better things to do" is dead wrong. I mean, it took me seven days to create the universe, and make no mistake, that was hard work. But after that it's just routine maintenance. I have a lot of down time. By the way, I like the Chargers to win the Super Bowl this year. Just a tip from above.

As for whether I am all those guys, yes I am. I like to talk to people in a way they will be receptive to hearing me. Kind of like how Dukakis tried to woo conservatives by sitting in a tank, Kerry tried to get blue collar people by eating a cheesesteak, and Hillary tried to completely hide who she actually is. (Being God, I am much more successful than these train wrecks. Really, Kerry? Swiss cheese?)

It's so great to get all this stuff off my chest!

Would you be willing to be interviewed by a small-time Midwestern blogger who likes to swear and talk about poop? My sources say she has A LOT more questions for you.

Also, I just got up to get a Pepsi - I was even going to pay for it! - and discovered there's no ice in the office fridge. I'm questioning you and your omnipotence.

Do you look like Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski? Because that would be awesome and make me willing to forsake all mortal men. WAIT! I changed my mind. I'm not ready to give up penises just yet, but if you could see your way clear to sending one of those mortal men my way, it'd be super. I'm into cute with a sense of humor, confident but not egomaniacal, thoughtful, not gay, not married . . . whatever you think is best for me within those loose parameters.

I would love to be interviewed by you, I mean a small-time Midwestern blogger. That will give me street cred. After all, I'm a God of the people.

Silly child...it is not my omnipotence you should question. You should be asking yourself whether I wanted there to be ice in the fridge. I just blew your mind, didn't I? I tend to do that.

I do not look like Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski. I can make myself look like anything I want, but I do not wish to look like that. I'm God, I can't be running around slacking off in a bathrobe and existing in an inexplicably popular movie all the time. I prefer to look like Kurt Russell. Or maybe George Clooney if I'm going somewhere fancy.

As for your request, I will do my best. But it's pretty hard to find a guy like that who is not gay or married, even for me. But I'm glad to see your parameters are loose, that will help. Anything loose will help, frankly.

"Anything loose will help, frankly." Ha! I had almost forgotten about Mary Magdalene. How long did you two date? Is she the Holy Grail or is Dan Brown demented?

You know, nobody is going to believe this, but he got everything EXACTLY RIGHT. When I read it, I was like "What the fuck? How did this guy get all this information?" Then I realized he had probably come up with it completely independently and didn't even know he was right. So I figured I'd gently persuade some hipsters to trash it and let them do my dirty work.

Mary Magdalene? Oh, her grail is holy all right. She does shit that would turn Paris Hilton's hair white. We went out for a little while, but frankly, you can't keep that up. She's the kind of crazy where it's fun to date her for a couple of weeks and then you find yourself not picking up when she calls and making up excuses like you "have a lot of work to do."

Oh, God, you're a stitch! Listen, I'm sure you've got things to do so I will let you go but before I do my friend wants to know if you are a PC or a Mac . . .

All computers are equal in the eyes of God. Except those piece of shit HPs.

Hahaha! This was a lot of fun and very enlightening. Can I email you again some day?

Anytime, baby! It's lonely at the top.

So yeah, I've got some sort of back-of-the-wardrobe loophole in my laptop*, which is equal parts awesome and freaky. Got any questions for God, monkeys?

* I don't really have a laptop but I loved the alliteration of "loophole in my laptop" so much that I lied. In a blog post quoting God. I should ask him about hell next time.

It would seem I had a spot of fun late last night texting and commenting and emailing while under the influence, like this email to Katrocket:

Well, the most recent round of Pen Pal Project cards went out earlier this week and I am already getting feedback from y'all in emails, texts, and even a post from the lovely and lively Cora who writes Love Letters From Cora.  (She rocks, check her out.)

It thrills me to no end that I filled your boxes with NC-17 goodness and you liked it.  Dirty monkeys.

One thing, though . . . did any of you notice the stamp?  I am offering a prize to the first person (who isn't H since she pointed it out to me) to identify what's missing from the "Legends of Hollywood" Bette Davis stamp I used.  In case you've already tossed the envelope (that sounds dirty), or in case you haven't yet joined my mailing list, here's the stamp:

First one to comment here and accurately identify what's missing gets a kick-ass prize.  I have no idea what that is yet, but it'll be from me so it will be kick-ass.  Duh.

I knew the title would reel you in, perverts.  But fer realz, I got a buttload of Valentines and they were all from girls.  Girls, the girls, they love me cuz I'm the overweight lover, Heavy D.

Returning to this century, let's see what I got . . . 

This beautiful postcard was sent by the even-more beautiful Bella all the way from Zagreb, Croatia.

The image and colors are perfect for my guest room where it will be proudly displayed as soon as I frame it.  I just wish there was a way to display the postmark as well.  (Please tell me I am not the only geek out here who loves postmarks.)

Thanks, Bella!  I was so sorry to read that you are leaving Blog Town, especially since it's in pursuit of something gainful like a job.  We will miss you.  Please hang around and say hi every now and then.  You keep me on my toes, missy, and I like it.

I also received a wonderful package from my blog wife, Whiskeymarie, who likes to play jokes.  Funny, funny jokes.

Lucky for her, she always sends goodies that take the sting out of the stink-eye I get from my mail man.

She sent the two magnets; the notepad on the left was already there but I kept it in the picture because you always seem so interested in what's on my fridge.  I can't wait to see how people react to a magnet of my own stupid face on my own stupid fridge.  

This next Valentine is vurry special.  It's from my girl Kendra who sent it down last weekend with her folks.

Not only did I get this super-awesome handmade card, which said other nice things about me like I rock and I am special thereby proving she's an incredibly bright and intuitive girl, but she also sent this very cute bear who quickly found a home in the windowsill on the landing.

And finally, Little BRR showed up Saturday morning ready to party and bearing gifts that included this card and a candy necklace/ring set.  I tried to wear the ring but it just looked like I was smelling my own finger.  Like this.

Isn't it?  Both kinds.  Both kinds of Spam are funny.  But all I have today is email spam.  Sorry.  I supply the funny, you supply the potted meats.  It's just how I roll.

Anyway, I recently went "All Google, All The Time" and when I was cleaning out my yahoo inbox I found a treaure trove of subject lines:

I've been really super good this year - I gave to charity and I made lasagnas for people who had babies and one time I even helped an old lady get out of her bondage hood.  This being said, I would like a Dictaphone for Christmas.  See, I write this silly little blog and over time I've realized I get the most creative post ideas when I'm in the shower and when I'm driving, both situations in which it's hard to write notes.  I'm not saying I don't, just that it's difficult.

I am writing today to say thank you for selling smaller cans of the staple vegetables like green beans and corn. I'm a single gal who isn't fond of leftovers but can't eat a whole regular-sized can of vegetables in one meal. So thank you, I appreciate the thought you've put into your packaging.

I feel a bit ridiculous with these in my basket at the grocery as I don't generally run in the same circles as Dora the Explorer and Spongebob Squarepants. I'm sure Ms. Explorer and Mr. Squarepants are fine people but I live in fear of the day that an eligible hottie sees me with them and asks if the characters make it easier to get my little ones to eat their veggies.

You see, if I'm honest and admit that I don't have any children he will know that I am a sad, single woman who is forced to buy children's vegetables because I take all of my meals alone. Not good.

And if I shamefacedly say, "Why yes, kind sir, it does." then our marriage will be based on a lie and I will be forced to buy children on the black market in order to maintain the pretense. Also not good. Or easy or cheap.

So, can we do away with the cartoon characters on the little cans? Ankle biters aren't the only ones who eat small portions and it's hard enough to meet quality men at the grocery without your cock-blocking corn making a mess of things.

Thanking you in advance,

Gwen

St. Louis, MO