MaryAnne

He hadn't liked the chili. He had taken one spoon of it and made that bloated face look as if he'd stuck a skunk in his mouth. He courageously managed to swallow and sigh with wide open eyes. He looked at her as she stood there waiting for his critique. With a short whistle, he grabbed some saltines next to the chili and munched on them. She was patient and eyed the journey of fallen crumbs jump from his lips onto his t-shirt. "Hey, that was crazy...Thank gawd you have these crackers to cleanse the palate.." and walked on to MaryAnne's table.

Everyone was around MaryAnne's table.

I was too self conscience to stand next to my crock pot of bubbling goo because I knew that I hadn't gotten it right. I had put too much spice and not enough flavor, too much thought and not enough heart. So my table was empty except for the ladle encrusted with a reddish film.

And everyone else had come up with such creative names like "Maurice's Melt-your-Mouth-Madness","Chili-Plus-Beans-Equals-Toot","500-Alarm Chili","Slap-Yo-Mamma-And-Send-Her-Back-To-Timbuktu Chili"...

And all I could think of was "Spicy Chili-No Beans."

Oh, who cares. Its just chili. And who cares if everyone else likes MaryAnne's chili better. It was really good though. I had taken a small sample of it while everyone else was gushing over how they thought a curry chili was so creative and imaginative. And the use of cilantro and lime, genius!

*sigh* I walked over to Maurice's table.

"Hey why aren't you standing at your table, Beth? You should be marketing that bad boy till the last drop is eaten up."

I shook my head. "Its not that good. I didn't have a good recipe. Did you make up your own?"

Maurice shook his head. "What? No way. I had my girlfriend make this. She's all into the cooking thing. She's over there at MaryAnne's table right now probably asking for the recipe."

I glared in MaryAnne's direction. She looked so cute with her hair tied up and little curls falling around her face as if she'd been in the kitchen all day but still looked flawless.

"Ehh, its not all that great. I don't like curry." Maurice shook his head. "Because if you think about it, that just makes it curry, not chili, right?"

I nodded but still wanted to knock all the limes off of her table and shove the cilantro in her face.

Maurice noticed the animosity in my eyes. "Wana know a secret, though, Beth? I know why everyone's around her table...."

Aisle 6

She had never made chili in her life.

But she still decided to enter her office's 2nd Annual Chili Cook-Off Contest. She wanted to be apart of something. And it didn't matter if it was related to heart burn and beans.

Pushing her cart down the grocery aisles was very relaxing to her. She liked to go alone so no one would bother her thoughts and she could just concentrate on the plethora of products surrounding her.

The Spice Islands brand of seasonings were much more eye-appealing than the McCormick. Ms. Dash was reasonably priced and still looked like a respectable spice line.

Chili...is it supposed to have thyme in it? she pondered to herself.

She should have thought this through better. At least scour through some recipes or cookbooks before she decided to come to the grocery store. But she hadn't been to the store in three weeks. She had been eating cheese and crackers and tuna fish for these last days before her paycheck would come in.

You can't put tuna in chili, can you?

And so she made the investment (in her work and in herself).

She sighed. Maybe she should just by the ten pounds of ground chuck that she had piled her in her cart first, get a recipe, and then come back to the store when she knew what spices to buy. But, no. That would use up gas. And cause carbon emissions to escape into the air. She didn't want to give children anymore respiratory diseases than were already taking place at that moment, which she assumed and was probably correct in thinking, that there were alot of cases.

She rolled her cart up and down Aisle 6 Sugar-Flour-Spices-Baking Goods.

Her eyes examined the packages of red meat sitting in her cart.

Was ten pounds too much? Well, surely, she would have a delicious recipe that would call for such large quantities of meat, which would lead to everyone in her office raving of her culinary prowess and chowing down until the last drop of chili was licked clean from Harry Glazer's styrofoam bowl.

Harry's gonna love my chili. Harry Glazer worked in the IT department of the office. She'd seen him walk by her desk on numerous occasions and he would always give her a sincere smile. She was sure that he had a crush on her.

Rosemary....cumin....cinnamon...lemon pepper....sea salt...all of these sounded like they should be in chili to her. Because they were not differentiated in her mind because she rarely cooked on a stove. Yes, the microwave is considered cooking to some. The toaster, perhaps. But she had never ventured away from her black pepper and kosher salt.

She decided to buy all of them. Every spice on the shelf to experiment. Surely once Harry finished off her chili, he would be back for so many more dinners at her apartment. She'd go through those spices in no time.

Rockstars

Let the Good Times Roll!

Following the trail...

I've gotten into the habit of trying out new eateries around Dallas. Specifically the ones mentioned in the Dallas Observer. I dunno why. I've sorta fallen a little love with the local publication. Maybe because it makes me feel cool. Or maybe because it has some good content, real opinions, and if you're lucky, an article chalk full of curse words.

The other day, me and Escobar went to the Exposition Street Cafe at the corner of Exposition and Peak. It was a cold, windy day. A good day for soup. I was excited. We went towards the corner location and it took a few walks back and forth to find the correct door. There was a patio area up front, a door with a chair in front of it, and then a side door. The side door was the winner. We walked in and was greeted by a tall, blonde chick. It was one of those hip, artsy places like you find in Austin. Or maybe Austin got its flavor from this place; I dunno, they can duke it out between the two of them. I'm not getting involved in that malay.

We had the choices of wither small tables or large tables. I opted for the larger tables because bigger is always better and who knew if we would want the extra table space to stretch out or order three appetizers (cause ya neva know). I realized my mistake when I heard the squeak whenever I moved in my booth-seat. There was a large metal plank or rod or something that made me either slide too much to my left which would have me hanging off the side or too much to the right which would make it look like I was eating by myself. And I wanted to be in front of Escobar to chat. But I didn't have the guts to move to an entirely new table, so I opted for almost falling off the side of the booth. I'm lame that way.

I forget the waitress's name. We'll call her Lola. Lola began to rattle off about how they're expanding and apologized for their tattered menus which I thought were charming. She began to tell us about all the menu items that were not on the menu like the catfish and cheese hoagie, or their regular burgers, or their fish tacos, etc. etc. etc. and I really mean ETC. She went on for a good 3 minutes.

We started off the meal with the chicken skewers, a twist on Thai satay. The peices of chicken on a stick were juicy and tender. It came with two sauces, the sweet chili that comes out of a bottle and a in-house green salsa which was great and spicy. Great start.

Escobar got the ostrich burger and I got the chicken and waffles. Both were decent orders. It gave promise. A kiss of better things on the horizon. The ostrich burger was lean but Escobar thought it had a strange taste to it that didn't sit well with his tastebuds. But his french fries were superb, sprinkled with seasoning salt. And it came with a refreshing side of honeydew. My chicken and waffles were good. The tortilla-crusted chicken at first was really nice. It was quite big. But then as I made my way further down, my tastebuds were getting a little bored. I wanted more of that green salsa that came with the chicken skewers. And the waffles were interesting but not light and fluffly like I wanted them. They were more on the dense side.

All in all the experience was pleasant. The entrees we ordered didn't give us an outer body experience, but we can't wait to go back to find out if something on their menu does have that kinda power.

An ending that brings a new beginning...

I've been waiting for something. Something that makes me feel whole inside. Something that makes me know that this is what its all about. I haven't found it yet.

There are many profoundly wrong things with this world and there are many things that are profoundly right about it. Where do I fit on that existensial playing field? Do I fit anywhere?

I want to write again. That's all I know. So here I am.
A-S-D-F..J-K-L-; That's where it all starts.

Squirrel Girl

She's a bit squirrley, don't you think?

*shrug* I dunno. I think if I were a squirrel, yes, I would like her. But even as a human, there's something about her.

Well, then, have at it then.

Whaddya mean 'have at it?'

Ask her for her number or something. I'll run off to the loo if I see her walking this way or something so you can have some one-on-squirrel time.

Are you daft? Mentally unstable, you are.

Oh, are we speaking Yoda now. Don't use that approach when you talk to Squirrel Girl. Most girls don't like Star Wars geeks.

Shh, here she comes.

Hi, guys, here's your coffee. Fancy any tea cakes or scones?

(Mutual shaking of heads and nervous, forced smiles.)

(Waitress leaves with a charmed yet befuddled look on her face.)

With buck teeth like that, she's gotta have squirrel blood running through her, mate.
You see her smile at you though?

Oh, shut your face. She's unique looking. Better than those tramps you bring home some nights.

Psshh, those geese are gaggin for it at least.

Oh, so I guess its just a different taste in bestiality then. I'm for squirrels and your a goose man.

(Laughter)

Ha ha indeed...

I'm Banking on Baby Jesus......

It hurt me.

The day I came home from work and I see the faces of my sister and her boyfriend looking at me like I was a broken doll. A silly little broken doll.

What? I ask.

Well, I'm just going to tell you because its eating me up inside.

Ok. I say.

And she spills the contents of her brain or the contents of her heart, I'm not quite sure where the source was actually coming from because it does make a difference, but I'm not sure.

I don't believe it. I believe it. I'm blind-sided yet, I saw it coming at me with bright headlights.

I don't know what to think, so I confront him. I ask all the questions that were in my head. Yet there were no answers to fill up that space.

Empty. I was all out of ammo. And my gun was broken in the first place.

************************

Bring the Rain Clouds, Mr. Weatherman

When he filled me in with the news of what had happened, it was like reality had been infiltrated with some other version of reality. Harsher, grittier, like blood in your mouth. You try not to think about it but when you face it, you taste the wrought iron against your white teeth.

I had this helpless feeling of trying to do something that I had no experience doing. It was foreign to me which made me feel like I was doing everything so so so wrong. But what can one do in this situation? What can one say? This is what everyone told me when I told them of my short comings. I hated it because I wanted to do so much more. Grabbing at rain clouds.

Holding him in the darkness and feeling the trembling. Realizing it was my own body crying, not his.

*********

The funeral was on a hot day in July. The weatherman that morning reported that July was the #1 month for heat related deaths. Is that right, Mr. Weatherman?

All were not in black. All were not, not in black. The rosary was said and the pallbearers cracked their knuckles.

The tears of the widow washed over us all like an opera singer's solo. Mournful, painful. It twisted your insides to see someone in such a state...a state of something words cannot express.

The big dinosaur forklift lowered the wooden case into the ground, so far down. THen the bulldozer came to lay the blanket of gravel and dirt over the rest. It was a bit shocking to see these machines, forcing us to face what was happening. But there was a softness to it. The bulldozer scooping the dirt, smoothing it over like a baby at the beach building a sand castle, trying to create perfection before the tides pull it away.

I stood there afar in the background. Checking to see if he was ok. Trying so hard to not crumble. I wanted to hold him, hug his body, touch his hand. But all was not possible. But my insides were fighting and there were times when I felt like I couldn't breathe.

************

Europe, thus far

So in case you hadn't been informed, I am on vacation in Europe for three weeks. It was a whirlwind of a decision because I had just started my new restaurant manager position, packed up and moved things to a different house, and all the little other things I needed to tie up before trampsing off to another country. Three weeks. That's a long time, but by the end of my last day of work, I was craving to be on an airplane thousands of miles away.

First stop, Paris. Let me tell you, the French know their wine and cheese. I didn't go a daz without drinking a bottle of wine. I ate some escargot as well but it just tasted like butter because of the pesto sauce they drowned the shelled delicasies in. And the baguettes were a treat as well. I got a chance to do things other than eat and drink, mind you. There was a Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumph. (But the Arc visit was more so to find a restroom...) Anyhow, my impression of the town was that it was suave and sophisticated. The people were friendly too unlike what some people had told me.

After that great city, off to Amsterdam. If sin and sustenance were to have a child it would be sucking on the teet of this city and it's playground would be in the Red Light District. Attractive big bosomed blondes tapped on glass booths giving come hither eyes to passerbys. It was a strange feeling of curiosity and fright especiallz with all the strange loin-itching old men around. I dont think I stayed longer than 45 minutes before I was ready to call it a night and return to reality. I dont know what it is but something about Amsterdam or at least the parts that I saw of it, seemed like I was on an artifical movie set. The colorful and authentic architecture of the buildings, the rippling canals and loads of cyclers with scarves wafting in the wind as they rode down cobblestone pathways was like something out of a painting. We met a cool bartender at a place called Get Down to It with a menu of Mary Jane delights. His name was Pedro and introduced me to Wiekse Witte a white beer which I think now is probably not a popular choice among the locals after I got manz strange looks as I tried to order it at some other places. I tried mushrooms but was luckz enough onlz to feel its effects while i was sleeping. A parade of colorful butterflies and rhinos passed throuhg mz brain as if on a horizontal escalator like at airports. My arms tingled and I had trouble sleeping but that was ok. For the most part it was an interesting experience, but I donät know if I would do it again. I also got a chance to see mz two Dutch friends I met in Singapore. I met them up in Utrecht where on eof them was studzing and thez made me pasta for dinner and took me out for dinks. It was interesting seeing them. Asking them tot ake time out of their lives to show me some semblance of what thez called their dailz lives. It was nice and different at the same time. Where once these people wer ein mz life, my tight circle of friends, so quicklz vanished by distance and time to be reunited in this temporarz space. How one day you see them every day, but now you cant remember how the sound of their laughter is like.

Thus far in the trip, I have been having this aching for something back home. A lack of a piece of me that I left behind and canät wait to get back to. Isnät that funny, alwazs wanting vacation when zou donät have it but once zouäre on it and the load and frustration of being awaz eats at you, you canät wait to get back home. Its a life paradox, a cunundrum. But I do miss it, so much I can hardly stand it.

Real Things

I slept 11 hours last night. Woke up at noon. I needed to catch up on my sleep so don't judge. My head was achy and my throat was sore and I couldn't breathe through my left nostril. I was coming down with something. Or maybe it was allergies...but I don't recall having allergies.

And my hand, my right hand, was contorted into a hideous claw. All week during manager training, I had been wok cooking and those things give you arthritis injections like for real. Through blurry eyes I looked at my right appendage and thought, Is it worth it?

Tingling bolts of lightning shot through my fingers as I tried to flex it. It was going to be a long day. I literally slid out of bed like a snake. My muscles weren't cooperating and I lay on the carpet floor for about ten more minutes before my brain kicked in, Come on, newbie, welcome to the real world. You're an adult now.

Today was my day off though. Thank god. They time these days off perfectly because they know that by now your body is a pail of smush peas. My reflection in the bathroom mirror doesn't look like me. The eye cream isn't working. Fuck, since when do 23 year olds need eye cream? And there's a pimple on my nose. I smear some toothpaste on it and some on my toothbrush too.

The day was nice so I decided to read outside of my apartment. The breeze was gorgeous and the sun was creeping around the way and so I decided to tan my legs.

The hours droned on and 3 o'clock rolled around which brought about the local kids playing in the courtyard. They were too loud for me continuing to read so I went back inside. Kids would be scared of the crazy lady with bags under her eyes and a glob of toothpaste on her nose anyway.

Dinner with Nancy and Andy. Andy's uncle was in town and so we all ate at Rudy's BBQ which was fabulous and the counter boy gave me a free soda which made me feel good. His uncle had n accent since he was from Wisconsin and it makes you wonder how accents come about if we're all speaking English for the most part here in the States. It was funny.

I finished off the day watching Sideways on HBO with more toothpaste on my nose. Then I did some more reading because it opens me up. I've been reading a lot of Jewish novels lately. Not particularly about Judaism but characters related to that faith. And it got me thinking about life and love and the aspects where I am lacking in those categories and thought Some things just aren't real, and they never will be real and things do not become real simply because we want them to be so...

Call me Sniffles and call it a day....

I sneezed five times in a row today.

Not one of those polite girly sneezes. No, it was a eye-watering, snot-congested, head pounding sneeze exploding on my face. And I think something nasty flew out of my nose during one them, too. I wasn't winning any beauty contests today, I'll tell ya what.

I've been sick for these past few days and thinking about it now gives me a fever. I don't know technically if I really have a fever because who really owns a thermometer to tell. Not me, that's for sure. But I am hot...that chilly hot that you feel in the belly of your body. That can't be a good sign.

Adrian is sick too and he was a bit worse because he was actually vomiting liquids and didn't eat for 48 hours. That's crazy. He says I made him sick. Maybe, maybe...no more 'da me besos'.

My head hurts. It's the strangest thing, it always begins to hurt at 10 PM after I've watched too much tv. This never happened before I was sick but now that I am, it's like clockwork. But Tylenol is always there for me but now I'm worried what if its the Tylenol that makes it keep coming back? That doesn't make much sense, eh? Or maybe it makes too much sense....hahaha I'm freaking myself out. Sorry..it's how I entertain myself.

Speaking of which, I've been reading Capote's In Cold Blood. It's quite good. It started off a bit slow and it took awhile to get into the flow of things, but I'm at a good place now and it can only go up from here. I'm glad Phillip Seymour Hoffman got the Globe for Capote, he deserved it. Haunting.

My head's a bit lightheaded now but I think I'll pass on the Tylenol tonight, see how I feel in an hour or so. But I can feel an itch in the depths of my nasal passages..where are my tissues....ACHOOOO!!!

Good Will Hunting

There is a certain allure to it, the hunt, the search, that makes the effort worth the time. Maybe its the cheap prices (a whole dinnerware set for $5!!)...no scratch that, it is the cheap prices primarily that draws me to the thrift stores and the GoodWill stores. Its also that indie feel you get, I suppose, that time warp you sort of drop into because you're surrounded by other people's past possessions and that seeps into the air and you're taking part of their residual energy from their tokens. It's quite existential, really.

I searching in the knick knack aisles because there usually isn't anything for me in the clothing section because even though I am not above wearing someone else's garbs, I wasn't in the mood for the hangar skiiing that it entailed. Knick Knacks are easier. I found two picture frames in which would come in handy because I had just figured out that my printer can also print photos!! And that the manufacturer had even actually included some photo paper in the boz! Now that's something to make you feel great (or stupid because you should have realized this earlier, dOAH!!) But anyhow that was a good find.

In the dishware and pantry section, there were many bozes of stone dinnerware sets that looked appealing and prices ranged from $5 to $20. There was one nice one with a blue color scheme and so I opened the boz (even though it was taped shut) only to find that two of the plates had been broken.

All of a sudden I hear a crashing of a glass in the next aisle. Must be kids. They are always getting their hands into things. I hear a rush of footsteps and some GoodWill workers in their blue polyester vests. One of them stops in my aisle.

"Umm..ma'am do you need some help?" In a very stern voice, I might add.

I shake my head. "No thanks, I was just looking."

She walks closer to me and her eyes narrow. "You know, you're not supposed to open those boxes. The picture in the front shows the design clear as daylight."

I nod. "I just wanted a closer look." I close the top flap of the box.

The unusually, power-hungry staff person, takes a step closer and my hand fingers my mace keychain.

"The boxes are taped because we don't want you to oepn that. Isn't that clear--?" She stops in midsentence.

As I tried to put the box back on the shelf you could hear the slightest jangle of broken stonewear within the box.

"You broke that set! You're going to have to pay for that."

"It was already broken."

"Oh yea? You were the last one to open that box."

"It was already broken. I'm not paying for something that I didn't break." ANd with that I walked off. I bet she was just some volunteer who was unhappy with her life. That made me feel bad for her and so I didn't want to waste perfectly good mace who woudln't even appreciate what a good story that would have been to have someone spray you with mace. Good Will stores really do make you think.

With my two picture frames tucked under my arm, I walked to the other side of the store where the books resided. There were always interesting things there including dated issues of National Geographic and dusty records with pictures of ghost rock stars with mustaches and long hair.

To be continued,..

Self-Help

I was having one of those bittersweet moments you have in life when you feel utterly to yourself or as society deems it--lonely. But I don't have a problem with that because whenever I am faced with this situation, it makes me more motivated to do something productive. So I decided to go the the bookstore.

There I was surrounded by literature. A woman in the cafe was playing her guitar and singing for Friday night's entertainment. Her name was something or the other. Nothing I heard was too great to warrant me meandering around her stage trying to find out her name. I wondered if the other people at the cafe were bothered by her high pitches and uneven tones as they sat behind their wide screened laptops and amped their ipods on the highest volume setting.

I grabbed five books in no particular order including Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, Lorrie Moore's Self-Help, and a writer's guide for how to write. How ironic. There were no more seats at the cafe and there were no more plush chairs in the reading area so I was resigned to sit at the small wooden stools of the children's section. People don't bring their kids to bookstores anymore so the area was deserted which made things even better for me.

I opened up the Self-Help book and read the first short story which was entitled, "How to be the Other Woman." And I thought to myself, would that situation ever happen to me. Would a married man try to approach me? I talked to my friend about it and she laughed. "Hon, you're too sweet to be the other woman. You're the woman that gets cheated on."

I made a note to not talk to that friend for a while.

I was getting along quite well when a woman sits across from me in another one of the small wooden stools for children. We exchanged polite smiles because that's what polite strangers do. My mind eased in the thought of another person, a brethren, also looking for a place in this environment to rest their laurels and happened upon this sanctuary. I'm not the only one thinking out of the cake box!

But then, that girl, that deviant, that hussy began incessantly text messaging her friend, her mother, her mistress, her pimp, whoever. Each number punch resounded witha loud beep and after she clamped her phone closed it would resound with a twinkle twinkle melody indicating a reply message. This went on for about ten minutes before she picked up her phone and dialed.

"Hiyou'rehome?Imissyou.NoImatthebookstore.Nojusthangingout.Mystomachstillhurts.Whatsthattea thatyou reccomended.Green?Jasmine?..."

How rude. Why would you sit next to a person who obviously is reading and needs a bubble of silence around them and start being a cell phone whore?

I got up immediatly and decided to go see a movie.

The movie was based on a book I had read previously called Shopgirl (the movie is of the same title). It was about a girl and her struggles with life and her love triangle. It didn't really capture the depth of the characters like the book did but that's why books are books and movies are movies.

I still had a good cry because there were moments when it just hits you. It's right there in front of you and you're like yea yea, I know that feeling. But you realize that doesn't really matter. Movies are movies and reality is reality. It's just nice to be reminded sometimes, to have your insides jarred before you let them settle down again.

George and the Flying Things

Even though the manager’s knocking outside the door was loud, George ignored it. He lay limp on the hot, sticky bed of the small motel room and chewed on a piece of gum. He’d had it in his mouth for so long, it was like chewing band-aids now. But he didn’t mind the aching in his jaw. George put his hand on his left cheek and stroked his stubble. He was a mess.

“Sir, we’ll call the authorities if we have to….!”

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw a brown thing scuttle across the bathroom floor. He’d always gotten along better with bugs than people.

The cockroach stopped and shook its head, “Suck it up, pansy, stop being a wuss, and talk to FEMA for some free cash. Yea, free cash.” Cockroaches have survived for thousands of years so maybe it knew what it was talking about. But, it sounded too much like advice his mother would give him and George stopped listening to his mom ages ago.

A spider on the window blinds whispered to him in a raspy voice and chuckled after it finished its proposition. George looked confused, “How would I find a gallon of yogurt, two pot bellied pigs, and a giant ball of yarn anyhow?” Arachnids were never dependable much like his father.

“You’ve left us no choice!” the manager incessantly kept knocking on the door which made George’s head hurt. “I’m calling the cops……damn hippies.”

A flying thing scouring the ceiling offered to sell him some weed but George figured he should use his last few bucks on breakfast but getting high again sure sounded tempting.

No money, no friends, no family, no home. He had gotten himself into a deep shit-hole, but he felt like this wasn’t the first time he’d had this feeling. That comforted his 27-year old mind.

The ceiling fan above him rotated slowly, hypnotizing him. “Why the hell am I here?!” he shouted to the spider, the cockroach, the flying insect, the fan, the air….no one…everyone.

New Orleans had gotten under his skin. He needed a change of scenery, new faces, sweeter air.

The spider leapt from the window blinds onto the bed sheets and tottered over to George’s ear. “In retrospect, you should be thankful that you avoided that damn hurricane. You could have been killed and what good would you be dead?”

Outside the door, the cops had arrived. “Sir, are you in there? It’s the police. Open up!”

“Well, it sure looks like he’s no good alive either. Pansy,” the cockroach was now on George’s shoulder. “Go to the Red Cross. They’ll hook ya up with plenty of goodies.”

“But you aren’t an evacuee. You’re a…a…a.. tourist, really.” The spider taunted. It started spinning a web in George’s ear.

The policemens’ voices sounded close yet far away at the same time. “On the count of three, we’re busting through this door!!”

The flying thing interjected, “New Orleans made you feel like a weirdo and what better location to move than to a city that places weirdness on a pedestal. You’ve always depended on yourself; there ain’t no point in stopping now. You don’t need no stinkin’ FEMA or nobody.”

This made the most sense to George.

As he picked up his things and quietly crawled out the bathroom window, the flying thing buzzed past his ear and whispered, “Hey, hey, dude, wana score…?”

Interview with a Vampire

So how did you two meet?

Thalia giggles and continues, "Oh I was a waitress at the cocktail bar down on 17th street. I had been working there for shit tips and hangovers so I wasn't happy at all. My life sucked."

George interrupts,"But then I swept her off her toes one night. Remember that night, you were such a cunt to me."

"Oh, really, hahaha," Thalia punches him in the arm. "If I remember correctly you were the one who tried to get a free drink, didn't tip enough, and tried to grab my ass all fuckin night. That's not what I call sweeping me off my feet. But for some reason I put up with your nonsense. You were different from all the other bozos. Go figure."

So you two met at a bar and what was yall's first date?

"We went to the movies." Thalia says with confidence.

George has a look of confusion not the first time present since the beginning of this interview. "No we didn't; we went to the Shangri-la. That snazzy joint uptown. They have killer lobster ravioli."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head disapprovingly, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. It was the movies. The Shangri-la was after that."

George, "Really?"

"Yes. Trust me. We went to the movies, saw that dip-shit Clooney flick, and ended up meeting that other couple."

George slaps his cheek reminicsingly, "Shit, that's right, babe. You have such a good memory. She takes Ginko Biloba. But vitamins like that scare the shit out of me. Heebie-geebies!"

Who's this other couple?

"Oh it was this young newlywed couple that were really cute. He wore black socks and she wore a beret. Black socks! That's genius!" George looks up at some imaginary screen above his head and is lost in his thoughts.

Where were they from? What did yall do?

The two look at eachother.

"That's when we both found out we were vampires and ever since we've been soulmates." Thalia grins a toothy smile and reveals her long canines.

"Oh babe, you said we're soulmates, " he leans in for a kiss. "I need that validation sometimes."

"He's such a pussy." Thalia gives him another kiss and George blushes.

So did yall end up killing that other couple?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we're vampires. Not murderers. Please. All we're doing is eating, feeding, energizing ourselves. Shit, its not like we're killing everything with a pulse. Me and George try to eat as much fruit as we can as long as its red. But for dinner, we have to have at least a body over 125 pounds or we're shot to shit the next morning. It's like a person who has to eat beef. Killing those cows are much more worse than what we do to our prey." Thalia sighs and calms down.

Sorry, I didn't know it was such a touchy term.

George smiles to reassure me Thalia won't get out of hand again, "Everyone's so PC these days. You're cool, dude."

Thanks. Anyhow, how are you guys coping with leading this lifestyle in this day and age?

"It has its rough days. There's so much shit going around these days, you really have to be careful about who you pierce. If you bite someone with thalasemmia or sickle cell, you can have diarrhea for days. There was this one old dude who---"

Thalia interrupts George, "You don't want to hear that story, trust me. Geez, you're such a dork, George."

Not Another Love Song

This isn't love. This is just the beginning of something. Something bigger than either of us know anything about. You'll see. When you experience love, you don't have to ask, it's just already there, defined in your heart and you can't believe that it's actually there, just sitting crossed-legged in your heart like it was effortless.

But this isn't love. You'll see. That's so sad, though, the saddest thing to say to yourself or to another person for that matter "NOT LOVE". Because that's what everyone really wants right-- love.

I'm doing you a favor, though, in the long run. You'll look back and say, Gee she sure was right. I'm sure I didn't waste my time. And I'll smile because I know that you're thinking that and it'll make me smile smile smile.

All I can say is don't give up, ok? If it doesn't happen, today, tomorrow, or the next day, it's because it wasn't supposed to happen today, tomorrow, or the next day. And when you finally give up, fed up with the smothered candle light dinners and hippie talk, you'll feel it crossed legged in your heart wondering, What took you so long?

Dirty Lady, that's just not right...

She was a normal looking lady. Like any other customer that would come into our store. At least nothing to make me take a second glance at her.

She came up to the register and said she wanted to ring up her food order from the kitchen and I said sure, of course. That's when it happened.

She handed me the stinky bills.

At first, I didn't even know where that odor was coming from. It just hit me like a sack of potatoes and I almost burst out saying, "Holy shit, do you smell that shit? What the fuck? What is that? Where is that coming from?" But after batting the empty air and looking down at the bills she had handed me, I realized...it was the stinky bills.

And it's not like I could give the money back. Because the money was real...it just was stinky...but not just stinky...it was STANKY. STANK STANKY. Dirty lady, that just ain't right. But I couldn't say anything to her because it probably would have just embarassed her and made me look like an asshole. And her order was already being cooked. So I had to finish up and give her the change. Once that was done and she had her back turned I hurriedly put the bills in a plastic bag and tied it up as to not have any odor leak out.

But the smell was on my hands now!

It was like the worst smell ever. Even worse than walking behind a garbage truck. Even worse than having a newborn's diaper taped to your nose. Even worse than some hobo in the street who hasn't washed in years and reeks of alcohol and than vomits on you and tries to wash the vomit off with his piss. A mixture of manure, urine, dirt, sweat, fish guts, rancid meat.....those things don't even give the smell justice. This was some prize-winning shit.

And as she waited for the order to finish, she kept buying things which made me have to touch her bills even more.

A candy bar....
...Then a pack of gum.....
.......Then a soda....
..............Then another candy bar.....

Goddammit, stop buying stuff with your stinky money! I was trying so hard to be strong but my mind MY MIND was just repulsed by this lady and her stinky money and for God knows what reason it was that way. I really couldn't think of a feasible reason. Geezus lady, did you wipe your ass with these bills or something??

Finally she left and I thoroughly sanitized my hands with soap, alcohol, bleach...battery acid. Anything I could get my hands on.

The day passed and I was ready to forget until my mom came to count all the money for the day when all of a sudden I hear her shout, "OH my god, did some one step in goose poo-poo??!!

About those children...umm..maybe not.

So after having a training day as a substitute teacher, I decided it's not right for me. The position calls for a completely different person...not me. Yea, I like kids but then there's the part of disciplining them. I can't do that. Especially with someone else's kid. If it were up to me I would let the kids run wild naked in the forest. But I don't think that's what their parents paid for. And the other teachers there weren't as nice and friendly as I wanted. Maybe I'm asking for too much but these ladies were all about reprimanding.."No, mister...I don't think so young lady." Yeesh, all the kids want to do is play. Teachers are supposed to be fun, right?

But to bigger and better things, I also got a job as a cashier for a Chinese restaurant. Now that's more my style right? Half-off of Kung-pao..now that's what I'm talkin bout. ;)

And I also have another job interview at Marble Slab Creamery. Wish me luck. Yup, I'm just trying to get as many jobs as possible. I need a spectrum of experiences for my writing, don't you think?

Won't anyone think about the children!

So, it's official. I have a job as a substitute teacher for toddlers at a Daycare/Academy here in Austin. I am also starting my writing classes next week as well. Wish me luck! Those kids won't know what hit them (and by that I mean, my mega-watt smile and giraffe puppet,Bubba, on my left hand...not corporal punishment or anything...yeesh..hahaha)