Monday, June 7, 2010

Paranoia Sets In

There's nothing I like more than getting packages in the mail. I actually have one waiting for me right now as I type:

Jun 7, 2010 9:49 AM
In the Middle, OH
Left at front door. Signature Service not requested.

I am as giddy as a 16-year-old boy preparing to get his first blow job. This is the kind of excitement that you just can't manufacture. I mean, yes, I ordered the items and yes, I knew they were coming but you must understand two things. 1) These are BRAND NEW something-somethings that I just had to have and have been waiting (semi-) patiently for and 2) They are finally here! There's the anticipation of finally getting to hold my package. Then I get to rip it open. I'm going to admire my new things and place them accordingly. And finally, my life will feel complete because I have these new things and they just so happened to be the things that I never knew I needed. And that's just with stuff I actually order.

So imagine the state of perpetual orgasm I must live in when surprise packages show up at my door. It's almost too much to bear. That's why the Package Project seemed like such a good fit for me. I would get my very own surprise package created just for me from someone in a mysterious location somewhere in the world.

The problem with this line of thinking and way of living is that I am not, in fact, taking my Grammy's advice. You know the advice. That little thought in the back of your head that says that this is just a ploy for someone to get your personal information so that they can stalk you, come to your house in the dead of night, slay you and then steal your identity.

Whenever this happens, I punt Grammy's voice to the far reaches of the black forest where it can't bother me with its nonsensical logic. But recently, Grammy's voice managed to meander its way back into my head. I mean, What the F*ck, Grammy*!! Because now, I feel like a total douche. Why? Well, words aren't enough.

Do you see what I mean? It's been 11 days since I've given out myyyyyy address and gotten no response from this person. I mean, I just don't understand it. When she (as they presumed to be) first emailed me it was so sweet and endearing. Just a 19-year-old, Australian girl that loves to read and was just as crazy excited about this project as I was. She said that she wanted to know the basics. I told her my age and that we share a love of books. I even told her about my Corgi. I felt as if I could hear her engaging little Aussie accent come through all her messages. So why is it that I feel like I need to be constantly peering over my shoulder looking for a Tom Bundy look-alike?

I'm scared people. I'm afraid that should I actually receive a package it will contain standard stalker photos of me (ie; me and The Boy, me going to work, me pumping gas, me picking a wedgie). Or an audio tape of all my faked orgasms. Or worst, a pair of ugly shoes that are actually in my size! SSSSSSHHRRRRIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!

I just want to say that if anything bad happens to me, I want this blog to serve as my memorial. Be sure to fill it with tons of crude jokes and penis humor. That's the only way to stay true to my life.

*Please know that I would never talk to my Grammy this way. She's the sweetest, most wonderful Grammy in the whole world. Not to mention she raised me for the whole first half of my life and wouldn't hesitate to put the pimp-hand on me or in other words "fatten my lip".
Update: I received an email from my package partner. It had her mailing address and everything. I'm so excited now because if she does decide to stalk me I can stalk her right back. Ha!The slogan by which I now live my life: Blogging: It gets shit done.


  1. I just snorted popcorn out my nose at that blow job analogy.

    Also, I have a similar paranoia involving one of those "Revamp Your Style Because You Look Like a Hobo" TV shows. The wedgie-picking is the thing they always use for close-ups.

  2. @Sarah P - I KNOW, RIGHT! It's not bad enough that you trash my sense of style but now the whole world knows that my fingers stink.

  3. @CBS111 - So what it's TED Bundy?!? What difference will that make when I've been forced to live in a hole for six weeks swallowing donuts and slathering on lotion? Huh? HUH?!?!


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