Re: Lactose Intolerant Kind of Love.

Dear Darling Coworkers:

I would like to apologize for my incessant ditziness lately. I fear this is a result of the issue going on in my apartment. I have bcc'd you on the email I am sending to my Super in regards to this situation. Please read below:

Robert, I would like to address the fact that I have called you four times in the past week regarding the fact that you are clearly heating my apartment with cream cheese frosting. I realize we are in a recession, but cream cheese frosting? You couldn't come up with anything else?

I have been living with the cream cheese frosting smell in my bedroom for a couple weeks now, but it wasn't until last week that the smell became so nauseating that I actually considered banging my head against the wall until I knocked myself out. I've had friends over and have made them stand next to the pipe until they agreed they can smell it, too. I've also washed the pipe over and over again in the hopes of getting rid of the smell in case it was I who, perhaps, started this issue while sleep walking with a bowl of cream cheese frosting - although I don't sleep walk, nor do I usually have cream cheese frosting on hand.

I realize things are strained with us right now, Robert, since that incident where after putting in a new sink, you came up behind me and kissed my neck. Hubbell the Wonder Dog almost killed you for that move. There was also the time you heard me crying on the phone a couple months back, and you were kind enough to knock on my door to check on me (I never asked why you were outside my door, but I digress)...you came in my apartment, made yourself comfortable on my couch then just never left. I finally had to actually leave my own apartment as a way to trick you into thinking I had some place to go. I stood on the corner like a cheap $10 whore for twenty minutes until I knew for sure you were long gone.

I'll be the first to admit that the thought has crossed my mind - you do not look like any Super I have ever met: your dark hair, blue eyes, the way you look at me as if you're about to devour me whole...oh, yes, the idea is definitely one with which I like to flirt, but I like the idea of lots of things. The reality is you asked me 'What's that?' when I explained that my tattoo is a Vladimir Nabokov sketch...Nabokov isn't quite a 'what,' dear Robert. There's also that whole issue of the gold crucifix around your neck, the one that reflects light blindingly so in all directions...these two items are not only unsettling, but definitely a killer of any and all sexual desire.

The cream cheese smell in so ingrained in my thoughts and being that now I'm starting to smell it at work, smell it on the sidewalk, I smell it on everyone I meet! I fear it's toxic and rotting my brain - Robert, it took me fucking two hours the other day to alphabetize 50 orders before I realized there were no letters to alphabetize, only numbers!

Robert! Do something! If you need a list of suggestions as to what to use to heat my apartment, I will be more than happy to provide you with one (hot fudge, maybe?)...but seriously, either return my calls or get over here ASAP, because awkwardness is going to be the least of your problems if you don't...

Thanks.

Mandy.

(oh, and you know what building and apartment number it is so quit saying you don't!)