8:10 PM
Picture 25 bodies sitting in 25 chairs in a circle.
Legs are flat on the floor, palms rest on kneecaps, a harmonious breathing fills the room.
" Breath in, one, two, three, four, " Our facilitator says. " Breath out, one, two, three, four."
This is group mediation. Part of Wednesday night’s "recreational therapy."
"...in One, Two, Three, Four..., " Our facilitator continues. "…and out one, two , three, four."
"This is fucking stupid" says Charles.
"Breath in One, Two, Three, Four..."
"Shushh, don't get us in trouble." says a voice to my left.
"Breath out One, Two, Three, Four."
The only thing worse than meditation, is meditation on small plastic chairs. When Alexander Parkes invented plastic in 1855, I’m sure he meant well. If Parkes however, had known the pain and suffering he caused on recovering drug addicts Wednesday nights, he might just change his mind.
"...in one,two,three,four..."
I open my right eye and catch a quick glance at Charles. Through my peripheral vision, I notice Charles making a pumping motion with his fist above his lap.
Across from him sits an attractive lady, mid twenties and has what Charles calls, "Milky White Titties." After he has her attention, Charles winks, smacks his lips and blows a kiss
"...and out one, two, three, four..."
1 hr 50 min earlier
Every Wednesday, Both the North and South group get together with the Young Adults group for a combined session of group activities.
Chairs are set up in a circle and everyone arrives at six O'clock. In case I have to piss, I take the chair closet to the door. Sitting directly to the right of me is Charles. Charles is sixteen . He's here not because of addiction, but because, and I quote "I could no longer master the art of the deal."
Charles was busted transporting 17 pounds of pot brownies across the transcontinental United States.
So he claims.
So, Like a small percentage of Recovery Works clients, Charles was ordered to attend 28 sessions of intensive outpatient therapy.
Myself?
I'm here because of a DUI.
Let's not waste anymore time on me.
Shortly after my arrival, Charles spots me, picks a chair next to mine, and sits down.
"What's up Miggity Mike?" he says. Charles sees the need to use "iggity" before every word
"Hey Charles." I respond. "how are you doing today?" I ask
"Good, just Chiggity Chillin' he responds.
As we wait for the rest of the group to arrive, I pull out my cell phone and pretend to text someone. My attempt to avoid small talk fails when I notice his hand waving in front of my face.
I look over towards him.
"You know the new girl?" he asks.
He pulls his chair six inches closer. He smells of Brut after shave and Marlboro Cigarettes.
"No" I say
Putting both hands six inches away from his chest he says "sure you do,the one with Big Milky Titties?"
"Not ringing a bell dude."
"Serious?"
"Yes"
Actually, I lied.
I did know who he was talking about. Her name was Katharine. Everyone knew her. Besides her big milky titties and beautiful blue eyes, Katharine was smart, funny and sexy. She was outspoken in class and had a witty remark for everything.
I feel a nudge in my rib cage.
He points to a young lady sitting directly across from us.
"O her." I say, "Yeah, I guess I do know her."
"Yeah, well later tonight," he says "She's totally gonna be all over my nugs."
Arm outstretched and palm down, he begins to make a motion that resembles a blow job.
"She’s 26" I tell him.
"So." He says.
"Your only 16".
"So" he says again.
"She could go to jail." I tell him.
"That's cool. Optical visits turn me on."
"It's conjugal." I tell him
"Whatever, jail or not, I'm tappin' that ass tonight!"
I turn my attention from Charles and listen to the group leader start our nightly check in.
We are asked to give our name, what we're here for, and if we could change anything about today, what would we change.
I want to say; "My name is Mike, I'm here for a DUI, and I'd choose a different seat."
Instead I chose to go down the same road I always take. "Mike, DUI, I would change everything."
Charles says "Charles, Dealer, and I would've slept in longer." Some of the younger kids in the group laugh.
After his turn, he leans over towards me and whispers, "I was going to say, I would've beat off two times, instead of once."
I just smile and nod.
After the introductions, we meet outside for a group activity. "The goal..." our facilitator says, "is to drop an egg from a ten foot wall and not have it break." I remember doing this in Jr. High.
In Mr. Cannon's science class I chose to wrap some duct tape around the middle of the egg and tried dropping the egg on its nose. Some fuckin' classmate of mine, he told me if the pressure on the weakest part of the egg, the middle, was secure you could drop the egg on the end which was supposed to be the strongest. The egg was supposed to hold and I was supposed to win. It still broke.
The facilitator tells us we can use:
-Ten Straws
-Five foot long strips of masking tape
-A pair of scissors
-A felt Tip pen
She explained that we were given 20 minutes to complete the task and each egg must be given a name.
Our facilitator, she goes around the group having each of us number off One through Four. It felt like P.E. class all over again.
"One"
"Two"
"Three"
"Four"
I count clockwise around the group to find my teammates.
I'm a three.
Charles is a four.
So is Kathrine
Luckily, I was teamed up with my friends.
"The drunken Trio" they called themselves. In a room full of opiate, meth, and cocaine addicts, these three somehow prided themselves on the fact that liquor was the only drug they used. Danny, the oldest of the three, once told me that an addict was somebody who passed out with a needle in his or her arm.
"I only drink, therefore, I'm a drunk not an addict." He once told me.
Danny, was bald,mid-fifties,held a great tan, and despite his age, sported a hoop earring in his left ear. Today he wears a red button up Hawaiian shirt consisting of white flowers scattered all around.
Scott, not too far behind Danny in age, looked like 70. After years of drinking his liver shut down and was all but pronounced dead. Both his cheek bones had been broke several times in several bar fights. He reminded me of a china doll whose face was put back together with glue.
Clay was called the "younger brother." Mid Thirties I think. I remember a year ago, I read about a local MMA fighter who crashed his car into a telephone pole. His wife, while knocked out, was moved from the passenger seat to behind the wheel. Clay was heavily intoxicated, and at the time, thought it would be a good idea since his wife was sober. When she regained consciousness, she started babbling about being in the passenger seat one minute, and finding herself in the drivers seat the next.
Clay's wife, she was rushed to the hospital and Clay was charged with a 3rd class felony for obstruction of justice. He was sentenced to 90 days in the Salt Lake County jail, plus 180 days of Intensive Outpatient Therapy.
7:20
"What the fuck is that?" Charles asks.
Charles and his group had finished their model twenty minutes before everyone else. With Katharine in the bathroom and nothing else to do, Charles decides to compare models.
"It's your mother after I fucked her asshole." Clay responds.
"Ha ha, not so funny Dr. Jones!" Charles, he has a thing for movie quotes. "You really think that piece of shit's gonna hold up? Whaddya call it?"
"Spudnick" Danny says
"Lets see your piece of shit." Scott says
Wrapped around every inch of the egg were straws followed by duct tape. On the duct tape the name "unbreakable" was scribbled in thick capital letters.
"You couldn't come up with a more original name?" I ask
"Fuck no! If the egg's unbreakable, why not name it the same?" He shoots a head nod towards our model. "It's better than your lame ass...whatever it's called."
"Spudnick" Danny says.
Finally are facilitator brings us all together."Alright everybody, it's time to test your eggs." She says. Charles shoves his elbow in my rib cage and says "I'd like to test her eggs."
Team "Super Drooper" goes first. Super Drooper's egg is connected to a parachute made from the straws and duct tape. Brandon, a tall and lanky twenty something year old has been designated to do the drop. He's instructed to stand on top of a three foot wall and drop the egg.
"That egg's gonna fuckin' briggity break." Charles says.
Brandon drops the egg. It falls as if it's attached to nothing and cracks open.
"See" says Charles.
Up next is team "Tail Spin." Like Super Drooper's, they've also connected their egg to a parachute. The difference between Super Dooper's is the spiral the parachute makes.
Tail Spin Drops their egg.
"...and...splat! Fucking Lame!" Charles says
Up next is our team.
"Sputnick," "Danny says "Like the Russian Satellite?" No one says anything.
"What was your motivation?" the facilitator asks
"Less is always more." I say
"Quality over Quantity" Danny says
"We didn't give a fuck what it looked like." Clay says
The group chose Danny to represent and do the drop. He stands on the ledge and presents our Model. We have several straws tapped randomly to the egg. It looks more like a large kidney stone than a satellite dish.
Danny drops the egg.
Splat.
"Fucking knew it!" Says Charles.
Next is team Unbreakable
"You've died with the rest, now watch the best." Charles says
He picks his egg up and stands on the three foot wall.
Holding unbreakable with his left hand, his right hand points an index finger at Katherine. Charles winks and says, "This ones for you."
The palm of his left hand opens, and the egg is released.
Nothing
8:10 PM
Picture 25 bodies sitting in 25 chairs in a circle. Legs are flat on the floor, palms rest on Kneecaps and harmonious breathing fills the room.
" Breath in, one, two, three, four, " Our facilitator says. " Breath out, one, two, three, four."
"This is fucking stupid" say's Charles.
"Breath in One, Two, Three, Four..."
"Shushh, don't get us in trouble." says a voice to my left.
"Breath out One, Two, Three, Four."
In through the nose and out through the mouth my eyes are now closed. My eyes are now closed and on my way to a peaceful and relaxing journey.
The voice to my left, her name is Ann. Ann is a 15 year old Japanese American addicted to heroin.
I’m gonna do it." Says Charles.
"Don’t you fucking dare asshole." Ann says.
"I can’t hold it any longer." Says Charles.
After three minutes of deep breathing we begin our journey.
"Picture yourself in an elevator." Our facilitator says. "…and in that elevator you notice a color. A color that surrounds the elevator like a bright aura..."
Charles was right. He couldn't hold it any longer.
Puefff
Snickering
"Charles, you fucking asshole!" Ann Whispers
I press my eye lids together and concentrate
"...inside the elevator you notice an unlimited amount of numbers waiting to be pressed. Each button represents a floor. Each floor represents a choice you may or may not have made in your life..."
Puefff, puff, puuusshhhhh
Snickering
"That smells so bad." Ann says
I can no longer concentrate.
"…Without putting to much thought into it, press any button you’d like."
ERRNNTTT
Laughing
"That’s it! Charles, you’re fucking disgusting!" Ann shouts.
I open my eyes. Ann is out of her chair and walking towards the door. Others are laughing, Ann is upset, and Charles, he just sits there with a stupid fucking grin on his face.
Just when I thought tonight couldn't get any worse, it. The room not only holds the smell of stale addiction and nostalgia, but now adds onions rings and double cheeseburgers.
After another five minutes of meditation, the facilitator turns off the soft music and turns on the lights. She never mentions the noise.
Ann walks back into the room but stands on the other side of the circle. She raises a track marked right arm and extends her middle finger.
Charles nudges me in the rib cage and says "At least I didn't shit my pants."
We hold hands, say the serenity prayer, and wrap up recreational therapy. My night with Charles is done.
On the way to my car, I see Katharine cross the parking lot and get into her Honda Civic. I laugh to myself. I laugh not only at the fart noise, the shitty eggs that broke, and the girl who left the room, but at Charles. I laugh at Charles and his confidence and light a cigarette.
As I’m laughing I see Charles. As I’m laughing and smoking I see Charles walk across the parking lot and into a Honda Civic. Katherine’s Honda Civic.
"...and out one two three four..."
Friday, March 15, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Rachel in an instant...message
By the time we stopped talking, my instant messenger tells me it's 6:04.
My friend Rachel, she tells me she has a dog next door that sounds like a Rooster.
This was just after she tells me she's "hungover as fuck".
On a Wednesday.
I tell her that's my kind of person.
It's kind funny really. Sometimes, when you haven't talked to a person in almost a decade, most of the time conversations start with words like "Hi" and "How" and "You" and "Been".
It's one O'clock in the afternoon and over an instant message on Facebook, I tell her to tell me more about this dog that sounds like a Rooster.
"It's this dog that barks all fucking day!" She tells me. "It's actually a poodle. I've been having these weird dreams about killing it lately." She says.
She wants to know if I think she sounds like a serial killer.
I tell her I just think she needs some peace and quiet.
It's funny, but when you take a moment to realize the life that once was, you realize the life that once was. If that makes sense.
Go ahead, just ask any Psychology major and they'll tell you "long term memory", this is used to remember things like, your home address growing up, or your seven digit telephone number when you were twelve. It's different than sensory memory. Most sensory memories, they last for only a few seconds.
Rachel, this friend of mine, she tells me about the time she jumped out of a four story window and broke her heel bone in half.
I ask her why the fuck she would do that.
She tells me, "I don't know. I don't remember, I was drunk dude."
I write back telling her she must have some balls when she drinks.
She writes back, "I was drunk. I don't remember, remember?"
It's now two O'clock and nothing but infomercials and soap operas plague my T.V. screen.
Kevin Trudeau tells me the thing I didn't know about cancer, it can be cured by eating Onions and Carrots and Asparagus, but only if I blend it with whole milk.
Rachel shows me a picture of me and my friend Stacey at 18 years old.
I write back telling her that can't be me. The person I'm looking at is then and young and ride a skateboard.
I tell Rachel, "Life was simple dude. Before it smacked us in the face with it's penis.
The television tells me to call within the next twenty seconds to get express delivery for a Banana slicer.
Rachel writes back, "Yup. Life has a penis. It's shaft is long and ugly and will fucking smack you in the face when you least expect it.
This advertisement, it tells me that a banana slicer makes the perfect Valentines Day present. Also, kids love slicing their banana. It's fun, it's easy, it's only 9.95.
For a fucking Banana Slicer.
Rachel, She tells me about this big house she moved into. She says it has five bedrooms and three bathrooms and she even had a jacuzzi in her bedroom.
"I eventually ended up moving into a closet downstairs." She writes.
I ask her why the fuck she did that.
She tells me cause her bedroom was too big.
At a quarter after three, channel thirteen tells me I should buy a Jazzy Scooter. Now it's more affordable and easy to use and I can ride around grocery stores all day without any stress on my legs.
Rachel and I, We talk about sneaking out of bedroom windows and cruising main streets and smoking rolled up cigarettes.
We talk about people we knew in High School.
When we were both Younger.
She tells me she still sees friends in bars and places she least expects.
She tells me, "Like Jason Lopez, I haven't seen him in fucking forever and he's just sitting there in the bar."
Over an instant message I ask her if he looks the same.
She tells me he does. He always does.
Go ahead, ask any physically major, and they'll tell you that memory is malleable, that it tends to decay with age. Any Psychology major will tell you to stay sharp by reading articles on the riddles of recollection.
After a commercial for Hair Tonic and underarm deodorant, Rachel tells me her memory of the old days are kind of hazy.
I tell her try mixing that with mushrooms and ecstasy.
It's over an instant message I ask her what her plans are for the day.
"I think I'm just gonna stay in bed." She writes.
She reminds me she's hungover as fuck.
While Days of our Lives tells me life is like a sand through an hour glass, Rachel tells me she used to go to the same Roller Skating Rink I did.
I tell her, "Once during Cheek Cheek Balk Balk Waddle Waddle Waddle, I slipped and fell and bruised my hip pretty bad. Then I played the wounded soldier card and skated with all girls during the snowball."
Rachel tells me she's about ready to piss herself because she's laughing too hard.
We spend the next hour talking about Roller Skating Rinks and walking into neighbors houses to grab juice boxes and frozen dinners without asking permission.
We talk about shitty local bands we used to play in and see.
"One of the kids, Andrew Peck," Rachel writes " Is now a fucking Opera Singer." She wants to know if I believe that shit.
I remind her about the time he dedicated a song to her and called her a bitch in front of everyone.
"How could I forget." She writes.
While Cameron and Abby finally go out and Abby finds a note from another secret admirer and Cameron gets jealous, while all of this sand spins down an hour glass, Rachel and I discuss tequila and hot sauce and how they would both go great together.
I tell her to put a drop of Tequila on her wrist and lick it in place of salt.
Over an instant message she tells me, "Oh, I'm totally gonna do that!"
Over the next two hours we talk about old boyfriends and girlfriends and old cars we used to have.
She tells me a story about the time someone put a note on her car saying, "Hey, you don't know me, but I've been watching you from a distance while you work. You can actually see me right now if you look to your left."
My friend Rachel, she tells me she just got in her car and drove home going 90 miles an hour on the Rexburg city streets. She says a friend over the phone begged and pleaded and told her not to go home but she did anyway. When she finally got out of her car, while her heart was beating 90 miles an hour, she runs to her door and fumbles for her keys.
Rachel tells me it was just our friend Stacey who wrote the note and followed her car.
Over an instant message, I tell Rachel I'm going to piss my pants .
We spend the next forty five minutes laughing with tears in our eyes and pissing our pants and bed sheets.
I tell Rachel my Levi's smell like piss, Rachel tells me her bed smells like Urine.
After shamwow tells me it will leave my car clean and clean of those annoying water marks, Rachel tells me she's going to send me a bottle of Fernet.
"It's like Jaeger without the sugar." She tells me.
I tell her I'm totally down cause it's fucking illegal in Utah.
We talk about masturbation and men who roll off of couches trying to lick their own balls.
I tell her I once threw out my hip trying to do the same thing. Then I tell her I'm kidding.
" Oh, that's too bad, cause if I had a dick...", Rachel writes, "I would totally try to suck it."
I tell her I was only kidding about rolling off the couch and hurting my hip. Then I tell her I was just kidding again.
After five fucking hours of dogs who bark like roosters and missing juice box's from fridges.
After Roller Skating and Cheek Cheek Balk Balks, and bruised hips and snowballs with girls.
After my pants smell like piss and her bed smells like Urine and men try to lick their own balls, after five hours that felt like two, and shitty Soap Operas and infomercials,
I tell Rachel I remember how amazing it is knowing her.
By the time we stop talking, my instant messenger tells me it's 6:04
Go ahead, just ask any phsycology major and they'll tell you "long term memory", this is used to remember things like, your home address growing up, or your seven digit telephone number when you were twelve. It's different than sensory memory. Most sensory memories, they last for only a few seconds.
Go ahead, ask any Psychology major, and they'll tell you that memory is malleable, that it tends to decay with age. Any Psychology major will tell you to stay sharp by reading articles on the riddles of recollection.
I'd rather just talk to Rachel.
And piss my Levi's.
My friend Rachel, she tells me she has a dog next door that sounds like a Rooster.
This was just after she tells me she's "hungover as fuck".
On a Wednesday.
I tell her that's my kind of person.
It's kind funny really. Sometimes, when you haven't talked to a person in almost a decade, most of the time conversations start with words like "Hi" and "How" and "You" and "Been".
It's one O'clock in the afternoon and over an instant message on Facebook, I tell her to tell me more about this dog that sounds like a Rooster.
"It's this dog that barks all fucking day!" She tells me. "It's actually a poodle. I've been having these weird dreams about killing it lately." She says.
She wants to know if I think she sounds like a serial killer.
I tell her I just think she needs some peace and quiet.
It's funny, but when you take a moment to realize the life that once was, you realize the life that once was. If that makes sense.
Go ahead, just ask any Psychology major and they'll tell you "long term memory", this is used to remember things like, your home address growing up, or your seven digit telephone number when you were twelve. It's different than sensory memory. Most sensory memories, they last for only a few seconds.
Rachel, this friend of mine, she tells me about the time she jumped out of a four story window and broke her heel bone in half.
I ask her why the fuck she would do that.
She tells me, "I don't know. I don't remember, I was drunk dude."
I write back telling her she must have some balls when she drinks.
She writes back, "I was drunk. I don't remember, remember?"
It's now two O'clock and nothing but infomercials and soap operas plague my T.V. screen.
Kevin Trudeau tells me the thing I didn't know about cancer, it can be cured by eating Onions and Carrots and Asparagus, but only if I blend it with whole milk.
Rachel shows me a picture of me and my friend Stacey at 18 years old.
I write back telling her that can't be me. The person I'm looking at is then and young and ride a skateboard.
I tell Rachel, "Life was simple dude. Before it smacked us in the face with it's penis.
The television tells me to call within the next twenty seconds to get express delivery for a Banana slicer.
Rachel writes back, "Yup. Life has a penis. It's shaft is long and ugly and will fucking smack you in the face when you least expect it.
This advertisement, it tells me that a banana slicer makes the perfect Valentines Day present. Also, kids love slicing their banana. It's fun, it's easy, it's only 9.95.
For a fucking Banana Slicer.
Rachel, She tells me about this big house she moved into. She says it has five bedrooms and three bathrooms and she even had a jacuzzi in her bedroom.
"I eventually ended up moving into a closet downstairs." She writes.
I ask her why the fuck she did that.
She tells me cause her bedroom was too big.
At a quarter after three, channel thirteen tells me I should buy a Jazzy Scooter. Now it's more affordable and easy to use and I can ride around grocery stores all day without any stress on my legs.
Rachel and I, We talk about sneaking out of bedroom windows and cruising main streets and smoking rolled up cigarettes.
We talk about people we knew in High School.
When we were both Younger.
She tells me she still sees friends in bars and places she least expects.
She tells me, "Like Jason Lopez, I haven't seen him in fucking forever and he's just sitting there in the bar."
Over an instant message I ask her if he looks the same.
She tells me he does. He always does.
Go ahead, ask any physically major, and they'll tell you that memory is malleable, that it tends to decay with age. Any Psychology major will tell you to stay sharp by reading articles on the riddles of recollection.
After a commercial for Hair Tonic and underarm deodorant, Rachel tells me her memory of the old days are kind of hazy.
I tell her try mixing that with mushrooms and ecstasy.
It's over an instant message I ask her what her plans are for the day.
"I think I'm just gonna stay in bed." She writes.
She reminds me she's hungover as fuck.
While Days of our Lives tells me life is like a sand through an hour glass, Rachel tells me she used to go to the same Roller Skating Rink I did.
I tell her, "Once during Cheek Cheek Balk Balk Waddle Waddle Waddle, I slipped and fell and bruised my hip pretty bad. Then I played the wounded soldier card and skated with all girls during the snowball."
Rachel tells me she's about ready to piss herself because she's laughing too hard.
We spend the next hour talking about Roller Skating Rinks and walking into neighbors houses to grab juice boxes and frozen dinners without asking permission.
We talk about shitty local bands we used to play in and see.
"One of the kids, Andrew Peck," Rachel writes " Is now a fucking Opera Singer." She wants to know if I believe that shit.
I remind her about the time he dedicated a song to her and called her a bitch in front of everyone.
"How could I forget." She writes.
While Cameron and Abby finally go out and Abby finds a note from another secret admirer and Cameron gets jealous, while all of this sand spins down an hour glass, Rachel and I discuss tequila and hot sauce and how they would both go great together.
I tell her to put a drop of Tequila on her wrist and lick it in place of salt.
Over an instant message she tells me, "Oh, I'm totally gonna do that!"
Over the next two hours we talk about old boyfriends and girlfriends and old cars we used to have.
She tells me a story about the time someone put a note on her car saying, "Hey, you don't know me, but I've been watching you from a distance while you work. You can actually see me right now if you look to your left."
My friend Rachel, she tells me she just got in her car and drove home going 90 miles an hour on the Rexburg city streets. She says a friend over the phone begged and pleaded and told her not to go home but she did anyway. When she finally got out of her car, while her heart was beating 90 miles an hour, she runs to her door and fumbles for her keys.
Rachel tells me it was just our friend Stacey who wrote the note and followed her car.
Over an instant message, I tell Rachel I'm going to piss my pants .
We spend the next forty five minutes laughing with tears in our eyes and pissing our pants and bed sheets.
I tell Rachel my Levi's smell like piss, Rachel tells me her bed smells like Urine.
After shamwow tells me it will leave my car clean and clean of those annoying water marks, Rachel tells me she's going to send me a bottle of Fernet.
"It's like Jaeger without the sugar." She tells me.
I tell her I'm totally down cause it's fucking illegal in Utah.
We talk about masturbation and men who roll off of couches trying to lick their own balls.
I tell her I once threw out my hip trying to do the same thing. Then I tell her I'm kidding.
" Oh, that's too bad, cause if I had a dick...", Rachel writes, "I would totally try to suck it."
I tell her I was only kidding about rolling off the couch and hurting my hip. Then I tell her I was just kidding again.
After five fucking hours of dogs who bark like roosters and missing juice box's from fridges.
After Roller Skating and Cheek Cheek Balk Balks, and bruised hips and snowballs with girls.
After my pants smell like piss and her bed smells like Urine and men try to lick their own balls, after five hours that felt like two, and shitty Soap Operas and infomercials,
I tell Rachel I remember how amazing it is knowing her.
By the time we stop talking, my instant messenger tells me it's 6:04
Go ahead, just ask any phsycology major and they'll tell you "long term memory", this is used to remember things like, your home address growing up, or your seven digit telephone number when you were twelve. It's different than sensory memory. Most sensory memories, they last for only a few seconds.
Go ahead, ask any Psychology major, and they'll tell you that memory is malleable, that it tends to decay with age. Any Psychology major will tell you to stay sharp by reading articles on the riddles of recollection.
I'd rather just talk to Rachel.
And piss my Levi's.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Superbowl Someday
On my left, is my Mother who slides tator tots in an oven. On my right is the master bedroom where my Step Father lays in bed
and farts.
"That is fucking disgusting!" My mom says.
"Honey, would come fill up my mug?" He says.
Separating myself from the smell of tator tots and last nights Spaghetti with Meat Sauce, is the living room with a fifty inch flat screen television.
I turn up the volume and watch Baltimore score another Touchdown on T.V.
"Mother Fucker!" My step dad says.
He's a Big Forty Niners fan.
Mom sets the timer on the oven for thirty five minutes. She tells me you always cook Tator Tots longer than the bag tells you. It has something to do with the chemicals and preservatives in the potatoes.
"You gonna fill up my mug or not?" My Step dad shouts from the room.
The Forty Niners have the ball and it's now third and six.
In between farts and sprays from an aerosol can, my Step Father shouts words like, "Come" and "On" and "cocksuckers"
Mom just stands there and mixes Ketchup with Mayonnaise.
"I'm not coming in there till the smells is gone!" My mom says.
Having a type of blood cancer like my step dad has, isn't a very funny thing at all.
In fact my mom tells me the medication he takes is probably what's making his farts smell so bad.
Still, sitting here on a black leather couch while Baltimore runs for a first down, I can't help but sit there and laugh.
"You can come in the room now?" My step dad says. "I think the smell is gone."
My mom presses down on a rolled up ball of hamburger.
"That's what you said last time dear." She says.
"I promise, this time it's not that bad." He says.
During a time out I watch a commercial about farmers and Dodge pickup trucks.
"Can you come get my mug now please." My Step dad says.
Walking behind me I hear my moms sandals clippity clap as she walks by.
"It smells like a dog just shit all over the carpet!" She says.
"Sorry, I had another one I couldn't hold any longer. You missed your window." He says, "How 'bout that mug?"
"No!" My mom says "You and your mug can just sit here and marinade in it."
Her sandals clippity clap past me and back into the kitchen.
Pulling a George Forman grill from the cupboard above, she plugs it in and lets it heat up.
In front of the fifty inch flat screen television, I sit and watch as Colin Kapernick of the San Francisco Forty Niners runs the ball into the endzone and scores a touchdown.
"Alright!" my step dad yells from the bedroom.
I stand up and decide that I will grab the mug for him.
Inside a bedroom with a California King and and tray tables and gas pills, My step dad lies on the bed with a grin on his face.
"It doesn't smell to bad in here." I tell him.
"Not yet it doesn't." He says.
I ask him if I can take his mug for him.
"No, that's okay. I'll let you mother do that." He says.
I simply shrug my shoulders and get back to the fifty inch flat screen television and Baltimore and San Francisco.
Shouting from the bedroom my Step Dad says, "Honey, can you come get my mug now?"
"Yeah mom, it doesn't even smell in there anymore. I promise." I tell her.
"You better not be shitting me!" My mom says. "No pun intended."
She puts three hamburger patties on the George Forman grill and pulls the lid down.
I hear her sandals clippity clop past me and back into the bedroom.
My Step Dad farts.
"I'm sorry, I just couldn't hold that one any longer neither." He says. This time I can hear the laughter in his voice.
"Now hows about that mug." He says.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Subway Sparks Teen Angst
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Don't even ask. Darin hates everyone
We had only reached the second stop light when our conversation officially began.
"Fucking Queers!" Darin says
At the intersection of Main St and 1000 N stood two young men, early twenties, waiting to cross.
"You know them or something?" I say
"Nope. They just look like homo's to me." he says
I glance up from my crossword puzzle and look out the window. While I try and distinguish a difference between gay and straight, I no longer care about a five letter word for sandwich.
As for the two men Darin is talking about:
One is tall
One is short
The both have on hoodies
The hoodies are both different colors.
The tall one is wearing a green zip up hoodie.
The short one is wearing a blue pull over with the word "Billibong" on it.
"How do you know that?" I ask
"What?"
"That those guys are gay?"
Darin tells me he just has a knack for that sort of thing.
I ask him if he has a thing against Gay People.
"'Course I do." he says "Every damn one of them wants to fuck me." Says "You trying to tell me you don't have a problem with Gay people?"
I tell him no.
"No What? No you don't have a problem with Gay people or no you're not trying to tell me you don't have a problem with Gay people."
I tell him I'm confused with what he just said.
Then I tell him I don't have a problem with Gay people.
The two men pass by the front of the idled truck.
"Your not gonna kick me out 'cause I don't have a problem with Gay people are you?" I ask
"No, I'll just kill you." he says
I look out from his passenger window and say "Huh."
Darin tells me he's just kidding.
"Or am I..." he says. Then he laughs. He rolls down his window and lights a marlboro light cigarette and laughs.
"Just don't try anything on me." he says "Then I'll really have to kill you."
After a minute of silence and two miles down the road I ask him
"So you got a problem with all gay people or just gay men?"
"What do you mean?" he says
I ask him if he has a problem with Lesbians.
"Fuck no! Why would I have a problem with Lesbians. That's fucking hot!" he says
A few more miles down the road I ask Darin if he has a girlfriend.
"Fuck no! Why would I want a girlfriend." He says "Girlfriends are nothing more than bitches who want to take your money."
Again I look out of the passenger window and stare. Again I'll I can say is "huh"
After a minute of silence I Iook back down to my crossword puzzle. It tells me I need to find a six letter word with "CAMEL" as the hint.
A few more miles down the road Darin asks me "Your not a Vegetarian are you?"
I tell him no. I ask him if he's one. He tells me "Fuck no!" Then he tells me "I used to say the only thing worse than a Vegetarian is a queer vegetarian."
I can no longer focus on my six letter word
I ask Darin if he likes meat.
He tells me no. He tells me his Esophagus is full of scar tissue from Gastric Reflux disease. He says he has a hard time digesting meat.
"Did you eat a lot of meat when you were younger?" I ask
He tells me he's never really liked it.
Another mile down the road I ask him if there is anything he does like. He smiles and tells me no.
At the intersection of Highway 36 and Highway 138 I tell him to turn right.
He makes a right and tells me he used to have a friend who lived around here.
"I was beginning to think you didn't have any friends." I tell him.
He tells me to fuck off and if I make another comment like that he's going to smash my face in.
Then he tells me he's kidding.
"Or am I?" He says.
I tell him to make another right and we pull into my neighborhood. We drive to the dead end of my street, make a U-turn and pull up to the side of my house.
I hold out my hand. "Darin, this has been interesting." I tell him. "Thank you for the ride I say."
He doesn't reach for my hand. He just looks at me.
"Anytime" He says
As I open the passenger door and begin to step out he shouts "Wait!"
"Jockey" he says
"What the fuck are you talking about." I say
"Your six letter word. I think it's Jockey."
I look down at the ground and say "huh" Then I tell him thanks.
"You know your all right." He says
He tells me if I need a ride tomorrow he'll give me one.
I tell him thanks.
"Fucking Queers!" Darin says
At the intersection of Main St and 1000 N stood two young men, early twenties, waiting to cross.
"You know them or something?" I say
"Nope. They just look like homo's to me." he says
I glance up from my crossword puzzle and look out the window. While I try and distinguish a difference between gay and straight, I no longer care about a five letter word for sandwich.
As for the two men Darin is talking about:
One is tall
One is short
The both have on hoodies
The hoodies are both different colors.
The tall one is wearing a green zip up hoodie.
The short one is wearing a blue pull over with the word "Billibong" on it.
"How do you know that?" I ask
"What?"
"That those guys are gay?"
Darin tells me he just has a knack for that sort of thing.
I ask him if he has a thing against Gay People.
"'Course I do." he says "Every damn one of them wants to fuck me." Says "You trying to tell me you don't have a problem with Gay people?"
I tell him no.
"No What? No you don't have a problem with Gay people or no you're not trying to tell me you don't have a problem with Gay people."
I tell him I'm confused with what he just said.
Then I tell him I don't have a problem with Gay people.
The two men pass by the front of the idled truck.
"Your not gonna kick me out 'cause I don't have a problem with Gay people are you?" I ask
"No, I'll just kill you." he says
I look out from his passenger window and say "Huh."
Darin tells me he's just kidding.
"Or am I..." he says. Then he laughs. He rolls down his window and lights a marlboro light cigarette and laughs.
"Just don't try anything on me." he says "Then I'll really have to kill you."
After a minute of silence and two miles down the road I ask him
"So you got a problem with all gay people or just gay men?"
"What do you mean?" he says
I ask him if he has a problem with Lesbians.
"Fuck no! Why would I have a problem with Lesbians. That's fucking hot!" he says
A few more miles down the road I ask Darin if he has a girlfriend.
"Fuck no! Why would I want a girlfriend." He says "Girlfriends are nothing more than bitches who want to take your money."
Again I look out of the passenger window and stare. Again I'll I can say is "huh"
After a minute of silence I Iook back down to my crossword puzzle. It tells me I need to find a six letter word with "CAMEL" as the hint.
A few more miles down the road Darin asks me "Your not a Vegetarian are you?"
I tell him no. I ask him if he's one. He tells me "Fuck no!" Then he tells me "I used to say the only thing worse than a Vegetarian is a queer vegetarian."
I can no longer focus on my six letter word
I ask Darin if he likes meat.
He tells me no. He tells me his Esophagus is full of scar tissue from Gastric Reflux disease. He says he has a hard time digesting meat.
"Did you eat a lot of meat when you were younger?" I ask
He tells me he's never really liked it.
Another mile down the road I ask him if there is anything he does like. He smiles and tells me no.
At the intersection of Highway 36 and Highway 138 I tell him to turn right.
He makes a right and tells me he used to have a friend who lived around here.
"I was beginning to think you didn't have any friends." I tell him.
He tells me to fuck off and if I make another comment like that he's going to smash my face in.
Then he tells me he's kidding.
"Or am I?" He says.
I tell him to make another right and we pull into my neighborhood. We drive to the dead end of my street, make a U-turn and pull up to the side of my house.
I hold out my hand. "Darin, this has been interesting." I tell him. "Thank you for the ride I say."
He doesn't reach for my hand. He just looks at me.
"Anytime" He says
As I open the passenger door and begin to step out he shouts "Wait!"
"Jockey" he says
"What the fuck are you talking about." I say
"Your six letter word. I think it's Jockey."
I look down at the ground and say "huh" Then I tell him thanks.
"You know your all right." He says
He tells me if I need a ride tomorrow he'll give me one.
I tell him thanks.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Want some advice?
Today is February 11th, 2011.
What this means is:
I need a new job
One with benefits
Maybe a 401K
Healthcare, dental and vision
The other day I spoke with my brother. He told me I need to spend less time writing stupid stories and more time looking for a job. Perhaps he's right.
The thing about my brother, he's spent the last four years applying for school loans and grant money and uses that money to live off.
Then he drops out
I guess you can consider this your job if you make a living doing it.
During our conversation I ask him how school is going.
"I'm not going." he tells me.
I ask him if he's still using his grant money to live.
He tells me he was denied.
I ask him what he's doing for work.
"Nothing. Just like you." he says.
Perhaps he needs to spend less time giving people advice and more time looking for work.
A few months ago I applied for an entry level position at Burger King. I didn't get the job because I have no fast food experience. The manager told me I was just "over qualified."
"That should be a good thing. Right?" I said.
He told me they didn't have a lot of time to train someone so they went with someone who already had the experience. Behind the counter I noticed an acne stricken sixteen year old boy whom I'd never seen before. It must have been him they hired.
This it what we've come to.
College education
Corporate Management position
Company Credit with a 10,000 spending limit
Bilingual
All of this means nothing if you have no experience dipping French fries in a deep fryer.
In a few years our generation, the one in which were told that Collage out of high school is the best way, in a few years our advice will be to get hired on someplace where they deep fry everything and put hamburgers together with latex gloves.
From the Bureau of labor statistics, Utah is ranked 16th as having the highest unemployment rate in the county.-7.5%
7 almost 8 percent of people in this state are out of work. If only people would eat out more maybe that number would go down. In my case however, they'd probably just take someone with experience.
Maybe my brother had it wrong. Maybe I need to spend more time writing and less time looking for work. Maybe I'll write the next great American novel.
I'll be on Oprah
Sell thousands of books
Sign thousands of autographs
Have my novel optioned for a movie.
I don't know. Maybe
The thing is, and this may just be me talking, Some 20 year old kid will probably right a novel around the same time I will. It will be about his adventures working in the fast food industry.
That book
The one about the fast food
That book will become optioned.
Oprah will love it
Maybe, just maybe if I'd had the experience....
What this means is:
I need a new job
One with benefits
Maybe a 401K
Healthcare, dental and vision
The other day I spoke with my brother. He told me I need to spend less time writing stupid stories and more time looking for a job. Perhaps he's right.
The thing about my brother, he's spent the last four years applying for school loans and grant money and uses that money to live off.
Then he drops out
I guess you can consider this your job if you make a living doing it.
During our conversation I ask him how school is going.
"I'm not going." he tells me.
I ask him if he's still using his grant money to live.
He tells me he was denied.
I ask him what he's doing for work.
"Nothing. Just like you." he says.
Perhaps he needs to spend less time giving people advice and more time looking for work.
A few months ago I applied for an entry level position at Burger King. I didn't get the job because I have no fast food experience. The manager told me I was just "over qualified."
"That should be a good thing. Right?" I said.
He told me they didn't have a lot of time to train someone so they went with someone who already had the experience. Behind the counter I noticed an acne stricken sixteen year old boy whom I'd never seen before. It must have been him they hired.
This it what we've come to.
College education
Corporate Management position
Company Credit with a 10,000 spending limit
Bilingual
All of this means nothing if you have no experience dipping French fries in a deep fryer.
In a few years our generation, the one in which were told that Collage out of high school is the best way, in a few years our advice will be to get hired on someplace where they deep fry everything and put hamburgers together with latex gloves.
From the Bureau of labor statistics, Utah is ranked 16th as having the highest unemployment rate in the county.-7.5%
7 almost 8 percent of people in this state are out of work. If only people would eat out more maybe that number would go down. In my case however, they'd probably just take someone with experience.
Maybe my brother had it wrong. Maybe I need to spend more time writing and less time looking for work. Maybe I'll write the next great American novel.
I'll be on Oprah
Sell thousands of books
Sign thousands of autographs
Have my novel optioned for a movie.
I don't know. Maybe
The thing is, and this may just be me talking, Some 20 year old kid will probably right a novel around the same time I will. It will be about his adventures working in the fast food industry.
That book
The one about the fast food
That book will become optioned.
Oprah will love it
Maybe, just maybe if I'd had the experience....
Friday, February 4, 2011
My Public Service Announcment
Friday night is the only night I see Charles. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't mind Fridays' so much.
If it wasn't for him, sometimes I wouldn't have anything to write about at all.
This first thing he says to me, is if I've written anything about him lately.
I tell him not really. "In Fact," I say "I'm having trouble thinking of anything to write at all."
Some people twitch their nose when they think. Others wrinkle their forehead, pucker their lips, and rub their nose.
Charles, he reaches his hand up in his shirt and scratches his chest.
He does this for half a minute.
"Did you know" he says "People have more unprotected sex on Friday nights than any other night of the week?"
I ask him how the fuck he knows that.
"I don't know, must have read it somewhere."
I tell him the rubber companies must hate Friday nights.
He agrees with me and tells me I should write about it.
"Write about what?" I say
"People having unprotected sex on Friday nights."
"I'm gonna need a source Charles." I say "No ones gonna believe that people have more unprotected sex on Friday than any other night of the week."
"It makes perfect sense to me." He says "People drink more on Friday..."
I interject and ask him about Saturday. "People drink on Saturday too." I say
Charles just nods and continues "People drink more on Friday nights than any other night of the week." Says "They've worked hard all week and finally when the work day is done on Friday, people are gonna want to go get shitfaced."
"I'm with you." I say
"And when people get shit faced, they don't think about wearin' a jimmy." Says "Just ask my brother. He has three kids. I bet all three of them were perceived on Friday nights.
"You mean conceived" I say
He tells me "Whatever"
So, as a public service announcement to everyone
Happy Friday! Charles is afraid you might have unprotected sex so...Wrap it up.
"Oh, and you should sell your article to Trojan or some other Condom Company." he says
If it wasn't for him, sometimes I wouldn't have anything to write about at all.
This first thing he says to me, is if I've written anything about him lately.
I tell him not really. "In Fact," I say "I'm having trouble thinking of anything to write at all."
Some people twitch their nose when they think. Others wrinkle their forehead, pucker their lips, and rub their nose.
Charles, he reaches his hand up in his shirt and scratches his chest.
He does this for half a minute.
"Did you know" he says "People have more unprotected sex on Friday nights than any other night of the week?"
I ask him how the fuck he knows that.
"I don't know, must have read it somewhere."
I tell him the rubber companies must hate Friday nights.
He agrees with me and tells me I should write about it.
"Write about what?" I say
"People having unprotected sex on Friday nights."
"I'm gonna need a source Charles." I say "No ones gonna believe that people have more unprotected sex on Friday than any other night of the week."
"It makes perfect sense to me." He says "People drink more on Friday..."
I interject and ask him about Saturday. "People drink on Saturday too." I say
Charles just nods and continues "People drink more on Friday nights than any other night of the week." Says "They've worked hard all week and finally when the work day is done on Friday, people are gonna want to go get shitfaced."
"I'm with you." I say
"And when people get shit faced, they don't think about wearin' a jimmy." Says "Just ask my brother. He has three kids. I bet all three of them were perceived on Friday nights.
"You mean conceived" I say
He tells me "Whatever"
So, as a public service announcement to everyone
Happy Friday! Charles is afraid you might have unprotected sex so...Wrap it up.
"Oh, and you should sell your article to Trojan or some other Condom Company." he says
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
