More than a year has passed since I last graced the pages of The Heckler. I’m getting older. Wiser. Fatter. Hotter. I’m back, and I’m ready for the 2008 season. My loyal fans have demanded an explanation for my absence, and this issue offers me the perfect opportunity to explain.
Where have you been?
I took some time off from writing to pursue my lifelong dream of planning a ridiculously outlandish wedding. Perhaps you saw me on WE’s “Rich Bride, Whore Bride.” Guess which one I was?
In all honesty, I never thought I’d marry. When Moises left, I resigned myself to a spinster’s life. I struggled with intense mood swings. My work suffered. My writing tanked. My drinking flourished. This Milton Bradley-esque rage left me with an overdrawn checking account, a mountain of bar tabs, and a fractured pinky. Luckily, my ring finger was spared, so I bit the bullet and settled for second-best. My husband knows exactly how to ride my emotional roller-coaster. Thank you, Target, for making boxes of wine both affordable and socially acceptable.
Now that you’re married, how can you possibly slut around Wrigley? It’s amazing how much more leniency I’ve been afforded to grow my tawdry reputation. It’s similar to how you can call your mom a slut, but no one else can. I can grab your hot boyfriend’s bag, and then laugh it off with a, “Just kidding, I’m married!”
Will you still stalk ballplayers? Did you really just ask me this? My husband and I are a modern people. Every relationship has that “Free Pass” list of once-in-a-lifetime bedroom opportunities. My “Free Pass” list just happens to include all of the Cubs, past, present, and future. And Bruce Willis. Yippe-Ki-Yay-Mother-Fukudome!
