I have been thinking and I think I have figured it out. What we all need- you , me, the world:
You need to send me your phone number.
If you send me your phone number, I, Melissa Dawn Shaw, bartender, would- be- minister, friend, and pseudo-intellectual will tell you something new everyday, in a text message.
That is correct! For the time it takes for you to email me your phone number ONCE you will learn something new about... something everyday!
All moments, phrases, jokes, ideas, facts, and inspirations will be personalized and sent to you, yes, you and you alone. Ask your friends why don't you! They will gladly tell you that you, dear devoted reader, were the only person to learn, today, that alternate side of the street parking is called datumparkering in Sweden.
Perhaps today you will learn about tea, or Macgyver, or astrology.
The future is ours.
This project is very simple and will cost you nothing (unless your phone server charges you and even then I'll bet it's less than the pennies our families never sent to Sally Struthers.)
Now, some of you might be thinking, well, Melissa has my phone number, great, I don't need to do anything, I will be flooded with a silly string of information for eternity.
Do not be fooled...
If you would like to receive a thought, an astrological fact, a witty statement, or a moment of inspiration everyday send your number (even if you are one of best friends) to:
In the email you may also tell me one thing you have NO interest in learning about what so ever.
My phone number is ###-###-####
I have no interest in you ever telling me anything about Victorian Literature.
I will never say a word about Jane Austin and your number is safe with me.
International folks, I will send you all of your charms via email.
Take a couple seconds, think about it, and then email me.
Sign up by sending me your number.
You only have learning the the fat content of Yogurt to win and nothing to lose.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
By what I can only imagine was sheer accident I was born out of a Jewish Vagina.
Apparently, as soon as the crown of my head hit the vulva something was decided for me -for life.
That's it kid. You're one of us. Sorry, there's not much you can do.
Oh, and now, you have a Jewish Vagina. Peace.
The guy I'm seeing also came out of a Jewish Vagina, which makes him slightly more desirable to the Vagina from which I came. Jewish Vaginas like people who also come out of Jewish Vaginas.
Because now everyone has something to talk about and the ice has been broken.
"Jewish Vagina? Yeah? me too! 'nother drink?"
This is missing from Eve Ensler's work on the Vagina Monologues.
My Vagina is Chosen...
But, anyway, I'm learning, as I get older, and live in New York longer, that this Jewish Vagina of mine entitles me to some crazy things as well as puts me at some disadvantages.
It doesn't know Hebrew which is bad, but it is supposed to have a greater chance of landing a doctor for a husband. It gets a country to call its own, you know, just 'cause, but it has a strange persecution complex after years of systematically being exterminated. No hard feelings though.
I just wanted to take a minute and tell all the Jewish Vaginas out there that I see you and I know what other people can't see.
Like clits. A lot of people don't see them.
To be continued...