M.A. Schultz

I hurried to the bathroom and dropped my shorts. The creature I had found was apparently one of many. The ambassador of a great and industrious people who had set up a thriving Utopian Kibbutz on my crotch. I quietly exited the house and drove to the 24-hour pharmacy.

Oh Holy Hell, nothing gets me as riled up as The Secret.   So let’s go there.  First of all, I need to confess that I am an occasional dabbler in the New Age arts (aka bogus witchcraft).  I am, I admit, a foul weather witch and when I’m waiting to hear back after a particularly promising job interview, I try and use the power of positive image-based thinking to draw goodness into my life.

Zsa Zsa Zsu is fabulous.  It makes our stomach spin and our eyes go starry and it makes us feel young and ebullient and hopeful.  But the thing about it is this: it is entirely divorced from those rational characteristics we want in a man.  Remember those?  Smart, cute, funny, kind?  Yeah, didn’t think so. 

I wish I could say that after this weekend, after “enjoying” a night out which I not only have no recollection of, but one which cost me my phone, my water bottle, my metro card, and nearly $60 dollars on drinks and a cab, that I will never drink Four Loko again. But I will. Probably soon.