General Lunacy

Picture Me as Tina Fey. Maybe Not Quite So Funny Though.

Being a wannabe professional writer (as in, I’d get paid for my work), I frequently check up on solicitations for submissions, hoping to come across something up my alley. Even if it’s not up my alley, I’ll give it a shot – hey, you don’t know you can’t write unique recipes for Cornish game hens unless you try, right?

Today I saw an advertisement requesting “sexy stories and erotic fiction.”

Oh my.

For a split second I thought, “Yeah, I can do this! I have tons of sexy stories! So much sexy…stuff to talk about…”

Then I knew I had found my limitation.

Now, don’t get me wrong here – I don’t have any issues that need discussing with a therapist. At least regarding this. Just want to clear that up. I’m fine, everything’s fine, I’m all normal (whatever “normal” is) in that regard…

My issue is writing that kind of stuff down.

I have in the past referred to myself as a “mighty utilizer of euphemisms,” and I didn’t just throw that construction together without good reason.

Wow, even looking at the above paragraph in which I go out of my way to assure you of my, er, “health” in that regard, I still have to dance around the language so I don’t come straight out and tell you anything remotely relating to an “intimate” life.

Argh, still can’t even say it! Sssss…..

Nope, can’t do it. Sorry internet strangers. My inner puritan/twelve year old boy refuses to allow me to type further. I know this makes me a freak by societal standards, but sorry, I don’t care. This is the internet and I don’t have to write something if I don’t want to or am physically incapable of doing so.

Plus my family sometimes reads this.

So that’s why I’m turning down the sexy story opportunity. Unless I’m being ironic, I don’t want to use the word “engorged” in print. Or ever.

Ew, I just gagged on my nut butter. And…that came out wrong. I meant almond butter. That I eat. For lunch. With apples. It’s yummy.

The sexy story incident put me in mind of Tina Fey’s character Liz Lemon on 30 Rock, whose sexual hang-ups produce the funniest euphemisms of all time.

Not that I would say that. I would never say that.

For instance, her reaction to hearing the word “lovers:”

“Oh, that word bums me out unless it’s in between the words “meat” and “pizza.”

At least I’m not that extreme. Thank you Lord, I am not that much of a prude.

But there are notable similarities between me and Tina Fey. I mean, her character.

“What? Sexy? Shut up. You are.”

See? That’s exactly how I would respond.

The similarities don’t stop with the weirdness about “intimate” discussions:

“And I don’t really think it’s fair for me to be on a jury, because I’m a hologram…”

This is getting creepy.

Yep. More similarities here than I thought.
“Do you need sex advice? Here’s a tip. Sometimes a lady likes to leave her blazer on.”

So that, friends, is why you will never see me on a bestselling erotic-fiction shelf. I am too awkward to properly write about sexy stuff.

Family members, you’re welcome.


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