death does not become him

They say there are only three things certain in life. Change. Taxes. And death. And though they are an invevitable part of life, something you must experiece at one time or another, is it wrong to ignore it and just wait for the inevitable to pass?

Friday morning, I went to visit my friend Madelaine at her work, the downtown flower shop. The shop opened at 8:30, and already it was 8:38. My friend was late, which was odd, since she was one of the most punctual people I knew. Something was wrong. But what, I didnt know. My suspicions were confirmed when Madelaine called me a few minutes later.

MADELAINE: David...(sob)...?
ME: Madelaine? What's wrong?
MADELAINE: Can you do me a huge favor?
ME: Yeah, sure. Are you ok?
MADELAINE: No...just...(sob)...can you open the shop for me? Alice is in the hospital...(sob)...
ME: Why? What happened?
MADELAINE: She has kidney stones, but that's not important. I'm not coming in because...(sob)...you know Alicia?
ME: Your kinda-sorta-step-sister?
MADELAINE: Yeah...(sob).... her baby died this morning.

It was a bomb, I wasnt expecting. Alicia's baby wasnt even five-months-old. Five-month-old's just cant die like that...could they? It was a question, I knew, that wasnt appropriate to ask at such a time, nor was it one that I wanted to find out the answer to. I tuned in and out as my teary-voiced friend told her tale of tribulation, only listening to the parts where she explained how to open and set up the shop.

As I hung up the phone, I realized, as a friend, I was totally not there. I had ignored my grieving friend as she talked about her kinda-sorta-nephew's death. I couldnt imagine the pain my friend was going through and listening to her talk about death as she was in the middle of experiencing it first-hand, was hard.

I called the other employees to come in early, since I of course, didnt even work at the flower shop, and was afraid of pushing the wrong button and burning the entire place down. I mean, I'm sure, Alice, the owner didnt install such a button, but with my luck, I wasnt taking any chances.

After Adrianna and Ashley came in, all they could talk about was Alice's kidney stones and the unimaginable pain Madelaine must've been going through. I felt uncomfortable talking about the death of Madelaine's kinda-sorta-nephew, and tried changing the subject several times, but each time, the subject found me. How could Adrianna and Ashley be so comfortable talking about death as if it were just a everyday kinda thing? Maybe it was me. Maybe I was the weird one for not accepting death.

After I left the flower shop, I started thinking how precious life can be. One moment, you’re making plans, and the next, life makes its own plans for you. It’s an unexpected thing that should never be taken for granted and should be lived to the fullest. Which is why I couldnt understand my retired missionary neighbor Mrs. Deliccio's request.

Last week, Mrs. Deliccio found out that she had breast cancer. I found out after I had left the little flower shop of horror. It was one surprise, right after the other. And like my earlier surprise, Mrs. Deliccio and her husband also had a request. Spreading the Word of God for over 50 years, all over the world, the Deliccio's never had a chance to settle down and raise a family. And since the day, I moved into my house, two years ago, the Deliccio's have come to think of me as the son they never had.

And as the son they never had, the Deliccio's have asked me to be a witness, making sure that tomorrow, Wednesday, Mrs. Deliccio is of sound mind and body as she signs the neccessary papers needed to state, that should anything go wrong in the operating room, she would not want to be kept alive by way of life support. Instead, she would like to die and meet her Maker peacefully. But as the son they never had, shouldnt I speak up and say that, wanting to die instead of live is just plain insane and not normal?

For most people, when you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn that you have to be cautious. Life isnt as easy as you once thought it was and so you vow to make each day count. You live life to the fullest. And I wonder, when did life stop being fun and start being scary? And is it so wrong that I'm ignoring death and not giving it the full acknowledgement it needs?

do we the deformed not feel?

Wednesday morning, I woke up rejuvinated and refreshed, thinking of the infinite possibilities a day like that could hold. Perhaps, I would volunteer at nursing home or maybe find a cure to end all world hunger. Or at the very least find a pair of plaid boardshorts that matched my light-blue Empyre jacket. After taking a shower and eating breakfast, I proceeded to do my hair.

For me, doing my hair, is like constructing a building. I lay out the foundation using pomade and putty. Then, to support the structure of the hair, I use a comination of wax, paste, glue, gel, volumizer and moouse. To get the look of really great second-day-dirty-bedhead hair, I then rub a towel over my head, pushing my hair foward. A spray of hairspray, and bada-bing, bada-boom! I am sportin' one stylishly cool, coifed, head of hair.

I was in the middle of gluin' and gelin' when I realized I didnt have a towel. The towel closet only had fancy guest towels, and thats when I noticed the rag on my brother Darrin's nightstand. I was on my way to lookin' hot, when my younger brother Collin saw me using the rag.

COLLIN: David!
ME: What?
COLLIN: That's Darrin's rag!
ME: So? He aint using it.
COLLIN: No! It's his rag!
ME: Ok. It's his. Who cares?

And that's when I saw beads of a white gooey substance in my hair. Apparently, it was a rag Darrin used nightly. I freaked. It just couldnt be. There was just no way I had a head full of jizz in my hair. But there it was. Taunting me, and making me angier by the second. I didnt have time to wash my hair and build it again, so as I rubbed my hair with a fancy guest towel, I pleaded with God, asking him to rid my head of spooge. And he did. For the most part. But there, at the top of my head, was a cowlick, like no other. I was already running late, and my hair was starting to set. So I did the next best thing. I cut a chunk of my cum-covered-hair.

My hair was ruined. A disaster beyond repair. And because I never liked the way I look in a hat, there was just no hiding to the fact that I my hair was deformed. But the funny thing is, no one really noticed the damage. Was I just overreacting to something not that big?

Later that day, I went to my dermatologist, to have a mole looked at. As it turns out, it was bordering in wart territory and so Dr. Brehnan zapped my face with freezing cold nitrogen. As I left his office, he told me that the mole would blister and that it would take ten days for to heal. Ten days. What could possibly make my doctor assume that I could look awful for 10 days? And then I realized, that maybe he saw my hair.

Devastated, with my jacked-up hair do and my face looking like Eric Stoltz in Mask, I decided my best option was to stay at home, and surround myself with orange cones and police tape. But I couldnt. I had a test in my Geo class, and so it was with a deformed look, I went to school.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and for all the bad reasons. I mean, being the center of attention is kinda cool, but when you look like you should come between the man with three nipples and the bearded lady at a circus freak show...not so great.

The weird thing about my abnormality was that it didnt seem to bother anyone, but me. What was even weirder was that it opened the bonds of communication to the other freaks and geeks in my classes. People who I never talked to before, started talking to me, acting as if we had been aquaintances for so many years. For a whole semester, these people ignored me, and I them, but now...it was different.

Was it that obvious that I looked like a wreck? And why was it that it took my hideous, Quasimodo-esque deformation for these people and I to talk? Is it because I was now one of them? It's weird. Before, it seemed as if there was an unwritten, mutual agreement that they keep to their own fantasy world and I to mine. But now, with my herpe-looking face and lawn mower hair cut, I feel as if the only reason they're talking to me is because I look...like...one of them...

a family of feelings

Last Monday, I got my picture taken for the cover of a puzzle/game box. It was a ton of fun, as people fussed over the lighting and how the models should pose. I thought that I would finally be able to see the puzzle/game that I was helping to endorse, but unfortunately, I didnt. I had to smile and pose around an empty table, along with my fellow models, pretending to play the game.

As I looked at the other deluded smiling models, I wondered if this was how it was done in the real world of modeling. Were products just placed in after the pictures were taken? My questions were soon answered as my newly fellow model-friend, Miguel, made a comment about the whole thing and received a very stern answer from the photographer.

ME: Dude. How dare you question the greatest photographer of our time.
MIGUEL: Whatever, this is glay. I mean...gay.
ME: Ha! Dude you messed it up. You're stupid.
MIGUEL: Shut up!

I couldn't help but fight my laughter, as Miguel kept making little side comments every time the photographer said something. And me, being of the quick-witted mind, followed his comments with my jokes, as well. After the photo shoot, I hung out with Miguel and we became, as he put it, "soul-brotha's". It was funny how one could be considered part of the family after only a few jokes, but I guess when you decide to make a family out of friends, you get to choose who you want and dont want. And as a part of this new family, Miguel invited me to go with him and a few other friends to Douglas.

Saturday night, I was in Douglas, two hours away from Tucson, and two minutes away from the border of Mexico. And it was there, in downtown Mexico that I partied with my new family of friends. The club was hot, and yet, oh so quiet. The reason being that the music could only be heard through headphones, that were supplied by the club, rather than from overhead speakers. Apparently, this was a club that wanted its patrons to meet, drink, and stay. And stay, I did. One drink turned into many and before I knew it, I was falling asleep on the bed of a sleezy motel. To avoid looking like I had been up all night partying, I decided to stay up all morning. Unfortunately, my plan fell through.

Sunday morning, a time for rest, a time for relaxation, a time for getting over last night's hangover. As my pastor talked about Christ rising from the grave, all I could think about was last night's dinner, rising up my throat. Sure, it probably wasnt the holiest of thoughts I ever had in a church, but then again, how holy would it be if I pulled a Linda Blair?

After church, we headed over to my Uncle Richard's house for an Easter barbeque, and it was there, in the middle of my barbeque glazed chicken lunch, that my Aunt Corinna decided to tell us, my uncle was leaving for Afghanistan this Friday. It was a shock to all, except for my uncle and aunt who had known about the trip for several months. And it was at that moment in time, while everyone asked questions, I found myself, not really caring about my uncle going to war.

My uncle isnt really one of the friendliest people you'll meet. In fact, if you were to go up to him and introduce yourself, he'd give you a grunt and then walk away. He was the type of guy who distanced himself from his loved ones, even at family gatherings. So it comes to know surprise that I'm not really all that close to him. Which is sad, seeing that he's leaving for Afghanistan and I really dont have any feelings for his leave of absense.

Instead, I felt closer to my new family of friends in Douglas than I did with my family here in Tucson. And then it hit me. Maybe I was like my uncle, in that I had more fun elsewhere, than I did with my own family. To me, the most important thing in life is your family. There are days when you love them, and others when you don't. But in the end, they're the people you always come home to. Sometimes it's the family you're born into and sometimes it's the one you make for yourself. And I wonder, is it bad to have more feelings for the family you make, rather than the family you already have?

catching flies

It's been said, that you can catch more flies with honey, than you can wih vinegar. And unless you have a reptile or amphibious pet, I never understood why you would want to catch flies. But what I do understand is, if you want someone to do something for you, ya gotta act sweet. Which explained why, last Tuesday, my-not-so-hot-post-it-friend-girl Corrie wore a baby blue corset, under a fitted black blazer. Obviously, the girl was after something, and as it turns out, it was me. I was the fly. Sorta.

Ms. Tyler, my journalism teacher, said, that as a final, we were all required to write a news article. And since I was found to be the most interesting person in class, Corrie decided to do a feature profile on moi. I thought the very idea was a bit narcissistic, but after some convincing arguments from fellow classmates, I relented and agreed to meet Corrie for lunch the next day.

That night, I got to thinking what kind of outfit would the most interesting person wear? In entertainment magazines, all the most interesting celebrities go casual e.g. flip flops and jeans, and so I figured why not me? After much consideration, I finally decided on a pair of olive green cargo pants from Express, my brown Crocs, a white t-shirt, and oversized white sunglasses. It was totally casual, with a hint of subtle sophistication. It was just the kind of look celebrities hoped to be caught candid in. Too bad the paparazzi here in Tucson, is like almost non-exisistant.

Wednesday afternoon, at exactly 1:45 PM, I arrived at Cafe Poca Cosa, an upscale Mexican restaurant, where the waiters looked like models and the lunch menu changed more often than Sarah Jessica Parker at the MTV movie awards. Immeadiately I was seated by two hostess' who both offered me a glass of wine. But being that I wasnt 21 and afraid they'd card me after I drank it, I declined and stuck to my water with cucumber slices.

Fifteen minutes later, me and my casually cool clothes were still waiting. Where was Corrie? Was I being stood up? Was Corrie trying to get back at me for going out with Paul that one time instead of her? But how would she know that? Maybe she was psychic. I realized, I only had about five dollars in cash on me, and began to wonder if restaurants really did make their low-fundage patrons wash dishes. But I only had water and complimentary tortilla chips. They wouldnt do that, would they? As I began to formulate a complicated dine-and-dash plan, in walked Corrie, the journalist du jour. And following the journalist du jour, was Damien. And his girlfriend.

Quickly I looked out the front window and tried to cover my face. This was not happening! Damien's too ghetto to eat in a fancy restaurant like this. Who does he think he is, trying to walk up in here, all casually dressed in jeans? I mean, really who wears jeans to a hip, happenin' place like Cafe Poca Cosa?

CORRIE: Hey David!
ME: Ok, do you really need to shout my name with such enthusiasm? God, you're worse than a cheerleader on crack! Hey!
CORRIE: What's wrong?
ME: Oh, uh, nothing. I just have a, I have a, whatchamacallit, itch on my face.
CORRIE: Oh. Ok.
ME: Yeah, and...and, um...
DAMIEN: David?
ME: Shit muthafucker fuck shit!

Damien spotted me. I could feel his eyes on me, and so I continued to scratch the non-existent itch which had spread to my entire face, hoping that he would get the hint. Or at the very least, ignore the person with severe turrets. I mean, what would I say to him?

DAMIEN: David?
ME: Oh, hey! Dude, what's up? I didnt even see you there!
DAMIEN: Yeah. Um, can I talk to you real quick?
ME: Oh, well, I dont know. I'm actually kinda on this, um, this, uh date thing with this person friend and, you know...
DAMIEN: Dude. Just real quick. I need to know how Rose is.
ME: Yeah. Yeah. Um, she's ok, but um...
DAMIEN: Is she mad at me? How's Katrina?
ME: Uh, I dont know. I, um...
DAMIEN: David! Just real quick. Five minutes.

I sat there, unsure of what to do. I mean, did he really expect me to just get up and tell him that everything was all right? That Rose was just fine and dandy? That his three-year-old daughter was telling everyone she met, "My daddy scares my mommy and me." Luckily, Damien's girlfriend, came over and whisked him away. The problem may have disappeared, but unfortunately, it wasnt solved.

CORRIE: Well. That was rude, huh?
ME: I know. I'm sorry about that. I didnt think he'd ask so many questions.
CORRIE: No. I meant, you ignoring me. That was kinda rude.

Oh, no she di-int! This bitch, trying to tell me it's rude for friends to table hop and chat. Wasn't she the one who was late? Wasnt she the one that didnt have the audacity to phone the hostess? And it's not like I ignored her. I acknowledged her pressence. Sorta.

After the waitress came and took our order, Corrie began to interrogate me. Where did I grow up? What do I like to do for fun? Where do I see myself in the next 5 years? I wasnt exactly sure, but what I did know was, Corrie would not be in my future. After all these months of having a kinda-semi-sorta crush on Corrie, my intrest in my not-so-hot-post-it-friend-girl faded away. Throughout the entire lunch, she complained about everything. The chicken was too dry. The slice of watermelon garnish on her salad was out of season. The restaurant decor had no heart and was way too modern/good for Tucson.

Maybe she was trying to impress me, but instead she only managed to turn me off with her acid tongue. The food was excellent, top-notch really, and unless she went down on Brad Pitt every night, I highly doubted that Corrie had put anything better in her mouth. Besides, I couldnt be with someone like that. Someone who looked for the bad in everything. Because when you look for the bad in something, you will surely find it.

As our lunch began to dwindle down, the waitress presented us with a large glass dish of chocolate mousse, compliements of "our friend." The very word, made my stomach turn, and I knew, without a second of a doubt, that it was from Damien. Corrie, spooned at the dessert like there was no tomorrow, but I couldnt. I was now the fly, and Damien's honey was this mousse. This delicious, airy, chocolatey, smooth...ok, so maybe I could just try it. I could tell Damien really was concerned about the reprecussions of his actions from last weekend, but I wasnt sure how to tell him that it was gonna take a lot of honey to get on Rose's good side. Obviously he knew his behavior stung like vinegar. And now, here he was trying to lure his past life back into his life, using me as the honey.

He called four times yesterday, and I'm still not sure what to say. If I help Rose and Damien get back together and they break up, it's my fault. If they dont get back together, Damien will tell Rose that I tried to help reunite the odd couple, therefore assuming the fact that I think the only man that should be in her life is Damien, forcing Rose to never speak to me again. It's a classic no-win situation.

movin' on foward

Two weeks ago, I went to the wedding of my ex-boss's sister, with my ex-employee friend Rose, who so happened to be cousins with my ex-boss's baby's daddy. Following me so far? It was your average southern Arizona wedding. Invitations created and copied at Kinkos, a cake from Costco, and a four-month pregnant blushing bride.

At a wedding this size, it's almost natural to run into someone you know. And that's exactly what happened to Rose. She ran into an old family friend and her 17-year old son, Jesse. Immeadiately 21-year old Rose was smitten and spent the entire wedding reception talking to Jesse, leaving me to babysit her annoying 16-year old sister.

The following week, Rose asked me if I would help her move into her new house. She was tired of living the life of an apartment dweller, and bought a small, two-bedroom house in central Tucson for her daughter Katrina and her. As we packed Rose and Katrina's life away into boxes, I could tell Rose was genuinally happy. She had a new home, a daughter who always made her smile, and a new man in her life. She was moving foward. And being that she was a high school drop out/unwed mother, it was important to Rose to move foward and away from being just another statistic. Her life was running smoothly, unlike the car that followed us.

On our last trip from the apartment to the house, a dark car followed us shining very high headlights and turning them off every so often. It was very cheesy-teen-horror-flick, which at first freaked us out, but when we saw it was a huge van, we laughed. How cliché would it be for the van driver to blow out our tires and harvest our organs right there in the van? As it turns out, the very idea was very likely.

Last Saturday, Rose held a birthday party for Katrina in their new house. It was a Little Mermaid party that lasted well into the night, and since I was clearly under the sea of a drunken state, I stayed the night. As did Jesse.

I was just getting ready to watch MTV's Yo Momma, when all of a sudden I heard a loud crash. Not two seconds later, a half-naked Jesse ran into the room, followed by a topless, pink-pantie wearing Rose. I stared at the two, almost stark-naked, lovers and wondered how violent that momma and her boy made love. It was then that we heard a pounding on the back door.

ME: Rose! What's going on?!
ROSE: Damien is here!
ME: What?! Why?!
ROSE: That muthafucker broke my window!

Damien was the father of Rose's baby, and apparently, just like Jesse, he was trying to make a late-night visit through the back door. Within a matter of seconds, Damien broke the door down, pointed to Jesse and attacked. It was like a live Jerry Springer show and I had front row seats. Katrina was crying, Rose was screaming, and Damien was swinging, trying to get away from Jesse's headlock. I of course, sat on the living room couch with a bowl of chips watching the whole thing.

ROSE: David! Help me!
ME: Are you kidding me? I cant scrap.
ROSE: You're a guy!
ME: Yeah, for procreation, not combat! Besides, Jesse has it under control.

Which was true. Despite being six years older and more experienced than Jesse, Damien was getting his ass kicked like nobody's business.

ME: I wonder if Damien is embarassed. Poor guy. Cant even get in a few punches. Damn! Ouch! Ok, so I guess I better mentally note not to ever piss off Jesse. Hmmm. I should also probably tell Rose she has a tear in her underwear. So not sexy. Oh God. Rose, dont fight! You're not even wearing a bra! Wow, those are big! How are Jesse and Damien not even distracted? Maybe they're gay...oh wouldnt that be a cool twist?

But the only twisting going on, was Damien's arm. Damien ran out of the house, crying and cursing Rose. Rose tended to Jesse's wounds and Katrina's crying, while I looked out into the front yard. There was Damien, driving away in a dark van.

Once the excitment had died down, I started to wonder if Rose was mad at me. When someone from your past gets into a fight with someone in your present, and your friends just sit and watch it happen, how likely would you include them in your future? The more I think about it, the more I wished I would have intervened and stopped Jesse and Damien. But I didnt and as a result, Rose recieved a broken hand and probably a broken spirit. I feel like I should talk to Damien, and tell him that if Rose had moved on, then maybe he should as well. But if I cant even talk to my own stalker (aka Paul) how can I talk to another?

the contribution

The other day in my journalism class, my teacher, Ms. Tyler read my class a story. It was about a lady named Miss Rumphius, whose grandfather had told her to do three things before she died: travel to faraway places, live by the sea in her old age, and contribute something to make the world more beautiful.

Despite the fact it was a cheap ploy to get my fellow classmates and I to contribute our time and writing to next semester's college newspaper, the story struck a chord within me. What would be my contribution to the world? I wasnt too concerned about the traveling and living by the sea since I had a whole lifetime to accomplish those tasks, so I figured I'd settle on my worldly contribution. That's when a dark cloud settled over my computer. As I checked my email, I noticed one from Josh Levin, I didnt get the Slate Internship.

Thank you very much for applying for our summer internship. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to be hiring someone else for the position. I appreciate the time and effort you put into the application and thank you for your patience. Best of luck in the future, and I encourage you to contact me again if you have a story contribution that you think might work for Slate.

Best, Josh

That was one contribution I had no intention of contributing to. Devastated, I felt the only thing I could do was to console myself with endless sugar-coated crap, so I headed to the campus cafeteria. That's when I met Mary, a talent scout who was looking for students to model for the cover of a game/puzzle box. It wasnt a major product, just a small toy that would be made here in town and sold at the next college fundraiser. My crushed feeling were somewhat mollified, and so I agreed to do it. It would be a contribution to my school!

I felt so satisfied, I decided to make more contributions. But what? What else could I possibly give to the world? What else could I put out there that would make me a part of a dialouge?

Later on that week, on Thursday, as I considered my contribution options, one of my fellow math classmates invited me to a frat party. Jason had been struggling in class for a while, and felt the only proper contribution he could make to the people who helped him would be to invite them to get drunk.

True it was a small contribution, but it was one that led to a big party. It was your average college mixer: ten percent jock, ten percent slacker, and jello shots with with way more than ten percent alcohol. As I made the rounds, before I committed to a location, Jason saw me and invited me to the whipping room.

ME: A whipping room?
JASON: Yeah.
ME: For like eggs and butter?
JASON: Um, ok.
ME: Yeah, I guess. I didnt have anything to eat all day. Where is it at?
JASON: It's down the hallway to the left.

Turns out the room served more than breakfast. Two asian ladies in black leather dominatrix outfits and a guy in a leather thong and mask, escorted the party-goers to a sexual expression of being whipped like a horse. Wa-cha! It was totally humiliating, but like a car accident, I couldnt look away. The masochist students obviously enjoyed the crop but I wasnt drunk enough to enjoy that crap, so I left the room.

An hour later, Mistress Ana, one of the ladies who used and abused the crop, came out from the whipping room for a drink.

ANA: So, have you been whipped yet?
ME: No.
ANA: Why? You should try it!
ME: Yeah, I dont think so. I never really got off painful fetishes.
ANA: Pain? It's not pain. It's healthy fun! Plus, if I can make those people happy, then I'm happy.

Apparently Mistress Ana's contribution to the world was painful pleasure. It was a weird contribution, but it made people happy. And it got me thinking. Would my modeling contribution make others happy or just me? And if it was just me that would be happy, wasnt that contribution be considered selfish? And what if the game turned out to be super lame, like a 9 piece puzzle? What kind of contribution to the world would that be...me sitting at a desk, struggling to put together a puzzle?

the bad kisser vs the bad boy

Two weeks ago, on the grassy knoll of a university campus, two mere mortal lovers fell back in love. After spending a week of camping in the woods (I know, let's not go there...), Ray realized that the tired and true cliché "absence makes the heart grow fonder" did hold some truth. The cold and dark forest, made Ray realize that life without my friend Maria was just as cold and dark, and so immeadiately, the following Monday morning, Ray asked Maria to go steady. And Maria, who believed in the cliché, "three times the charm" accepted.

Since then, the two have been inseperable and so it was surprising when I met Maria, yesterday at Magpies Pizza for lunch, and saw a big purple bruise on her chin.

ME: Maria! What happened to your face?!
MARIA: David! Shhh! Dont be so loud!
ME: Sorry! Sorry! It's just...what happened?!
MARIA: Ray.
ME: Did he hit you?!
MARIA: No, he kissed me.
ME: Huh?
MARIA: Ray kissed me and, well, he's not really, that good at it.

Maria then began to fill me in on the downside of dating Ray. True, he had the build of a soccer player. And true he had a head of hair that would probably last him until he was 80. But what was also true, was that when it came down to making out, Ray just didnt make the cut. According to Maria, Ray used too much teeth and too much suction and focused his attention on her face rather than on her lips. Although, to be fair, Maria did say he gave good head. Apparently, the dude was only able to make out with one set of lips.

As we ate lunch, Maria wondered if giving a bad kisser a second chance was a good thing. I thought, it was, because if Ray was willing to give the relationship a second chance, why shouldn't Maria? To me, kissing is an art. Originality isnt always a good thing when it comes to kissing, but, if there's enough of a connection there, cant the worst of bad kisses be forgiven?

After lunch, we headed to the U of A, where Maria and I were greeted by Ray and his tutoring student, Elisha. The moment Ray saw Maria, his face lit up and immeadiately he jumped out of his seat and rushed over to her...where he then began to ravage the enitre left side of her face. I stood in horror as I watched Ray kiss/chomp on my friend's face, making these weird "Mmmmmm!" noises. And all the while, Maria just stood there, smiling. I felt bad for the guy. I knew he meant well, but this was just too much! I was about to rescue my friend from being eaten alive, when Elisha spoke up.

ELISHA: Ray! What the hell are you doing?
RAY: I'm giving my sugar, some sugar.

Oh, God please tell me this is a joke...

ELISHA: You're eating her face! You dont know how to kiss!
RAY: Elisha, you're only in middle school. Trust me, when you get older, you're gonna do the same thing with your boyfriend.

Ebarrassed by both Ray's kissing technique and advice, a determined and impatient Maria grabbed Ray by the chin, squeezing his mouth into an "O" and kissed his mouth shut, only to have Ray stick his tongue out and lick her bottom lip and chin. It was beyond gross and Ray was beyond help.

Later on that day, as I walked Maria to her car, her friend Doogy saw us and asked if we would be willing to help him and his band, Double Top, set up for a gig. They were opening for another band called, (ironically enough) "The Life And Times" and with no real plans set, Maria and I agreed. The music was good, but the free drinks were even better. And since I was designated drinker, I drank Fantasy Island Iced Teas all night long, which were kinda like Long Island Iced Teas but with three times the alcohol. A guy could get used to being with the band.

By the end of my second drink and the second opening act, I was faded. My lips on a nice, cold, tall drink was just what I needed. And apparently, a bad, hot, tall drink of man, was exactly what Maria needed. Through a hazy and intoxicated gaze, I could see Maria making out with the drummer, aka Derric.

ME: Maria...what are you doing?
MARIA: Oh, David, I know, but he's so cute! Don't you think he's cute?
ME: Yeah, if you like that whole, "I-cant-afford-a razor-or-any-hair-product look."
MARIA: Whatever. He's a really good kisser! He doesnt chew on me!
ME: Yeah, but what about Ray?
MARIA: What about him? We're still together.
ME: Yeah, well when you're kissing another guy like that, it's kinda hard to tell.
MARIA: David. I'm just kissing Derric, that's all. Just be happy for me.

I tried to be happy for Maria, but I couldnt. I knew, that somewhere out there, Ray was thinking of Maria, while here in the bar, Derric was thinking of doing something with Maria somewhere down there. Derric was a self-proclaimed bad boy, with the Tony Manero look down to a T, and it was a persona that Maria was instantly attracted to. She claimed her hot and heavy makeout session was just a one night fun thing, but still, the whole thing bothered me. I guess it's because so many people have left comments that I'm a good guy, and I feel that Ray's a good guy, so somehow, it just didnt seem fair. Sure, his kissing was atrocious, but was it reason enough for Maria to go look for hot mouth-on-mouth action elsewhere? Is there any hope for the good guys? Or should we just let the bad guys win and hope it all works out in the end?