A Child’s Romance

I have always been direct. I’ve never really played the classic girl game of passive-aggressive. In fact I am so direct that I am often told that I am too harsh with my words. This hasn’t stopped me from being so direct. It has, however, gotten me quite comfortable with being called a bitch.

The fact is, if I don’t like you or if I think you’re hilarious, I will tell you. Not in a round-a-bout way either. Trust me, you’ll know.

That also goes for your shoes.

So when girls decide they want to make me play the passive-agressive game, I groan. I don’t like this game. I am not good at this game. I would much rather play CandyLand. But I have learned to survive the game. Most of the time it’s by holding my tongue. (Surprisingly I can do that, sometimes.)

But really I just want to stay out of the game completely.

So every time I get dragged, kicking and screaming, back into it, I get pissed. Really, fucking, angry. I don’t wan to be here. Playing this just makes me bitchy and passive-aggressive myself. Before I realize what I am doing, I am taking my anger out on people that don’t deserve it. People that haven’t dragged me into the game. People that would, I’m sure, much rather not know the game exists.

So I sit, staring at my game pieces, wondering which ones I will use. I mean, if I’m going to get dragged into this fucking game that I don’t want to play the least I could do is win, right? So I get my attacks all stacked up in nice little rows and I wait. For that comment that’s just a little too mean, for that story about a ‘friend’ that just happens to be me. I wait for little digs about my friends and my relationship. I’m nothing if not patient. I wait for the perfect time to tear you down.

Being direct has it’s advantages. You see, I am remarkably good at ripping people apart. I have verbally delivered many punches to the face. I have spilled the proverbial blood before. Because I am so direct, when I am mean. I am mean. I don’t pussyfoot around things that you find embarrassing. I point them out and laugh. Then you cry. That’s just the way it goes.

So I wait, with my missiles, for that perfect time. That time when each dig I make will deliver a bone crunching hit. When each judgement I pass will knock the breath out of you.

I watch as you tear me and my people down. Or try too. I watch as you try to make yourself sound better than you are. I watch as you ruin relationships with other people all for the sake of playing the game. Then I saw the perfect window for my turn. My turn to play the game. Then I, silently, watched at it closed.

You see, while I was patiently waiting and watching you and your little remarks, I realized something.

This is a game and I can end it whenever I damn well please.

You might still be playing the game, but don’t be surprised when my game piece doesn’t move anymore.

“Are you back in town?” Was the only message he left on my voicemail.

It was one in the morning on Monday before I called him back. I was expecting to leave a message or just hang up when his voicemail came on. But on the second ring he answered. “Sarah?” Shit. He waited up for me. This was not a good sign.

“Yeah. Got your message. What’s up?” My mind was racing for reasons for him to call me. It had been a long time since I had talked to him. Years. I didn’t even think he had my number.

“So I’m coming up to see you guys in July.’ He voice wavered.

“Okay. Good for you.” Seriously, it was one in the morning and I was getting slightly pissed.

“So, I’m bringing my, uh, new girlfriend with me.” He cleared his throat. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

“Dude whatever. Is this one and alky?” My left hip was jutted out and my hand was on it. I was tapping my right foot and holding the phone with my right hand. My eyebrows were arched. I was clearly not impressed.

“Don’t tap your foot at me, you little bitch.” I was caught off guard. It’s been a couple years since we’ve last seen each other. I didn’t think he’d remember my mannerisms. “Listen. I’m bringing her up and I want you to be nice.”

“What? I am nice. Expect when people don’t deserve it.” I had stopped tapping my foot.

“You have never been nice to anyone, Sarah. That’s just not your style. So just try to be nice. Or nice-ish.”

I rolled my eyes. “Damn. Fine. When are you coming?”

“July twenty-second.”

“Oh good. I won’t be here.”

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Out of the state. Suck it.”

Then I promptly hung up on him.

Oh family.

I’m walking out the door with my suitcase when I hear my Mother scream my name inside the house. I look down at my things, knowing I haven’t forgotten anything, then at the front door and wait for her to come out.

“Throw the paper up.” She says as the door swings open.

“That’s it?” I’m half disappointed, I was expecting more.

I walk to the driveway and get her the paper. She standing on the porch smiling. I knew that smile and I didn’t like that smile. In fact, I hated that smile. My Mom was going to try and be funny. (Let’s just say, I don’t get my humor from my Mother.)

“I got you something for your weekend.” She is still smiling.

“What?” I’m a little afraid to ask.

She pulls out a stupid box of condoms. Yep. My Mother just handed me condoms.

I stare at her for a moment and then laugh. I’m laughing so hard my eyes are watering and I might just fall over. Okay, so my Mom can be funny sometimes.

“I think you and Dad need that more than I do, Mom.” I manage to get out five minutes later.

She looks at the box, shrugs, and says, “he’s getting jack shit until he plants those damn seeds.”

(She did keep the box.)

As I’m driving to the airport I can’t help but laugh at this morning. Its safe to say I do not have a normal relationship with my Mother.

In other news, I’m heading off to spend the weekend with my boyfriend, and sadly I am not taking you with me internets. But I will be bacl on Monday, so don’t be too sad.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.

I glanced at my phone. I had exactly twenty-two minutes to finish this, whatever it was. Twenty-two minutes.

I never write on my lunch break.

I read, or listen to music, or text people.

But I never write on my lunch break.

Maybe it was the eerily silence or the depressed mood I was in all day.

Maybe it was just time I broke that rule.

So here I found myself, at the break table, writing. On my lunch. I had my red moleskin open to a blank page and was putting pen to paper. Words formed, then paragraphs, then a fragment of a plot.

I took another gander at my phone. Eighteen minutes left.

“Whatcha doing?” Amber strolled back and sat next to me.

“Writing.” I didn’t even look up at her. I was engrossed in the purple ink filling the page.

“Oh. Kay.” She shrugged and opened the newest copy of People. “So you…do this a lot then, ya?” She looked sideways at me.

“Huh?” I held the pen in place as I looked up at her. An ink blot formed.

“That writing thing. You seem like you’d do it a lot.” She nodded towards the book.

“Oh. Sometimes. But never at work.” I looked down at the page. It was almost finished.

I wrote another sentence more and stopped. I had filled a page of words, dialogue, and something. I reread what I wrote.

“Wow, that’s really fucking depressing.” I muttered.

“What is it?” She was trying to peer at the page.

“Here.” I handed her the book to let her read it for herself. “Sorry, my hand writing is messy.” I watched her concentrate on the words and stumble over the half cursive letters I do when I’m in a hurry. She crinkled her nose at some part and that made me laugh.

“That’s just like a movie. But it’s sad. But it’s really, really good.” She frowned at me. Then she smiled. “We should totally go to Hollywood and make it!”

“See Amber. I told you, if you need help in English, just ask.” She rolled her eyes. She was so seventeen. “Dude. I’m not the one that failed and has to take summer school.”

“Fine. I’ll ask.” She shoved her last bit of pretzel in her mouth before she went back out to the floor.

And I’ll include what I wrote under the cut for the 1 1/2 of you that would want to read it.

Read more…

“Lunch.” Jess was leaning against the door frame of the office.

I was sitting in one of the computer chairs half-heartedly watching a training video on sexual harrasment and texting my person.

“When’s your next day off.” She’s staring at me, swinging her purse dramatically to get my attention.

I’m replying to the message I had just received.

“Stop texting dirty things and pay attention to me!” This is where she  beats me with her bag.

“Dude. What the hell. I’m training.” I waive my arm towards the computer monitor.

“Training my ass. Dude. Lunch. When?” She is such a smart ass. Jeez.

“Fuck. I work all weekend because they are fucking pissy. Uh what are you doing later? I’m off at eight.” I yawn and scratch my head.

“That works. So the mall then?”

“Err, how about,” I scrunch up my face, “fuck. Taxis?” I shrug my shoulders.

“I guess. Be there at eight. Yea?”

“Yeah.” I waive her out of the office so I could finish texting. (Who am I kidding? I wasn’t even reading that stupid training video).

Flash forward 8pm. A booth at Taxis.

“I like your new hair.” Jess nods at me.

“Thanks. I need to dye it badly though. I’m pretty much blond again.” I roll my eyes.

“I like it straight too. And the length.”

“You never knew me with long hair have you?” I’m starting to realize that it had been that long since I let my hair grow out. When at my collar bones is considered ‘long’.

“No. You look skinny too.”

“Yeah. I guess. I lost like ten pounds somewhere.” I shrug and shove a handful of fries in my face. (I am the epitome of class people.)

“Well it shows. A lot. I like this version of you.” She smiles at the compliment she gave me.

I stare at  her for a moment, not quite sure whether I want to take her seriously or not. I decide that I do. “This version?”

“The one where you actually care about how you look.”

“Gee, thanks. Bitch.” I roll my eyes and drink my soda.

“Sarah, you know. You say it yourself. You dress like a 13 year old boy. You have a guy’s job. If you aren’t lugging boxes or ladders or changing lights, you are building fixtures. It’s just nice to see you looking nice.”

“Are you coming on to me?” (Have I mentioned I don’t take compliments too well?)

“Oh  my fuck. Can’t I just be nice for once?” She raises her hands like she wants to hit me.

“Not without written warning first bitch.” I laugh.

She rolls her eyes at me and laughs. “And besides, the cleavage is working for me.”

I’m just going to start by saying I don’t like clubbing, I don’t like the music, the dancing, the grinding, and having body parts grabbed that I do not want grabbed.

But last Saturday (I think it was last Saturday anyway) I got suckered into going to a club.

It went something like this:

“Hey let’s go out for drinks since your day sucked monkey balls.” Jenai asked as she was leaving work.

“Dude, I close. Eh, I’ll think about it.” I waved her out of the store.

Fast forward to closing and I decide to go get drinks.

Because that’s what I thought we were doing, getting drinks, at a dive bar.

So after calling my boyfriend to let him know that I’ll have to call him later than usual because I’m getting drinks with a friend I get into her car. (Mistake #1 of the evening)

“You’re driving my ass.” I said as I plopped down into her tiny little car. (No seriously, she drives a little sports car)

So we drive to what is called the “Copper Rhino.” Although it doesn’t say Copper Rhino anywhere on the fucking building. No there is an actual copper rhino above the entrance. Apparently they are too hipster for fucking words.

I just look at her and go, um, fuck no.

Then she drags me inside and pays my cover fee. So I am stuck there until my sadistic friend decides to leave. (Mistake #2)

Did I mention we were meeting a bunch of soriety girls there?

Yeah.

Being nice, I buy her and I a drink, and just look around me.

Everywhere people are grinding into each other (apparently that is dancing now).

I lose Jenai for a few minutes and find her on a stage. With other girls. There might have been a stripper pole involved, but I am not confirming anything.

Then it happens. My first ass grab of the night.

It happens that some people understand a simple no. When it coupled with a swift kick to the crotch.

A few hours later and several soriety girls in just their underwear later I find a couch and plop myself down.

It’s too loud, too smelly, too flashy, and too late.

Then I have to give up said golden spot on the couch because I have to pry a guy off of my friend. Literally. I pull them apart and toss Jenai behind me. I’m not exactly short and I do look kind of menacing when I have too (IE: when I am the most sober one in the group). So I did my best wide stance pose and made him back the fuck off. Then he shoved me, harder than I thought at the time.

Did I forget to say security was two feet away when this happened?

Finally, after I am shoved (which resulted in a bruise I discovered later) the security assfuck decides to intervene.

Then Jenai gives me a lap dance where I might have stuck a dollar down her shirt or pants. I can’t really remember.

We closed the place down.

Side note, did you know when clubs close they actually just turn the music off and the lights on? This I did not know.

So at 2am I am finally released from a new level of hell and can resume my normal life.

Why couldn’t we have just gone to a damn dive bar?

Oh right, I’m friends with soriety girls.

“Meet me at the old spot.”

I hadn’t heard from her in a year. I almost didn’t answer the phone.

Ten minutes later I walked out the front door and took a walk I hadn’t taken in years.

Four blocks later I was standing in front of the locked back gate of my high school.  The lock was already broken (oh sweet burglury) so I pushed the gate open and followed the beaten path to the football field.

I was overcome with a sense of nostalgia as I walked through the wet grass in my beaten up chuck T’s. I switched the music on my ipod to something I would have overplayed in high school and flipped the hood on sweatshirt onto my head. I felt 17 again and expected Harris to come up behind me, grab me, and ask me if I finished his Math homework.

A few minutes later I was peering at familar faces on the broken bleechers behind the field. The outcast, the nerd, the hippie, the emo punk-rocker (ahem). It had been a long time since I’ve seen these people. Some hadn’t changed, most looked too old for their age.

“Lila isn’t here?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

“No.” Debra looked up from her cellphone. “She fucked up.”

I sat down and waited.

After several minutes Terry spoke. “It’s been a long time SJ.” SJ, that was a nickname I hadn’t heard in years.

“Yeah. I’ve been busy. Shit happens.” For some reason my palms were sweaty. I felt like I was on trial.

“That’s no excuse. We agreed, every year. You missed it.” Terry stared at me. I felt small and guilty.

But dammit, this wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t here! I didn’t mean to miss it. I swear. I was out of the state, on a plane, surely they had to understand. Surely.

“Look, I know. I tried to be here, really I did. But I wasn’t here. Physically I was on a plane. Coming home, I tried.”

“Not hard enough.”

“I’m not on fucking trial here, Ter ya know.” There I was getting all defensive because they were right. I didn’t try hard enough. And that made me feel like shit.

“You missed the last year of this. The last year SJ.”

“Don’t call me SJ.” I was crying now although at the time I didn’t know it.

They all looked at me now. And I saw what this really was about. After this nothing held us together. If it wasn’t for this yearly ritual that was coming to an end we would never see each other again. High school friends just don’t last anymore in this town. They weren’t mad at me, not really. They just realized that this really was it. The end of our games.

Wiping the tears away I smiled. Then I laughed and couldn’t stop laughing.

“Fuck you bitches. I know you wouldn’t do it without me. I am the only one here that’s not afraid of electrocuting themselves.”

Then we all laughed. And proceeded to cut the power to some prominant buildings in our little town. For the last time.

We finally grew up.

So my friend and I ditched work and played at the beach. Monterey, specifically. After a late lunch at Bubba Gumps this is what we did:

There is more pictures here.

Things that I love this week

• Getting my smoothies upgraded for free at Juice It Up (Jamba Juice’s retarded cousin–also the only healthy thing in our mall to eat) because the guy thinks I’m cute.
• Sneaking time to text vomiting inducing cute text messages to the boyfriend during work.
• Receiving vomiting inducing cute text messages from the boyfriend.
• Also dirty text messages.
• Realizing that somewhere between March and now I have lost ten pounds (yeah seriously).
• Being able to go on another weekend trip in about three weeks.
• Applying to transfer sooner than I was expecting.
• Getting the make up I ordered in the mail today.
• Making $100 off of my old textbooks.
• Nightly phone calls about nothing in particular.

So that’s pretty much how my week went.

How was yours?

So Friday was my birthday.

Thanks everyone for the lovely comments. And some of you bitches for the posts in which you were mad that I didn’t gloat about my birthday.

All in all it was a pleasant day. But a day most of my friends were working closing shifts so I planned to do something Saturday.

So Saturday we (Jenai, Jessica, and I) plan to meet at BJ’s at 9pm for dinner and drinks.

Then I ALMOST FUCKING DIED.

But let’s back up a second. Or a few hours.

I was on the phone when I got the beep beep of another call, which I ignored because I liked the conversation I was already having.

Well the call I missed was from my Mother informed me that my Grandmother’s car was hit by a guy being chased by the cops. He may or may not have been on crack. For this story I am assuming he is because it makes it more interesting.

So crack guy rammed into the car (while they were in the store, no one was hurt. Except crack guy) and decided to peel out since he was already being chased by the police. (Yeah Modesto, stay classy.) He hit a total of four cars (two police ones) before being fucked up by the undercover cops. Apparently guns were drawn and some shit went down. (I should write for the fucking paper. I am awesome)

So my Mom calls me to tell me to get my ass over here because they will be needing rides. This is about 8pm. I’m thinking I’ll take them home and have time to make it by 9pm. Punctuality is important to me.

I get there and the car is fucked. No seriously look.

So the car is just sitting there and of course there is this huge crowd oogling the whole thing. Fuckers.

I waited with everyone for that fucking tow truck for AN HOUR! It was after 9pm when they finally got their asses there. Clearly I was going to be late for my own fucking shindig. Fuck.

So around 9:30 I am finally taking everyone home when I almost die. (Yes we are at that part now.)

So I’m driving a little fast on this dark street when a car comes out of nowhere trying to flip a bitch (or make a u-turn if you’re a pansy) and nearly t-bones me. I’m not talking like he came close or if I had been going slower.

No I’m talking I have that fucker’s paint on my side mirror.

So I make another phone call because Hi I almost fucking died and I thought people should know about my near death. Some cute things were said and I decided I needed to hit the fucking road because I have things to do and people to see. Or something.

So I finally pull up to BJ’s after 10pm because I am classy. Lo and behold Kyle showed up! Oh I love that kid. He’s so cute I could eat him with a spoon.

Drinks were had (I had something called a strawberry confusion that cost way too much but was delious and tasted like pinapple.) and food was eaten. Around midnight I called it quits and decided to peace out after I had paid my share.

Others went to clubs and bars or houses to drink. I decided to call a cute boy and sleep.

And that was how I spent my birthday and almost died.

But clearly I didn’t. Clearly.

(And I have no idea what the hell BJ stands for other than blow job, but they make a mean meatball sub)