playboy oh boy
Wednesday, jul. 26, 2006 | 0 comments
On Thursday Playboy Radio had me on as a guest s(leep)expert during their Afternoon Advice show with Tiffany Granath. Since the station is subscriber-only, I didn’t actually get the chance to listen to the show until I dialed in at the appointed hour and, while on hold waiting to be patched through to the live show, I heard Tiffany fielding calls from eager callers living across this great land. Wow. I’m not entirely sure why I was surprised, because really, what was I expecting? And yet my ears kind of boggled when I heard the Southern gentleman gloating about the “fuck machine” he built out in his shed. You know, because he and his girlfriend, they like three-ways? And yet aren’t always able to line up a humanoid third? Annnnnnd “Up next it’s EVANY THOMAS, author of The Secret Language of Sleep!” Oh man, here we go!
All in all, I was on the air for about forty minutes, helping Tiffany answer questions from callers. (CRAZY!!!) Did you know that many, many American men suffer from the problem of waking up from a deep sleep to discover themselves either having sex with or receiving orals from their lady friends? It is an epidemic, I fear. At least among 90% of the Playboy callers. HIGHLIGHT: Tiffany: “You know sometimes I dream about having an orgasm, and it feels pretty real, and very, very sexy. How about you, Evany Thomas, author of A Secret Language of Sleep, does that ever happen to you?” Evany: “Oh, sure.” Evany (inside): Wait what? What did I just say? Oh thank 7-11 my father doesn’t subscribe to Playboy Radio…OR DOES HE???
oh los angeles, you devil
Thursday, jul. 20, 2006 | 0 comments
Hey! Do you live in Los Angeles, or plan to move there sometime within the next two days? You should totally come see me read outloud from my Sleep book! The reading is this Saturday at Book Soup on Sunset, and I’ll be reading alongside the amazing Lisa Brown (creator of the inimitable and gift-friendly Baby Be of Use books). The show starts at 5pm, so you’ll have plenty of time to go get a tattoo or go all drunk and topless at the Standard pool-bar directly afterward!
chocolate misunderstandings and other apologies
Saturday, jul. 15, 2006 | 0 comments
I feel like I owe Portland an apology. Or at least an explanation.
So here goes: I know how it may have looked, Portland, when I burst out of one of the bathroom stalls at your scenic Union Station, holding up a hand absolutely covered in whorls and peaks of brown. And then when I rushed over to the sink and frantically started scrubbing and soaping both my hands and my bag, that probably didn’t look so great either. But that was chocolate, Portland! CHOCOLATE! You see, while I was in there, heeding nature’s call, I happened to reach inside my bag and discover that the bite-sized chocolates I stole from last night’s reading had melted, spectacularly, all over my hair rubberbands and also my Sidekick. (Of course, while I’m thumbtyping these words, I’m stopping periodically to lick newly discovered caches of chocolate off my keyboard, which probably isn’t helping my case with Portland much, either.)
On the other hand, the rivulets of red running down from underneath my skirt earlier today … you remember, Portland? It was while I was down at the Rite Aid? Buying tampons? That wasn’t Hawaiin Punch or a melting popsical accident. That actually WAS blood. Note to self: Rite Aid doesn’t have a bathroom for customers, not even customers experiencing a mortifying menstrual mishap. (Dear chivalry, my condolences on your recent death!)
So anyway, Portland, big sorries about all the confusion. I sure hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, because I’d like to come back for another visit some day, mostly because I really love the way you smell: like fresh grasses and heated cement, two of my favorite whiffs.
Oh and while I’m handing out apologies, I’d also like to say to the very nice couple Matt and Lisa (at least I think it was Lisa?), whom I met after the reading: I’m sorry that the very first thing I said to you was, “I’ve dated five Matts in my life!” And then proceeded to make it worse by explaining how those Matts were all pretty disappointing, and now whenever I meet one, I have to resist the urge to run for the hills. And then! My sloppy attempt at triage — the part where I told Matt, “Oh, but not YOU of course,” thereby earning a funny look from Lisa — that was the best (by which I mean worst) of all! So yeah, sorry about that, and did I mention that I had three+ servings of the night’s special drink, the “Red Carpet”? Another note to self: when you take a sip of a pink drink and the first words out of your mouth are, “Is there booze in this?” You’re already in trouble. Switch to water immediately! Do not, at any cost, turn to the bartender and yell, “Well ROLL OUT THOSE RED CARPETS!” Trust me, I went down that latter route, and it only ended in a hangover and more than my share of cringe-tinged memories.
robot greetings and more bra rah-rah
Friday, jul. 14, 2006 | 0 comments
I’ve been thinking how weird it is that the people in charge of things make robots polite. Like, when you go to park in a garage, and the machine says, “Please take a ticket,” would you actually be offended if the robot neglected to say “please”? And then when you go to leave a garage and you insert your paid ticket and it tells you to “Have a nice day!”, does that actually brighten anyone’s day? Knowing that a machine wished it on you? Maybe it’s just me, but I think it would be tons better if they embraced the roboty nature of the machines and have them say like, “Take the ticket, HUMANOID! YOUR FLESH MAKES YOU WEAK!” in a satanic, “bow before me” voice. Or like, “Freakazoids, robots, I COMMAND YOU to report to the dance floor.”
Which somehow reminds me, I was out of town for Marco‘s birthday, and he wound up taking himself out to one of the tired diners in the neighborhood for dinner (or wait, maybe this was on Christmas Eve? anyway, it was some super-depressing occasion where Marco had to entertain himself solo, which he claims to actually kind of like?). As he described it, the place was scattered with lank, grey-colored alcoholics and toothless lonely people, and the food was really bad. So Marco eats his brown, brown dinner and then he pays, and when he goes to leave, the awesome genius counterperson calls out, “See you next week!” Like some kind of chilling prediction. Haha! Now THAT’s how it’s done! Way to subvert those mandatory customer-service scripts!
PS: Jocelyn just sent me a link to a new article about the amazing bra people who fixed my form when I was in NYC. That last line, it made me mist! It’s like a visit with Mr. Rogers, but with some extra bonus breast fondling thrown in.
Hair (Portland, day two): still wet from my shower of four hours ago. Acne: wretched, shocking (thanks a lot, FACE, I only have to get up in front of many (we hope) strangers tonight). PMS: 100% in charge.
holy kuow
Thursday, jul. 13, 2006 | 0 comments
Edited to add: Oops, it turns out the interview got bumped back to next Thursday, which is good news because now John has enough time to edit out my very weird “mamogram consultant” detour, which was the only profession my brain could think up when I sent it the very simple instructions to “please supply me with an example of a profession in which someone might be too busy to see his or her mate on a regular basis.” My poor, improvished, on-the-fly thinks are terrifyingly unreliable.
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Did anyone happen to catch my interview on Seattle’s KUOW today? John Moe, radio personality and author of many, many righteous pieces for McSweeneys.net (and also my new favorite person on EARTH, the man is so nice and chattable!), and I recorded it yesterday and I believe it’s supposed to hit the airwaves sometime today? Not that I want you to actually listen to it or anything (I have a small, sinking suspicion that I came off as kind of boring and/or blonde-spotted), eek, ugh, ffffp.
Computer-typed at you from my very, very nice hotel room which I managed to obtain at a very, very nice rate, thanks to my generous and also well-connected friend, SH. Shhhhh! Hair update (Portland): cow-licked.