Lately, I’ve started telling stories like an old lady. They start with embarrassing sentences like ‘This one time?’ or ‘Back in the day…’ or ‘When I was in my twenties –‘ These phrases are designed to make the person listening feel like I’m actually okay now — that this kind of story is an anomaly […]
I hear a mumbled “Just don’t get arrested” come from the bed’s rumpled direction. I cackle, remembering outings with Hoss that have gone totally awry. A stern and sleepy face appears from under Blanket Mountain. “Em, I mean it. We don’t have the bail money. Preach the Gospel of Reason, please,” he half-jokes, half-begs. I kiss him good-bye, but promise nothing. We both know Hoss too well for that.
“It was a pro-life rally,” she says with emphasis. Stunned silence invades the room as I gather my jaw from the floor below.
“You’re a pro-gay marriage, pro-choice, anti-establishment vegan who has chained herself to a tree,” I nearly shout at her. She nods her head, holding up four fingers. “Four trees? FOUR? Believe me when I say that I am very fucking confused.”
I was headed for a divorce about three months into my marriage, but like any focused person who lives in constant denial, I wasn’t ready to face it for another two years. Journal entry: Unreasonable Seek professional help please Oh husband of mine! Hot dogs and farting Monday night football, et al They are killing […]
Much like an orgasm, I was focused on delaying the end while running towards it as fast as my legs could take me. It was a mental exercise over anything else: the waiting, the worrying, the what-ifs and why-nows. I tried to stay in the moment, savoring every last feeling, smell, sound – but it was too hard, knowing that in – four hours? six? two? – everything would come to a bitter end.
The sins were small in number, but large upon impact. There was the hairy-shouldered whale who was force-fed spaghetti until he passed out from the endeavor (GLUTTONY) – and while I knew it would be a terrible way to go, I did appreciate the almost real-life death-by-carb scenario, because I’d eaten so much chocolate cake the night before. Right then, I felt like achieving my dreams was a real possibility.
I felt like a nervous freak. Here I was, talking with a real! live! whore! and all I could think of was how idiotic I must sound to her, how redneck-y and small. I also worried that invisible skank spores were infecting me through our close proximity, and tried breathing away from her, in case she was extra toxic. I know you can’t get AIDS this way, but I don’t know if it’s the same for being a rundown ho; I just needed to avoid it. I’d make a terrible prostitute.