Blade Trinity

Mr. Wesley Snipes

I dated this guy on the basketball team in college. After a few weeks of hanging out, he asked me to go with him to see a movie! On a good old-fashioned date! He said he'd pick me up outside my dorm.

I put on my plungiest V-neck Abercrombie sweater just for the occasion. He picked me up as promised. We took a nice stroll to the theater.

We were greeted by three men, friends of his. Two were wearing do-rags, and all averaged close to seven feet tall. We got in line to buy our movie tickets. "What are we seeing?" I asked my date. "Blade Trinity," they all answered in unison. Ugh. Whyyyy.

I was the first in the group to head to the counter when the cashier called out "NEXT." I didn't want to be presumptuous about the breakdown of our date finances. "One for Blade Trinity," I mumbled. I collected my ticket and stepped to the left. My date looked at me kind of sideways. His friends didn't seem too pleased either. 

The gang left the counter and approached me in a semi-circle formation. They were pissed. I felt not unlike a wittle mouse. 
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I thought you were treating us," he replied.
"Well... umm... I didn't realize that... well, why would you think that?"
"We got a tournament coming up in Florida and we want to save our stipend for trip money."
"Umm...ok. That's like, understandable. I mean totally. Totally understandable. But like, I already paid for myself. And you guys already paid for your stuff. So like, what am I supposed to do?"
"You tell us," said my Knight.
"You want me to reimburse you for your ticket?"
"That would be nice," he replied.
"Yeah, real nice," echoed the do-ragged leeches.
"ALL of you?"

The huddle got closer. I immediately went to the ATM to get the cash to pay all of them back. I returned back with the money, and my chivalrous companion put his arm around me before saying the scummiest thing of all time.
 
"Thanks, Sexy. You know I'll make it up to you later."

As white girls say, as if. And also, Eww. There would be no later. Except that in an odd turn of events, as I was getting my hair done on my WEDDING DAY, I received a Facebook friend request/message from my long-lost Knight.

"Hi Hun- How's it goin. Been a while. Sorry 4 the past. Would luv to get to no u better."

Meanwhile, my groom was standing at the alter, straightening his tie. All the guests were packed inside the ceremonial room. The air was thick with anticipation for my arrival. My 102 year old grandmother was barely hanging on to the pew, she was struggling with all her might to stand just so that she could see me walk down the aisle to marry the man of my dreams. Groom cleared his throat. Best Man shrugged. "Where IS she?" the guests all mouthed to each other.

Back at the hotel room, I was pacing back and forth, trying to decipher Knight's poetry. I was consumed by thoughts of calling off my wedding in light of this watershed moment. I consulted with my Maid of Honor, who at that point had completed almost 3 years of PhD shrink school at the University of Phoenix.

"What should I do?" I asked her desperately.
"What is it about you that makes you ask me that?" she replied as she scribbled some notes.
"Stop confusing me with your wizard shrinkery!" I yelled.

In the end, it would take more than a careless, misspelled, accidentally-sent to-the-wrong-girl-because-you-were-binge-drinking Facebook message to win back my heart. Sorry Knight, I know you tried (not really). But if they ever make a Blade IV- which I hope to God they don't- tickets are on me.


   

  

A Lily for Me

Yuck

In the process of writing my next post. I'm sitting in Starbucks by the window. On the other side of the window sits a very creepy man. He just turned his chair to face me. He's been staring at me through the window for the past 10 minutes. I keep looking in my periphery. He's still staring at me.  Every time I take a sip of my coffee, he sticks his tongue out and licks his upper lip. He's got real crazy eyes. For some reason he has a single white lily on the mesh table in front of him. Yup, now he definitely has one hand in his pants. He just raised the lily to his nose with the other hand and now he's sniffing it simultaneously. Still looking at me. Remember when I said in my opening post that I had that Special Something? I am a prophet.

Fish Ties

Peroxide hair and a double-knotted seascape

There are two kinds of people in the workforce. The first are Doers. These are people who lead by action, who possess an internal force that drives inspiration and propels productivity, which in turn fuels further action. We all benefit from this cyclical continuum of innovation and output. Doers. Fuck yeah.

The second are Larries. Larry (singular) was some dude I worked with for way too long. We were both waiters at a chain restaurant. Larry's middle name was Doldrums. He possessed the double butt chin and distended midsection of Peter Griffin and the phenotype of a sloth. He also had pockets of deep craters carved into his face. He would sweat profusely when he ate his lunch (pie) in the break room while concurrently trying to roll silverware into linen napkins.

Larry was an alright guy. He was an honest man. He didn't spend all his tips on blow like the other waiters. No, Larry would go home every night from work, lift up the thin mattress in the basement of his mom's house, and toss another $75 under the bed that he never had sex in.

Larry cared about his job, because it was a job, and he didn't want to lose it. He didn't ask questions. He waddled through the day, following mindless instructions and occasionally giving them. He punched in tables' orders into the workstation monitors with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and his spectacles at the end of his nose. When Management gave him the section of the floor with the large booths, Larry puffed out his male boobs proudly. And when Larry was tasked with supervising us rookies' post-shift scut work, he'd look for wayward crumbs and residue like he was on a mission to find an old Nazi in Argentina.

All this to say that there were many sad things about Larry. But the saddest by far is that Larry was intelligent. Larry had potential. And yet somehow, somewhere along the line, Larry got lost and settled. He settled in a big way twenty years earlier for this shitty job looking for crumbs that others missed. I know Larry was reasonably smart because he went to a 4 year college (back when that meant something), had a keen interest in worldly affairs, and spoke eloquently (on the rare occasion that he spoke of things other than clam chowder).

A friend of mine and I had grown intolerably bored during one slow lunch shift. The restaurant was adorned with New England-y paintings of individual sea creatures, and the corresponding genus written in Latin beneath it. We drew tiny bow ties, top hats, and cigars on separate sheets of paper, cut them out, and pasted these debonair accessories on every fish picture in the place. The fish looked way handsome. I thought to myself- I'd totally fuck them. My friend and I cackled when we walked by all of the defaced paintings. This went on for a week or so. Best week of my life. (Kidding).

When Larry caught wind of this, he couldn't understand why we desecrated his workplace. He was extremely sad. I can still picture him staying late one evening as he scratched the stubborn Scotch tape residue off of a Thunnus albacares with his fingernail. Voluntarily.

Reader, I must confess that I was a Larry for most of my 20's. I was a cog in the wheel at my previous gigs, mindlessly accepting responsibilities that I cared little about, all so that I could proudly say that I beat the Great Recession by holding down a job. I felt ashamed to think that if I were to quit one day (which I did) my net contribution would be so minimal that nobody would care. I felt extraneous and unproductive. I felt meaningless.

No longer, honey child. I abandoned that life decade. I'm going to do now, in my 30's, what I should have done before- channel my creative energy through mediums such as this blog, a novel, and a screenplay (and that's just the beginning). This is what I was meant to do, and I find myself in the fortunate position of being able to really do it, finally. Goodbye Larries- hello, Doers.

One day, Larry was sitting in a corner in the break room and he gestured for me to come over. He offered to share his sweaty pie with me. I declined. No thanks Larry, you faithful old dog. No thanks.

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Madrid, Times Two

Pink Pangea is a great resource for the avid female traveler. While you're there, read my featured post. You won't be disappointed if you enjoy tales of one-armed Spanish lovers, and meat.

 http://pinkpangea.com/2013/11/madrid-times-two/

Valium Poetry III

Obey your thirst

I feel scared when I think
About where you are now
How I wish I could go back
I would've done anything
If I had known
Pookers
My little man
My world doesn't sparkle
Without you in it

Valium Poetry II

Single malt raid

Eyes so blue
Lashes so long
Cheeks so soft
Thighs so chunky
Nose so buttony
Hair like strawberries
        (the color, that is)
My sweet angel
I miss you so

                                            


You are so sophisticated
Even sigh when
You're bored
And roll your eyes
When you're sleepy
You laugh you cry
You hate to feel lonely
Sleep and cuddle with me
When I return home

Valium Poetry I

I've learned not to follow the instructions

I am the craziest version of myself when I'm on an airplane. I like to travel, I just hate flying. I try to be conscientious and respectful of fellow passengers. So I self-medicate, with Ativan, Ambien, Percocet, or Valium (my fave). And I always throw back some wine post-takeoff to really smooth things over. Immediately before my eyelids turn to lead and I get all slack-jawed and drooly, I feel a sudden impulse to write stuff. Here's the first of many hazy creations:

My Love

Please forgive me

Mommy had a 

...Margarita

A bottle of wine

and 2 Valiums

Because I hate to fly

But most of all 

I hate being

Without you