I was at the gym this evening, getting reacquainted with my old friend, the treadmill. I was dreading this. A six week break from running is fine. But when you cut that break short  from its original estimated duration of somewhere between ten weeks and two years because of a culinary disaster that included beer, pizza and a Chocolate Dirt Cake - not good. It’s all fun and games until you’re booking two side-by-side seats on an airline. One-way. For yourself.  Because you are the supreme fattest. And I’m so glad I decided to go back to the gym tonight, because I got that extra boost of a workout when I had to kayak home. Where the hell did that rain come from?

There go another pair of $100 running shoes by the way.

Anyway, it was my plan to regale you with more stories of how ridiculously in love I am. Stories of Mr. X and I, doing crosswords, looking at condos, making out by the sweltering kitchen in the basement of a restaurant. Then I thought better of that. I’m sort of even making myself vomit now. I mean, really. You don’t have to be disgusted with me because believe me. I am disgusted with myself.

Instead, I will share with you an email, in which Sixes takes a hit from the King of the Dog Park. This is, by far, my most favoritest of all group emails received in 2008.

King of the Dog Park, begins an email to the following cast of characters:

The Hostess
The Rockstar
The Stoic

King of the Dog Park, housesitting a mere block away from his real home and feeling very left out of the loop for some reason, begins the chain: I was stood up by a 21 year old Mexican last night. Remember “McDonald’s Boy?”  I’m not answering his calls ever again. Well, unless he calls a second time. V, how are the dogs? Are we doing a commando attack this week?

Velvet: Sammy and Thora had solid poop this morning! It seems that perhaps that bag of food I got in Fairfax was bad. That confirms it for me: Everything outside the city sucks. Not sure about the attack but definitely there must be a way to ruin lives. Ruining lives is fun.

Might I pause for an interlude and some clarification ~ The King of the Dog Park is housesitting. And his backyard and a certain ex of mine who decided to move a block away from me face each other. As in, the King literally sleeps under 25 feet from that lunatic.

E: Glad to hear the kids are better. Bumping into you know who is inevitable. Let’s spend our time figuring out how to find fresh meat for the King.

Sixes: Mmm. Meat.

Rockstar: It’s a good thing you left us all of your contact information. Like the other side of the street is in another world!

King: Oh, I was too tired for the 21 year old anyway.  And the 1700 block of this street is way different than the 1600 block, okay?

Velvet: I have to monitor someone’s email at work and the shit I just read burned my brain. Must process. Back in a few.

King: This should be good. It takes a lot to burn your brain. Now, “McDonald’s Boy” just called. He apologized for last night and said time slipped away from him. Well, this is what he would have said if he spoke English.  Now I feel stupid, bragging to the Rockstar about all the ass I was getting….

Sixes: All you people who are getting laid non-stop can kiss my fat ass.

King:  Not everyone is getting laid…..Let me see, E is getting laid, Velvet is getting laid, The Hostess is probably getting laid, The Rockstar is getting laid, I’m getting laid, and yes, I believe The Stoic is getting laid.

Oh, I’m sorry, I guess everyone but you is getting laid…..

Velvet:  I’m printing this and hanging it on my office door.