Friday, November 11, 2011

In This Issue: Strangers Insult Me With Childhood References

After a long day at work yesterday, I stopped by the grocery store on my way home. Threw things into my basket without really thinking, and headed to the checkout line.

"How are you tonight?" the cashier asked.

"Hungry," I responded. My stomach grumbled in agreement.

"Hungry hippo," the cashier nodded.


"Nom nom nom!"

"Thank you for the comparison."

"No problem, loved that game!" Cheerfully clueless, he handed me my bag of groceries and I grumped off into the night.

I don't think I look anything like that when I eat.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Eight Inches Make A Difference

Guess who has brand new mom hair?

Sorry for the facial expression. There's an unwritten rule about how many self photos you can take in a Starbucks before people stop pretending they don't notice. I was perilously close to the limit and couldn't take another.

That's right, this lady right here. And while I'm really annoyed with the salon that didn't book enough time for my appointment (I told them I was donating my waist length curly hair and might need extra seat time) and the stylist who didn't listen to what I asked for or look at the photos I provided, it isn't entirely bad.


Because according to the National Cancer Institute, 774,370 women will be diagnosed with cancer by the end of this year. It's a terrifying journey to find oneself on -- and in addition to the stress of diagnosis, treatment, and debilitating medical expenses, many of these women wake up every morning to a new face in the mirror, one they don't recognize.

I'm good at a handful of things, but science and doctor-y things haven't ever made the list. I am good at growing thick strong hair (thanks, Greek ancestors!). So yesterday I went in and had eight inches of my locks chopped off, walked out with a bag of hair (creepy), and tomorrow will mail it to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. Along with donations from about five other women, it will be made into a wig for one woman fighting the hardest battle of her life.

So while my hair looks like a small town newscaster's, I know someone else is going to end up with some great hair days. That makes it okay.

Curious about hair donation? Read my guest post from 2009, Frizz for a Cause, over on

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Hello, I'm Not Stalking You

Some things, I can't wrap my brain around. Like sending emails such as the one below.

From: --
To: Christina
Subject: Stalking

Hey, Christina, how are you? I'm not stalking you. Yet!


Here's to you, future stalker! You and your uncomfortable emails!

Console me in the comments, please. I don't want to think I'm the only one who gets head scratchers like this one.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Helpful Phrases For Small Talk Scenarios

Chit chat. Small talk. It serves a purpose, but there's a reason it makes us yawn and roll our eyes when we think about it. All you're doing is saying the same thing each time, and wasting the precious brain cells you still have by uttering inane comments.

Here is my gift to you: a series of responses that you can memorize and use, allowing your brain to focus on quantum physics or the last episode of Dance Moms. Also, if you get the delivery right, you won't have to worry about making small talk much longer.

Please note: while these are conversations I often have, your experience may vary -- so please feel free to adapt them.

"How are you doing today?"
"[fill in long explanation with unnecessary details and tears]"

"What are your plans for this afternoon?"
See above.

"Your hair is amazing!"
"That's what I said to the last owner."

"You're kind of conceited."

"What great weather we're having!"
"It's a trap -- they want you lulled into a false sense of security before they unleash the zombies."

"Would you like the ravioli packaged to go?"
"No, I plan to grill it immediately -- I hear it tastes best that way."

"So what do you do for a living?"
"I've found eating food and sleeping regularly to be highly successful for me."

"Is that debit or credit?"
"Klout, actually."

"Hi, my name is [name]. It's so great to meet you!"
"It's great to meet you, too. Good thing I won't remember your name, so we can do this again."

Okay, so my idea of "small talk" extends to nearly "all talk." But I find the above responses infinitely helpful in sparing my brain the pain of ordinary responses. Tell me in the comments -- what do you (or have you) said in a common chit chat scenario?

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Rejection: For Fun And Profit

When I was on a work trip a few weeks back, my co-workers and I were chatting over dinner, and somehow got to to talking about the Rejection Line. Never heard of it? One of them hadn't either, so I called it and put it on speakerphone for group entertainment.

(Call it right now if you never have -- 212-479-7990).

Someone suggested that Seattle needed a local Rejection Line, since the New York area code kind of made the whole thing fishy for us west coasters. Last weekend, I discovered there IS a Seattle rejection number.

It's mine.

"Hey :-)" came the text message from an unknown number.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize your number. Who is this?" While my gut reaction was to respond with a little more attitude, I have my cell listed on my business cards and toned it down a bit.

"It's Don. We met on the bus this evening. The guy with the Bud Light sign."

I don't use public transportation. This was clearly a mistake. I let him know, he apologized, and I thought how strange it was that this had happened the previous weekend, too.

Minute later, a new number texted me:

"Hey :-) It's Daren. Nice to meet you today. That was fun on the bus. You work tomorrow?"

All of these people mentioned the bus... and it clicked. Some crazy itchy bee was giving out my number as her own to men on public transportation.

"Someone has been giving out my number as her own, but I'm afraid it isn't me. I don't ride the bus. I'm sorry."

"Oh wow. So sorry. I had no idea. That is really messed up," came the response. Then: "Well, I guess it's never too late to make a new friend! How was your weekend?"


"Thank you but no. I don't really want to talk. I'm sorry someone was rude to you but you can throw away this number now."

He apologized and left me alone... for two days.

"Hey, I know you weren't really in the mood to talk before. But I couldn't help but to ask how you are doing? How is your week going?"

So. Anyone want to sponsor this impromptu career I'm starting? I will happily mention your company in my rejections.

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather be eating ____while watching _____, my favorite ____, than text or talk to you. But for comfort during this terrible time of rejection, may I suggest trying _____?"

Get in touch, sponsors. I'm open to your offers.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

I Heard There Will Be A Conga Line At My Funeral

My friends are looters and zombie killers. But apparently? Also sentimental. Please consider the recent conversation below Exhibit A.

Me: Okay I need your opinion: free skydiving lesson was offered to me -- not off a plane, into a tube. Take it?

A: Do it!

Me: What if I told you the instructor was in training? Still do it?

A: It's in a tube... What could go wrong?

Me: I don't know, I haven't had a freak accident before. I'm not sure how they go down.

A: Do it!

Me: If I die, not only do you HAVE to come to my funeral, but also give a euology (and pronounce it like Zoolander) about how beautiful and kind hearted I am. You may not mention that I gave you instructions on what to say.

A: Okay.

Me: You want me dead. I knew it.

A: I do. I want your iPhone.

Me: When I jump to my death under your orders, please help yourself.

A: Okay... what else do you have that I want?

Me: My hair?

A: Maybe.

Me: Hey! Don't be mean! You love my hair and would want to save it for the baby.

A: I'll make a blanket for him with it.

Me: That is the perfect legacy.

A: We will have a conga line at your funeral!

Me: I want to come! Maybe we can have a fake funeral where I show up. Surprise! Not dead! I feel like maybe people would be mad instead of joyful. Because I have terrible friends.

A: We would be confused. And think you were a zombie. And kill you. You would be bald.

Thanks. I love you, too.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Diary of An Angry Black Woman (Who Isn't Black)

Airport security -- no one's favorite, but never been an issue for me.

Take off your jacket? Okay! Remove your jewelry and belt? Sure thing. Kick off the shoes? Of course -- did that back at check-in. Pull out everything you packed and dump each item into separate bins? You got it -- I was hoping to lose something today anyway.

But last week, I got a pat down.


This hair.

After walking through the security conveyer belt, throwing my hands in the air (like I just didn't care) for the body scanning machine, and walking forward, I was informed that my hair was suspiciously full and lustrous and they had to pat it down.

They *might* have left out the compliments, but I was fairly confident that was why... they're a jealous bunch, those TSA people.

I'm not going to lie, it was a disappointing experience. There was no awkward massage of my shoulders or anything. When my co-worker got patted down, he got the full body treatment (women discriminated against again!).

But today, my friend sent me an article from the TIME website: "Woman Calls TSA Hair Pat Down 'Racially Motivated.'" The same airport? The same pat down?

It's obvious: the TSA thinks I'm black.

It's not the first time this mistake has been made.

I thought the pat down was funny when it was just hair jealousy. Now that I know it's because I'm Jewish-and-confused-for-another-minority? Now I'm enraged.

I'm going to have to talk to some media about being singled out for my poofy full, lustrous hair.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

The Five Stages of Sickness, or, I Am Now Dying

This may be my last blog post, because I'm probably dying. I have a really sore throat, people. So I'm tracking my Five Stages of Grieving (read up on Wikipedia, a non-credible source, if you don't know what those are). I think these stages -- and their order -- pretty much describe every illness I've ever had.

Enjoy my pain.

This usually occurs Day 1. I wake up with a sore throat, and cheerfully scold myself, "Oh, you! You drank too much coffee yesterday and then slept with your mouth open!" Self grumbles, but knows this to be true. Illness is not an option.

Denial becomes a little more difficult as the day goes on, and gallons of water don't seem to hydrate throat enough to make it stop hurting. "No, no, NO, I am NOT sick!" is the refrain because my body is like a lizard -- if something goes wrong, I'll just regrow a tail or a pancreas or whatever I need to not have a sore throat.

Upon waking on Day 2 with a sore throat, acceptance comes. It sounds like this:

"I'm siiiiiiiiiiiiiickkkkkk!"

Paranoia is a common side affect of acceptance -- I accept that I'm sick, but I also accept that someone, somewhere gave me germs and it was probably on purpose. This time, I doubt it was bin Laden because he's dead, but I haven't ruled out some other terrorists. Or my co-workers. They're interrogated appropriately about their recent symptoms.

"When you got sick, was your throat sore? How long? Tell me, dammit! Or," I continue ominously, "this unicorn and its pet puppy will pay."

Day 3 falls on a weekend, almost invariably. This brings on ANGER. I think that's pretty self-explanatory.

This can fall on Day 3, too, since I quarantine myself and then I get bored. I might as well bargain as watch Dirty Dancing again.

Example bargains:
- If I'm going to die, at least I'm a martyr -- I'm protecting innnocent lives from the death I'm about to experience, because if it can take on my hearty immune system it's clearly the kernel of a pandemic. You're welcome, world, for staying home and eating popcorn.

- If I'm going to die, people had better say nice things about me at my funeral. My best friend gets an email asking about the eulogy she should have planned. She responds that it will be awesome but refuses to provide details for my editing. My mother gets a text about my impending death and a request that she not tell "humorous" stories at my funeral. She agrees to talk about my nobility of character, my beautiful visage, and my humility. She seems eager to talk about my humility.

- If I'm going to die, I need to at least survive until I'm done eating the chocolate truffles in my apartment, because they are $1.19 for three now. They used to be $0.89, for goodness sake! I'm eating them before I die, even if they scratch up my throat that is already killing me.

I'm not good at bargaining.

You might be surprised, but Kubler-Ross didn't say the stages she outlined followed her chronology. Sure, acceptance would be awesome here, but really -- depression is all that's left. Depressed that I'm never going to get well. Depressed that the consulting nurse told me over the phone that if I don't have strep throat I probably have acid dripping down the back of my throat (like a mutant or a dragon... both of those are bad). Depressed that the doctor ran tests and confirmed I *don't* have strep (but asked me if I planned to spit on him. I have never spit on him before... in fact, I've never met him. I just look like someone who spits on strangers).

On the off chance I survive, it's scheduled for Thursday. But by then I'll have run out of stages of sickness and/or grieving. Do you experience any stages I didn't mention?

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Getting All Bent Into Shape

There have been all sorts of sicknesses in my office the last few weeks. I'm pretty sure I've been exposed to the cold virus, whatever new strain exists of swine flu, and the black plague. I mentioned this when I went to the chiropractor yesterday, and he told me it was a smart move on my part to come visit him. Getting your spine aligned helps your immune system, he assured me.

Well, smart me was pretty happy that less-smart-me had scheduled the appointment a month earlier.

Here's what he didn't tell me: your emotions live in your spine. And when you get your vertebrae crackling and lined up, you're releasing all sorts of feelings into your nerves and blood and whatnot -- and who knows how much build up is in there.

If you're a robot it's no big deal. In fact, if you're a robot you probably don't even need a chiropractor and you're totally getting gypped. But if you're a female, you are in TROUBLE.

It's like when you have plaque built up in your veins and it releases and clogs an artery and you have a heart attack and die. Kind of. And I think you get plaque in your veins but that might only be your teeth, but you get the idea -- this is all very sciencey so trust me on it.

So after getting my back adjusted yesterday, I felt awesome... for half an hour. My hips were aligned -- better for swaying, I say -- my back was straight-ish, and my shoulders weren't hunched into some painful-looking posture.

Then: everyone was terrible and mean to me. Even the people who were nice were only that way because they were afraid of being honest about their repulsion of me and that made me want to kick them. When my father offered to give me a cordless drill I assumed it was to write messages in people's car doors who were clearly against me (the offer of the drill was rescinded). The weather was gross on purpose to make me sad and the stores didn't have clothes or shoes I wanted out of spite. SPITE.

Even chocolate was against me, I could tell.

And then I realized: I didn't feel this way before my back was cracked earlier in the day. My agile mind put 2 and 2 together and realized what had happened.

Chiropractors need to come with surgeon general warnings.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Beware the Flight Attendants

So a few weeks back everyone was Google Trending and Facebook posting about the newly required TSA body scans.

Personally, I think that constitutes a year-round motivation to work out and watch one's diet... because here in Seattle, there IS no bikini season to keep me thin.

Here's what you should really worry about, though, and no one but me is telling you to be afraid:


"Why?" you may ask. "Why would I worry about those friendly soda-dispensing butlers in the sky?"

Because some of them are too friendly. Let me give you an example.

Last week I had to go out of town for work, and on Monday was flying back. Due to lovely snow you midwesterners provided, I nearly missed my first flight. Checked in, provided pin-up pictures for the TSA scanners, and then raced across the airport to launch myself into the plane before they took off without me.

The older flight attendant greeted me, and asked me how I was doing.

"Oh, a little harried," I wheezed, clutching the stitch in my side.

"Ooooh, yes," he said, running his fingers through my hair. "Yes, you have that whole Taylor Swift thing going, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess." I eased away and settled in my seat.

My friend came by a moment later.

"You've been upgraded!" he announced.

"What?" The plane didn't *have* a first class section.

"You need to come sit up in the first row," he explained. Thinking that something had gone wrong with my rushed check-in and he was trying to spare me embarrassment, I dutifully took myself and my purse to the front row and sat down.

The flight attendant plopped down in the seat next to me. "Well," he leered. "Now we can talk!"

Oh. Great.

"What do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I work in the motorcycle industry," I responded vaguely.

That was the wrong answer, because his grin got creepier. "Oh, I bet! I can totally see you, all dolled up in boots and chaps and a leather jacket!"

Can you? I'd prefer you didn't.

I clarified that's not actually what I wear or do. Then I clarified I was tired by yawning whenever he opened his mouth. Then I clarified I didn't WANT him to get a flight to Seattle, thanks.

I'm telling you: flight attendants are the ones you need to watch out for. They know you won't punch them because you want to make your connecting flight and won't risk airport jail (is there a real name for that?).

So fortify yourself with booze at the bar, bring a book, and wear your best repellent scents... because those villains are out there, ready to offer you a Coca-Cola and some bagged peanuts.

Monday, January 17, 2011

What Do You Say to the Most Polite Spammer Ever?

So after my last email to Danijel (read here, here, and here to figure out who this is), I assumed the hint was given and I was off the hook.

Oh no.

Perhaps this guy (woman? I don't have the faintest idea) has caught on and thinks it's hilarious and is trying to play me.

Maybe this is an ingenius and elaborate publicity hoax for someone actually selling spandex disco pants -- making this a searched for-term -- or making AdWords money off of this somewhere (yes, seriously, this person might not have anything to do with spandex, a weird fetish site, or American Apparel... it might just be someone gaming Google).

But honestly? I think this must be the most polite spammer ever. Take a look at the email I received after sending my "photographs."

"Photographs" like this one.

Hy Christina!

its good to haer again from you! grat, they are intressting pics,hehe..

your ideas are good ,but at first i must see what youve done about the real pics in your photoshooting?? i dont know if you wear black disco pants, and how look your poses???

it would be very fiendly if you can send me these on my mail, and than we can look further, to arrange you all you need, ok? so, dear Christina hope you can send me the pics as soon as possible.. Thank you!!

For next Week i have also a lot to do! Bussines as usuall ;))

That sounds like something I would've heard from a kindly philosophy professor: "Well, I see where you were going with that, and that's a good start, but let's try..."

I had no time to Photoshop my head onto a one-legged stick figure or some other variation, so I didn't respond right away.

So a few days later, this arrived:

Hy Chrsitina!

How are you?

I just also want to ask you if you get my last E-Mail and what do you decide to do about your nice pictures? wanna send them to me??

its important to know for me because i really need a prewiev to plan further..
would be great if you can answer me :)

cheers Danijel!

He's getting impatient now... because it seems I'm wasting his time. Hmm.

I am now taking suggestions. What would you like to see me say to Danijel, the ultra-polite spammer?

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Disco Pants: Is there a Craigslist or Svenslist in Switzerland?

Sarcasm is not a universal language. But if pictures are worth a thousand words, I just sent a few thousands' worth to Danijel, my cheerful and persistent spammer. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read part 1 and part 2 of the Disco Pants Saga to catch up.

So after the last email, here is the response I received.

Dear Christina!

Thanks for your quick answer :)) im glad to hear that!

so , thats the plan: at first ill need prewiev photos from you in the BLACK and TIGHT disco pants, in all possible stances. of course in normal mind :)) but now you will be the Boss, and therefore i pleased you, be creative about the poses. do also just a little crazy stances, because this pants show some young and wild imige. im sure you can do that and your good!!

2nd part is, when its all ok, that we arrange your place to stay here and do further important shootings for american apparel. would be that ok for you???

is it right, that you will do the shooting tomorrow?

i whish you a good and great job- good luck!

cheers Danijel

You want something crazy and wild? Something that says, "young"? Okay, Danijel, I can do that. But obviously not till after Thursday, when my Errands for Shut-ins volunteer came to take me to American Apparel -- so today, I sent this email.

Hi, Danijel,

Sorry it took me awhile to get these pictures, but I think you're really going to like them. I chose some of the best shots, but if you need more just let me know. I got really wild in a few of them, just like you suggested -- but I think the bruises can be Photoshopped out.

Although I'm new to professional modeling, I'm excited to work with your team in Switzerland and learn from everyone's experience, while adding some of my own ideas to the mix. I think we should really focus on showing diverse types of beauty -- I mean, who would've thought that lil ole one-legged me would one day stand for fashion and gorgeousness, but here I am!

This is definitely going to appeal to all the other women out there missing eyebrows, legs, arms, etc. Why would they shop with any other brand?

So, when should I ship my stuff to you guys? I want all my clothes and pictures and stuff to be there when I arrive, so I need to get it boxed up and sent. Also, when is our first photoshoot?

And do you have an apartment set up for me yet or should I start looking? Do you have Craigslist there? Because I could start looking for something myself if I need to. Or is it something like Svenslist?

Okay, Danijel, can't wait to meet you!


And the pictures of me that were attached...

I can't wait to be the first eyebrow-less, one-legged American Apparel model... this has to be kind of historic, right? Also historic that I'll be the first non-child model under 5'8" -- this is clearly a good year for "real" beauty.

Who thinks I'll get another response?

Monday, January 3, 2011

Spandex Disco Pants Continues

Sarcasm doesn't translate well, it seems.

Hy there! Thanks for answering!

ok dear Christina,

At first i would say, that you try to make some sample photoshoots in the disco pants and send me these back.

if is than all or right, we look further.. because we do this whit all us participants.
im very sorry about your leg, that must be very hard for you!

i just always cant imagine, how would you look in these situation in these pants? can i also ask you how old are you? its also nice to meet you too!

ok dear Christina, i would be happy if you let me know, when aproximately do you think to start whit do this.

i whish you also all good in this new year and take care...

regards Danijel

That's fine. "ok dear Christina" has a new hobby for 2011, it seems.

Hi, Danijel,

It's so good to hear from you again! I can't wait to take those pictures and send them to you so we can get that formality out of the way! Won't be too much longer -- Thursdays are when the volunteer from Errands for Shut-Ins comes by to take me to the grocery store and to shop for whatever I need, and that's when I'll pick up a pair of disco pants. I had my drivers license taken away after my accident because, being one-footed, I could only step on the gas pedal. I put a sign on my car to warn people that I wasn't going to slow down or yield or stop unless *absolutely* necessary, but someone decided that people can't read or whatever and the signs were a bad idea.


I'm certain I'll look good in the disco pants. I've always had nice legs, and now that I only use one for everything, it's very toned. And without a second leg to distract from that one, everyone will see how good the disco pants look on it! I have a very good feeling about this ad campaign, but who's surprised by that? You and I make a great business team -- seriously going to take the world by storm, Danijel.

One thing to keep in mind is that age is just a number, so don't worry about mine. Besides, with Photoshop, you can totally remove minor wrinkles or fat rolls.

Let me know when I'll need to be in Switzerland. I've started dropping hints to my boyfriend that things might not be working out, so I will need a plane ticket and a place to crash pretty soon.

To the new year!


Incidentally, I do not recommend trying this at home. Somewhere on the internet, a big red buzzer started flashing and beeping when I responded to the first email, alerting spammers everywhere that my account was in use and opening emails.

Any of you have suggestions as to what afflictions I should contract in time for my next email?

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Spandex Disco Pants!

That's what the email subject line read: "spandex disco pants!" Clearly, this was an email I needed to read.

Turns out that because of this blog right here, I was discovered by American Apparel in Switzerland. They're in DESPERATE need of models (let's face it: all the tall blondes there are kind of mutants), and they came across my website and knew I might have what it takes to model SPANDEX DISCO PANTS and make them super popular with the blonde mutants.

Oh baby, can I ever.

Pictures like this must have been what sealed the deal.

Let me share the email that is about to launch my modeling career.

Hy Christina!
i saw in a blog your answer , which has re


My name is Danijel and

I am a fashion creator and i work for various fashion centres in switzerland. At the moment i have a job from american apparel switzerland.

They opened 2 stores last year! I really dont know how is that whit these spandex dicco pants by you over there, but here in switzerland these pants are not famous! Thats the reason because i need you!

It would be not a problem, to fînd a model here for a shooting but for only these few pics that we need, we really dont want to waist our time. we are salers no photographers :) So i have the exercise to find some girls, which want show us some pisc. We must search on the web, because here is nobody waer these pants. We want to improve the situation on the market, and thats difficult whit only 2 stores! Our sector is especially the DISCO PANT and SPANDEX LEGGINGS! We want to bring these trend back in live!

And now that, what interest you:

why you? we have 2 things what we want to do whit your pics if we like them:

1. we manufactured posters of you and show these as advertisements.( one for example infront of each store).

2. we bring you into our fashionmagazine 2010 for our clients.

and another important: if we will choose you, you get a prize of 250 swiss francs!

At the moment we have 3 girls, wich send us some photos.

Deadline is the end of Januar!

-we choose 3 pics, in front, from back and from side (thats the stances).

-Its not important where do you make the pics, but you must be the only person on picture.

The pictures must be clear!!!

-If you decide to send us some pics of you, look that is the pant tight on you, and if you wear a shirt or a pullover look thats no longer until your hips!

( we must see the pant)

-and please dont forget: only black spandex disco pants and Leggings

For last: dont think to much!

This organisation is only for us. Much more pics we have, much more we can choose and your chances are better.

You have few pics on your blog, but these are not right for us!

Take a digital camera and lets make some pics of you.

Sorry for this long long mail but now you know more and all important things.

Hope you understand???

And I really want you for our publicity because you looks great!

Its dont a joke!!! please give me an anwser, ok?

And really, you have talent for this bussines, i see this.

greeting, Danijel

Obviously, I got on this opportunity immediately. Here was the response I just sent.

Hi, Danijel,

Thanks for emailing me, I'm really excited about this! Ever since the car accident last year, where I lost my leg and both my eyebrows, it's been hard for me to find clothes that make me feel attractive and really complement my new body type. I can't wait to put on some disco pants, tie up the empty leg, and take some good photos to send you!

So when should I start packing for the fashion magazine shoots in Switzerland? If I'm going to move there to model disco pants, I think it's probably time to break up with my boyfriend. It's a new start for me anyway, and as a model I'm sure I'll find someone more attractive and with a better job than a doctor. Seriously, he's always performing life-saving surgery on some kid -- I'm tired of being ignored! This will show him!

Thank you for recognizing I'm more than a missing leg and a pretty face. I do have a talent for business, and I'm excited that I can get into this well-respected one. I have some big ideas for American Apparel, which I'm sure you're going to love. One freebie: elephant ear capes. Oh my gosh, it's going to be huge.
Anyway, I should probably go ahead and find some disco pants and get started. Can't wait to see you! Ciao!


Readers: I could tell you otherwise, but it wouldn't be true. I'm totally going to forget you when I'm famous. Until then, however, I want to hear about the best email you've received from a complete stranger. Tell me in the comments!