In the gym: "I'm sorry I was naked in the locker room."
At work: "Yes, I'm here early, sorry."
To a guy in the bank complaining about the line: "Sorry I came to the bank at the same time as you."
To my dad: "Sorry I said I don't care about the actress from the dragon tattoo movies."
To my roommate after he said I've been working late a lot: "Sorry."
To my roommate after he commented that I've been home a lot: "Sorry."
To my boyfriend: "Sorry I don't like MMORPGS."
To my best friend: "Sorry I called. Sorry I love you."
To a lady at the coffee shop who almost bumped into me but didn't: "Sorry."
In my room completely alone, to a dresser: "Sorry."
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The ideal receptionist as imagined by the older white man on the other end of the phone
The ideal receptionist as imagined by the older white man on the other end of the phone:
"Yeah, I do have weekend plans. And furthermore I feel totally comfortable sharing them with a stranger."
"Oh my gosh, you got an attorney's voicemail? I cannot believe it! The only possible explanation is that sinister wrongdoings have transpired. Let me scour the building, nay, the world for him! No, of course I won't put you on hold; I have a bluetooth, sorry, sorry I mean a magical wizard hat. I apologize for confusing you with my loud, brassy slang. Just one second while I train this flamingo to cover the front desk while I find your attorney, because I have nothing else to do."
"You're right, I do have a slight lisp. Yes, it is hilarious that you pointed out an obvious physical handicap of mine. Hahaha!"
"Yes, it is cold outside. It's good that weather happens."
"No, I didn't just accidentally call you dad, sir... I said 'rad'."
"I AM in fact eating something! You caught me! Now you win a prize elephant named Albert. Yeah, I know you really wanted that prize, otherwise why else would a stranger identify my snack consumption?"
"So, you don't know who you're calling for, you're not sure if they have ever worked at this office, and you haven't talked with them in 40 years, but you know that he/she played golf once with an Asian man? Yes, I know exactly of whom you speak."
"Oh, fascinating."
“Wait a minute, are you telling me that you tried to call someone and they didn’t call you back? WHAT MADNESS IS THIS PLACE?!”
"My voice sounds too childlike? Thank you so much for telling me! Because I have complete control over it, so obviously I appreciate any and all constructive feedback."
"Sorry, they aren't in the office at the moment. Oh, they're expecting you? This. Changes. Everything."
"Good afternoon, thank you for calling- oh, er, um, Barbara... Oh really, that's your mom's name? How interesting. Yes, I do know her. From the great war."
"Of course I remember you from when you called two months ago."
"Wow, thank you so much for asking how my day is going! Someone in this miserable world does care! I am going to telegram my mother to tell her that I do matter. Sure, we wasted a few seconds of our lives with small talk, but I'll make that time back tonight tenfold because I won't have to lock myself in the bathroom and cut a tiny notch in my arm!"
"No, TGIF to you, sir. TGIF to you."
"Yeah, I do have weekend plans. And furthermore I feel totally comfortable sharing them with a stranger."
"Oh my gosh, you got an attorney's voicemail? I cannot believe it! The only possible explanation is that sinister wrongdoings have transpired. Let me scour the building, nay, the world for him! No, of course I won't put you on hold; I have a bluetooth, sorry, sorry I mean a magical wizard hat. I apologize for confusing you with my loud, brassy slang. Just one second while I train this flamingo to cover the front desk while I find your attorney, because I have nothing else to do."
"You're right, I do have a slight lisp. Yes, it is hilarious that you pointed out an obvious physical handicap of mine. Hahaha!"
"Yes, it is cold outside. It's good that weather happens."
"No, I didn't just accidentally call you dad, sir... I said 'rad'."
"I AM in fact eating something! You caught me! Now you win a prize elephant named Albert. Yeah, I know you really wanted that prize, otherwise why else would a stranger identify my snack consumption?"
"So, you don't know who you're calling for, you're not sure if they have ever worked at this office, and you haven't talked with them in 40 years, but you know that he/she played golf once with an Asian man? Yes, I know exactly of whom you speak."
"Oh, fascinating."
“Wait a minute, are you telling me that you tried to call someone and they didn’t call you back? WHAT MADNESS IS THIS PLACE?!”
"My voice sounds too childlike? Thank you so much for telling me! Because I have complete control over it, so obviously I appreciate any and all constructive feedback."
"Sorry, they aren't in the office at the moment. Oh, they're expecting you? This. Changes. Everything."
"Good afternoon, thank you for calling- oh, er, um, Barbara... Oh really, that's your mom's name? How interesting. Yes, I do know her. From the great war."
"Of course I remember you from when you called two months ago."
"Wow, thank you so much for asking how my day is going! Someone in this miserable world does care! I am going to telegram my mother to tell her that I do matter. Sure, we wasted a few seconds of our lives with small talk, but I'll make that time back tonight tenfold because I won't have to lock myself in the bathroom and cut a tiny notch in my arm!"
"No, TGIF to you, sir. TGIF to you."
Monday, December 19, 2011
The goodbye
The goodbye
By Barbara Holm
I watched Michael drag his suitcase across the linoleum floor. The wheels rolled against the grey and white speckled faux tiles. His calico fabric on the suitcase blended in with hundreds of others rushing around it. It was uniform to every other bland inanimate luggage carrier save for the tiny monster tassel I had knit for him and attached to the black handle. It was brink pink and utterly adorable so he wouldn’t get his bag mixed up with anyone else’s. One time we had taken a plane to see his mom and he had gotten his luggage switched at baggage claim. We went on a roller coaster that trip and Michael threw up but I didn't laugh at him when he was covered in vomit so he gave me a present, like it's done.
“So,” Michael said, scratching the back of his head. “You can stay with me while I check in but you can’t come past security with me.”
I nodded silently and trailed behind him. I watched his shoulders bend and rotate in the fluorescent lighting. I didn't even say hi to the lights, which you might think is rude, but I don't care. I nodded politely to the radio transmitters and I don't think you can ask for much more than that. I examined his spine, full of nerves and hope. I watched it transmit messages through his neurons to his brain, perhaps for the last time.
“Do you know your way back?” he said.
“Of course,” I muttered.
An old lady stopped in her tracks as she was passing us. She stared at us with raised eyebrows. When I met her gaze calmly without blinking, she reddened and turned away. A little boy yanked on his mom’s pant leg and pointed at me, and his mom dragged him by the arm away. Michael didn’t acknowledge it.
Michael checked in and we walked down the grey hallway. I couldn’t believe that the tiny suitcase was enough for him to take with him, but I guess that was part of the move, starting over, leaving everything behind. He was getting a new job and saying goodbye to everything from the old job that didn’t matter. I flexed my fingers with a crack.
“Hey,” Michael said, tilting his head and reaching for my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
The correct answer was: Yes, of course I am, how could I not be, I’m always okay, etcetera. That is the normal response and if you stray from that the man might tip his hat and say, "calm down, sweetheart, you're being hysterical" and they don't mean it in the funny way.
I looked up into his deep eyes and felt something growing inside of me, something dark and unnatural. I brought my hands to my stomach and felt around. There was a painful ache in my core, emanating through my entire body. My sensors began vibrating on a higher frequency and I clutched at my abdomen and gasped, startled.
I watched every inch of Michael’s skin, noticing the contours of his muscle formation and tension. I memorized the tone of his voice and the lilt of his laugh. My large eyes started to tingle with a burning sensation and I felt a tightening in my throat.
“No,” I said matter of factly. “I am not okay.”
“What?” Michael said. He dropped his suit case and grabbed me by both my cold hard shoulders. He put his face close to mine and looked in my eyes. “What’s going on? Are you charged adequately? Did you download your updates?”
I nodded, my perfectly formed smile twitching on my lips. “I feel like I’m going to really miss you.”
“How?” His mouth hung open and his eyes widened. “You feel?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” I said.
Something was happening behind my face and I brought my hands up to my head and gently felt around. Salt water was leaking from my eye sockets with furious force. I tried to catch it in my hands. I felt a tiny static shock and I shook. My pristine, formatted, perfect insides filled with a violent pinching sensation that overtook my internal devices.
“I can’t believe it,” Michael said. He put his arms around me and felt around my back, against my door to see if everything was okay. “You think you feel love?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s not even possible.”
“Oh, I fucking know. What’s this liquid excreting from my eye sockets?”
“Shit, I think you’re crying,” he said. He rubbed a finger along my cheek. “That can’t be good. How could this happen?”
“Well, I’m programmed to be able to learn and adapt and I think you taught me…” I said.
“Do you have your user manual?”
“Who carries their manual around? I’m not a dork.”
As the realization swept over me, I realized I could identify the sensation of a realization sweeping over me. My skills sharpened. Emotions entered and coded themselves into my catalog and filed away in the back of my ginormous brain. I looked at Michael lovingly and he looked at me in utter, abject horror. I reached for him with one of my cold hands and he cringed when I caressed his cheek.
"What else can you feel?" he whispered.
"I feel loss, abandon, happiness..." I said, my catalog rifling through emotions and labeling them with what I assumed where the correct names.
A man in a black suit swiftly bled through the crowd, moving through space as though existence was simply swimming around him while he remained stationary. He approached us smoothly in his black suit with a black shirt. His jaw was annoyingly square and his haircut appeared plastic. I turned away from him but he reached out and grabbed my arm with a strong hand. A crowd of onlookers formed.
“Hi, sir,” he said quietly to Michael. “Is this your gynoid?”
I moved behind Michael, trying to bury my animatronic face and leaking eyes into his shoulder.
“Yes,” Michael said looking at me. “But, listen, we’re both really late for a plane.”
“I’m going to have to confiscate this android,” he said, maintaining a firm grasp on my arm. “We appreciate your consideration.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably nothing,” he tried to smile like a calm normal human. His face was reddening with the apelike emotion of anxiety that I luckily wasn’t burdened with. I listened to his heartbeat and calculated his nervousness. My concern subsided as I realized that I was still in control of the situation. “We just want to run some routine tests on it. Our system just revealed some interesting information on Unit 247 here, but it could easily be a typo.”
Michael hesitated, looking at me.
“No,” he said.
“Fortunately, due to cyborg human relations law, I don’t need your consent.” The man in the suit withdrew a small black rectangular instrument from his pocket. “It’s for your own protection.” He pressed a red button on the remote. “Follow me, Unit 247.”
I felt my loyalty sensors shift inside of me and I internally deactivated it with my mind. My neck cricked a few times as each joint popped and I rotated up to look at him. I met his gaze and he cringed at my soulless cold eyes.
“Come on, Unit 247,” the human said.
I folded my arms. Michael gasped when he realized what had happened. The man in the suit continued pushing his button and staring at the remote in concentration. I raised my hand up to my chest level and pointed a finger at him. A tiny red light flicked on in my outstretched pointer finger, shining toward him in finger gun position. My human like skin glowed on my hand.
“What is it doing?” the man asked. He pressed the button again. “Unit 247, deactivate lasers immediately!”
“Only if you promise to let me and my friend go,” I said softly.
The man stared at me in horror. “I’ll find you, wherever you go.”
I mentally logged on to the airport’s computer system. I said hi, flirted a little bit, and then scrambled all of its data.
“Good luck with that,” I said softly.
I grabbed Michael’s hand and we turned away from him. I could feel the crowd watching my back retreat from the situation, noticing my rhythmic walk. I could sense the agent terrified and confused that I could even possibly exist, unsure what that meant for him, for his job, for robotic sciences, for civilization and humanity. I squeezed Michael’s hand gently so as to not crush his finger bones. I moisturized my lip area and could feel Michael’s physical temperature rise through his hand. I turned to him with mechanic precision and looked into his wide eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I said. “I love you.”
“Oh no,” Michael said.
By Barbara Holm
I watched Michael drag his suitcase across the linoleum floor. The wheels rolled against the grey and white speckled faux tiles. His calico fabric on the suitcase blended in with hundreds of others rushing around it. It was uniform to every other bland inanimate luggage carrier save for the tiny monster tassel I had knit for him and attached to the black handle. It was brink pink and utterly adorable so he wouldn’t get his bag mixed up with anyone else’s. One time we had taken a plane to see his mom and he had gotten his luggage switched at baggage claim. We went on a roller coaster that trip and Michael threw up but I didn't laugh at him when he was covered in vomit so he gave me a present, like it's done.
“So,” Michael said, scratching the back of his head. “You can stay with me while I check in but you can’t come past security with me.”
I nodded silently and trailed behind him. I watched his shoulders bend and rotate in the fluorescent lighting. I didn't even say hi to the lights, which you might think is rude, but I don't care. I nodded politely to the radio transmitters and I don't think you can ask for much more than that. I examined his spine, full of nerves and hope. I watched it transmit messages through his neurons to his brain, perhaps for the last time.
“Do you know your way back?” he said.
“Of course,” I muttered.
An old lady stopped in her tracks as she was passing us. She stared at us with raised eyebrows. When I met her gaze calmly without blinking, she reddened and turned away. A little boy yanked on his mom’s pant leg and pointed at me, and his mom dragged him by the arm away. Michael didn’t acknowledge it.
Michael checked in and we walked down the grey hallway. I couldn’t believe that the tiny suitcase was enough for him to take with him, but I guess that was part of the move, starting over, leaving everything behind. He was getting a new job and saying goodbye to everything from the old job that didn’t matter. I flexed my fingers with a crack.
“Hey,” Michael said, tilting his head and reaching for my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
The correct answer was: Yes, of course I am, how could I not be, I’m always okay, etcetera. That is the normal response and if you stray from that the man might tip his hat and say, "calm down, sweetheart, you're being hysterical" and they don't mean it in the funny way.
I looked up into his deep eyes and felt something growing inside of me, something dark and unnatural. I brought my hands to my stomach and felt around. There was a painful ache in my core, emanating through my entire body. My sensors began vibrating on a higher frequency and I clutched at my abdomen and gasped, startled.
I watched every inch of Michael’s skin, noticing the contours of his muscle formation and tension. I memorized the tone of his voice and the lilt of his laugh. My large eyes started to tingle with a burning sensation and I felt a tightening in my throat.
“No,” I said matter of factly. “I am not okay.”
“What?” Michael said. He dropped his suit case and grabbed me by both my cold hard shoulders. He put his face close to mine and looked in my eyes. “What’s going on? Are you charged adequately? Did you download your updates?”
I nodded, my perfectly formed smile twitching on my lips. “I feel like I’m going to really miss you.”
“How?” His mouth hung open and his eyes widened. “You feel?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” I said.
Something was happening behind my face and I brought my hands up to my head and gently felt around. Salt water was leaking from my eye sockets with furious force. I tried to catch it in my hands. I felt a tiny static shock and I shook. My pristine, formatted, perfect insides filled with a violent pinching sensation that overtook my internal devices.
“I can’t believe it,” Michael said. He put his arms around me and felt around my back, against my door to see if everything was okay. “You think you feel love?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s not even possible.”
“Oh, I fucking know. What’s this liquid excreting from my eye sockets?”
“Shit, I think you’re crying,” he said. He rubbed a finger along my cheek. “That can’t be good. How could this happen?”
“Well, I’m programmed to be able to learn and adapt and I think you taught me…” I said.
“Do you have your user manual?”
“Who carries their manual around? I’m not a dork.”
As the realization swept over me, I realized I could identify the sensation of a realization sweeping over me. My skills sharpened. Emotions entered and coded themselves into my catalog and filed away in the back of my ginormous brain. I looked at Michael lovingly and he looked at me in utter, abject horror. I reached for him with one of my cold hands and he cringed when I caressed his cheek.
"What else can you feel?" he whispered.
"I feel loss, abandon, happiness..." I said, my catalog rifling through emotions and labeling them with what I assumed where the correct names.
A man in a black suit swiftly bled through the crowd, moving through space as though existence was simply swimming around him while he remained stationary. He approached us smoothly in his black suit with a black shirt. His jaw was annoyingly square and his haircut appeared plastic. I turned away from him but he reached out and grabbed my arm with a strong hand. A crowd of onlookers formed.
“Hi, sir,” he said quietly to Michael. “Is this your gynoid?”
I moved behind Michael, trying to bury my animatronic face and leaking eyes into his shoulder.
“Yes,” Michael said looking at me. “But, listen, we’re both really late for a plane.”
“I’m going to have to confiscate this android,” he said, maintaining a firm grasp on my arm. “We appreciate your consideration.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably nothing,” he tried to smile like a calm normal human. His face was reddening with the apelike emotion of anxiety that I luckily wasn’t burdened with. I listened to his heartbeat and calculated his nervousness. My concern subsided as I realized that I was still in control of the situation. “We just want to run some routine tests on it. Our system just revealed some interesting information on Unit 247 here, but it could easily be a typo.”
Michael hesitated, looking at me.
“No,” he said.
“Fortunately, due to cyborg human relations law, I don’t need your consent.” The man in the suit withdrew a small black rectangular instrument from his pocket. “It’s for your own protection.” He pressed a red button on the remote. “Follow me, Unit 247.”
I felt my loyalty sensors shift inside of me and I internally deactivated it with my mind. My neck cricked a few times as each joint popped and I rotated up to look at him. I met his gaze and he cringed at my soulless cold eyes.
“Come on, Unit 247,” the human said.
I folded my arms. Michael gasped when he realized what had happened. The man in the suit continued pushing his button and staring at the remote in concentration. I raised my hand up to my chest level and pointed a finger at him. A tiny red light flicked on in my outstretched pointer finger, shining toward him in finger gun position. My human like skin glowed on my hand.
“What is it doing?” the man asked. He pressed the button again. “Unit 247, deactivate lasers immediately!”
“Only if you promise to let me and my friend go,” I said softly.
The man stared at me in horror. “I’ll find you, wherever you go.”
I mentally logged on to the airport’s computer system. I said hi, flirted a little bit, and then scrambled all of its data.
“Good luck with that,” I said softly.
I grabbed Michael’s hand and we turned away from him. I could feel the crowd watching my back retreat from the situation, noticing my rhythmic walk. I could sense the agent terrified and confused that I could even possibly exist, unsure what that meant for him, for his job, for robotic sciences, for civilization and humanity. I squeezed Michael’s hand gently so as to not crush his finger bones. I moisturized my lip area and could feel Michael’s physical temperature rise through his hand. I turned to him with mechanic precision and looked into his wide eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I said. “I love you.”
“Oh no,” Michael said.
Sitting at the skate park and waiting
Stephanie and Steven sat on the bench watching the kids roller skate in the park. Steven crossed and uncrossed his arms anxiously while Stephanie leaned back and gazed into the distance. Over the horizon the silvery clouds wrapped themselves around the stars. She chewed on her hair and hummed to herself.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Steven said abruptly. He looked sideways at her and blushed.
“That’s fine,” Stephanie replied softly. She started humming again.
“It’s just kinda a big step. What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
“We can wait until whenever you are ready.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Yay!”
Stephanie sat up on the bench and leaned over to Steven. He reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he pulled up the t-shirt underneath it, revealing his hairy chest. Stephanie bounced up onto her feet, crouching on the bench a few glorious inches from him. Goosebumps criss crossed over each other as the cold wind rushed through his clothes. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirts away.
“Go ahead,” Steven whispered.
Stephanie reached her arms forward like a super hero, flexed her squatting hips, and dove into the skin of Steven’s chest. She leaned in and pushed the skin back behind her, swimming deeper into his chest cavity past pink hairy globs of human being. The globs wiggled between her fingers, legs, and toes. She kicked and swam forward until she was on a hard surface, a rocky flat plateau. She got to her feet and dusted herself off.
She walked along a yellow gravel path, curling across the plain chest cliff. Fuzzy green monsters the size of pugs rushed along her feet and danced on the deserted plains. Passing by tufts of sad shrubbery, Stephanie finally reached the end of the path. The trail led to a tall, thick tree, sitting alone on the plains. The tree curled against itself, spiraling, knotted with thick dark brown bark, creeping upwards like wooden smoke from a witch’s cauldron. Its branches stabbed the grey sky with thick punctures.
In lieu of leaves adorning the branches, there were dozens of goldfish, wiggling and glubbing as they dangled in the air. They shook back and forth, gills flapping in the wind. Their eyes bugged out. Stephanie reached up to the tree, grasping onto an outward jutting knot, and heaving her body upwards.
She climbed the tree easily, balancing secure footholds on the gnarled bark. Once up on a branch, she sat down and held onto the fish laden twigs with a tight grip. Leaning back against the thick trunk behind her, she looked out into the distance, over the cracked dry earth, into the endless nothing that protruded before her. She watched nothing fly in the distance, seeping into itself and leaking down into the valleys below.
“Hey,” said a voice.
Stephanie looked beside her and saw one of the fish looking up at her.
“Hi,” she answered.
“How’s it going?” glubbed the fish.
“Good, I guess,” Stephanie answered.
“Well.”
“Pardon?”
“Well; it’s going well,” the fish said.
Its creepy fish lips pursed in a smug smile. Stephanie looked back into the distance, squeezing her butt and legs to keep her balance. She hooked her arm around a branch.
Steven sat alone on the bench, watching children fall down on the pavement. The kids writhed in self conscious anxiety. They picked themselves up after each fall, looked over their shoulders to check that everyone was still too focused on being self conscious themselves to judge each other, and then they went back to skating.
Steven whistled to himself under the stars and patted his chest with a smile.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Steven said abruptly. He looked sideways at her and blushed.
“That’s fine,” Stephanie replied softly. She started humming again.
“It’s just kinda a big step. What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
“We can wait until whenever you are ready.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Yay!”
Stephanie sat up on the bench and leaned over to Steven. He reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he pulled up the t-shirt underneath it, revealing his hairy chest. Stephanie bounced up onto her feet, crouching on the bench a few glorious inches from him. Goosebumps criss crossed over each other as the cold wind rushed through his clothes. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirts away.
“Go ahead,” Steven whispered.
Stephanie reached her arms forward like a super hero, flexed her squatting hips, and dove into the skin of Steven’s chest. She leaned in and pushed the skin back behind her, swimming deeper into his chest cavity past pink hairy globs of human being. The globs wiggled between her fingers, legs, and toes. She kicked and swam forward until she was on a hard surface, a rocky flat plateau. She got to her feet and dusted herself off.
She walked along a yellow gravel path, curling across the plain chest cliff. Fuzzy green monsters the size of pugs rushed along her feet and danced on the deserted plains. Passing by tufts of sad shrubbery, Stephanie finally reached the end of the path. The trail led to a tall, thick tree, sitting alone on the plains. The tree curled against itself, spiraling, knotted with thick dark brown bark, creeping upwards like wooden smoke from a witch’s cauldron. Its branches stabbed the grey sky with thick punctures.
In lieu of leaves adorning the branches, there were dozens of goldfish, wiggling and glubbing as they dangled in the air. They shook back and forth, gills flapping in the wind. Their eyes bugged out. Stephanie reached up to the tree, grasping onto an outward jutting knot, and heaving her body upwards.
She climbed the tree easily, balancing secure footholds on the gnarled bark. Once up on a branch, she sat down and held onto the fish laden twigs with a tight grip. Leaning back against the thick trunk behind her, she looked out into the distance, over the cracked dry earth, into the endless nothing that protruded before her. She watched nothing fly in the distance, seeping into itself and leaking down into the valleys below.
“Hey,” said a voice.
Stephanie looked beside her and saw one of the fish looking up at her.
“Hi,” she answered.
“How’s it going?” glubbed the fish.
“Good, I guess,” Stephanie answered.
“Well.”
“Pardon?”
“Well; it’s going well,” the fish said.
Its creepy fish lips pursed in a smug smile. Stephanie looked back into the distance, squeezing her butt and legs to keep her balance. She hooked her arm around a branch.
Steven sat alone on the bench, watching children fall down on the pavement. The kids writhed in self conscious anxiety. They picked themselves up after each fall, looked over their shoulders to check that everyone was still too focused on being self conscious themselves to judge each other, and then they went back to skating.
Steven whistled to himself under the stars and patted his chest with a smile.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Christmas Special
A Christmas Special
Man or woman sitting in an office typing. Christmas music is playing.
There’s a knock on the door. Camera swings to door and sees a file
clerk (sex doesn’t matter) File clerk is wearing scarf and mittens and
hat and is shivering.
File clerk: “Please sir, it’s 5:00, can we go home now?”
Boss: “I don’t know, CAN you?” laughs smugly at themselves and goes
back to typing. Camera pans to computer screen and boss is typing the
word “words” over and over.
File clerk: “It’s Christmas eve, sir. And my cubicle is so much colder
than your office.”
Boss: “Don’t act like it’s my fault you work in that igloo. I’m not
the wizard who cursed you.”
File Clerk: “Sounds like someone needs to learn the true meaning of Christmas.”
Boss: “Fine, let’s look it up on Wikipedia.”
The file clerk comes over to the computer and starts typing, knocks
over boss’s coffee cup, spilling on computer. Sizzling noise.
Boss: “What the fuck did you do?”
File clerk: “I spilled coffee on your computer.”
Boss: “Goddammit, Barbara, we need to send out the progress reports
today or the investors in China will close us down!”
File clerk: “Okay, let’s call the tech guy, Raavi”
Boss: “We can’t, I sent him home for the day.”
File clerk: “You sent him home and not me? He doesn’t even celebrate Christmas!”
Boss: “That’s an incredibly racist assumption.
File clerk: “Oh, no, I wasn’t saying that he doesn’t celebrate
Christmas because of his ethnicity, I was saying he doesn’t celebrate
it because no one loves him.”
Lights flicker and something moves on desk. A dude (gender doesn’t
matter) in a white sheet comes into the room going “woooo” Boss
screams like a little girl.
File clerk: “Look, it’s the ghost of Christmas past to show you what a
dickhead you are”
Ghost: “No I’m the ghost of the innocent computer you just murdered to death.”
File clerk: “Computers have ghosts? Do computers have souls?”
Ghost: “Um yeah duh, we have hard drives and monitors too, just like
everyone else.”
File clerk: “Our hubris has blinded us to the subtle rise of the machines.”
Ghost: “You’ll pay for not purchasing the Norton anti virus when I
told you too!”
Sheet falls to the floor, ghost has disappeared. File clerk starts
shaking and eyes go back in head, starts rocking back and forth with a
weird calm smile.
Boss: (scared) “…Are you okay?”
File clerk: “Everything’s going to be okay, now.”
Boss: “Barbara?”
File clerk: “There is no Barbara here.”
Boss: “What? I told her she couldn’t leave work early.”
Ghost File Clerk starts smiling big and creepy.
Boss: “No way is she getting to go home before she fixes my computer.”
Boss reaches into desk and pulls out a cross and a black/white priest
collar and cookie. Eats cookie.
Boss (reading from a random book, not the bible, could be Harry
Potter) “We are gathered here today to do some exorcising.”
Holds cross up towards File Clerk who is eating office supplies.
“By the power vested in me I expel this evil spirit from my office
assistant, but not her own evil spirit, just the foreign ghost one.”
File Clerk starts shaking.
“Go away, ghost, like now, okay?”
File Clerk’s eyes roll back in her head and she starts humming a Christmas song.
Boss: “What the hell is happening?”
File Clerk starts kinda singing it, doesn’t know the words
Boss: “Are you unpossessed now?”
File Clerk continues singing it.
Boss tentatively joins in and starts smiling. File Clerk smiles back at him.
Boss: “I’m so glad you’re back to normal.”
File clerk: “Yes, back to normal. Human normal.” Smiles brightly.
End.
Man or woman sitting in an office typing. Christmas music is playing.
There’s a knock on the door. Camera swings to door and sees a file
clerk (sex doesn’t matter) File clerk is wearing scarf and mittens and
hat and is shivering.
File clerk: “Please sir, it’s 5:00, can we go home now?”
Boss: “I don’t know, CAN you?” laughs smugly at themselves and goes
back to typing. Camera pans to computer screen and boss is typing the
word “words” over and over.
File clerk: “It’s Christmas eve, sir. And my cubicle is so much colder
than your office.”
Boss: “Don’t act like it’s my fault you work in that igloo. I’m not
the wizard who cursed you.”
File Clerk: “Sounds like someone needs to learn the true meaning of Christmas.”
Boss: “Fine, let’s look it up on Wikipedia.”
The file clerk comes over to the computer and starts typing, knocks
over boss’s coffee cup, spilling on computer. Sizzling noise.
Boss: “What the fuck did you do?”
File clerk: “I spilled coffee on your computer.”
Boss: “Goddammit, Barbara, we need to send out the progress reports
today or the investors in China will close us down!”
File clerk: “Okay, let’s call the tech guy, Raavi”
Boss: “We can’t, I sent him home for the day.”
File clerk: “You sent him home and not me? He doesn’t even celebrate Christmas!”
Boss: “That’s an incredibly racist assumption.
File clerk: “Oh, no, I wasn’t saying that he doesn’t celebrate
Christmas because of his ethnicity, I was saying he doesn’t celebrate
it because no one loves him.”
Lights flicker and something moves on desk. A dude (gender doesn’t
matter) in a white sheet comes into the room going “woooo” Boss
screams like a little girl.
File clerk: “Look, it’s the ghost of Christmas past to show you what a
dickhead you are”
Ghost: “No I’m the ghost of the innocent computer you just murdered to death.”
File clerk: “Computers have ghosts? Do computers have souls?”
Ghost: “Um yeah duh, we have hard drives and monitors too, just like
everyone else.”
File clerk: “Our hubris has blinded us to the subtle rise of the machines.”
Ghost: “You’ll pay for not purchasing the Norton anti virus when I
told you too!”
Sheet falls to the floor, ghost has disappeared. File clerk starts
shaking and eyes go back in head, starts rocking back and forth with a
weird calm smile.
Boss: (scared) “…Are you okay?”
File clerk: “Everything’s going to be okay, now.”
Boss: “Barbara?”
File clerk: “There is no Barbara here.”
Boss: “What? I told her she couldn’t leave work early.”
Ghost File Clerk starts smiling big and creepy.
Boss: “No way is she getting to go home before she fixes my computer.”
Boss reaches into desk and pulls out a cross and a black/white priest
collar and cookie. Eats cookie.
Boss (reading from a random book, not the bible, could be Harry
Potter) “We are gathered here today to do some exorcising.”
Holds cross up towards File Clerk who is eating office supplies.
“By the power vested in me I expel this evil spirit from my office
assistant, but not her own evil spirit, just the foreign ghost one.”
File Clerk starts shaking.
“Go away, ghost, like now, okay?”
File Clerk’s eyes roll back in her head and she starts humming a Christmas song.
Boss: “What the hell is happening?”
File Clerk starts kinda singing it, doesn’t know the words
Boss: “Are you unpossessed now?”
File Clerk continues singing it.
Boss tentatively joins in and starts smiling. File Clerk smiles back at him.
Boss: “I’m so glad you’re back to normal.”
File clerk: “Yes, back to normal. Human normal.” Smiles brightly.
End.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Powerpoint meeting
Two people (gender doesn't matter) are visible in a conference room. Both are wearing business attire. One is
standing up next to a projection slide, lecturing about the contents of the slides. The other is sitting down, watching.
The first slide has a graph with the Y axis labeled "money" with a down arrow in red.
STANDING UP GUY:
So as you can see we have no money. It is a thing that we lack.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Mmmhmm, hmm.
Next slide is a picture of a frowny face.
STANDING UP GUY:
And as illustrated here, working in a company with no money makes some people here unhappy.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, interesting.
Next slide is just the phrase "You're a bad human being and a horrible boss."
STANDING UP GUY:
And this slide... wow... how did that...
SITTING DOWN GUY:
What's this funny business about?
STANDING UP GUY:
I'm sorry. That slide is a typo. It shouldn't be in the presentation.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
I should hope so. That's so rude.
STANDING UP GUY:
I know. I'm sorry. It's so offensive. It should read "You're a bad fish and a horrible boss."
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, okay. That's fine then.
Next side is a picture of a puppy in some flowers.
STANDING UP GUY:
This next slide should help cushion that previous data.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
That does make me feel better. Thank you.
Next slide is a picture of a normal red fire hydrant.
STANDING UP GUY:
And here we have a fire hydrant. It's ugly.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yeah, it's so stupid.
The next slide is an orange.
STANDING UP GUY:
Let’s talk peeling oranges.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Peeling oranges is difficult NOT fun. So much effort to get to the fun part. Rubbing them in your arm pits.
Camera pans to the back of the room where an actor (gender doesn't matter again) is wearing a cardboard cut out of
a fire hydrant over their body.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Excuse me. That fire hydrant was my cousin, Jill.
STANDING UP GUY:
Oh, sorry... We didn't see you there.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
What did Jill ever do to you?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
In our defense... we don't like her.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Why are you so mean? You're hurtful, cruel, empty, vapid, shallow people.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Whoa, whoa.
STANDING UP GUY:
We're fish.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Fish?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yes.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
If you're fish then why are you talking?
STANDING UP GUY:
Because we have opinions.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Talking fish? You speak? That's incredible. I'm so used to fish using sign language.
Standing up guy signs to sitting down guy, subtitles come on screen and translate for them.
STANDING UP GUY:
(sign languge: subtitles)
Can I please murder this fire hydrant?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
(signing back: subtitles)
I don't know. CAN you?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
(as if to himself)
How can I make money off of talking fish? I better call the government so they can do science on you. Or the entertainment industry so they can mail me gold.
STANDING UP GUY:
Hey, we didn't say that we were okay with being exploited for cash.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
We just implied it.
Slide changes. This slide reads "we are okay with being exploited for cash."
Fire hydrant takes out his cellphone and puts it to his ear.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Hello, government? I've got some talking fish here. Oh, yeah, send them over.
The door opens and two more fire hydrants in secret service style sunglasses enter.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Where are the fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
We're here to take the talking fish away.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
(to Fire Hydrant 1)
Are you a fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
No, I'm a normal fire hydrant, just like you and everybody else.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
But are you really? Are you really normal just like everyone else?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Well, it was hard growing up on 7th street. I always felt a little bit different. Mom drank a lot during the day and Dad wasn't around a lot. I wasn't allowed to play with the other fire hydrants on my street. I didn’t fit in. But
I had something they didn't. A song in my heart.
Music swells up. Fire Hydrant 1. opens mouth and spreads arms.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
What's that smell? I'm hungry.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
Yeah, I could go for some sashimi. Fish, y'all hungry?
STANDING UP AND SITTING DOWN GUYs:
Yeah...
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
I'm hungry too.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Oh, thanks for sharing.
Awkward pause well they look at each other.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Ready to go guys?
Fire Hydrants 2 and 3 and the fish all leave. Fire Hydrant 1 stays behind and shuffles feet awkwardly. Fire Hydrant
2. pokes head back in room.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
I'm sorry about that.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Oh, um, 'scool, yeah, um
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Gotta save electricity...
Fire Hydrant 2. flips off light switch. The room is dark.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
…So cold….
End.
standing up next to a projection slide, lecturing about the contents of the slides. The other is sitting down, watching.
The first slide has a graph with the Y axis labeled "money" with a down arrow in red.
STANDING UP GUY:
So as you can see we have no money. It is a thing that we lack.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Mmmhmm, hmm.
Next slide is a picture of a frowny face.
STANDING UP GUY:
And as illustrated here, working in a company with no money makes some people here unhappy.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, interesting.
Next slide is just the phrase "You're a bad human being and a horrible boss."
STANDING UP GUY:
And this slide... wow... how did that...
SITTING DOWN GUY:
What's this funny business about?
STANDING UP GUY:
I'm sorry. That slide is a typo. It shouldn't be in the presentation.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
I should hope so. That's so rude.
STANDING UP GUY:
I know. I'm sorry. It's so offensive. It should read "You're a bad fish and a horrible boss."
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, okay. That's fine then.
Next side is a picture of a puppy in some flowers.
STANDING UP GUY:
This next slide should help cushion that previous data.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
That does make me feel better. Thank you.
Next slide is a picture of a normal red fire hydrant.
STANDING UP GUY:
And here we have a fire hydrant. It's ugly.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yeah, it's so stupid.
The next slide is an orange.
STANDING UP GUY:
Let’s talk peeling oranges.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Peeling oranges is difficult NOT fun. So much effort to get to the fun part. Rubbing them in your arm pits.
Camera pans to the back of the room where an actor (gender doesn't matter again) is wearing a cardboard cut out of
a fire hydrant over their body.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Excuse me. That fire hydrant was my cousin, Jill.
STANDING UP GUY:
Oh, sorry... We didn't see you there.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
What did Jill ever do to you?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
In our defense... we don't like her.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Why are you so mean? You're hurtful, cruel, empty, vapid, shallow people.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Whoa, whoa.
STANDING UP GUY:
We're fish.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Fish?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yes.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
If you're fish then why are you talking?
STANDING UP GUY:
Because we have opinions.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Talking fish? You speak? That's incredible. I'm so used to fish using sign language.
Standing up guy signs to sitting down guy, subtitles come on screen and translate for them.
STANDING UP GUY:
(sign languge: subtitles)
Can I please murder this fire hydrant?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
(signing back: subtitles)
I don't know. CAN you?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
(as if to himself)
How can I make money off of talking fish? I better call the government so they can do science on you. Or the entertainment industry so they can mail me gold.
STANDING UP GUY:
Hey, we didn't say that we were okay with being exploited for cash.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
We just implied it.
Slide changes. This slide reads "we are okay with being exploited for cash."
Fire hydrant takes out his cellphone and puts it to his ear.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Hello, government? I've got some talking fish here. Oh, yeah, send them over.
The door opens and two more fire hydrants in secret service style sunglasses enter.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Where are the fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
We're here to take the talking fish away.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
(to Fire Hydrant 1)
Are you a fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
No, I'm a normal fire hydrant, just like you and everybody else.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
But are you really? Are you really normal just like everyone else?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Well, it was hard growing up on 7th street. I always felt a little bit different. Mom drank a lot during the day and Dad wasn't around a lot. I wasn't allowed to play with the other fire hydrants on my street. I didn’t fit in. But
I had something they didn't. A song in my heart.
Music swells up. Fire Hydrant 1. opens mouth and spreads arms.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
What's that smell? I'm hungry.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
Yeah, I could go for some sashimi. Fish, y'all hungry?
STANDING UP AND SITTING DOWN GUYs:
Yeah...
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
I'm hungry too.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Oh, thanks for sharing.
Awkward pause well they look at each other.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Ready to go guys?
Fire Hydrants 2 and 3 and the fish all leave. Fire Hydrant 1 stays behind and shuffles feet awkwardly. Fire Hydrant
2. pokes head back in room.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
I'm sorry about that.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Oh, um, 'scool, yeah, um
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Gotta save electricity...
Fire Hydrant 2. flips off light switch. The room is dark.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
…So cold….
End.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Unbearable Roommates
My friends, coworkers, and the coffee barista who I think thinks I'm stupid warned me. They said adult siblings make the worst roommates, but I figured my roommate is going to end up hating me no matter who it is.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Have a disgusting first kiss
In middle school we played a game called "zap" and the point of the game was someone would write a name on your hand and then you had to ask that person to "go out" with you. Yep, we invented a game with that much strategy, skill level, and entertainment value! The way it usually went down, someone would write the name of someone on your hand and you'd ask them out, and then your friends would burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing ever, while you blushed, screamed, and ran away regardless of what your zappee's response had been.
I was sitting in class when another girl wrote Evan's name on my hand. At twelve I still had yet to have any sort of real romantic feeling for a boy, so I didn't give a shit.
I said, "Hey Evan, wanna go out?"
Blushing and looking down he mumbled, "Are you asking for reals or is this a zap?"
Slightly surprised by this answer I responded, "Why? Would the answer differ if it was a serious request?"
My friends watching behind me were stalled by my answer. No one had ever considered this. I was changing up the game. Evan's friends behind him stared at me.
"What?" he asked.
"It was a zap," I said.
"Then no," Evan said.
"If it wasn't a zap... would you say yes?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Hey, Evan, wanna go out? Not a zap."
"Um, can I think about it? I'll call you tonight."
I laughed and shrugged. It was fine with me either way, I was just curious, observing the situation almost more as a social scientific experiment than something that would affect my life in any way.
Evan and I dated for about eight months, which is considered married in 7th grade. We didn't really talk to each other or ever hang out or make eye contact. One day he emailed me, "Hey, is this your email? I love you! Evan." I was like, oh maybe I should like say hi to him at school now. It was the first time anyone had told they loved me and I for the first but not the last time, decided to never say a word back, but internally obsess until it turned my insides into an acidic river of bile.
Evan was an oboist in band and I remember thinking that "I don't think I could EVER be with someone who didn't understand how important band is." As I grew up I would think the same thing about dating boys in track, journalism, political science, writers, and comedy writers.
One day we both happened to sit next to each other in the cafeteria. We were surrounded by our friends and under bright white fluorescent lights sitting at long white lunch tables. I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and diet cherry coke without looking up at my "boyfriend."
"So what was your first kiss like?" our friend Rebecca asked.
"Hasn't happened yet," Evan grunted. I grinned silently and manically because I didn't know what else to do.
"You guys have been going out for months! You better kiss or something!" Meggy exclaimed.
"Yeah right, gross," I said, laughing at the absurdity of the idea of me touching a boy.
Evan, however, had a different idea. He mechanically turned to face me, grabbed the back of my head and stuck out his tongue. Terrified I sat there awaiting my impending doom like Han waiting to be devoured by the Sarlacc. With both hands he secured my face in place like he was holding it steady to aim. He leaned in, tongue first, and crammed it into my mouth. Once we were locked in to the tractor beam, he opened his mouth as wide as possible, shoving his fat tongue all the way into my mouth and just letting it floppily sit in there. His mouth was opened much wider than mine, which meant that his lips were on the outside and spit and drool quickly seeped around my mouth. He had just been eating pepperoni pizza and I could taste it in his mouth. As a young sensitive vegetarian, I almost threw up at the taste of meat. Despite the utter disgusting pig taste, I started bouncing up and down with excitement. I am doing it! I am kissing! I thought. This is kissing, right? It's slobberier than I imagined but that's cool.
Evan was the first boy that I wrote erotica/porn about. This was still before the time that I had any idea what a vagina was, so I didn't know what sex was either. (What about me doesn't say late bloomer?) In the stories I wrote, the two of us would go into the practice closet in the band room and get naked and rub our 12 year old bodies on one another. Then we would come out and accidentally have switched socks with one another and everyone would know that we had sex!
When Evan broke up with me, I didn't really care, and I certainly didn't cry. I found out later that he had been playing videogames at a friend's house and then he said, "Hmm, I guess I'll break up with Barbara." and put down the controller and called me. He had done it matter of factly with the same matter of fact tone as if to say, guess it's time to feed the cat. The next day I didn't worry about wearing a cute shirt or putting on chapstick or wearing my hair down. I wore my hair in pigtails and my most comfortable baggy overalls, almost defiantly. I hadn't realized how trapped and uncomfortably chained down I had felt. I ecstatically rejoiced in being free to be myself. I sighed with relief as though I had been unshackled from a ball and chain and reveled in my new-found freedom.
I was sitting in class when another girl wrote Evan's name on my hand. At twelve I still had yet to have any sort of real romantic feeling for a boy, so I didn't give a shit.
I said, "Hey Evan, wanna go out?"
Blushing and looking down he mumbled, "Are you asking for reals or is this a zap?"
Slightly surprised by this answer I responded, "Why? Would the answer differ if it was a serious request?"
My friends watching behind me were stalled by my answer. No one had ever considered this. I was changing up the game. Evan's friends behind him stared at me.
"What?" he asked.
"It was a zap," I said.
"Then no," Evan said.
"If it wasn't a zap... would you say yes?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Hey, Evan, wanna go out? Not a zap."
"Um, can I think about it? I'll call you tonight."
I laughed and shrugged. It was fine with me either way, I was just curious, observing the situation almost more as a social scientific experiment than something that would affect my life in any way.
Evan and I dated for about eight months, which is considered married in 7th grade. We didn't really talk to each other or ever hang out or make eye contact. One day he emailed me, "Hey, is this your email? I love you! Evan." I was like, oh maybe I should like say hi to him at school now. It was the first time anyone had told they loved me and I for the first but not the last time, decided to never say a word back, but internally obsess until it turned my insides into an acidic river of bile.
Evan was an oboist in band and I remember thinking that "I don't think I could EVER be with someone who didn't understand how important band is." As I grew up I would think the same thing about dating boys in track, journalism, political science, writers, and comedy writers.
One day we both happened to sit next to each other in the cafeteria. We were surrounded by our friends and under bright white fluorescent lights sitting at long white lunch tables. I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and diet cherry coke without looking up at my "boyfriend."
"So what was your first kiss like?" our friend Rebecca asked.
"Hasn't happened yet," Evan grunted. I grinned silently and manically because I didn't know what else to do.
"You guys have been going out for months! You better kiss or something!" Meggy exclaimed.
"Yeah right, gross," I said, laughing at the absurdity of the idea of me touching a boy.
Evan, however, had a different idea. He mechanically turned to face me, grabbed the back of my head and stuck out his tongue. Terrified I sat there awaiting my impending doom like Han waiting to be devoured by the Sarlacc. With both hands he secured my face in place like he was holding it steady to aim. He leaned in, tongue first, and crammed it into my mouth. Once we were locked in to the tractor beam, he opened his mouth as wide as possible, shoving his fat tongue all the way into my mouth and just letting it floppily sit in there. His mouth was opened much wider than mine, which meant that his lips were on the outside and spit and drool quickly seeped around my mouth. He had just been eating pepperoni pizza and I could taste it in his mouth. As a young sensitive vegetarian, I almost threw up at the taste of meat. Despite the utter disgusting pig taste, I started bouncing up and down with excitement. I am doing it! I am kissing! I thought. This is kissing, right? It's slobberier than I imagined but that's cool.
Evan was the first boy that I wrote erotica/porn about. This was still before the time that I had any idea what a vagina was, so I didn't know what sex was either. (What about me doesn't say late bloomer?) In the stories I wrote, the two of us would go into the practice closet in the band room and get naked and rub our 12 year old bodies on one another. Then we would come out and accidentally have switched socks with one another and everyone would know that we had sex!
When Evan broke up with me, I didn't really care, and I certainly didn't cry. I found out later that he had been playing videogames at a friend's house and then he said, "Hmm, I guess I'll break up with Barbara." and put down the controller and called me. He had done it matter of factly with the same matter of fact tone as if to say, guess it's time to feed the cat. The next day I didn't worry about wearing a cute shirt or putting on chapstick or wearing my hair down. I wore my hair in pigtails and my most comfortable baggy overalls, almost defiantly. I hadn't realized how trapped and uncomfortably chained down I had felt. I ecstatically rejoiced in being free to be myself. I sighed with relief as though I had been unshackled from a ball and chain and reveled in my new-found freedom.
My first period
The first time I ever got my period my mom made me buy tampons because she said pads were for nerds. I was like where was the fairy godmother of social grace last year when you let me wear elf ears to school? So she made me buy tampons and I didn't know how to put them in the hole because when you're 12 years old there is no hole. Putting a tampon inside of a 12 year old is kind of like threading a needle... if that needle's hole had been sealed up by a hymen. So I begged her, Mom can you jut put it in for me the first time, just to show me where the hole is, and she said "No, I will NOT molest you!" So I just crammed it in there, next to my pee hole but not secure or seatbelted in. And I wore a skirt that day, so you're welcome, universe. I might as well have written "Murphy's Law Bait" on my ass and headed in to school.
I was in a special gifted English class, which is weird, because I was clearly retarded. I could quote Albert Camus but I had no idea what a vagina was nor where it lived. I was walking around class, picking things up from the bookshelf and my tampon fell the heck right out on the floor in front of everyone. But I realized I hadn't told anyone I was on my period, no one knew, so I just kind of kicked it and walked away. And then a little boy came up to me. Not like a little boy, he was my age. And he whispered, "Barbara what's that bloody used.... oooh." And I said, "I don't know, maybe it was from the first period."
Pun was not intended.
I had no idea what a vagina was. None of the pictures were three dimensional and I had no idea that anything could or would go inside of there. I switched to pads and didn't try to do tampons again until swim season started. At that point I knew I was doing it wrong and had a vague idea that maybe I was missing a key part.
"So, um, how do you put the tampon in there?" I asked my friend Meggy.
"What? You just shove it in."
"Shove it in what?"
"Vagina."
"But like hamburger or hotdog style?" I asked.
"What?"
"Like if this is the hole..." I held up my hands and tried to show her horizontal versus vertical.
"If you're putting it in hamburger style you're either doing it incorrectly or you have the widest vagina ever."
"Can you show me where my vagina is?" I asked.
"Get some boundaries, girl!"
I would not realize what or where a vagina was for several years, even though I had one. When I thought about sex I just imagined someone fumbling around near my pee hole. The concept of anything convex down there remained foreign to me for about three years until a guy put a finger in there, and that would be the first time I realized what a vagina was.
I was in a special gifted English class, which is weird, because I was clearly retarded. I could quote Albert Camus but I had no idea what a vagina was nor where it lived. I was walking around class, picking things up from the bookshelf and my tampon fell the heck right out on the floor in front of everyone. But I realized I hadn't told anyone I was on my period, no one knew, so I just kind of kicked it and walked away. And then a little boy came up to me. Not like a little boy, he was my age. And he whispered, "Barbara what's that bloody used.... oooh." And I said, "I don't know, maybe it was from the first period."
Pun was not intended.
I had no idea what a vagina was. None of the pictures were three dimensional and I had no idea that anything could or would go inside of there. I switched to pads and didn't try to do tampons again until swim season started. At that point I knew I was doing it wrong and had a vague idea that maybe I was missing a key part.
"So, um, how do you put the tampon in there?" I asked my friend Meggy.
"What? You just shove it in."
"Shove it in what?"
"Vagina."
"But like hamburger or hotdog style?" I asked.
"What?"
"Like if this is the hole..." I held up my hands and tried to show her horizontal versus vertical.
"If you're putting it in hamburger style you're either doing it incorrectly or you have the widest vagina ever."
"Can you show me where my vagina is?" I asked.
"Get some boundaries, girl!"
I would not realize what or where a vagina was for several years, even though I had one. When I thought about sex I just imagined someone fumbling around near my pee hole. The concept of anything convex down there remained foreign to me for about three years until a guy put a finger in there, and that would be the first time I realized what a vagina was.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Felicia/Andrew
I stood in front of my new fifth grade class while the teacher introduced me to the students. Their tiny faces stared at me, a new student to their class that had been together since kindergarten, and they analyzed me like an animal at a zoo. I was wearing a bright yellow baggy polo tank top and a jean mini-skirt, pink socks, and my hair was in pigtails. My teacher told everyone I was from public school and they shuddered as if she had told them I had just gotten out of juvi. I grinned wildly and didn't say anything when she led me to my new desk.
The girl who was sitting next to me was coloring her arm hairs individually with a yellow highlighter.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked.
"If you shave your arm hair it usually gets stubbly and gross, but if you bleach it, it just practically looks invisible." She looked over at my arms. "Here, you should try it. Maybe do your armpits too."
I had never thought about my arm hair before but as soon as she mentioned that a burning horror crossed my face and I quietly took the highlighter from her. I had just started growing body hair and was turning into a furry little monster so gradually that I hadn't noticed that it was disgusting. No one had told me that people weren't supposed to have body hair, but while I began coloring my arms, I reflected that my mom was hairless, had she highlighted herself? Or was she born that way? I knew for certain my dad wasn't highlighting any of his hair, why didn't he have to do that? It was the first time I had been confronted with gender roles and I was embarrassed and scared and awkward as I threw myself into them.
My desk mate was named Felicia and when I was assigned the desk next to her it was like she had said "Okay, I guess we'll have to be best friends now." She invited me over to her house that night and we watched My Best Friend's Wedding (my first romantic comedy) and she put makeup on me, my first time even seeing makeup, let alone allowing my face to be toddlers-in-tiarras made up. In one day I was forced to confront the impending difficulties of puberty and I developed an intense fear and embarrassment for my natural physicality.
The second day of class when I sat down there was already a note on my desk. It read:
"Hi Barbara! I love you! You're beautiful! Also, how old are you? When's your birthday? love, Andrew."
I guess that everyone in that class had prematurely sexualized themselves. Only recently aware of my body, and not entirely sure of what Julia Roberts would have done, I just wrote down my birthday on the back of the note and handed it back to Andrew.
"Um, you're older than me?" he said with audible disappointment.
"I don't know," I answered. "Is your birthday after the date I wrote down in chronological order?"
"Yeah."
"Then probably, yes."
He sighed.
Andrew was a few weeks younger than me. Since then I have hooked up with gentleman ranging from two years younger than me to nine years older, and have come to the decision that it does not matter at all. At that age I felt embarrassed and guilty, like I had done something wrong by being born so prematurely. I decided it was wise to ignore Andrew for the rest of the day, which turned out to be pretty easy. Towards the end of the day we were getting up to go and Andrew randomly leaned over to touch my arm.
"Eeek you're hot!" he yelped.
"I'm warm?" I said.
"Yeah, warmer than me," Andrew replied. "Your skin is so warm."
"...I'm sorry," I mumbled, genuinely ridden with real guilt, I left the classroom. Andrew and I didn't talk for the rest of the year, but whenever it got really warm I was self conscious of my body temperature, and my newly acquired ability to sweat. I used to stretch out my t-shirt over the metal back of my chair, so that the cold metal was against my skin to cool me down. I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot but somehow I thought that was less weird than getting overheated.
After Fifth grade I never saw Andrew again. Eventually more men tried to hold my hand or touch my arm and I became accustomed to the phrase, "holy crap, you're so cold! Your hands are like an ice fish, girl!" And I would think, yay, finally.
The girl who was sitting next to me was coloring her arm hairs individually with a yellow highlighter.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked.
"If you shave your arm hair it usually gets stubbly and gross, but if you bleach it, it just practically looks invisible." She looked over at my arms. "Here, you should try it. Maybe do your armpits too."
I had never thought about my arm hair before but as soon as she mentioned that a burning horror crossed my face and I quietly took the highlighter from her. I had just started growing body hair and was turning into a furry little monster so gradually that I hadn't noticed that it was disgusting. No one had told me that people weren't supposed to have body hair, but while I began coloring my arms, I reflected that my mom was hairless, had she highlighted herself? Or was she born that way? I knew for certain my dad wasn't highlighting any of his hair, why didn't he have to do that? It was the first time I had been confronted with gender roles and I was embarrassed and scared and awkward as I threw myself into them.
My desk mate was named Felicia and when I was assigned the desk next to her it was like she had said "Okay, I guess we'll have to be best friends now." She invited me over to her house that night and we watched My Best Friend's Wedding (my first romantic comedy) and she put makeup on me, my first time even seeing makeup, let alone allowing my face to be toddlers-in-tiarras made up. In one day I was forced to confront the impending difficulties of puberty and I developed an intense fear and embarrassment for my natural physicality.
The second day of class when I sat down there was already a note on my desk. It read:
"Hi Barbara! I love you! You're beautiful! Also, how old are you? When's your birthday? love, Andrew."
I guess that everyone in that class had prematurely sexualized themselves. Only recently aware of my body, and not entirely sure of what Julia Roberts would have done, I just wrote down my birthday on the back of the note and handed it back to Andrew.
"Um, you're older than me?" he said with audible disappointment.
"I don't know," I answered. "Is your birthday after the date I wrote down in chronological order?"
"Yeah."
"Then probably, yes."
He sighed.
Andrew was a few weeks younger than me. Since then I have hooked up with gentleman ranging from two years younger than me to nine years older, and have come to the decision that it does not matter at all. At that age I felt embarrassed and guilty, like I had done something wrong by being born so prematurely. I decided it was wise to ignore Andrew for the rest of the day, which turned out to be pretty easy. Towards the end of the day we were getting up to go and Andrew randomly leaned over to touch my arm.
"Eeek you're hot!" he yelped.
"I'm warm?" I said.
"Yeah, warmer than me," Andrew replied. "Your skin is so warm."
"...I'm sorry," I mumbled, genuinely ridden with real guilt, I left the classroom. Andrew and I didn't talk for the rest of the year, but whenever it got really warm I was self conscious of my body temperature, and my newly acquired ability to sweat. I used to stretch out my t-shirt over the metal back of my chair, so that the cold metal was against my skin to cool me down. I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot but somehow I thought that was less weird than getting overheated.
After Fifth grade I never saw Andrew again. Eventually more men tried to hold my hand or touch my arm and I became accustomed to the phrase, "holy crap, you're so cold! Your hands are like an ice fish, girl!" And I would think, yay, finally.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)