true to yourself

Saturday afternoon, I had my very first table-read. Actually it was more of a couch-and-find-a-seat-anywhere-read, but it was still my first and I anticipated on making it an enjoyable one. Which is why I arrived 20 minutes early to Jeff's house. That and the fact I lose all sense of direction, once I hit the south side of town (if you're a Tucsonan, and thank God very few of you are, then you'll know that driving anywhere south of 12th and Ajo is like eating at Taco Bell: an adventure in the beginning, but a mistake in the end)

After reaching Jeff's house, located on the corner of Crime Spree and Urine, I was surprised to find Melinda already there. She claimed to have come for moral support but Jeff said, it was for the free pizza dinner. As more people began to show up, Melinda introduced me to the rest of the cast, including Steven and Jessica, aka, The Mad Hatter and The Queen of Hearts. Steven and Jessica were, as they put it, "best gal pals" and, like me, they were the only twenty year-olds in the bunch. Everyone else was 25 and over the hill.

STEVEN: So, how'd you get the part of the White Rabbit?
ME: What do you mean?
STEVEN: Well, I heard, Jeff, like, gave some of the parts to people he just met. Like off the street.
ME: Really?
JESSICA: Oh, yeah. It made us so mad, cuz' Steven wanted that part, but like, he didnt get it.
ME: Why?
STEVEN: I dont know why. I mean, it's not like I suck. It was so sad.
JESSICA: Yeah. He would've made one hell of a gay bunny!
STEVEN: So how'd you get it? Sexual favors?
ME: Uh, no. God, no! No, I, um, I heard about the auditions through a friend and I just auditioned. I wasnt looking for a certain part or anything, I just like the story Alice in Wonderland. And I thought it be something cool, you know?
STEVEN: Yeah. I hear you. But whatcha gonna do, huh?

Yes, Steven. What was I going to do? I couldnt very well tell you and Jessica I was an "off the street actor," so I did the next best thing and acted out the role of a lifetime. Myself. Since I had already convinced Steven and Jessica, I was capable of some sort of acting, I had no choice but to lose myself in the role of myself. Except, with this role, I decided I would play myself as "Put-together David." The David that was more cool and more confident, than I could ever be in real life. And it worked! Losing myself, in, well, myself, helped me to read the White Rabbit role with such gusto, that I actually thought I was the White Rabbit, wandering all around Wonderland, whining about lost time and my bitchy boss.

After two couch-and-find-a-seat-anywhere-read run-through's, Jeff decided to call it a night. He was confident, that as actors, we knew our craft and were capable of filming a movie. But as a group, he wasnt so sure. Jeff felt that we needed to bond more, and what better way for college kids to bond, then to get wasted at a keg party?

The party was off the hook! Every alcoholic beverage known to man, was to our disposal: Goldschlager, Hypnotiq, Jägermeister, Cuervo, Tanqueray...it was like visiting the United Nations on a good buzz. Everyone was bonding and having a good time. And even though my sight was slightly blurry, all was well. That's when Steven and Jessica approached me and Melinda.

JESSICA: Do you want like a faster buzz?
ME: How?
STEVEN: With this.
ME: What is it?
MELINDA: Fuckin' A! Are those recreational?!
ME: Recreational?! Dude, you're faded. Shut up.
MELINDA: No, David! For reals! You dont know what they could do to you!
JESSICA: Dude, they're like the bomb!
MELINDA: Yeah, but what is it?
STEVEN: It's Wonderland!
ME: Oh, cool! Let me have one!

I should've known better. The last time I visted Wonderland, it became Wonder-what-the-hell-happened-last-night-land. But I figured, the new cool, confident and put-together David, was a guy, who was up to trying new experiences. Hell, drunk as I was, I was probably up for trying a new sex posistion. That's when Jeff came up to us and asked how we were doing.

JEFF: Hey! What's up you guys?!
MELINDA: Nothing! Just leaving these two druggies.
JEFF: Druggies? What are you talking about?
ME: Nothing, she's just tired.
JEFF: What is she talking about?
STEVEN: These!
JEFF: Oh, man! Where'd you get those?
STEVEN: Why? You want some?!
JEFF: What are they?
ME: Here, have mine. I have to go inside, real quick.
JESSICA: Are you ok, dude?
ME: Yeah...hold on.

Obviously, the cool, confident and put-together David couldnt hold in as much alcohol as I thought he could. Two trips to the porcelain throne later, I passed out, and fell asleep right there on the bathroom floor. The next morning, through my hazy hangover, I heard Melinda on her cell phone, calling people, left and right, telling everyone that filming had been postponed.

ME: What happened?
MELINDA: Jeff was arrested last night for a DUI.
ME: Nuh-uh! Shut up!
MELINDA: Yeah.
ME: What was he under?
MELINDA: David, we were all drinking last night! Plus, you gave him drugs.
ME: Oh, shit!
MELINDA: And when he got pulled over, he didnt have his insurance. He's in major trouble.
ME: Is he ok? Where is he?
MELINDA: He's being held in some jail. His girlfriend called and told me to just call everyone to postpone everything.
ME: Til' when?
MELINDA: I dont know.

And that my blog friends, is how I ended my film career. By giving my film director drugs. I know I didnt put a gun to his head, but handing him the drugs didnt exactly help either. So I guess being an actor isnt my calling. I guess, pretending to be someone you're not, has its own downside, which goes to prove that you should always be honest and true to yourself, no matter what. Except for when they ask for the clothes back. Then it's ok to lie.

playing the part

Shakespeare once said, that all the world's a stage and that all the men and women are merely players. What Shakespeare forgot to mention was that some players are better than others and that some players, actually know what they're doing.

On Wednesday, my friend Madelaine conned and manipulated me into being an usher at the Pima Community College Production of Kiss Me Kate. She was a house manager, low on ushers, and I was a twenty-something with no plans, feeling low.

ME: Ok, so what should I wear? Can I wear jeans?
MADELAINE: No. You have to wear black pants and a white shirt.
ME: Like a button-down?
MADELAINE: Uh-huh.
ME: But I dont have a white button-down. I have a black button-down.
MADELAINE: Oh. Well, I dont know. I think it has to be white. Just wear a white shirt.

Obviously, the house manager and I wear having a wardrobe misunderstanding. I wanted to stand out and showcase my new green jacket, hoping to gain some publicity for my new film, while Madelaine felt it would be better if I blended in with the walls and just handed out pamphlets. Me? An actor? Hand out pamphlets? Tscha! But after some thought, I figured, maybe I could probably learn a thing or two from the actors. And maybe, if they were lucky, I could teach them a thing or two.

That night, at a half hour past seven, after finishing my usher duities, I was introduced to Cole Porter's timeless work of art. The music! The sets! The costumes! It was all very Broadway. And considering the fact it was a Tucson college play, it was beyond good. Good enough to make me feel like I was at home, watching a Broadway play on PBS during pledge week. The actors spoke with authority. They sang with supremacy. They danced with dignity. They were truly actors. But after seeing them take command of the stage, I began to question my own acting abilities. Or actually lack thereof. How could I compare to Kalli Houston or Evan Engle, the two leads? Not that they were Tony Award winning actors, but they did have that certain je nais se quois.

Falling into my new acting job, was just that. It was something I fell into. Not something I worked hard at. I didnt have to submit a head shot or audition, like the rest of the cast. It was like that infamous story of Lana Turner, who was discovered by W.R. Wilkerson, while sipping soda at a cafe across her high school. And although I wasnt around, I've always wondered how well of an actress she was in the beginning. How well, did she perform in front of "the fourth wall"? With my questionable acting ability on my mind, I turned to my friend Madelaine.

MADELAINE: Just watch Mean Girls.
ME: Huh?
MADELAINE: Just watch Mean Girls. Pretend, like you're one of the characters from the movie and just act out their part. Like...like...
ME: Like what?
MADELAINE: Hold on, let me think. Ok. Like, "On Wednesdays we wear pink. And we only wear jeans or track pants on Friday." Like that.
ME: Ok. So what character should I be? Cuz I have to do my table read this Saturday, and now I'm so nervous.
MADELAINE: Well, I dont mean you should be one the characters. I just mean, pretend that you are them. And then act out their lines like they would. Just pretend you are that character, and you'll be that character.
ME: I dont know. Maybe. I just wish I knew what I was doing.
MADELAINE: Don't worry about it. You'll be fine.

just around the corner

When life hands ya lemons, all you can do is make Flaming Lemon and wait to see what awaits for you around the corner. Or so according to my new friends, Jeff and Melinda. But what if what awaits you around the corner is just more lemons? Do you just make more Flaming Lemon? Or do you hope and pray that somehow everything will turn out ok?

Yesterday afternoon, I got out early from my Geo class. I was just getting settled and starting on my second coffee, when Mr. Talbot asked if anyone did last week's assignment. No one raised their hand, and it was mostly because no one showed up last week, when Mr. Talbot was out and had a sub. Except for me. I stayed for the lecture, hoping to get some sorta information on the homework, and it's a good thing I did too. I was the only one who did the assignment, and therefore was granted permission to begin my Rodeo Vacation Weekend early. Who knew being a total geek, had its own reward?

As I made my way out of class and out of the main elevator, I turned the corner...and landed my first role in a student independent film! Jeff, the director, was filming location shots when he filmed me walking around the corner.

JEFF: Excuse me?
ME: Yeah?
JEFF: Hi, my name is Jeff, and I'm filming a movie...
ME: Oh! I'm sorry. I didnt even see you there! Sorry!
JEFF: No, no! No. Um, this is gonna sound kinda weird, but have you ever done any acting?
ME: Oh, I dont do those kind of films. Can they film porn on campus? Who cares?! I cant believe they think I'm porn material!
JEFF: No! Oh, God no! No, nothing like that! I mean actual acting. Like film acting.
ME: Oh, well, no. I cant believe I thought I was porn material.
JEFF: Would you be interested in doing a movie?
ME: Um, I dont know?
JEFF: It's a student film I have to do for my media class. We were gonna be auditioning this weekend, but I dont think we have to anymore. You're like, exactly the kind of person I want!

Can you believe it?! I was the kind of person they wanted! It was beyond awesome, that I went from student to student-actor in a mere matter of minutes. All from just walking around the corner. And since I really didnt have anything else to do, I spent the rest of the afternoon, making on-camera tests, and looking over the script. The story was a modern-day twist on the classic children story, Alice In Wonderland. Only this Wonderland included a love story and, as a director's trademark, all the characters wear something green. Which means, I get free clothes. I know!

And so, after the preliminary filming was done, the crew and I parted ways and I took my new friend, Melinda, aka costume designer, back to her place. It was there, in her pink apartment, that she gave me a green track jacket. Apparently, Alice and her friends all shopped at American Eagle. Melinda and I were in the middle of deciding what to do for dinner, when her phone rang. It was her sister, who had called to tell her, that her niece had fallen off the monkey bars and fractured her wrist. Since she was without ride, I drove Melinda to Tucson Medical Center.

If you were to talk to my entire family and half my friends, they would all agree, that I am not the best driver. I do the brake-gas-brake-gas thing when I'm in a parking lot, which not only pisses off the drivers behind me, but it pisses off my mechanic. I dont do it to annoy, I do it because I'm afraid of going to fast and crashing into a parked car. So if you think about it, I'm really a safe driver. And it was with this state of driving, that I pulled up into TMC, turned the corner and gave an old man in a walker, a heart attack. I didnt hit him, but I guess when he saw me coming at full speed, and then braking, it scared him.

MELINDA: Ohmigod! David! Call 9-1-1!
ME: I cant! I dont have my phone! You call!
MELINDA: Shit! Where's my phone?!
ME: I dont know?! Hurry!
MELINDA: Wait!
ME: What?!
MELINDA: We're at a hospital?
ME: Oh, yeah, huh?

I was so afraid, the man was going to tell the authorities that I was a teenage punk, who too busy bumpin' and grindin' to rap music to watch the old pedistrians. But as it turns out, Mr. Freed was ok and was soon falling under the spell of his medication. I'm not sure if he blames me for his unfortunate accident, since it was already closing time, but I hope to God he doesnt blame me. It's just the story of my life. One minute, I'm finding local fame and fortune, the next, I'm finding, well, fame if my mug gets on the news, but misfortune. And all from just around the corner.

forgive and forget

Three weeks ago, I paid a visit to my dermatologist. I had a nasty patch of dry skin above the right side of my lip, and I thought it might have been a fluke cold sore. Turns out it wasnt. According to my dermatologist, Dr. Brehnan, I've been exfoliating too much. Who knew, having baby-soft skin was too much of a good thing? Dr. Brehnan then tried to prescribe me some sort of topical cream, but I declined. The reason being, the receptionist behind the front counter was one of my mom's church friends and had access to the storage closet where they kept all the free samples. So after Dr. Brehnan wrote the prescription and left the room, I threw it away, and left the doctor's office with a bag full of free samples.

Later on that day, after running around town with errands, I found out Walgreens had called to inform me that my prescription had been filled and was ready for pick-up. Apparently, Dr. Brehnan saw the crumpled and tossed note he wrote me, and called to have my prescription filled. My mother, who heard the messages earlier that day, had gone to Walgreens, picked up my prescription, and billed me $30. Ugh...why couldnt Dr. Brehnan leave well enough alone?

I tried to come up with imaginative ways to get back at Dr. Brehnan for prescribing me $30 topical cream, when that money could have been put to better use. Like at the mall or something. But as my dry spot healed, I got bored with the idea and gave up on the whole revenge thing. That is, until this past Thursday.

As I was putting on my newly prescribed facial cream, UPS knocked on my door. It was a package. 20 packages, to be exact. 20 big, two-arm carrying packages filled with one-inch binders of information, on the acne medication, Isotretinoin. It was addressed to Dr. Brehnan, but it had my address. I tried to explain to the UPS guy, but he refused to take them back. He said I'd have to call UPS and place an order delivery. Was Dr. Brehnan trying to make money off of me? Was he still fuming over my dis to his prescription?

The next day, with 20 boxes of useless acne information stocked and stacked in my room, I went to school. I was in the computer lab, when Ivan approached me. He said, "Hey" and I said, "Hey," and before I knew it, Ivan and I were actually having a mature and adult conversation. He talked as if it was just another Friday. Did he forget about the verbal fight we had about growing up? The fight that was looming over us and staring at us right in the face the entire time we talked? Ivan then invited me to go with him to a comedy tour, Saturday night, hosted by BET. But I told him I wasnt sure, and left, confused and angry. Ivan, who had never been good with apologies, had said, in his own way, "I'm sorry." Ivan was able to forget, but I was unable to forgive. Was I being childish by holding a grudge that could possibly end a friendship?

I was convinced later on, by a few other friends, that maybe going to the comedy tour, wouldnt be such a bad idea. Maybe, after a night of black comedy about how all other races are so funny-looking and crazy, all would be well between me and Ivan.

MARIA: Just go, David. Go and have fun.
ME: I know, but dont you think it'll be weird? I mean, we're gonna be sitting next to each other, laughing the whole time.
MARIA: And what's weird about that?
ME: I dont know. It's just...I've never had an arguement with Ivan before. I mean, I dont think any of us have argued with Ivan. In fact, I didnt even know Ivan could argue. And now I'm gonna be hanging out with him? It's weird.
MARIA: Yeah. But, I mean...just go and have fun. You know Ivan. He's not big on words. And I think if he's inviting you to this thing, and he's gonna pay for it, then I think he's really sorry. It's his way of apologizing.
ME: I guess.
MARIA: The way I see it is that good friends support each other after something bad has happened. Great friends act as if nothing has happened.

Saturday night, I was at the Riverpark Inn, sitting in a double conference room, waiting for the night of 1000 laughs to begin. It was one of those cheap and seedy motels, reserved only for high school parties and hookers. I knew immeaditaely the comedy tour was not hosted by BET. It was in fact hosted by BETS - Black Entertainment Tour of Smiles. How's that for copyrighted infringement?

But nonetheless, the show was hilarious. The racist and politically incorrect comics had the entire audience gasping for air and rolling in the aisles. By the beginning of intermission, my cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and my throat was dry from all the gut-wrenching laughter. So, I went outside to find something to drink. Standing next to the broken soda machine was a man with a coffee/hotdog cart. And standing in front of the coffee/hotdog cart was my old middle school friend, Jennifer.

Back in the day, Jennifer was a straight-A student who had been involved with Model UN and Kiwanni's. But nowadays, the only thing Jennifer was involved in was a guy named Marcus, whom she had met at a New Years Eve party, the year prior. At the time, Marcus was out on probation, but soon found himself back in the big house after threatening a cop. Clearly, this man was a total catch.

JENNIFER: And, so anyways, this is our first official Valentine's.
ME: Oh. Well, congratualtions.
JENNIFER: Yeah. And this was his gift to me.
ME: What was?
JENNIFER: This. The BET-thing.
ME: Oh.
JENNIFER: What do you mean, "Oh?"
ME: Huh?
JENNIFER: What do you mean, "Oh?"
ME: Nothing.
JENNIFER: Please! David, I know your "Oh's." And this "Oh" is filled with disproval.
ME: No. It's nothing like that. It's just...well, you said you've been dating this guy, Marcus, for a year right?
JENNIFER: Right.
ME: And that technically this is your first Valentine's together, since he was in jail for the last one? Right?
JENNIFER: Yeah.
ME: So, in theory, he had a whole year to come up with the perfect Valentine's, and this is what he chose?

I didnt mean to imply Marcus had choosen poorly. I just thought that a year of togetherness should be celebrated with more pizazz than a $20 comedy tour ticket. And apparently so did Jennifer. She needed to hear, outloud, what the little voice in her head had been telling her about Marcus, for the past year.

Jennifer and Marcus spent the rest of the night arguing in the motel parking lot and missed part two of the comedy show. And because Jennifer had chosen not to listen to the little voice in her head that warned her about Marcus, she missed out on what could have been a meaningful and loving relationship. Ok, so maybe it was bordering delusional, but the point is, if Jennifer had talked to Marcus about the problems she was having, in the beginning, then maybe things between them could have been better.

It was then and there, right before Honey Rose's comedy routine, that I decided to forgive Ivan. I decided that holding a grudge against my friend wasnt something I wanted to invest time in. After all, wasnt it Ivan's rude remarks, that made me realize how not to give up on my dreams, but to keep on pursuing them, no matter how hard the obstacle? And if forgiving was in my near future, it meant there would be no room for revenge. Which means, I'll probably be at my dermatologist in the next hour or so, hand delivering the 20 big, two-arm carrying packages filled with one-inch binders of information, on the acne medication, Isotretinoin.

a dream is a wish, your friends hate

Sometimes there is nothing harder in life than being happy for somebody else. Like lottery winners. Or the girl you sat next to in high school choir that sang like a dying parakeet, who now makes a successful living as a fashion model. It's not so much that I'm jealous for said choir classmate, it's more along the lines of, if they can do it, why cant I? What's stopping me from reaching my goals? What's keeping me from my dreams?

As I sat in class on Tuesday I wondered if Corrie was thinking the same thing. She certainly looked like she was, since she stared at me throughout the entire class. Was she seriously waiting for me to shower her with fresh-cut roses and tacky nylar balloons? After reading and listening to all the advice I recieved from blog-friends and blog-enemies alike, about the Corrie Conundrum, I came up with my own strategy.

CORRIE: Hey what happened?
ME: Huh?
CORRIE: Why didnt you call?
ME: Was I supposed to?
CORRIE: Yeah. Didnt you get my note?
ME: Your note? What note?
CORRIE: My note. I left you a note with that lady behind the desk.
ME: No. She didnt give me anything.
CORRIE: Oh.
ME: Yeah. So. Anyways, I guess I'll just talk to you later.
CORRIE: Well, I...
ME: Ok, bye!

No one was the wiser, and no one really got hurt, which in all reality, is the perfect outcome to a disasterous situation. I was just at the door, when my teacher, Ms. Toller called out and asked if I could please stay behind. On the one hand, I was thankful I had a reason to ignore Corrie, but on the other, I wondered why my journalism teacher wanted to talk to just me and only me. As it turns out, Ms. Toller, who used to be an editor for Good Housekeeping, recieved a letter from a friend in New York who told her about an upcoming program for fashion-minded students.

MS. TYLER: ...and I think with your writing skills, you could really benefit from this experience.
ME: Really?
MS. TYLER: Yes. You said something about wanting to write for an entertainment magazine, right?
ME: Uh, yeah.
MS. TYLER: Well, this program will help lead you into the right direction. Here's the form. Please do consider it.

I couldnt believe that Ms. Tyler, had not only enjoyed my class writings, but she saw me succeeding in this three credit course, that would cost me only $14,000. Too bad she couldnt see and tell me where that tuition money was coming from. I left the room floating on cloud nine, with a skip in my step and a toothy smile that would put the Joker to shame. It was the same way I felt when Johanna Edwards left me a comment which, I know it may sound childish, I printed and framed.

But as the day progressed, my goofy grin began to fade. I got an email from an editor at Slate Magazine asking if I would be interested in an internship for the up-coming summer, and if so, I was to send in three clips, a resume, and a cover letter. Besides my out-dated high school newspaper clippings from two years ago, I hadnt written a news-worthy article in like, forever. Except for that one time I wrote an article for a summer program about my high school counselor who posed nude in an OVER 50 magazine, and then later went on Oprah twice. Plus, having had four jobs in the past year alone, wasnt exactly screaming "stable" or "loyal."

It wasnt until I was done with all my classes, that I decided to go and visit my friend Ivan, hoping for some pearls of wisdom, some sage advice, and maybe a well-worded resume. But as it turns out, all Ivan could offer was crushing words.

IVAN: David. Dont you get it? You're trying to live a fantasy life. You need to seriously grow up.
ME: What are you talking about?
IVAN: You need to grow up. You need to stop dreaming about living in New York or wherever as a famous writer or a famous journalist. You need to get back to reality buddy, and get a real job. Move out of your folks home. Start paying bills and stuff.
ME: Why?
IVAN: Because. You gonna live with your parents forever?
ME: No.
IVAN: Well, then? When are you gonna move out? When are you gonna get your own place and start living like an adult?

The harsh reality of my dreams never coming true hit me. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew it was a possibility, but having my friend tell me face to face, made that possibilty much more real.

IVAN: David, you're 20!
ME: And?
IVAN: I'm 19, and I have a good-paying job, my own place, and my own family. I pay my own bills and do you know why? Because it's my responsibilty. If I dont do it, no one else is gonna take care of me. I cant just wait around for some dream to come true. You gotta wake up and realize that.
ME: You know what, Ivan? I'm sorry, you had to grow up faster than you wanted to. I'm sorry your life sucks and that you were given more responsibilites than you can handle. But dont hate on me. I'm not the one that fooled around and had to grow up overnight.
IVAN: So what? You're gonna wait to have a kid and then grow up?
ME: Just because I dont fall into your definition of grown up, doesnt mean I'm not, ok?
IVAN: Whatever David.
ME: I'm still young and I have my whole life waiting to be lived. While you just lost the next 18 years of your life.
IVAN: Fuck you.
ME: Fuck you.

I left Ivan, wondering why he chose to rain on my parade. I was looking for the stock best friend response of "You'll submit your stuff, and by the weekend you'll be a famous millionaire writer," but instead, all I got was a slap across the face. Or as Ivan put it, tough love. True, I do have goals and dreams, some of which may be a bit far-fetched, but I wasnt living in a fantasy world. Or was I? Is believing in the possibility that dreams might come true a waste of time? In a society like ours, with it's pace and pressures, isnt it important to remember a simpler time when the best thing in life was just hanging out, listening to CD's and having fun with your friends? When the world was yours and the possibilties were endless? At what age do you have to be to realize that the Peter Pan syndrome is no longer an option and that dreams are something your heart should stop making? At what age, do you have to grow up?

stupid cupid, dont post-it on me

As if Cupid didnt make love more complicated than it already is, you'll never guess what happened to me today.

The other week, while I was out with an eye-infection, I missed a major test, which explained my pressence at the Student Testing Lab Center so early this gruesome morning (ok, so it was almost 11 o'clock, but on a Monday, that's still pretty early for someone like me).

As I walked into the testing center, Corrie, the not-so-hot girl, was walking out. We both froze. Ever since last week, on that eventful day when I learned the meaning of no, things have been really uncomfortable between us. Kinda like when you see your best friend wearing a brown belt and black shoes.

CORRIE: Hi.
ME: Hey.
CORRIE: So...you here to take a test?
ME: Uh, yeah.
CORRIE: Cool. Cool.
ME: Yeah. You?
CORRIE: Uh, no. I'm just...just leaving.
ME: Cool.
CORRIE: Cool.
ME: Ok, well, I'll see you later.
CORRIE: Yeah. Bye.

You could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife. Yeah. Right. I zoned Corrie out of mind and focused all my orange mocha frappuccino-energy into my test. That is, until I handed my test in to the secretary.

SECRETARY: Oh, just a moment! I have something for you!
ME: Me?
SECRETARY: Yes! You! Your friend left you something.
ME: My friend?
SECRETARY: Yes. Now, where did I put it?

She glanced around her desk which was covered by two Whataburger wrappers, a large carton of french fries, several ketchup packages and a can of diet coke. I wondered how someone so messy could be in charge of handling paperwork. My question was soon answered as I noticed the colorful Post-it's all over her computer screen. She then made a grab for one of them and handed it to me.

SECRETARY: Here you go!
ME: Thanks.

It was a note from Corrie that read:

Now, obviously that wasnt her real number, but I cant post it, because I know some of you would actually call it and crank call (yes, Ivan, I'm talking to you). I've heard of breaking up via Post-it, but never have I heard of asking out via Post-it. Was Corrie seriously asking me what I was doing February 14, Valentine's Day, aka the most romantic day of the year?! I dont think so.

The only thing now is, do I call and tell her something along the lines of "Thanks, but no thanks," or do I just not call at all? And if I dont call, what do I say to her in class tomorrow? It's like Shakespeare once said, "Oh, Cupid, doest thou not not know if I am pricked with love's sweet arrow, I too shall bleed?" Ok, so I made it up, but the Ye Olde English twist, totally fits.

my fair label

Labels are weird. When you meet someone, you automatically categorize them into certain labels: looks...occupation...sexual orientation...religion. And with those labels come certain unalienable traits, like fashionista, hard-ass, flirty, or even lover. Or do they?

Wednesday night, I arrived at Tucson Baptist Church, 15 minutes prior to the "jubilee" that was to be bestoyed upon me and was greeted by a beauty-potential girl, who wore a lime-green corduroy skirt. She was the kind of girl, where if you took off her glasses and scrunchie, she would instantly go from geek to chic, like a cheesey teen comedy.

CORDUROY GIRL: Hi! Can I help you?
ME: Um. Yeah. I'm here for a Jesus class.
CORDUROY GIRL: A what?
ME: Uh, Bible study.
CORDUROY GIRL: Oh. Ok. I'm Cathleen. Welcome! And you are?
ME: I'm David.
CATHLEEN: Hi, David.
ME: Hi.

It was weird. Depite Cathleen's big smile and warm greeting, I didnt feel all that welcome. After I made my lame "Jesus class" joke, I felt like Cathleen was judging me up and down as a desperate loser trying to fit in with the rest of the Bible-carrying group. We walked down to the basement in silence. It was really uncomfortable, following this girl down the stairs, not knowing what waited for me at the other end. Not ready to face the Bible group, I decided to make a quick check in the bathroom. If I was gonna be durrounded by fashion victims, I decided I may as well give them somethimg they can aspire to.

I pushed opened the bathroom door, full blast. What I saw next completely stunned me. There, sitting on a porcelain throne was some dude, with his jeans at his ankles, shaking what had to be the smallest penis I've ever seen! I dont know if he was talking a shit or just peeing and shaking it off with his thumb and forefinger, but I freaked.

ME: I'm so sorry!
SMALL DUDE: SHUT THE DOOR!
ME: I know! Sorry!
SMALL DUDE: SHUT THE DOOR!
ME: I am.
SMALL DUDE: SHUT THE DOOR!

The door took forever to shut. It was the kind of door where it had springy hinges and closed all by itself, but slowly. I had to actually pull on the handle to make it go faster. As soon as it closed I ran down the stairs and burst out laughing. Who takes a shit in a public place with an unlocked door?! Tim saw me and asked me why I was laughing so hard. When I told him what had happened, he stood there with a frozen face.

He did not find my story funny at all. A few kids who overheard laughed, but that's all. Tim then went to go talk to the youth pastor and that's when the real action started. Apparently Small Dude's name was Josh and he had been in trouble with the youth group for acting "homosexual" (i.e. slappin' ass, winking and blowing air kisses, and rubbing his nipples to all the guys. If he was in highschool, he would have been labeled "class clown" and not "gay").

Me walking in on him was the last straw in the coffin. The nail that broke a camel's back. When Josh came down, the youth pastor took him to the side and asked him politely to leave. He was not to return until he could control his homosexual behavior. I felt bad for the dude and I couldnt believe these people who were supposed to be filled with Christ's love had cast their friend aside. If a friend is in trouble, dont you help them out instead of leaving them to figure it all out by themselves?

I decided to write the whole thing off as a bad experience and couldnt wait to tell all my friends all about it. Including, Charlotte, Carrie, Silly, and The Wife of Dingus. Thanks for your prayers!


The next day, I decided to go and visit my friend Maria at her new tutoring job at Mansfield Middle School. Maria had been seeing a guy, named Roy from school, and in all honesty, I kinda wanted to see the lucky fellow who had captivated her heart.

MARIA: David! Hi!
ME: Hey!
MARIA: Hey...what are you doing here?
ME: Nothing. I just came by to say hi.
MARIA: Oh.
ME:Yeah. That and see this Roy guy.
MARIA: Oh. Well. I dont think right now is a good time.
ME: Why?
MARIA: Well, I'm supposed to go to this engineering meeting with him right now.
ME: Ok? That's cool. We'll all go together.
MARIA: Yeah. But these are actual college kids.

I couldnt believe what my best friend was telling me. Sure, we attended different colleges, but just because they werent in the same zip code didnt mean one was better than the other. The classes we took were different, but that's only because she was majoring in bio-cemistry while I was trying to major in communications. I was just about to call Maria on her rude comment, when all of a sudden a guy came up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.

MARIA: Hey!
A GUY: Hey!
MARIA: Hi, Roy.
ROY: Hey! Hey dude.
ME: Hey.
MARIA: Roy, this is David. David, Roy.
ME: Hey.
ROY: Hey. So are you ready?
MARIA: Um, yeah.
ROY: Ok. Hey! Do you wanna come?
ME: Go where?
ROY: I have this engineer meeting. Maria comes with me every Thursday.
ME: Oh, cool.
ROY: Yeah, do you wanna come?
ME: Uh, sure. Maria? Is that ok?
MARIA: Uh, yeah.

Roy, a person who was a total and complete stranger had welcomed me to his group of friends, while my best friend had tried to exclude me. Why?

The rest of the evening went pretty well and I actually did have fun. No one cared what school I went to and that's probably because they all thought I went to their school, but still. I was totally at home. I taught a girl the proper way to pronounce "Givenchy" and I told a guy he could buy discount Express and Abercrombie & Fitch jeans at Marshalls. It was great. And at the same time, weird. These people were surprisingly warm and fun to be around. Unlike the Bible group and my friend Maria, which, I still do not understand. Or maybe it's just me?

the meaning of no

Why is it so hard to understand, that no, means no? During the 80's, when cheesey rock music and teased hair was at it's highest, Nancy Reagan introduced a campaign against the use of drugs which was known as, "Just Say No." Who'da thunk, those very words would be so hard to comprehend?

Today was my first day back to school (can you believe it took almost a week for my eye infection to heal? Which means, I'll probably never wear another pair of colored contacts again. Which is cool, cuz I think I wanna go in the way of Lisa Loeb and don a pair of funky square glasses, so it's all good...wow, this is the longest parenthesis I've ever had). It was also the first day that I would see Corrie and her heaving milky-white bosoms again (see, how I totally worked that in there Miss Jay?!).

ME: What happened last week?
CORRIE: You mean the homework?
ME: No. I mean, the whole Smiley's thing.
CORRIE: Oh, that. Yeah, I lost your number.
ME: You lost it? Didn't you put it into your phone?
CORRIE: Yeah, but my phone book list got erased. It was so weird.

Yeah. It was weird. I was going to give Corrie the benefit of the doubt, but I figured, if what she were saying were true, wouldnt she come up to me and tell me she lost my number, rather than me having to go and ask what had happened? But then again, sometimes some things just cant be explained. And since I'm a big believer in the whole, "seeing-isn't-believing-but-believing-is-seeing" philosphy, I thought I'd give Corrie a second chance.

ME: So, did you already take the pictures for the thing? Dear God, it's me David. Please dont make me sound so weird. Amen.
CORRIE: Um, no. No. Not yet.

ME: Oh...so did you still wanna do it? Hey, God, it's me again. Please just give me this one thing and I will dedicate myself completely to thee. Ok, maybe not completely, because I do have a life, but I promise not to change the channel when the starving kids come on my TV.
CORRIE: I dont know. I mean, well, it's cuz I wont be able to this week. Or next. I have a whole lot of projects coming up, and so I think I'm just going to give the assignment to someone else to do.
ME: Oh. Uh, God, what is she talking about? Give the assignment to someone else? Yeah. Right. Doesnt she know that if a teacher gives you an assignment, you have to complete it and not just hand it to whomever?

Why was Corrie acting so weird? Why had she given me false hope of a possible semi-date? Was the girl who I had dubbed "not hot" blowing me off? My suspicions were confirmed as I sat back down in my seat, and my friend Alex said something to me, that I thought was only supposed to be for girls.

ALEX: She's not that into you.
ME: Huh?
ALEX: She's not that into you.
ME: How do you know?
ALEX: Dude, please. I watch Oprah. I was a Sex and the City fan for six years. I can so tell these things.
ME: Whatever, Carrie Bradshaw.
ALEX: Ok, well, dont believe me. But dont you think if she was into you, she would have dropped everything just to hang out with you? Didnt you pick up on her hints that she wasnt interested? No means no.

Alex had a point. In her own subtle (and stupid) way, I guess Corrie had said, "No." I was just too blind to realize it. Which was odd, because if I wasnt blinded by her looks, then what was I blinded by?

Class ended, and I was still trying to figure out what had blinded me. I soon found myself, standing in front of a bulletin bored, waiting for my next class, when all of a sudden, some random kid started talking to me.

RANDOM KID: So...just checking out the postings, huh?
ME: Oh, uh, yeah.
RANDOM KID: Name's Tim.
ME: Oh, hi.
TIM: I think we're in the same Geo class.
ME: Oh, maybe. I dont really pay attention.
TIM: Yeah? Thats cool. I've been meaning to come up and talk to you.
ME: Really?
TIM: Yeah. You seem like a cool dude.
ME: Oh. Thanks.
TIM: Yeah. You're exactly the kind of guy we could use in our group.
ME: Your group?
TIM: Yeah. My Bible study group.

I'm not exactly sure why, but for some reason, my soul is the number one soul in Tucson to convert. Ever since I turned 13, countless Christians, Jehovah Witneses, Buddahists, cult members, and even a few Dungeons & Dragons nerds, have tried to convert my soul for the better good. And each time, I'm at a loss for words. I dont wanna appear rude to the people who spent so long rehearsing their "Conversion Speech" because I know if it was me, I would want someone to hear me say it, you know? Besides, how do you tell one of God's chosen people, no means no?

ME: Uh, I dont know...
TIM: It's just once a week. We meet every Wednesday. We're not into fire and brimstone.
ME: Oh. Well thats...good?
TIM: We're into loving Jesus.
ME: Yeah, well, see the thing is I have homework and all this other stuff and I just dont think I'll have the time.
TIM: You know that Satan is just around the corner waiting to devour your soul and make you his follower?
ME: What?!
TIM: Do you want to be spend all eternity buring in hellfire?
ME: Ok...
TIM: Dont you want to find Jesus?
ME: Well, I'm already a Christian, so I dont think I have to find Jesus anymore...
TIM: Really? Well, praise the Lord!
ME: Yeah.
TIM: Well, then come on! Share the jubilee! The students that pray together, stay together!
ME: No, I dont think so. I dont have the time.
TIM: God always has time for you. What's one hour of your time to devout to him?

Somehow Corrie was able to look deep in her dark, icy, cold heart and tell me, no, so why wasnt I? And then it hit me. I was acting exactly like Corrie. I was totally blowing this kid off with all my excuses. And like me, he wasnt getting the hint or the point. I felt sorry for him, because if Tim was this pathetic, I can only imagine how Corrie must have seen me. Ew. No matter how well dressed or accessorized I am, there is just no way to pull off a pathetic look. And so this Wednesday, I will be at the bottom of a church basement, studying the Bible. I wonder how one dresses for the occassion. Dress shirt and tie or regular normal clothes? I just hope and pray the topic of discussion will be about the word "no". Lord knows, I need help in that area.

blind love

nce upon a time, in a college classroom, far, far away, two aspiring journalists met and became good friends. They bonded over coffee and the unforunate incident of their friend Shecky. And thanks to their teacher's assignment of interviewing one another, David and Corrie got to know intimate details about one another within 15 minutes.

One warm spring day, during their journalism class, they had a fire drill. Unlike the other students, these two stayed behind to gather their belongings. Once they reached the outside, they discovered they were the only two wearing backpacks. Apparently, all the other students (as well as the teachers) thought that if they left their belongings inside and the school actually did catch on fire, the school would reimburse them for their "lost valuables".

CORRIE: Ugh...dont I feel stupid?
ME: Why?
CORRIE: I have like $10,000 dollars worth of bling in my bag.
ME: Shut up Usher! You think you're at Donald Trump University, or what?
CORRIE: Stupid...
ME: Stupid...

We laughed and decided that if the building was to burn down, why not just go out for coffee?

CORRIE: ...and so anyways, I'm doing this article for the school paper.
ME: Oh, you joined The Aztec Press staff?
CORRIE: No. Not yet. In one of my classes, I have to write a feature story on this place called Smiley's. You ever been?
ME: To Smiley's? No...I dont think so. What is it?
CORRIE: It's a hookah lounge.
ME: A hookah-what?
CORRIE: A hookah lounge. You do know what that is, do you?
ME: Uh...that thing the catepillar from Alice In Wonderland had?
CORRIE: Yes! And well anyways, I'm doing an article on Smiley's and I need to take pictures of college kids having a good time there. Are you interested in coming with me tonight?

I was. I'm not entirally sure what it is about Corrie, but for some reason, ever since the first time we met, I cant get her out of my head. She's not exactly a hottie or even Girls Gone Wild material, but she does posess a certian type of innocent sweetness that is attractive. And so I figured, what the hell? Besides, when a girl invites you out, you dont exactly say "no," you know? But then all hope of a possible semi-date was lost when she told me she was bringing her cousin and a few friends and that I should do the same as well. I was a little dissapointed, but I figured I'd still go and have a good time. I also figured it would make for a good blog-story. Corrie took down my number and promised to call with further details.

Later on that day, after I got home and took out my cornflower blue contacts, I noticed my eye was a little red. Nothing bad, just a little irritated. I left it as be and predeeded to search for the perfect hookah-lounge ensemble. Throughout the entire search, my eye continued to itch and itch and itch. I didnt even give it a second thought as I continued to rub it. About an hour later, my right eye was completely red. And as the minutes ticked away, it worsened. Soon, I was unable to open my eye as a crust formed around it and closed it tight. And unless a pig flew over a frozen hell, there was no way I was going to go out.

Across town, Corrie must have felt the same thing, because she did not call. Totally stood me and my red eye up. I mean, sure I wasnt planning to go out, looking as I looked, but wasnt I supposed to make that decision? Fustrated at how the night's events turned out, I headed to bed, hoping and praying a night of good rest would cure my irritable eye.

It didnt. I woke up the next day with an even redder eye that throobed with pain when exposed to light. I was going blind. My life was coming to an end as the slow and painful realization of never being able to see again, began to sink in. Never again would I see a clear blue sky or a red robin. On the other hand, if I couldnt see, then what harm would another mocha, double-fudge, chocolate brownine do? If I cant see, what's the point of looking hot? Right?

My friend Lizzie said I was being over-dramatic by my small eye infection and confirmed her theory when she stopped by my house, later on that day.

LIZZIE: Hi, Zsa Zsa Gabor? Is David home?
ME: Shut up!
LIZZIE: Whats with the big sunglasses and your blanket bonnet?
ME: Uh, it's to sheild my eyes. Duh.
LIZZIE: You look like one of those old Hollywood ladies.
ME: Whatever.

I was blind for a minute and already I was getting flack for my fashion choices. Lizzie had come over to return a book she had borrowed...6 months ago (I wasnt too mad at her since I have other friends, not mentioning names...VERO, who have stuff of mine from forever with no intentions of returning...). I told her of my non-date disaster and what she said made me really think.

LIZZIE: Maybe God wants you to be blind.
ME: That's dumb. Why would he want me to be blind? How else am I supposed to apprieciate his creations, duh?!
LIZZIE: Well, have you noticed everytime you talk about Corrie, you make it a point to point out she is not hot.
ME: No, I dont!
LIZZIE: Whatever. Maybe God wants you to be blind, so you can like Corrie for who she is, and not what she looks like. Maybe your supposed to look beyond her looks.
ME: Hmmm.
LIZZIE: Cuz isnt love supposed to be blind? Look at that blind girl from Fantastic 4 and The Thing. He was butt-ugly and nobody wanted to be with him. Except for the blind girl. She never knew what he looked like, but she still fell in love. And they both lived...

riding in cars with sexual offenders

Last night, I realized that I was running low on hair product and deodorant, so I made a trip to my local Walgreens. Because the Walgreens is just down the street from where I live, I walked.

After getting all my beauty supplies, I ran into my friend Manny.

MANNY: Hey dude! What's up?
ME: Oh nothing. I needed stuff for my hair...so...yeah.
MANNY: Oh, that's cool. So, hey, I saw your blog online.
ME: Shut up. For reals.
MANNY: Yeah, man. Who's Melissa, and how come I dont know who she is?
ME: I cant tell you.
MANNY: Why? Why you gotta be like that?
ME: Just. Cuz.
MANNY: Well, I wanna know where she took you to. Does that place really exist?
ME: Yeah. It's all the way east on Speedway.

Confused with my simple directions, I ended up in the passenger seat of my friends truck and we drove in silence to the infamous parking lot spot. What is it with guys and the awkward silence between them when they drive? I know for me, I love to talk and converse, but when your in a car with another guy, you just dont say much. Still trying to figure that one out...

After 15 minutes of silence, we arrived. The moment we turned into the parking lot, a car that was parked in the back corner turned it's lights on, like they knew they had been caught. You know a little backseat action was going on. I laughed as Manny pulled in, and took a moment to look around the deserted area. Not five seconds after we pulled in, two other cars pull in, blaring red and blue search lights. They were cops.

COPS: Please step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head.

We were blocked in. Trapped. No way out. I had no idea why the cops chose to raid the deserted parking lot. So I got out of the car with my hands behind my head. If it werent for the fact that I was paralyzed with fear, I would have pissed and shitted all over myself. In my mind, it was Schindler's List all over again. There I was, with a gun pointed at me, hoping and praying to God this cop was not trigger happy.

He wasnt. The cop came over and had me put my hands on the hood of Manny's truck, while he patted me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Manny and the sexual couple from the other car were recieving the same treatment.

COP: What are you doing all the way out here?
ME: I just came with my friend to show him that this place really existed.
COP: How old are you?
ME: I'm 20.
COP: I'm not going to ask you again. How old are you?
ME: 20. I'm 20.
COP: Lemme see your ID.

And that my friends, was a problem. I didnt have my ID or my wallet. I just thought a trip to Walgreens with 20 bucks in hand, was all I needed, you know? It also didnt help my case, that I look much younger than I really am and that my friend Manny looks much older than he really is. As the cop kept interrogating me, I kept trying to grow facial hair and hope that God would give me instant deep-set wrinkles.

COP: So you just came up here...just because, or...
ME: Well, I wrote this story in my blog and my friend...
COP: What's a blog?
ME: It's short for weblog.
COP: Then why don’t you just call it weblog?

I explained that 'blog' is hipper and cooler. I was losing him with the hip, cool angle, so I backed off and agreed that they should call it ‘weblog’ and that I’d do my best to change the entire system. But in the meantime, I'd spend my time worrying about the outcome of my situation. I could imagine myself in jail, making that horrific phone call home, telling my folks that I had been arrested.

But that never happened. The cops told Manny and me to get back into the truck and to wait. Manny started to freak out. He overheard one of the cop's talking about "indecent exposure" and imagined his photo being placed all over the internet above the caption: SEXUAL OFFENDER. We didn't even do anything, and we were in the parking lot for not even a second. Sexual offender was not a title I was willing to put on my resume. I tried to clear my mind by turning on the radio. Beyonce's "Check On It" was on, and through the lyrics I was able to find serenity.

Watch it, while he check up on it...dip it, pop it, twerk it, stop it...check on me tonight!

In the end, the cops sent us along our merry way. As it turns out, the car hiding in the corner was occupied by a guy and an underage kid. They were smokin' weed and getting each other off. The guy knew he was busted beyond belief and to save himself from further emabarassment, he told the cops we had pulled into the parking lot not a second before they did. Thank God there are some sexual offenders out there, who still have some morals. As we pulled out the parking lot, I realized two things. One was to never ever forget my wallet ever again. If I have to, I will convert my ID into fashionable neckwear. That sucker will never leave me. And two...my days of backseat banging are totally destroyed. Never again, will I be turned on by the prospect of a quickie in a small crowded area. Damn.

the leader, the follower, and the confused

When your a kid, playing "Follow The Leader" is adorable. When you're an adult, not only are they shooting 3000 units of thorazine into your system, but the whole idea of being a "follower" and not a "leader" is deeply frowned upon. Why? Is it really so bad to "follow?"

The other day in my Geology class, my teacher, Mr. Talbot, droned on in a robotic-like voice, about how the layers of rocks in mountainsides and cliffs have helped scientists determine how old the world really is. But no one really cared. The information he was giving was nothing we couldnt learn from watching The Discovery Channel. And because the class took place right after lunch, no one was really in the mood to listen.

No one but Robert. Robert was a mouse-y looking kid with a high-pitched voice (that oftens crack) and whiskers growing out of his chin and cheeks. The fact that he has big floppy ears, didnt really help the mouse-like image he had going on. And it was with those same big, floppy ears, that he hung to every word Mr. Talbot was saying. Up until he came to the part about civilization.

ROBERT: Wait. Weren't there any humans living before 4000 years?
MR. TALBOT: No. The world was still being formed and...
ROBERT: That's a lie.
MR: TALBOT: Excuse me?
ROBERT: What you're saying is a farce. In the Bible...

It has been my personal experience, that whenever someone starts with the phrase, "In the Bible..." it only leads to fustration, arguing, and the occassional police restraining order. Robert carried on about what the Bible said about evolution, and for looking like a mouse, the kid knew his scripture pretty well. He and Mr. Talbot argued about science and God's creation for 10 minutes, while the rest of us groaned and talked about the million other things we could have been doing. We also tried to come up with ideas on to shut the debaters up, as neither Robert nor Mr. Talbot was about to throw the towel in. Until, out of nowhere, a voice bellowed out, "Who cares?"

The class grew quiet. Robert, Mr. Talbot, and the rest of the class all turned into the direction of Stacey Something-or-other. I dont think she meant to be so loud, it just happened that way. She was the voice.

ROBERT: What?
STACEY: Who cares?! You're arguing is pointless. You're not gonna change his mind, after he's been teaching the same thing for the past 30 years. And he's not gonna change your mind, because obviously you have strong beliefs in the Bible and all.
ROBERT: You dont believe in the Bible?
STACEY: I didnt say that.
ROBERT: Well, I dont appreciate you putting me and God down!

Robert was off his rocker. Just plain nuts. Stacey didnt talk smack about anyone. She just wanted him to shut up. So did everyone else, but no one else had the guts to say anything. So, unknowingly we annointed Stacey as our chosen leader.

STACEY: Well, I dont appreciate you arguing about something that wont make a difference on the test he gives later on. Whether your right or not, doesnt matter because the test will be about what he believes in. Not what you do.

At that very moment, Mr. Talbot's took his alarm clock out, turned the knob, and made it ring (thank God Mr. Talbot doesnt believe in school bells). Saved by the bell, I was totally glad Stacey had the last word. Robert probably had a Bible verse he wanted to throw at her and the rest of us heathens, but since half the class was already out the door, what good would it do him? As I picked up my backpack, he came up to Stacey and I overheard him say: "Just cuz you said something doesnt make you cool. You only did it because someone told you to. You're like a sheep. Get thee behind me Satan!"

Was Robert right? Was Stacey our "sheep"? And if so, were we her shepherds, who led her astray? I thought Stacey was the leader. Was she not Mel Gibson a la Braveheart with a painted face and kilt, leading the geo troops to victory? Or was she just following the crowd, listening to us and doing what we said. The whole situation was weird and confusing. I wanted to talk to somebody about what had happened and that's when I ran into my friend Ivan.

IVAN: So guess what?
ME: What?
IVAN: I quit my job!
ME: You quit? Why?
IVAN: I took your advice!
ME: What advice?
IVAN: Your advice. Remember how you said that an employee cant do a good job if the employer treats him like shit?
ME: Vaguely...
IVAN: Well, anyways, yeah, I quit.
ME: That wasnt advice, that was conversation! And what about your kid? You still have to take care of him!
IVAN: And I will. I still have my other job. Plus my tax return? Yeah. I just feel like I got rid of all this stress. And I have you to thank.

Stacey led my Geo class to an early out, Danny followed my "advice", and yet none of these options led to a good outcome. If your a leader, you're admired for taking a stand and for opening doors to other possibilites. But when you fail, you're mocked for even taking a chance. When you're a follower, you're frowned for trying to be something your not. Yet, you never have to worry about being blamed for failure. Which makes me wonder...what's better?

when your lips say it

Forgive me Friend, for I have sinned. Ok, so it's not exactly a true Catholic confession, but then again, I'm not a true Catholic. However, it seems that it's the only way I can apologize to my friend Maria.

See, since the fall season line-up of ABC began, back in 2004, my friend Maria and I have been devout and loyal fans to the greatest show on earth...Desperate Housewives. Every Sunday night, we would watch the show through our phones and just be amazed at how the story line just unfolded within the hour. Never had we missed a Sunday night, except for the one time Maria went to a study group and found out that the hostess' hippie parents didnt believe in television. But that was the only time. Well...that time...and this past Sunday.

But I have totally semi, almost, plausible excuse. I think.

With a whole day devoted to nothing, I spent Sunday afternoon reading A Million Little Pieces. I had been meaning to read the book ever since Oprah showcased it on her bookclub, but I havent exactly had the time. I was up to the part where James and his parents meet to discuss the issues of his addictive personality, when the phone rang.

It was Melissa (that's not really her name, but considering the fact that I always get caught on my blog by people who I talk about, I figure I might as well give my non-established character's fake names). She was bored out of her mind and asked if I wouldnt mind just hanging out with her.

MELISSA: We'll go out for coffee or something. Or get something to eat. Just...anything.
ME: OK, well, that sounds good. Uh, where do you want me to meet you at?
MELISSA: No, I'll pick you up.
ME: Are you sure? Cuz I could...
MELISSA: Yeah, I'm in your area anyways. Besides, my car's bigger.
ME: Ok. And? Your car's bigger? So?
MELISSA: Yeah.
ME: What does that have to do with anything?

Apparently it had a lot to do with everything, as I would later find out.

ME: Don't you live like a million miles away?
MELISSA: Well, yeah, but that's why I drove out early. If I was gonna pick you up, I had to head out early, right?
ME: How'd you know I'd even say yes?
MELISSA: Just a feeling. Now hurry up!

And so I did. As I put on my ripped Trailer jeans (or as my blog-friend Charlotte says, "easy access jeans") I noticed that it was a little after 6 PM - two short hours away from DH. I figured a quick coffee and quick bite to eat wouldnt take no more than an hour...besides, I wanted to hang out with Melissa, for one reason and one reason only.

See, Melissa has these amazing lips. There nothing like Angelina Jolie's lips, but something about them just...makes me smile and feel all warm inside. I cant really explain it, but when I see her smile, talk, eat, or do anything with her lips, I slip into this trance and just stare at her mouth. Remember the movie, Clueless and those awesome shots of Alicia Silverstone's lips? The way she sorta scrunched them and used them as a flirtation device? That's exactly how Melissa's lips are.

We went to Starbucks and this little Chinese place and had a great time talking. Well, Melissa had a great time talking. I had a great time looking at her lips. But her lips weren't the only thing I looked at. Actually, that's not exactly true. See, several times during the duration of Melissa's conversation to me, she casually scratched her middle area, aka her other pair of lips. It was a little odd, but no where weird as my sharting friend Shecky.

MELISSA: ...and then I'm just getting over this throat virus, which is so good, cuz now I can finally party!
ME: What do you mean? I thought tequilla helped sore throats.
MELISSA: Well, I got this infection in my throat and it closed up, so I really couldnt drink.
ME: Oh, wow.
MELISSA: Yeah. But it's all good now, since it's opening up, which means I can party and go all crazy and do what I like to do!
ME: Which is...what? Drink?
MELISSA: That. And make out. And have fun with guys. Doing. Things.

She licked her lips, when she said "things," which made me wonder how pure her lips were. Had other guys taken advantage of those lips? Had other guys done "things" with her lips that I had only dreamed of?! Ugh...it was like opening a Christmas present from your grandma, only to realize you gave it to her three years ago as a birthday present.

I started to lose interest in Melissa's lips. Basically, she had said in the most nicest and polite way that she was a total whore. Somewhere between the restaurant and the dirt road Melissa was driving on, the hot lips lost their magic. As I pondered about this, I realized I had no idea where was this dirt road was leading to. It was 7:30 PM, which meant it was too early to go home, yet to late to be going on some road-trip adventure. Where was this brazen woman taking me and why were we driving away from civilization?

Ten minutes later we reached our final destination, which was at the base of The Rincon Mountains. Melissa parked her car in the empty, makeshift, dirt parking lot and took a deep breath. She turned to me, took a hold of my hand, and in one smooth move, she slipped something between our hands, the same way a slick customer does to a maitre'd. There was something between her palm and mine, but I couldnt make out what it was.

MELISSA: David...
ME: Yeah?
MELISSA: I just want to let you know, that I think you're a nice guy...
A nice guy?! Just a nice guy?! Are you breaking up with me?! Oh, wait. We're not even going out. Whew... Wait, are we?
MELISSA: ...and I appreciate you for just listening to me and just letting me talk...
If I say, "It's not you, it's me," first, will she buy it?

Melissa continued to tell me why she thought I was special and just how much she enjoyed my company and friendship. And all the while she held my hand, pressing that mysterious something between our palms. I didnt know whether or not to smile or nod or do something, so I just stared. The girl with hot lips was totally hitting on me, and it was just totally unexpected. As Melissa finished what she had to say, she let go of my hand, and finally allowed me to see what it was I was holding. It was a condom. A true-blue Trojan condoms that was made for her pleasure.

I froze as I held up the condom. Was this actually happening to me? Was Melissa actually suggesting sex? Melissa bit her bottom lip as she took another deep breath. That's when things started to get more weird. Melissa opened her car door, and stepped outside, but only for a second, as she made her way to the back seat. Was this girl serious about having sex in the back of her car? A part of me got turned on, but the other part remembered that she had just finished telling me she had just gotten over a throat virus and couldnt wait to get drunk to go down on random guys. Was it all pre-sex talk?

Melissa removed her shirt and began to unbutton her jeans when all of a sudden she started to scratch her panty-covered lips. At first it was a small scratch, like she was nervous, but then her hand just went downtown and she scratched like there was no tomorrow. Feverishly she scratched away at her middle section like it was a lotto ticket. Was this the way girls got off nowadays? They scratch their hot lips until they bleed? I know I probably should have turned away and given her some time to scratch alone, but it was like a bad train wreck. I stared at Melissa, half-naked and half-moaning, shocked and confused at the way she was behaving. Total turn-off.

I didnt know what to do, so I excused myself, like the gentleman I was, and quickly jumped out of the car, half-running down the dirt-road. I hid behind some bushes, as I called Yellow Cab to come and rescue me from (as I found out later) Melissa the Crab Queen. During the cab ride home, I realized I had committed a cardinal sin. I'd forsaken my friend for the possibility of sex. I'd forsaken a Sunday tradition of great television, for someone who wasnt even worth it. Am I bad friend? The thing that I'm really concerned is what do I tell Lupita? The truth? Haven't I suffered enough?

prairie-dogging 101

Are we still living in a world of political correctness, or is it just a thing of the past? I used to think people had common courtesy. I used to think that some topics, were just not allowed to be discussed at length, during conversation. And I wonder, the people who do talk about these certain off-color topics, are they brave or are they just plain stupid? Do they have more confidence than me, or is it all just an act?

The reason I'm asking this is because yesterday, in one of my classes, I couldnt stop listening and laughing at the comments a fellow student was making. We were all supposed to interview a fellow student in the class, and write a feature story on one another. And of course, I got stuck with Shecky the Comedian. And I could not stop laughing as this girl, who was interviewing me, as she kept talking about her bowel movements.

SHECKY: Oh...shit!
ME: What?
SHECKY: Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!
ME: What? Are you ok?
SHECKY: Yeah...it's just...I gotta go!
ME: Oh, you're leaving?
SHECKY: No! I gotta go! As in I gotta go drop a few kids off at the pool!
ME: What? Isnt it too cold to be swimming?
SHECKY: No, I mean, I gotta go take a dump!

Now, honestly, this was my first time I've ever heard a girl say the word "dump." I guess I always thought that it was a word reserved only for bonehead guys. I dont know...maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

But this gal, who was full of class, sass, and apparently, gas, just kept right on talkin'.

ME: Ok...so anyways, I guess...
SHECKY: Oh, man! I cant hold it! I need to bombard the porcelain throne with a drop and plop.
ME: Ok, dude, that's...that's just...we dont know each other that well for you to be talking about your bowel movements.
SHECKY: Uh-oh. I'm prairie-dogging it now.
ME: You're what?
SHECKY: Prairie-dogging it.
ME: I dont even know what that...
SHECKY: You know how when a prairie dog sticks it's head out the hole? Like this.

And then, at that very moment, she pressed her lips together and pushed her tongue out. It was a picture I did not wish to see.

ME: I did not ask...
SHECKY: Ugh, and the bathrooms here suck. All the girls just stand around waiting for you to just blow one out.
ME: Wow...I...
SHECKY: Oh chicken tandoori, why must you aggrivate me?!

And at that very moment...Shecky farted. Well, actually, she sharted. You know...a fart that was followed by a little more. Yeah. It was like a herd of elephants, trumpeting their trunks in the middle of the jungle. The room fell silent as everyone turned in our direction. My jaw dropped and my eyes got all big. I was so embarrassed, and I wasnt even the one who created skid-marks in their unmentionables. Red-faced Shecky ran out the room, leaving behind an ungodly stench of roadkill carcass. Everyone burst out laughing, but me. I couldnt help but feel sorry for Shecky. Never in my life, have I heard so much fart humor used in an opening conversation. And I wondered if it was because she laughed in the face of PC, that Shecky sharted in her pants. Or was it because she lived life with a brain fart (no pun intended) and was just clueless about the whole common courtesy thing? Either way, the situation, did give me some hope. All reference of "Band-aid Boy" were forever gone, and the students welcomed a new face to mock: Sharts.

the life and times of band-aid boy

Today was the first day back to school. Today was also the day I woke up with pimple the size of Mount Vesusius on my chiny-chin-chin. And it was one of those big suckers too, that took up so much space on my chin, I couldn't pop it. Ugh, I hate those ones. But like my friend Rainbow says, "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will," meaning if you look for the bad in a certain situation, you'll find it. And so I had to find some good in my pimple problem. The good that came out of me not popping my pimple is...if it were to pop, it probably would cause more destruction than the actual Mount Vesuvius. Except the townsfolk wouldnt be covered in ash. They'd be covered in an oily pus-like substance. Ok, paging new topic...

So I decided to cover it up with a band-aid and I even created a cover-up story to go along with it. My story was, I tripped over some rocks and fell down on the sidewalk. I thought it was a good enough story to shut the mouths of the curious, but it wasnt. Which leads me to wonder why so many people are fascinated by scars and scabs? I mean, I know why I love scabs (they are so much fun to pick at!) but why does everybody else like 'em?

By the end of my first class, I took the band-aid off. Not only was it a big disappointment in the "I-fell-and-cut-my-chin-so-lets-not-talk-about-it" department, but it gave me a horrible nickname: Band-aid Boy. The teacher totally forgot my name, and said, "Uh...you...Band-aid Boy..." which led to a few snickers from some of the students. But only a few, since everyone else was half-asleep. Thank God, but still. Who wants to be known as "Band-aid Boy?"

See, I had specifically bought a red jersey track jacket for the first day of school. The moment I saw it at the mall, I knew I had to have it. And because it was half-off, it only made the jacket more attractive. I knew that once I put it on, everyone would be talking about it. They would see how cool I was, as I walked across the quad. Everyone would approach me and tell me how cool I was. I would be known as "The Guy With The Red Jacket" and they would all love me. And the teachers would tell me that because my jacket was just to nice to be worn indoors, they would sent me outside and tell me to just have fun and not to worry about homework. Of course, this whole scenerio played out in my head as I stood in line, and I couldnt wait for my daydream to play out.

But thanks to my big ass pimple and my teacher's comment, that very dream was crushed. No one called me, "The Guy With The Red Jacket". They called me "Band-aid Boy." It was like a bad nightmare, and the fact that it took place at school, did not help. The zits, the wretched nicknames...throw in warm vodka and a pregnancy scare and its high school all over again. Isnt that time period of my life, supposed to be over by now?

the celebrity imposter mix-up

So, I'm going through my old email, when I come across one by DJ Ken Carr, the local celebrity who was totally hitting on me, the first day of work. It was marked December 24, which meant two things: 1) My Spam Box so needs to be cleaned out and 2) It's been about 3 weeks, that I've been living such a nieve life. Here's what Ken Carr had to say:

So I'm bumpin' around the internet today and I ran across your blog in which you talked about me.

It was a fun story to read. I'll clear a few things up for you though...

I've never been in a Kohl's store before. I know there are two of them in the Tucson area and I've driven by the one on the east side but I've never been inside of one before. I'm sure they are nice stores but neither one is close to where I

On Black Friday I did a live show from center court at Tucson Mall from 5:30-10am and then went home and took a long nap because I was exhausted. I didn't even do any shopping that day.

It is true that I am gay. That part you did nail. :) There are tons of celebrities both local and on a bigger scale that are gay. Many that would probably surprise you.

Thanks for the fun read - hope you have a great holiday.

Ken Carr

How embarassing is that? I mean, it's not like I havent embarassed myself in front of celebrities before (like that one time I was at Disneyland, and I farted and blamed it on Eric Christian Olsen and then he turned to me and said, "Not cool, kid. Not cool."). When I wrote the story, I didnt think anyone outside of the blogosphere world would read it. Whoops. And Ken Carr, if you're reading this, I am so sorry if I embarassed you or anything. Cuz I totally didnt mean to. My bad.

that damn donna reed

Is it possible to have a grudge against somebody who has been dead for almost 20 years? I'm of course talking about the incomparable Donna Reed, aka the quintissential 50's mom with the perfect smile and perfect hair. In the past, I've never had a problem with a black and white TV character I only know from Nick@Nite, but lately, the spirit of Donna has been everywhere I go. And it's been annoying. Especially, when that spirit is dead and cant be harmed.

It all started earlier this week, when I went to work on Monday. Donna, (the secretary, not the spirit) was sportin' a new mountain-high, hairsprayed hairdo. It came as a shock to almost everyone. There was just no preparing for Donna's psychotic fashion sense. And of course, Donna walked around the store, like she was Ms. Thang. The sense of pride she had for her solid, non-movement hair, blinded her to the ridicule and laughter the entire store had in stock for her. Of course, not wanting to be so mean and cruel, we laughed behind her back, as people with manners do. Well, most of us did. Or at least tried to.

During a small break on the registers, the topic of the most awesomely bad hairdo's within the store came up, and if you were on the southside of the store, you would have been wiping tears from your face and straining to catch your breath.

SHEILA: And what's up with Jaime's hair?
ME: Oh, I know! There's too many blond streaks! It almost looks whiteish grey and she looks like a nana!
SHEILA: She does, huh?!
ME: Yeah. And did you see Lacey's?! Ok, what's up with her? She went from brown hair to blonde slash orange?
SHEILA: Yeah! I know! I saw her, and it looks and she looks so weird with those orange roots. What color is her hair anyways?
ME: I think it's black, cuz her eyebrows look black. Ugly and black.
SHEILA: The curtains dont match the carpet, eh?!
ME: Ew. Wouldn't you like to see her carpet swatches.
SHEILA: Shut up!
ME: Oh, but dude, the worst one has got to be Donna's!
SHEILA: Donna. I forgot about Donna.
ME: How could you forget about Donna?! That rock-solid hair! It looks like a muffin top! I can almost hear her offering us milk and cookies. "Hey kids! I have a swell idea! Let's get golly gosh gee crazy and have chocolate cookies before supper!"

Unbeknowest to me, short little Donna was hiding within earshot between a rack of Sonoma short-sleeved tees, folding the cotton suckers to perfection. The next day, she brought in this huge box of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. A huge box, like the kind you stuff with Holiday ornaments and decorations. Before I knew it, I was called into the office, and, well, long story short, I am working weekends from here to eternity.

But it's not just at work where I encompass Donna. It's also in the home.

Living the single life hasnt exactly been easy for my next-door neighbor Richard, and so his daughter Jennifer moved in and has been helping out. And being the friendly woman that she is, she has been coming over and hanging out. It's been real cool, cuz A) She's cool and B) She annoys my mother. And it's not that she has a big obnoxious personality. It's cuz she's a lesbian.

MOM: And why does she always have to come over? Why cant that dyke just stay at her own home?
ME: Mom! That is so mean! Jennifer is a nice lady! Dont call her "dyke!"
MOM: Well, thats what she said she was! She didnt say, "lesbian." She said, "dyke."
ME: Well, you dont have to say it like that.
MOM: Why do all the dykes have to be so lazy?
ME: And you're ignoring me...
MOM: Why cant the dykes just stay at home, pull out the mop and broom and clean their house?
ME: Uh, hello, mom? Can you hear me all the way over there in the 1950's?
MOM: They act like they're just too good to be with men. They should just stop being gay, and marry a husband who's a guy and have a nice life with a real family.
ME: Mother. I hope to God you are having a seizure right now. Are you even hearing yourself talk?
MOM: David, yes, I am hearing myself. Dont mock me.
ME: Well, if you werent talking crazy. Lesbians are people too. They dont need husbands and children to have a full life. We all cant be living the Stepford Life, Donna Reed.
MOM: Donna Reed. She was a nice lady.

Thank you Donna Reed for shining such a positive light on your stay-at-home lifestyle and making it my mother's deluded religion.

What exactly is it about Donna Reed that makes us wanna live perfect cookie-cutter lives? Didnt the movie, The Stepford Wives teach us anything? Isnt life all about the little imperfections? I know that the tiny cowlick on my left eyebrow is just a tiny part that makes me, me. So why be anything else?