Out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving on my bookcase, so I turned to check it out. I thought worst-case scenario there would be a bug walking on one of the shelves, so I was surprised to see a bony old woman crawling down the front of the bookcase with her head on backward. She was scrambling so fast I barely had time to say hi before she made it down the bookcase, across the floor, and up to my—hold on, here she is.
Hi! I’m doing a handful of readings this month:
-Wednesday, February 3: Big Terrific comedy show, hosted by Gabe Liedman and Max Silvestri, at Cameo in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Doors at 8pm, show at 8:30pm. Other performers include Kristen Schaal, Joe Randazzo, and Julian McCullough. Free.
-Tuesday, February 9: Get Off Your Knees comedy show, hosted by Sara Schaefer, at the Bell House, in Gowanus, Brooklyn. Show at 8pm. I believe it will be $5, and I’m not sure who the other performers are!
-Sunday, February 14: Heartbreak Hotel Valentine’s Day show, hosted by Jon Friedman, also at the Bell House, in Gowanus, Brooklyn. Show at 8pm. Other performers include so many people, and then it turns into a party! Not sure if what it costs. It might be $5? Or free. Or maybe $10.
-Thursday, February 18: Steamboat literary humor series, hosted by Scott Jacobson, Jason Reich, and Bob Powers, at Greenlight Bookstore, in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. I don’t know much about this one, but I’m pretty sure it’s happening, and I think it’s at 7:30pm and is free.
-Friday, February 19: Tumblr Reads: Internet Writers IRL. There’s a whole bunch of awesome people reading here, like Choire Sicha and Julie Klausner and Matt Gallaway and Emily Gould, and it’s at Housingworks Bookstore, in Soho. An open bar starts at 6:30pm, and then the show starts at 7:30pm. I think it’s free.
ANYWAY, obviously I’m just going to be reading the same five stories at all of these, all of which you can read for free here, but if you’re not doing anything and feel so inclined, please do come by and say hi
Do you ever wish you woke up in the hospital? All your loved ones would be there, and a doctor would look down at you with a serious expression and say, “You were in a very serious accident, and unfortunately we had to make several major amputations. We removed both your arms and your legs, and we also removed your complete torso and upper body.” You’d absorb his words for a couple moments, silently, and then you’d ask them to bring a mirror and hold it up for you. You’d look into the mirror and see yourself, just a head lying on a pillow with hair spread out around you and a bandage at the bottom of your neck. Everyone would be looking at you, expecting you to freak out, but instead of freaking out, you’d smile and say something like, “Well, looks like I’m ahead of the game,” and everyone would feel instantly overcome by your unbelievable, almost inhuman, sense of humor. Soon word would spread all over the hospital about the incredible girl on the fourth floor who got her entire body removed except for her head but was still cracking jokes and living gracefully, and everyone would just marvel at the beauty of the human spirit.
A very short story.
“So, do you come here often?” he asked, leaning toward me with a twinkle in his eye. We had been exchanging flirtatious glances across the bar all night—finally he was making a move.
“Yes,” I said, with a playful smile.
“Oh really?” he said.
“Yup, I come here every day, actually,” I said. “On weekdays they open at five, so I get here fifteen minutes before that to wait outside, and then on weekends they open at noon, so I get here a lot earlier.”
“Huh,” he said, giving me a funny smile. “You really do come here often, I guess.”
“Yup, there’s no one else who comes here as much as me—you can ask the manager. They even let me keep stuff in the bathroom.”
“Ah,” he said, and looked around the room.
“One time I fell down over there and hit my head,” I said, pointing to a corner in the bar, “but no one noticed so I even got to stay here overnight.”
A very short story. 
Right as I was drifting to sleep, a thumping noise in my bedroom startled me awake, and I gasped. “Who’s there?” I said, sitting up and pulling the covers tight around me. “Who’s there?!” Just then I heard another thump, but this time the thump was followed by a long, slow creak. I know that creaking noise, I thought to myself, That’s my closet door opening! So I looked over and saw that my closet door was opening! “Oh my god,” I whispered—the door seemed to be opening by itself! Finally the creaking stopped and the door was completely open. I held my breath and for a second nothing happened, but then a pale, transparent oval floated out from the darkness within, and it had two empty holes for eyes and a long empty gash for a mouth. It was a ghost!
“Oh my god,” I said. “Oh my god, oh my god, what do you want!?”
The ghost said nothing and just floated around my room, going back and forth, causing all the papers on my desk to flutter to the floor, and my drapes to flap in the wind. Then he came over to the side of my bed and just hovered there, staring down at me with his empty eyes, with that same unchanging expression. “What do you want?” I whispered. “Oh my god, what do you want?! I’ll give you anything. Money, jewelry—whatever you want. I’ll suck your dick, just please don’t kill me!”
So he pulled out his ghost dick and… well, I’m still alive, I’ll say that much!
A very short story.
“Kelly, who do you have a crush on?” I asked my friend Kelly. We were at her house for a sleepover.
“Well…” she said slowly with a shy smile. “There is this one guy…”
“OMG who!?” I screamed. “You have to tell me right now!”
She giggled and blushed. “I don’t even really know his name!”
“OMG I don’t even care, seriously, just tell me!”
“Okay…” she said. “Well, he’s really tall…”
“OMG he sounds hot!”
“… and he’s really thin.”
“Nice!!!”
“Like, a lot thinner than me.”
“Oh, okay.” Read the rest of this entry »
A very short story.
It was the day of my big interview, but I didn’t know whether to wear my nice pantsuit or this gross old t-shirt that I like. There were definitely a lot of pros for each—with the pantsuit I would look professional and smart, but with the t-shirt I would look like a disgusting idiot. It was a toss up, and I was still thinking about it when I went downstairs to make my breakfast, which is usually just a handful of loose garbage I shovel from the trashcan into my mouth. I still didn’t have any answers after breakfast, though, so I kept mulling it over during my shower. (There’s no hot water, so I just crouch over the toilet and spit on myself.)
I wonder what I’ll do.
A very short story.
“Tell me a joke,” I said to my husband George. “I’m feeling really sad.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Let me think.”
“OK,” I said, slumping in my chair with my head propped up on my hand.
“All right, I’ve got one,” he said. “So there’s a car driving along the highway, and the lady driving is on her cell phone, so when another car merges into her lane she doesn’t notice and drives right into it, sending both cars spinning across the oncoming lanes, which causes a bunch of other cars to all crash into one another, and it’s just crazy to think about how dozens and dozens of car accidents and injuries were all caused by just one woman on her cell phone.”
“What’s the punch line?” I said.
“What do you mean, punch line?” he asked.
“I asked you to tell me a joke, but you told me a weird story about a traffic accident or whatever instead, and so I want to know why it’s a joke,” I said.
“Because it’s funny to think about how sometimes even the smallest actions can have huge consequences,” he said.
“George, literally that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” I said, slumping even further back into my chair and shutting my eyes.
“No it’s not,” he said, frowning.
Hi! Some quick self-promotion and other-person promotion: 1) I wrote another Letters to the Editors of Women’s Magazines column for The Awl. I hope you like it!
2) If you like me, you will love Tom Oatmeal if you don’t already love him already. He is a genius and his funny short stories are so good I don’t even want to talk about it!
A very short story.
I saw him just as the train doors were closing. Tall, handsome, perfect. Our eyes locked.
“Wait,” he mouthed, raising a hand. “Don’t go!”
But it was too late. The doors had closed.
“Noooo!” I screamed, showering the inside of the door with spit as I tried to scratch it back open. “Someone open this piece of shit!” I shrieked. “Fucking open it!”
“Bing bing. Next stop, Union Square,” the conductor said, and the train lurched to life, leaving us with just a few precious seconds of eye contact left. Shrieking, I raced to the back of the train as it departed, shoving and trampling people as I held his gaze. He was perfect. Warm, chocolatey brown eyes. Tan skin. Ripped body. When there was no more train to run through, I gave him the most intense stare of my life, and then beat my head against the window hard enough that I cracked it. Blood rolled down my forehead, and it felt like tears.