Why does everyone on dating sites say they like taking long walks on the beach? I don’t. I don’t think I even know anyone who does. It’s hard to walk on sand. Every time I do it, my calves hurt, I sweat, and I start breathing like a stalker. I can’t imagine that being a pleasant first date with someone. Yet universally, it seems to be that “a romantic dinner followed by a long walk on the beach holding hands” is the ideal first date people describe. I think it’s a lie. I think that it is probably the best answer to a seriously messed up multiple choice question like:
Describe your ideal first date:
A. A romantic dinner followed by clubbing seals.
B. A romantic dinner followed by watching a 12 hour marathon of Toddlers and Tiaras.
C. A romantic dinner followed by a long walk on the beach holding hands.
D. A romantic dinner followed by a 6 mile run.
I’d still probably rather watch Toddlers and Tiaras than walk on the beach. I guess I’m just not outdoorsy.
I have always secretly wanted to be someone important. Not like the president or someone who makes a sex tape. Important like a person who lives close to a stadium and gets to charge people to park on their lawn. That was the best part of going to Dodgers games with my dad as a kid- parking on someone’s lawn. Oh how I envied and admired those families, sitting on their porches, promising to watch our car and at the same time looking like they were going to beat us up. The dad or drunk uncle would stand in the yard in his dirty tank top with a handful of cash smiling a near toothless smile and squinting into the sun. Unfortunately that was never in the cards for me. I never got to walk around in my bikini and heels as a ring girl in a boxing match. I never worked security at the airport, “randomly” selecting people to wave my beepy wand on. I never even got to wax a hairy back and complain about it. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that level of importance was working at Popeye’s behind bulletproof glass. I collected sweaty singles from strippers and counted hundreds of pennies from angry old ladies. Every day I worked there, at least one customer swore they would never return, but they always did because it was open 24 hours. One day, a woman threw her chicken at my face, but it hit the bulletproof glass in front of me instead and slowly slid down to the floor. Then she said “now look what you make me do bitch,” and walked out. That day I felt really important.
Customers are shopping at a Food 4 Less in LA. The loudspeaker clicks on.
Yep Yep, Sharon here! Hey there valued customers! Juuuuuust lettin y’all know that we have got something fun….. For…. You! That’s right, watermelon bowling! What? Watermelon bowling? That’s right! Head on over to aisle 6 and see how many toilet paper rolls you can knock down with one of our juicy seedless Alabama delights! Here at Food 4 Less, fun is for everyone! Not just for little kids and whores. Who’s bein’ uptight now, Stan? Sorry folks, just sending a little shout out to my ex over in customer service. Hah! Customer service my be-hind! So, who doesn’t know how to have a good time now? I’m bringin’ joy to hundreds of shoppers!!!! Bet your new beeeyach cant do that can she? Can you Melissa? NO. I think not! I bet these valued customers would agree with me that man stealing whores are not much fun at all. Even an easy food bagger like you that will wham bam thank you my man in the storage room while I am hard at work stacking up boxes of Rice-a-friggin-roni. There is a sale on avocados. Two for three dollars. There is also a sale on imitation crab meat- Melissa honey, you’re gonna get some real crabs for free- get it?! Stan is a giant douchebag. Jumbo sized Vicks Vapor Rub is half off today only. Thank you so much for shopping at Food 4 Less! Y’all come back now.
Do you ever feel like with certain things you have absolutely no learning curve at all? I am not talking about things you study and are slow at like math. I mean regular everyday around the house stuff that people do. You know, toasting bread and peeing into the toilet kind of stuff. I feel like that when it comes to reading in the bathtub. It is a common thing. Lots of people successfully read in the tub. Some people even relax while doing it. So why is it that every time I do so, I wet my book? Not only do I wet my book, I am surprised and then angered that my book has gotten wet. Yet I refuse to take a bath without a book. I also refuse to change any aspect of my bath such as: water level, amount of bubbles, angle at which I lean my head against the back of the tub, etc. It should work the way I do it. It never has, but I cannot fathom changing anything. I truly believe that I am doing it right and it must be that some sort of oh, I don’t know, other force is testing my faith. I know the whole thing about insanity being continuing to do something the same way and expecting different results each time, but isn’t that also the way Jesus did things? I don’t see anyone calling Him stupid. I’m not trying to be a martyr or anything. I just want to read a book in the tub without getting it wet. Like Jesus.
I was lying in bed last night watching Finding Nemo and Rodrigo was sitting next to me reading the Godfather. Somehow we started talking about Shakespeare and Rodrigo asked me when Shakespeare was alive. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: I don’t remember. (I thought this answer would be enough and he would go look it up on the computer, but I was mistaken.)
Rodrigo: Well, it had to have been after Magellan circled this continent…
Me: Oh. Are we doing this the old fashioned way?
Rodrigo: What do you mean?
Me: You know… thinking.
We lasted eleven minutes without googling. My guess had been 16th century and Rodrigo said 17th. It turns out we were both right, he was born in one and died in the other.
Rodrigo came to his conclusion by remembering the works of Shakespeare’s Spanish contemporaries that he had read, and remembering when they were alive. I came to mine by remembering some bad movie where a kid asks something like “yo teach, why we gotta read plays by some guy who’s been dead for 500 years?” Then, I remembered we were in the year 2011, and I subtracted 500. All this studying I have done my whole life and it turns out all I really needed were remedial math and bad movies.
At 3 o’clock this afternoon I was standing at the end of a long line outside CBS studios in L.A. with my friend Amy. We were waiting to see the taping of the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. I had never been to the taping of a talk show before and I had no idea who Craig Ferguson was. I was sure we were going to have to wait outside for a few hours and then sit through a long, boring taping. But, being that Amy is from Nashville and this was her first time in Hollywood, it seemed only fair that she should get to do something showbizzy. After all, she didn’t make me take her to the wax museum or Universal Studios.
At 3:30 on the dot we were all let in through the gates where our i.d.s were checked and our cell phones were confiscated. We were seated on benches outside of the studio and told to use the bathroom now or forever hold our peace. We met our warm up guy “Chunky” and were led up four flights upstairs to the studio. Amy and I were near the end of the line and began walking towards some available seats in the back row when one of the staff members told us to sit up front on the left side. We were really excited that we would actually be able to see what was going on. Two more girls around our age came and filled the seats next to us.
Chunky came back and began his routine right next to me. He put a bag of Whoppers in his mouth and leaned towards me. I snatched the bag out of his mouth and then hid my face in Amy’s arm. Then he said he felt sexy and shook his butt in my face. Again, I hid behind Amy. Chunky then told me I wasn’t interested in him because I was a lesbian and I was in fact sitting in lesbian row. We all laughed and he finished his routine and taught us the right way to laugh and clap for Craig.
Craig came out and we all made a lot of noise. He did his opening monologue and then looked at us girls in the front and said “Oh we have a good looking lesbian row tonight.” What the hell? Anyways, the point of this story is that I am probably going to be famous now. I think we are going to be on t.v. later tonight because the camera guy kept turning around and filming us. So, if you feel like it, turn on CBS at 12:37 tonight and try to find me!
The parade was long and he was almost last in the single file line of men and animals, but Amir walked on. Not that he had any choice in the matter. The last man to complain was chopped up and fed to the bulls. Granted, his death was no great loss, he was almost twenty and about to die from old age anyway. Amir was young and full of energy and super glad they won the day’s war. He was carrying big sacks of booty to present to the noble priests. Hopefully this time his efforts would not go unnoticed. Last time that jerk Rashad confiscated all his booty and gave it to the priests himself, taking all the credit. This time it would be different. Rashad had been maimed during battle and was being treated with hot fish oils and ox fat. Amir smiled to himself. Nothing would stand in his way of success. More than anything Amir wanted to tell his wife Lena they had moved up in the world. Right now they were part of the bottom level working class. Amir’s goal was to get somewhere in the middle level working class. He was very ambitious.
He walked and walked, and pretty soon he could hear the faint strumming of a harp and an angelic voice that could only belong to the long haired man named Elik. He was allowed to grow his hair long because the priests claimed it was what God wanted. Though Amir longed to grow his own head full of silky black locks, he did not envy the singer. Elik had to live his life in celibacy (also due to God’s will). Amir felt his pulse quicken and his heart beat faster. Music meant they were nearing the priests.
The receiver of all war booty was waiting at the entrance to the banquet. Amir handed over his booty sacks and waited nervously for the verdict. If he got a nod, he would be able to enter the feast and collect scraps from the floor. If the receiver merely grunted, he would have to go home empty handed. Luckily he got a nod and was permitted to enter. The feast was grand. Amir was careful not to look any of the priests in the eye, but it was impossible not to notice the giant king at the far end of the hall. He found a spot under the huge banquet table and positioned his war skirt to collect droppings.
The evening was a huge success. Amir gathered a bunch of booty and went home proud. Lena almost cried when she saw Amir carrying a spleenfull of ox blood, her favorite. She and Amir embraced and made sweet love after dinner. Amir hoped tomorrow’s war would go just as well.
I have been waiting to go back to school ever since they let us out on May 7th. And after a summer that in my opinion was way too long, I am finally getting my wish. Tomorrow is the first day of classes of the new semester. I start bright and early with Sculpture I. This will be the first sculpture class I have ever taken, and excited doesn’t even begin to describe it. I doubt I will sleep much tonight. First of all, I just ate a big hot dog piled high with jalapeños. Bad idea before bed, but sooo good. Second of all, I have already been losing sleep the past few nights due to the never ending questions running through my mind. Who will my teacher be? It is the only class on my schedule where under “instructor’s name” it just says TBA. That is so not fair! Who will be in my class? I already know that two of my friends who were supposed to be with me are in fact together in another section. What will we make? I wonder if it will be the same things I saw last year. Will I really get to use all the power tools or was that just faulty advertising to get us to sign up for the class? I really need to use those tools! You might think these thoughts would go on and then fade away as I drift off to sleep. Wrong. This is where the what if questions come in. Those are the ones that really don’t let me sleep. What if I suck? That one is pretty vague, but it is definitely the most recurring worry. What if my fly comes unzipped or my pants ride down so low that I show my butt crack? Both highly possible situations even with my new collection of colorful belts. What if I forget to go to class? I have my schedule up on the wall, on my desk, in my notebook and even in my diary. I am still not convinced I will remember. What if everyone hates me? This one I am not so worried about anymore because I have friends from last semester who don’t hate me. However, there are lots of new people which means lots of opportunities for hating. What if I can’t think of anything to create? That is the one that really makes me panic. I know that staying up late and not sleeping wont give me the answers to my questions. Unfortunately, knowing that doesn’t make me fall asleep any faster. I know it will be okay. It will probably be great. I will have an amazing teacher. I will work hard and make things I never thought I could. I am going to get in bed, read a little, and then have a good night’s sleep. I just need to figure out: What am I going to wear?
Maybe today Jenny will say yes. It has been “no” two days in a row now, but I have a good feeling about today. It’s Friday. Who doesn’t want to go out on Friday? Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one asking. I don’t usually go for the fatties, but it occurred to me a few days ago that if I lower my standards, I can raise my expectations. I’m hoping for some kind of sex soon. Preferably free sex.
You know how people always say prostitution is a win/win situation? Well, I have spent most of next month’s rent on hos and I don’t feel like a winner. I’m going to have to ask my mom to lower the rent again. I don’t really see why I have to pay rent anyway. If she didn’t make my food, clean my room, and do my laundry, she wouldn’t even know I was here.
It wasn’t always like this you know. I didn’t always live with my mom and spend my money on hookers. I used to go to therapy. I went for years. But then one day my therapist told me I was addicted to sex. I decided that if I were addicted to sex, it didn’t make much sense to spend my money on talking. That’s when the hos came into my life. And now I’m basically broke. I have just enough money to take Jenny to the movies if she says yes. I hope she says yes.
I read a book and now I know that fear is for the weak. I am going to face life’s obstacles with my head. I am tired of asking you out and you saying “hell no.” You think you’re so clever. You think you know everything. Well I bet you don’t know what I did… I kidnapped your mother! That’s right! And I am not giving her back unless you agree to going on two “real dates” with me. In public.
You know, it was difficult to get your mother out of that place where you had her in, but I did it. I said I was your brother and they bought it. Obviously. Because I am looking at her right now. She is rearranging the furniture in my pool house. She talks a lot. Is that why you put her away? She keeps asking me if I have seen Invictus. She says it’s the best movie she has ever seen. I keep saying I have not seen it, but she doesn’t seem to remember. By the way, is your mom Jewish? Are you Jewish? Maybe I kidnapped the wrong mom. Sike! I’m not really anti-you guys.
This morning at breakfast I told your mom I wanted to date you and she asked me who you were. Then she said we should go see Invictus. Did you know that your mom is very difficult? I am having trouble meeting all her needs and I am considering hiring help. I’m also probably going to have to quit my job to take care of her full time. Anyways, seeing as how I’ve invested so much of my “self” in your mother’s well being, if you want to pay for dinner one or both of the nights we go out that would be great. Let us make the best of times out of this tragedy. I know you are right for me.