The Scarlett Letter

For the past several months, I’ve had the exact same dream. What’s worse is, I have no idea what it means or how to make it stop. Here’s as much of it as I can remember:

There I am, sitting at a secluded table, with Scarlett Johansson as my date. She’s wearing a black strapless dress and her hair’s up in some sophisticated way. And for some reason, in her left ear, there’s a single pearl earring. I mean, she’s Scarlett Johansson. Can’t she afford the other one? In any case, she looks amazing. And that’s when it hits me: I’m having dinner with Scarlett Johansson!

“Holy shit,” I say. “Scarlett Johansson. The Scarlett Johansson. I can’t believe I’m having dinner with Scarlett Johansson.”

“Oh, Smivey,” she says. “It’s no big deal. Just try to relax and eat your salad.”

And so I do. I try to eat my salad. But every time I look up, Scarlett Johansson is sitting across from me.

“Fuck. Scarlett Johansson. This is fucking amazing. The Scarlett Johansson. Why would Scarlett Johansson ever want to have dinner with me? I’m so much older than she is.”

“Would you stop talking about me as if I’m not here? You know why I agreed to go out with you. It was that letter you sent me almost a year ago.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe you actually read that.”

“Oh, I read all of my fan mail. Usually, they’re just requests for my undergarments, but yours was so different, so special.”

“Oh, stop.”

“No, really. I still carry it with me wherever I go.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I do!”

“Uh huh.”

Scarlett digs through her Prada bag and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. She unfolds the paper, because it’s much easier to read that way, and then proceeds to, duh, read it:

“Sweet Scarlett,

I realize you probably get hundreds of letters every year, but this one is very special and you will, undoubtedly, hold it dear to your heart. After you read it, you will become my girlfriend and then we will stay at home and watch DVDs on my home theater system with 5.1 surround sound.

Holy shit. Scarlett Johansson. I can’t believe I’m writing to the Scarlett Johansson. This is fucking amazing. The Scarlett Johansson. Why would Scarlett Johansson ever read my letter?

Oh, I have to go. My Pillsbury Toaster Strudel is ready. It’s important to frost them while they’re hot. Otherwise, the frosting won’t be all gooey and runny the way I like it. Do you like toaster strudel? I need a woman who likes toaster strudel.

Anyway, please give me a call. Better yet, IM me. I’m always online. Always.

Yours, very soon,


“OK,” I say to Scarlett, “will you put the fucking letter down and eat your salad? You’re embarrassing me.”

“Sorry. It’s very dear to my heart.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Honestly, I think you should know, I sort of knew about you before you even wrote to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I kind of heard about you from a friend of mine and I decided to check out your blog.”

“You used to read my blog?”

“I still do. It fucking rocks.”

“My blog?”


“My blog??”

“Smivey, you really need to do something about your self esteem.”


“Isn’t it cool that I was a fan of yours before we even met?”

“Not really. Actually, it kind of freaks me out.”

“Freaks you out?”

“Yeah, I feel a little violated here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I don’t like the idea of some woman obsessing over me. It’s like you were cyberstalking me or something.”

“Oh, suck it! I wasn’t cyberstalking you. I just read your blog occasionally to see what you were up to.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s fucked up.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, I believe you’re the one who’s insane.”

“Look, can’t we just finish our dinner and talk about this later? I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Here’s a better idea. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here?”

“Ha. Yeah, right. Very funny.”

“You think I’m kidding? If you’re not gonna leave, I will.”

“Smivey, are you serious?”


She stares at me for a moment. “Fine!”

She throws her napkin at me, gets up, then pours what’s left of her wine onto my head. I watch her as she storms out of the room, her long, slender middle finger extended out just for me. I casually pat my face dry with Scarlett’s discarded napkin and then go back to eating my salad. That’s when it hits me: Fuck. Scarlett Johansson. I can’t believe I just got into a fight with Scarlett Johansson. The Scarlett Johansson!

But wait, here’s the strange part: The salad has honey-mustard dressing on it. I hate honey-mustard dressing. But in the dream, it tastes pretty damn good and I end up devouring it. How fucked up is that?

Comments 15

  1. Katie the Stranger ^^ wrote:

    You don’t know me, but I liked your story, so I wanted to tell you mine.

    I was in a really shitty mood, so I decided to sit alone at my computer in the dark, hoping that something would occupy my mind for a while.

    Unfortunately, the computer is not interesting when:
    A) There’s no one to talk to and
    B) You’re too frustrated to be amused.

    So I started randomly searching for depressing things (bonzai cats, the “Meet Your Meat” video that scarred me when I was 13, my own livejournal, etc…).
    After a while, I searched for “Everything Sucks” (which, coincidentally, is a very good song) and found your blog.

    I read about your dream and it made me smile. You’re a good writer.

    I just wanted to thank you. You made me feel a lot better.

    Posted 16 Jan 2006 at 6:47 am
  2. Smivey wrote:

    You’re quite welcome, Katie. There are plenty of other smiles in the archives.

    Posted 16 Jan 2006 at 2:48 pm
  3. Trojan wrote:

    Hmmmmm so i take it you have a thing for THE Scarlett Johansen? Nice write up though….funny. I had a dream about Brad Pitt throwing a party at my house once…in my dream we disliked each other….dreams rock.

    Posted 16 Jan 2006 at 5:17 pm
  4. JeN wrote:

    Geez, at least you could have stolen her undergarments somehow before she stormed out! ha ha ha

    … I don’t like honey mustard dressing either.

    Posted 16 Jan 2006 at 6:32 pm
  5. Smivey wrote:

    I don’t have a “thing” for Scarlett. It’s more of an admiration. And yes, honey-mustard dressing really does suck.

    Posted 17 Jan 2006 at 6:37 am
  6. dvl wrote:

    honey-mustard only has one R in it, huh?

    stupid Freud.

    Posted 18 Jan 2006 at 7:08 am
  7. jules bianchi wrote:

    who needs scarlett anyway??

    Posted 19 Jan 2006 at 5:39 pm
  8. nels wrote:

    That first comment is really from “Katie the Stalker”. She just changed a few letters, but she can’t fool me. Watch out.

    Posted 19 Jan 2006 at 9:35 pm
  9. lizard wrote:

    great dream/story.

    made me forget how exactly i managed to wander over and find this blog even.

    hi :)

    Posted 21 Jan 2006 at 6:50 am
  10. bob wrote:

    smivey, you’re insane!

    Posted 31 Jan 2006 at 2:44 am
  11. Smivey wrote:


    Posted 31 Jan 2006 at 5:05 am
  12. bob wrote:

    birds of a feather.

    Posted 31 Jan 2006 at 11:03 pm
  13. C.S.D. wrote:

    Thank goodness I happened to “accidentally” stumble upon your blog as well since it is much more fun to read interesting posts when you have insomnia.


    I would like to commend you on your choice. I personally admire the above mentioned actress as well. More significantly, I too share your admiration in the Pillsbury Strudel. Although it could use even more artificial flavors than it already has. It just does not seem to pack enough calories/fat for that all-day-bloated feeling I desire in my morning pastries. It almost makes me want to get in my car and drive to Winchell’s.

    p.s. *cluck*

    Posted 24 Nov 2006 at 5:37 am
  14. C.S.D. wrote:

    P.P.S. And I really do hope you DON’T have a problem with gals cyberstalking you. Well, not that it would matter to me cos I would still cyberstalk you even if you did. Haha – nevermind.

    Posted 24 Nov 2006 at 5:51 am
  15. Smivey wrote:

    Mm hm. As long as you keep the “cyber” in front of that word, I think I’ll be OK.

    Posted 24 Nov 2006 at 7:55 am

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