This Is A Nielsen Box Without a Family & No, It's Not a Box

I feel bad. See, before I got the phone call from my old boss, before the proposition, I came up with what I thought was a funny idea. I knew it was his birthday in a week. And that he cared about Nielsen families. I also knew that for people who have never seen a Nielsen box, it's actually somewhat interesting to see what one looks like. Granted, it wasn't like I actually needed to get ^$&#* a birthday present. I mean for one, the man has everything. Need doesn't really enter into it. Then again, do people actually buy gifts for multi-millionaires? Maybe he needs to feel that people are thinking of him as more than a rich person. All that considered, I decided to wrap up the Nielsen box, write out a nice little card and send it to him as a birthday gift.

I just got it back-- certified mail. It came back to me in an oversized white box. The brown wrapping I sent it in was still in the box, like it had never even been opened. It had clearly been sent back by a PA. (The show was written as the return address). So I felt bad. And felt something that I recognized as a little slap in the face. Which made me feel even worse. I mean, if anyone should be slapping, it should be me, right? So I thought some not very nice things about my old boss. Then yesterday, I opened the white box, ready to take out the Nielsen box, pack it up and send it on its way to the Nielsen folk who could in turn send it to a family who would use and appreciate it and the power it has. That's when I found a note. It said, "You know I love you, but I can't even have one of these in my possession. But I've never seen one before, so that was cool. See you soon. Love, #%@&$."

That made me feel bad. Because this is the thing. He's not a bad guy. Really. In fact, he's a nice guy. And he's been quite nice to me in the past. I just wish he would have been honest with me about things. Like not ever wanting to hire me. Instead of telling me I what I wanted to hear. And making calls to help get me a writing job. (Clearly no one believed the good things he said. Because if they were true, then why wasn't he buying the cow?) How many times when you want to set up a single friend of the opposite sex when you're single, too does the person you want to set your friend up with say, "if they're so great, then why aren't you dating them?" Uh-huh. No matter how glowingly you recommend somoene, they can never quite get past that question.

I know honesty is hard. And I feel bad about being as honest as I am in some of my stories where other people are concerned. That's why I would never name names. Hey, I didn't even want to use my own name in case some people could figure out who the people I was writing about were-- that whole guilt by association thing. (Maybe James Frey could have gone that route?). But I don't know if anyone's really reading me any more anyway-- at least not anyone who doesn't already know me-- so I just coughed up my name. Friends would use it in comments and deleting the few comments I got to "preserve my identity" seemed ridiculous. Not to mention, lonesome. Who doesn't like comments? I mean, they're like my own personal Nielsen box. No comments means writing is boring or bad. More comments could mean something might be good or deplorable or sympathetic or something else that I haven't even thought of yet. I read them all. And I pay attention to them. Okay, I may not be give out nifty little prizes. At least, not now. But who knows? Maybe someday.