HELLO I AM SHERI 49.

I welcome you to my "web log" or "internet web site."

I write about nothing and naturally that means mocking things that no one cares about in a way that no one can understand. A friend said I'm like Walter Sobchak, wandering in the wilderness, suffering the fools who don't GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE RULES.

I am also writing an e-book, in the humor category, which is, as you know, the toughest genre of all. Most people don't share my sense of humor at all, so a book that I write will soar up the charts. Unstoppable.

Faux Outrage and Confusion

I have been in a “What the fuck IS IT, EXACTLY, that you want me to write for you?” back-and-forth with the main chick who runs a huge conglomerate of humor sites, for a few weeks now.

The back and forth emails between us always begin with a profoundly surprised and apologetic, “Did I drop the ball or did you???” and ends with neither of us getting at all upset about anything, because we TYPE IN ALL CAPS AND SHIT. So we just go back to the beginning “initial contact” demeanor — complete with re-introductions and general getting-to-know-you greetings. Again.

I like her. You know, she’s probably writing on her personal blog (I don’t know if she has one), right now:

I’ve had it with these flaky-ass wannabe contributors. Got this one, goes by the name Sheri 49. WTF kinda name? Anyway, she emails me and says we were talking about something or other, and I have no idea what she means but I play along because, internet stranger danger and all. I try not to feed the trolls.

She may be reading this now, too, so everyone please behave. I would really like to get the job. They would pay me something. She says “not much,” but it’s the idea of being paid for whatever the fuck this is that I write that appeals to my inner grabby-hands serial-killer anyway, to be honest.

I think this woman may be near my age and thus she is equally as forgetful. The two of us will probably just do this back and forth “query and response” thing a few years, ‘til one of us succumbs to death. Which brings me to my next point.

Someone, at my funeral, please, say this: “… AND IN CONCLUSION … it was a life well-lived. She answered all emails. Tried to write things. Talked a great deal about writing something, in fact. We will miss not knowing what it was that she would have written.”

I want very badly to use this particular ampersand, so here it is.
I want very badly to use this particular ampersand, so here it is.

(Sorry about the ampersand non sequitur, but I’ve had that thing on my hard drive for a year or two, thinking “I gotta use this somewhere.” So here it is. Maybe I will put it in posts, just randomly, here and there, with no explanation after today. Someone will eventually write about it somewhere. “That blog that had that ampersand showing up in random posts. WTF?”)

Back to the funeral. Someone should break down and pound the ground with their fists repeatedly while screaming, “IT WAS A LEAGUE GAME. THERE WERE RULES.” Grief-stricken and all. But then look accusingly at the other two attendees. A long accusing stare.

Oh. Must tell you of still more Important News. I was just emailing with a “friend” — seriously??? — and he says I need to “document the Rebeccas of the world” for you few who seem to enjoy reading that sort of thing. The question I had posed, earlier in our fourteen-year-long correspondence, was, “Well what the fuck IS it that I write, exactly?”

I’m always asking people that. No one has an answer. Even the publishing-empire woman I’ve been emailing with, the one mentioned above? She isn’t helping me figure it out. Keeps asking me what I want to write. I think that is at the root of our contorted efforts at communication. That, and the all caps distracts us, but WHO ARE WE HURTING, NO ONE THAT’S WHO.

Me: [deep in existential quicksand] What is it I write? I honestly don’t know what I can write for you. For your readers.

Woman: DID I DROP THE BALL? OR DID YOU?

Me: I forget. HA! HA!

Woman: Were you giving me a list? Was I giving you one? A list? HA! HA!

Me: A list of what I write! HA!

Woman: Good talking to you, HAVE A FUCKING GOOD WEEK!

Me: You too! Same thing, NEXT FUCKING WEEK! WITH MORE CAPS!

Woman: YES! MORE FUCKING CAPS!

I’ve been asking everyone I run into to explain, if they can, WHAT is it that I write, exactly? How would you describe whatever this is that I write? If you had to put it into a single Pulitzer category, I mean.

Is there a non-fiction genre called “Faux Outrage”? For that matter, is there a category on Amazon for crappy cheap e-books full of whatever it is that I write? Because once we know the answer to that, then we will know my MILIEU. Please note that I have now clumsily worked in the word “milieu” and used that ampersand in one post.

So, to sum up. I write. There’s lots of confusion. And repetition or, as I like to call it, emphasis on oft-overlooked nuance. Here’s my internal dialogue as I struggle to think up something to write here, or anywhere:

Sheri 49: I know. Got it. I can do an … exposé of some sort. Investigative reporting. I really was a reporter, you know.
Sheri 50: You covered a chili cook-off.

Yes, it’s short like that. I save most of my words for email.

Sheri 49 Investigates. Episode 1.

MY GOD LOOK AT THIS.

No not that. THIS. That was just the intro.

HELLO. INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER SHERI 49 here. If we’ve learned one thing from movies like The China Syndrome and Erin Brockovitch, it’s to always examine Big Corporate procedures very closely and assume that there is a conspiracy and that the corporations are hiding their evildoing. Like, what if there’s hexavalent chromium under the yogurt layer in your Starbucks yogurt-granola-berries parfait?

And what about the packaging Starbucks is using for their yogurt parfaits? Is it earth-friendly or what? Surely, because Starbucks is a very forward-thinking environmentally-conscious company, the yogurt parfaits are sensibly packaged to minimize waste and harmful effects and keep our earth green. You want the least amount of waste going into those nasty landfills. This is why I patronize Starbucks so often. It’s a place I can feel GOOD ABOUT.

Here’s a photo of my typical lunch at Starbucks:

This is my lunch in its  original planet-saving packaging.
This is my lunch in its original planet-saving packaging.
Sheri 49, you are on thin ice here and SO not funny.
Sheri 49, you are on mighty thin ice here and SO not funny.

First, you have to remove the outermost strip of light-looking plastic that’s cemented around the parfait. It won’t budge, and really, you need a blade — or at least some sort of rudimentary lathe — but Starbucks does not —will not — sell those, because of fair-trade coffee rules. Which I support wholeheartedly.

So I claw at the seal for several minutes, and pull at the edges willy nilly until, suddenly, the cemented plastic belt-piece falls off somehow. It’s worth it to save the planet. Then I slump back in my Starbucks chair a moment. To reflect. Being green feels good. 2 It feels good to do the right thing for our fragile planet.

The next task is to get the Solid Rocket Boosters to separate from the main shuttle. But how?

I need a workbench but I’m in Starbucks so I just clear a huge space at the bar. I always sit at the bar in Starbucks if there is one. The tables suck, and I hate those big counters out in the middle of everything. I like to be off to the side, for privacy, and quiet. Anyway, for this lunch yogurt thing I googled, “Starbucks fruit-granola-yogurt cheat codes” but the only thing google ever comes up with are outdated drawings that make no sense to me. I’m not very science-y.

Old schematic showing how to disassemble Starbucks' fruit and granola and yogurt packaging.
Old schematic showing how to disassemble Starbucks’ fruit and granola and yogurt packaging.

Sometimes a list is helpful. A list of the parts of the yogurt parfait container. In case I need to reassemble it before putting it into Starbucks’ recycling bins.

1. OUTERMOST CEMENTED-ON PLASTIC WAISTBAND THING. No “tear” strip. Claw at it and it will come off eventually.

2. FRUIT MODULE. IN TWO SECTIONS.

2a. Fruit Module “Lid.”

2b. Fruit Module “Actual Fruit Container.” The fruit is a couple of strawberry slices, a few blueberries. All fresh and delicious and grown entirely without the use of recombinant bovine growth hormone (Rbgh) of course.

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3. GRANOLA MODULE. About half of the granola sticks to the module’s plastic. And I mean sticks. You will need to use the plastic spoon Starbucks provides to dislodge your granola and scrape the dampened material into your main YOGURT MODULE.

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4. YOGURT MODULE. The yogurt sometimes has a slight watery layer on top. This is nothing to be concerned about. Normal yogurt leeching, run-off, what have you.

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Stir and enjoy.

If you’re interested in what you can do to help save our fragile planet, click on Disapproving Leo.

Sheri 49, you are still NOT funny, linking my Disapproving Head to the Penn & Teller BULLSHIT episode on RECYCLING.
Sheri 49, you are still NOT funny, linking my Disapproving Head to the Penn & Teller BULLSHIT episode on RECYCLING.

Drooling Girl

Normally I put a black bar over the eyes when I snap a pic of someone in public, just as a courtesy or whatever. But this girl. No. There’s no expectation of privacy and she clearly wanted everyone to see her and enjoy her “tricks.”

She is in front of me at Starbucks. At the center bar area. Center stage!

I’m eating lunch. Just before I snapped the pic, she was amusing her friends with her Stupid Human Trick. She’d take a drink from her Venti whatever-that-is (see photo) and there would be a minute-long pause while she created … I don’t know what. Dark, syrupy, thick, spit mixed with whatever the drink is.

She's disgusting, and like, drooling for Jesus, or something
She’s disgusting, and like, drooling for Jesus, or something

The “what” … she then let drip down her chin. Streams of it. And even that, well, that’s fine. I don’t care. It’s gross, but I don’t care. If it was caught in her cup, or in a pile of napkins. If you want to be a pig in public, fine. I don’t really care.

What I did care about was that she was letting “it” hit the table and splash over the table’s edge, and onto the floor. All to the raucous laughter of her friends.

So. Is it just me being an old fart or is that really obnoxious and rude, if nothing else, to the staff who will have to clean up her Ebola-infused spittings? Not to mention she did the “trick” four times in a row. And I was eating. And they are very loud. And every, like, other word, like, they say, like, is “like.”

After the fun of the drooling-mess tricks, they discussed the BIBLE. Very loudly.

I won’t be having any of what they’re having. Nasty people are nasty. Drooling for Jesus, I guess.

BTW, I don’t know what’s up with me, but I wrote a second post today too.