You Can Have It All

Dear Internet,

Ah. You know what? Perhaps I shouldn’t have published that post, four years ago. If I were going to insist upon publishing that post four years ago, however, there were a few, very reasonable options you gave me. And there’s no use feigning naiveté, I was aware of all of them. I could have kept it to first names, for example. I could have used an alias. I could have deleted all of my archives, when I switched over to a new address last January.

Internet, occasionally I am a lazy and careless woman.

Facebook to me
show details 11:51 PM (9 hours ago)

Robin added you as a friend on Facebook. We need to confirm that you know Robin in order for you to be friends on Facebook.

Robin says, “A girl that I have gone on a single date with sent me a link to your blog about me dating 4 years back. Kinda freaky, but I’m not offended.”.

To confirm this friend request, follow the link below:

Internet, I perhaps unwisely publish this correspondence for one reason: oh, it’s on.

You may also like


  1. Ahhhhahahahaha! Robin demonstrates some gumption, at least. I’m trying to remember this guy… was I aware of him? More importantly, do you now have a new friend?!?!?

  2. See? Halfway to unemployed and you’re already getting great feedback on the work you’ve already published.

    There must be a breaking point with this. Don’t you think there are people who went to high school with David Sedaris and tell all their friends that a character in one of his stories is really them with a different name?

  3. I really need to start writing fiction. Or just embrace the horror/embarrassment of my family/friends/acquaintances.

  4. That is fucking hilarious….I played tackle football with Robin in 6th grade at recess. He ripped all the buttons off my shirt. I hadn’t put on an undershirt that day and I had to walk around school for the rest of the day (shirt open bare chested) like Tom Selleck in Miami Vice.

  5. i believe this means that the girl he went on a single date with has already googled him

  6. Let’s pretend I’m as good of a writer (< --- clumsy phrasing) as Michael Chabon, who justifies: Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction, and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed. If a writer doesn’t give away secrets, his own or those of the people he loves, if he doesn’t court disapproval, reproach and general wrath, whether of friends, family or party apparatchiks … the result is pallid, inanimate, a lump of earth.

  7. This was on your random posts, and I laughed. I probably won’t even see a reply, if you post one. And now I vaguely recall reading it when it was fresh. Second time’s a charm, I suppose.

    Been thinking of you a bit lately. Hope you’re well.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *