Just So’s Ya Know

Tata: Please write these words and letters in order for me into the body of this letter and we’ll forward to the vendor: Just so’s ya know.

My student worker, whose name sounds like brushstrokes through the hair of a beloved child, speaks and writes perfect English. Her English is better than mine, and mine is probably just as good as yours because otherwise you’re here for the filthy language (that means you, person who searches “fisting” and winds up here) and naughty picture potential. She and I write business letters all over the world via email. Our words are carefully chosen, our constructions logical and our spelling deliberate. The words I’ve dictated cause her hands to flutter over the keyboard like wounded birds.

Student Worker: What do these words mean?
Tata: I despise the conventional “F.Y.I. It is for the intellectually lazy and the uncurious. If I use that, the reader can be sure I am not interested in the topic at hand and have moved on to contemplating my next peculiar hair color. We have a second consideration: our vendor’s representatives have multiple accounts and may handle many workers like us from a handful of customers. Every letter I write contains a punchline because I am lazy, selfish and demanding, and I want my account representative to love opening my letters. I want my contacts to look forward to talking to me. I want them to want to help me. So I have to entertain us both.
Student worker: I can be lazy! I understand this selfishness!
Tata: Excellent! When you rule the world, kill me quickly.

Just so’s ya know:
Carnival-small
1. Somehow, the Carnival of New Jersey Bloggers is coming here this weekend. EnlightenNJ sent me the list of instructions and I’m still making my friends speak slowly to explain all the big words. This week may be the first time we see duct tape hanging off the Carnival. Hang onto your hats! If you’re a Jersey blogger with a post burning a hole in your pocket this week, send it to njcarnival@gmail.com. I promise not to deliberately fuck anyone over, as Miss Manners might say.
2. Miss Sasha mailed me a baker’s rack. I expect the new apartment’s letter carrier to stalk and berate me. I can handle violence but look for me to comfort the wounded feelings of burly dude carrying around my kid’s furniture like he lost me in the mall.
3. Has anyone else noticed Rachael Ray curls her lip all the time? Some might be reminded of Elvis but all I can think of is Popeye.
4. Step right up and volunteer to help me move. I surrender:

Tata: Ned and I moved my queen size futon and its frame over to the new apartment. That wasn’t as much fun as it sounds.
Daria: It doesn’t sound like fun.
Tata: It was less fun than that. While I was disassembling the frame he was distracted by a series of inexplicable phone calls from long-lost high school girlfriends. He can only do one thing at a time so he stood in my kitchen and pretended not to have a nervous breakdown.
Daria: I’ve always liked him. He reminds me of broccoli.
Tata: Then we moved everything and left it in the apartment in pieces. Today, while I was waiting for the cable guy I reassembled the frame without help! I am a genius!
Daria: You did? How’d you do that?
Tata: It doesn’t really matter because I am also too stupid to live!
Daria: Oh. My. God. What happened?
Tata: I assembled the frame! I reigned triumphant over cantilevered furniture! Then I dropped it on my foot. Stop laughing!
Daria: The same foot? The one you broke?
Tata: Nope. The one that still worked. In fact, my only uninjured appendage. I had to call someone who would appreciate the magnitude of my idiocy.
Daria: I can’t breathe!
Tata: Oh, and while wearing shoes and socks I managed to step on a piece of glass.
Daria: You need a keeper.

5. Cap sleeves make women’s arms look like exploded sausages. No matter who you are, you look obese in cap sleeves – unless you are underweight or in a coke-related weight free-fall. Then cap sleeves look great!

It’s true. I don’t know which foot to limp on. Fortunately, this Sunday, we can all read the Carnival sitting down.

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