Just Gassing Through

I’m going to go ahead and do you all a favor by leaving out the ever-present, overly-aggressive re-cap.  I know you know what happened.  We all do.

Every morning we hear the same announcement: “A crowded train car is not an excuse for unwanted sexual contact.”  However, at no point in that message do they say anything about unwanted olfactory contact.

I realize that no one is without fault, with one very obvious exception.  Ahem.

However, if you spend most evenings tossing Doritos Extra-Super Loco Tacos from Taco Bell down your gullet, just know that I’m looking at you first.

The subway is our shared home away from home – like a homeless shelter that we have to live in with actual homeless people – so with this in mind, what happened yesterday on the Downtown 1 train should not surprise me.  And I suppose it doesn’t, but this is about respect.  And gas.

Listen, I know you want me to tell you who farted during the morning commute yesterday, but I’m not here to point fingers.  I am here to remind that it could have been any of you.  And I will find out who you were, and ruin your day.  Just like you ruined mine.

I will find you.

 

Since You’ve Been Gone

Hey, how have you been?  I’m sorry to bother you like this, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think…well, I know…I want you back.

It’s been a few months now that we’ve been apart, and I have to be honest with you: I miss you.  I wake up in the morning, and you’re not there.  When I go to sleep at night, you’re not there. And in the middle of the night, when I can’t sleep, and the freakshows that live in my building decide to spend an hour and a half arguing outside of my apartment about who would win a Tough Mudder that had pudding instead of mud, you’re not there.  Oh sure, I have a couple Netflix DVDs that come every other day or so, but they can’t fill the void you left behind.

I talked to my friends, and they said I should just replace you with something else.  Every time I normally would have reached for you, I should just go to the gym instead.  Or clean out my closet.  Or take a shower.  And sure, now I’m incredibly fit, organized, and clean – but I don’t feel any better.

I mean, yeah, I look great.  And sure, I have more time to think about what I want, but for the most part, my thoughts terrify me.  I need you to distract me – every minute of every day – so that I don’t spend over six hours listening to my neighbor’s smoke alarm going off wondering whether she’s away on vacation or just dead.

I know it’s obvious – especially with this letter – that I need you more than you need me, but I don’t know.  Maybe you feel the same way.  There’s literally no way to know for sure.

I need you back in my life, Cable TV.  Bring DVR, too.