Sunday, October 4, 2009

I have to trim my nails...Warden's orders.

I think our society goes in Snob Circles. And I mean that in the sense as trends of Snobbery...get it? Like, watch "Titanic" it was all about who was richer, and who had the youngest, virgin wife. Then in the forties, it was who was the most "All-American". Fifties, it was who had adjusted and profited from the post-war the most. Sixties, who could either be so "far-out" and "revolutionary", or who could be the most Pro McCarthy, or the most "square". Seventies, who rocked the best. Eighties, who had the best one bedazzled glove or some shit, I bet. Nineties, who was grunge enough, hardcore enough. And then it progressed into who had the best blond hair, midriff, or Wade Robson dance moves. Eesh. I mean, this is all hypothetical. We'll never surpass the basics: who is richer, thinner, faster, the most famous, the funniest...blah, blah. blah. But do you know what I notice about my generation? To be honest, a few really retarded (for lack of better words) things.
1). Like, who is the most Indie son-of-a-bitch out there. it's like, you aren't a cool person if you listen to a few bands that are mainstream. You're only cool, or intelligent if you listen to obscure bands NO ONE has ever fucking heard of. Why? Because they're so much better? They're saving the world somehow? Sorry I don't know the "Taxi-Cabs That Took Us To Prom" band that plays in the gymnasium of a junior college in Uganda... I'm sure they're great, but I'll stick to my Pink, thanks. Then these people have to watch art films that think they expand their minds. Then they think that somehow, through watching shitty movies and hearing shitty music, that THEY are automatically artists. Sorry, drawing a whale with stripes on it, above an ocean of screen-printed black birds or whatnot, is not fucking art. Okay, if you genuinely enjoy doing these things, cool. But if you're watching and listening to these things just because you don't want to be like everyone else, come on, get over it... I mean, what are you, 16? Mostly it comes from people who are trapped living in a town they hate. They talk shit about it and the people in it, but at the end of the day, they're all pussies who are too afraid to leave. These people then transcend into the...
2). Damn Green People. Whose got the "greenest" car, who brings their burlap grocery bags with them to the market, who wear nothing but hemp. They only buy organic food, they only eat salad, and then they drive around with those fucking Bono bumper stickers. Again, if this is what you're really into, great. I mean, I worry about my planet, I like dolphins and shit. But we should have been doing this 20 years ago, not all of a sudden. I mean, I recycled even when it wasn't cool. I even separated the eggshells. Don't damn me for driving a Jeep that has shitty MPG ratings (btw, I miss my Ford Exploder. I guess it's the dyke in me, but I love my cars big.) I eat rare steaks, use plastic bags, and if I had the money, yeah, I'd probably buy a fur coat....they're soft and keep you warm = awesome.
3). The Frenemy People. don't like me, I don't like you...but yet, you're my friend on Facebook. Is it just to monitor me, and then suddenly pop up when I've experienced some terrible fuck-up and be like, "Ha! Well...such is life, man." And then laugh about me to your friends? I just understand it. I take glances at "The Hills" and shit like that, and it's like how you can be a big bitch yet still be someone's friend at the same time. If you don't like me, then don't talk to me. Simple as that.
Ugh, I should really retire to my chambers now.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Drinking It Straight: A Short Story

I let three things turn my world: Sex, Food, and Art. I don't think that's so bad. It could be worse, it could be: morals, love, and kittens or some shit like that. I look across the room at this girl my friends like who won't stop giggling. After everything she says, she emits a small giggle. I shake my head. I can feel everyone's thought penetrating my head, I already know what they're all thinking before it escapes their mouths. I don't sleep because it never shuts up in there. So she uncrosses and the re-crosses her petite, tan legs, and I watch my guy friend's eyes twitch in mild excitement. He's not going to get any, he can just clamp it shut, forget it. Apparently, she's taken, but I've never seen this significant other of hers that other people talk about. He's almost a mythical figure I read about it 10th grade English, like Grendel or something. It's not that I hate her, but if everything is black and I'm imagining white, she's gotta make me change my mind. Because this drink isn't going to do it for me. A dog walks into the room, a husky-asshole mix, and she squeals. "Oh, come here Puppy!" Jesus Christ, I mutter to myself as I get up to get another drink. The dog does go to her, a long, pink tongue coming out of it's mouth and licks her thigh, she kisses it's nose and it turns to leave. "Oh, he's so cute." She says dreamily, with the same longing tone I use when I talk about decoupaging wine labels to my grandmother's Chippendale desk.
I'm trying to have an affair with the man I first see when I enter the kitchen. he's leaning up against the counter, drink in hand, talking with a friend of mine, who I can never remember his name. Affair Man, I'll call Delirious for dramatic effect only, smiles at me, and then returns to the conversation about Obama's plan for universal healthcare. I'll say now that I don't vote, I didn't vote, at least. Next election, if there's a candidate promising unicorns out his ass, I might consider it. I empty my glass (I will say one thing about the party, thank God for no frat boy red plastic cups...fucking things just bring my mood down) into the sink and cross the kitchen to get more ice. Delirious calls out my name.
"What?" I ask, still facing the interior of the freezer.
"You want free healthcare?" He asks me.
"Hell no... last free thing I got a was a drink here and it barely did the trick. Is the free penicillin shot I'm going to get going to fix my problems?" I cursed myself inside, shitty joke, shitty joke, shitty joke.... But Delirious laughed, and so did No-Named Douchebag, and I relaxed.
"Watch out," I said, smiling. I had to get behind Delirious to get to the bottle of discount Whiskey. "See? Discount. Nothing free is good." he laughed again. I poured the brown liquid over my ass and watched the ice crack from the sudden heat. Delirious said something to No-Name about politics and I wondered about what my body would do when I got some of his sudden heat; I sure as hell wouldn't crack like that ice. I leaned up against the counter next to him and sipped.
"How's the party?" No-Named asked me. I smirked, liquor still sitting in my mouth, letting the flavor rise, and nodded my head.
"Yeah," I said, after swallowing. "I'm into Christina's stories. They're all about how awesome high-school was for her...granted that was 7 years ago, but hey, if it is what rocks her boat, I'll listen. I just can't do it sober." Delirious laughed, and the little devil inside of me that's keeping track of many times I make him laugh, checks another point on the chalkboard. I wondered where Delirious's wife was, not that I cared, but I still cared. "Where is the lovely Rachel tonight?" I asked him. He smiled at me and shook his head. "Season Finale of "Dancing With the Stars, she just couldn't tear herself away." I immediatly hated her even more. Motherfucking women, I swear to God, they ruin everything. Now, I don't love Delirious, I just want to have sex with him, but nonetheless, the news of his wife not going to a friend's party with him just annoyed me. "Yeah, she and Lindy are probably glue to the set right about now." He said, taking another swig of whatever it was he was drinking. Lindy was his 8 year old daughter, soft red hair, blue eyes... she was my star student. I taught art classes at a rec center a few miles out of the suburb we all lived in, she was great at blending her pastels.... yes, I know I'm a horrible person. Delirious smelled awesome, and I watched the veins in his neck flex as his swallowed his drink. Shit, I thought. I want to put my mouth on that.
"What are your plans for the holiday?" No-Named asked me. I had forgotten Christmas was in a week.
"Chiller Channel is having a Zombie Movie Marathon, I'm gonna stick to that and cook myself something awesome... I'm thinking a straight week or beer and cheesesteaks." Delirious laughed and put his arm around me playfully. I made a note to the point-counting devil to rack up that that was at least 5 points.
"You're not going to go see your sister and her kids?" Delirious asked me. I shook my head.
"Nah, I'm thinking I can go a year without seeing them. They're only a little bigger than last year... they know some more math too, that's about it. They're know, children." We all laughed. It was true. I loved my sister, if for anything because she was just as evil as me, except that she procreated. We both just saw the world and people for what they were: simple, easy, and wonderful, all at the same time. And I loved my neices, but I didn't fancy children... they...drip and stuff.
"Well, I should make an appearance, this being my house and all. Laters." No-Named excused himself and escaped out the kitchen door to the rest of the party. Delirious walked to the fridge and took out a half eaten rotisserie chicken, covered with foil, and some mustard. "Hungry?" He asked. He had no idea how hungry I was.
"Of course, when am I not?" We both sat across each other on the kitchen island, sharing the cold chicken. We talked about his job (teacher at the community college) and his plans to take his students on some stupid field trip. My job (manager at a photo studio) and how I planned to quit once I got my Bachelor's in a few months. After about an hour, and a few more drinks, Delirious looked up at the clock and rolled his eyes.
"I should get home, Rachel is probably shitting a brick." He grumbled. My devil inside was tapping his foot at me, he was not going to let me fuck this up.
"Well, she hasn't called you, right? C'mon, we never hang out." I said. He nodded.
"Yeah, it's cool, she has'nt called..."
Bingo, got him.
I took another sip of my drink, straight whiskey, which is just how I do, and he smirked.
"God, I can't beleive you drink that shit straight." I put my drink down.
"I always thought mixers just got in the way, I don't like things in my way." He nodded, smirking.
"I bet you don't. I like that."
"First and last time I had a glass of wine on the porch after a long day, I felt like such a pussy, I couldn't drink wine again. Wine never did the trick for me." Delirious laughed.
"Rachel will sit in our sunroom and have a glass of wine after work, before dinner, and ask me to rub her feet. I don't know what it is, but that wine just smells...wierd."
Bingo, two more points.
"MMh, yeah, well... I'm just kinda over the whole Bed, Bath & Beyond version of life, I guess I just find it dishonest. This," I said, as I held up my shimmering glass of whiskey, "is at least a wee bit more honest."
"Fuck...yes." Delirious said, smiling, as we clicked our glasses together. I watched his hand clamp around his glass, I wanted it on my thigh. My thoughts were more than vergind on dirty, they were just seeping with what I wanted. I pulled my hair away from my neck, and put it in a loose bun off of my shoulders, I watched out of my peripherals as his eyes flicked in curiousity. I had him. I can safely say it wasn't the alcohol, or by any means, my looks. I'm not overtly sexy, or even good looking. I'm pretty average, actually. I'm just really good in bed, and, in turn, getting people in one. I got off of my stool and grabbed my drink and walked behind Delirious to the backstaircase to upstairs. I could hear the peopel in the room laugh over a game of "Scene It!" I hated these fucking parties. I didn't turn around to see if he was behind me, I could hear his footsteps behind me, climbing the stairs.
Sometimes I wonder if I really am human. I wonder if it is at all possible if I was born without that chromosome that makes me care what other people feel, or to even acknowledge what I feel. I didn't care that Rachel was sitting at home with her and Delirious's daughter. It felt good, and isn't that all that matters? Life was short, you might as well jsut do what you think feels good, right? The most I really wondered about was what color their bathroom was painted. I opened the door to some bedroom in No-Name's house, I'm assuming it was just a generic guestroom. I knew he wouldn't care. He was single, and had this big house since a dead uncle left it to him. And Delirious was a good friend, he'd probably be fine with him getting laid. Besides, when we were done, I'd give him plenty of time to clean up our ourselves before I walked out. There was a low chest of drawers by the door and I placed my drink on it, and Delirious placed his next to mine. I reached behind my head and felt that neck of his I wanted, and draw his face down to my shoulders. I smirked as his kissed them. I let the room stay sark, although I usually prefer the lights on, but I knew he was feeling guilty. Poor guy.
Is it really that bad that I don't care? The person I evolved to be is the one who loves it when other people look at me and wonder how I live with the fact that I take and take, and will probably burn for eternity. I wondered if that part of me, the part that would care about other people, and cry at funerals, and really mean it when I say "Congratulations!" when a girl-friend gets pregnant; would ever grow to full-size. Would I ever really look at babies and think they were cute? Would I ever really mean it when I signed birthday cards, or sent my congratulations to an expecting couple, or when I got the phone call from someone saying my mother had passed? I don't know, as Delirious's tongue slid further and further down my stomach, I didn't care.
.. I never really did care.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Maya Angelou excerpt

"You're so consumed with how much you get, and you are filled with pain and regret. You say you're OPEN, but I just see HOPELESS. Cause the coffee is brewing. And you're so consumed with how much you come, and your eyes dart from getting LOVE to getting SOME, and I thought I LIKED you, but I see you TRICKED me. Because the fish is cooking. You say you're different, you think you're UNIQUE, but all I notice is how you're too scared to SPEAK, and it's quite unforgiving. Because you eat nothing but crap, darling. I like the way you assume you're CORRECT, because it mocks all forms of INTELLECT, and it's like watching a monkey dancing with no RESPECT. Because it's just like drinking. I'm a caged animal, I need to GO, and you are stationary, you will never KNOW. You want progress, but you don't want ADVICE, and if isn't someone you approve of, you aren't very NICE. Because you are not flowing."