Meredith Jones's Diary

Day 4 1/2

Fri, 02 Dec 2005 20:29:06 GMT

Weight: 147 (FRIGGIN AWESOME!)
Cigarettes: 15 yesterday, none so far today
Exercise: None yesterday (unless strenuous bargain shopping with my mom yesterday counts), today....oh, take a wild guess...
Food: Yesterday: 1 piece of Weight Watchers Chocolate Cake (it was about 3 inches long and and inch wide...one point, mutha fuckazz!), veggie burger on rye with reduced fat cheddar, 1/2 handful of cashews, 1 cup of fat free rasberry yogurt, tall gingerbread soy latte with no whipped cream (amazing!!), less than a liter of water, three cans of diet coke. Today: 1/2 handful of cereal, 1 tblspoon peanut butter (odd,i know), about 20oz of water, about 5 oz diet coke.

THREE POUNDS SINCE MONDAY! That's exciting! I also fit beautifully in a pair of jeans yesterday that were a size 8!! Do you know how long it's been since that has happened???

I know I shouldn't blow all my money on clothes that'll be too big for me in a matter of weeks, but shopping is addictive, especially when I can fit into size 8s! Sorry, but Im just thrilled about that.

So I'm thinking about squeezing in a bit more shopping. Im going to Wise Fools yet again. Apparently the show tonight is gonna be friggin sweet, so I need to be friggin hot.

I got hit on by this really hot guy last night and I thought that it was gonna lead somewhere (like a bedroom, possibly), but I went to say goodbye to him and he was gone. His creepy friend was still there and kept saying "lets just go to your place and drinkl wine..." there was just something about that I didn't trust...

Oh, I have not had the best of luck. But I cannot take it out on me...I've only really been doing this sort of thing for three days and I guess that's just how the bar scene works.

Keep on keepin on, LJers!

Thu, 01 Dec 2005 05:30:47 GMT

Weight: 149 (woot!)
Cigarettes: 8
Food: 1 cup of minestrone, one tall starbucks pumpkin spice latte with soy milk and no whipped cream, 1 cheddar and broccoli baked potato, 1/2 grilled veggie plate, about 2 liters of water, 1 20 oz diet coke
Exercise: 10 mins pilates, dancing around my condo like a fool, yet again

I've lost 1 pound since Monday! Woot!! At this rate, it'll only take 2 months to lose 30 lbs! It probably won't stay this consitant, but I can hope and I can keep plugging away! I know it's only a pound, but it's exciting to see progress like this!

So Im taking a break from Wise Fool's tonight...I've only been there twice, but Sasha has definitely intergrated me into "the crowd." I feel like a regular! But these two really drunk guys were hitting on me and Sasha ALL NIGHT and they were just...odd...at first, this guy Matt seemed pretty cute, but then he just turned into a typical drunk guy and it was just...for lack of a better term, icky. So the moral of the story is I need a night off. Besides, my mom and I are driving to the Illinois/Wisconsin border tomorrow to do Christmas shopping at an outlet mall (Viv recommended it, so it's gotta be good!)

BTWs, for all available on Friday, there's gonna be a bitchin concert at Wise Fools on Friday! Come one, come all! I am the funniest barfly on the face of this planet...still sober and still haven't hooked up with that guy with a girlfriend...Sasha says I should be her Jiminy Cricket...Oh, if I had a nickle...

So far, break has been good...and interesting...but interesting in a good way.

That's all from Meredith Jones for now!

Day Three's Keyword: WOOT!! (what the hell, I'll throw in another one) WOOT!!

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 04:44:21 GMT

Weight: 150
Cigarettes: 5 (again, wise fooling...probably will change)
Food: Costello's vegetarian sandwich and their hummus with a chipotle tortilla (again, their hummus!), a liter and a half of water, 1 Arizona diet ice tea.
Exercise: Dancing around my place like a fool

So I have not lost a pound or gained...but it's only day two.

When I went out last night (oh the debauchery of Wise Fools, then Deja Vu, then a fucking key club!) I was hit on a fair amount. I have to say, it was quite the ego boost. But I can't let an ego boost get to me too much. Nor can I let any sort of self-loathing do the same.

This guy who works at Wise Fools was coming on to me hardcore and he was really sexy. I almost went home with him, but alas...he has a girlfriend...DAMN CONSCIENCE!!!! NOSY LITTLE BUGGER ALWAYS LIKES TO GET ALL UP IN MY GRILL!!!!

I wanted him SO bad, though. I've been quite the cock hungry bisexual. I still want him and I am probably gonna shamelessly flirt with him tonight. But alas...he has a girlfriend. But there is still hope: apparently his girl friend is a flaming bisexual like yours truly and is pretty open to a 3some...so who knows. Oh and...I have heard that he is quite the dynamo in the ole sackaroo...DAMN CONSCIENCE!!!! But I know that it was the decent thing to do...I know this because it was really fucking hard for both of us to just say "fuck it!" I wish that decent things were easier to do...there'd be a lot more decent people in this world. Woah...I'm like...DEEP MAN!

So I think Im gonna go work on cigarette #6. It's been an interesting 24 hours.

Day Two Word: ....O-kay...(It's a Didierism)

A Brutally Honest Post

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 04:31:07 GMT

Weight: 150
Exercise: Yoga (10 Mins), Pilates (10 mins), walking over 7 blocks in the loop (about 20 mins)
Cigarettes: 8 (but going to Wise Fools tonight, so that might change...)
Food: Veggie sandwich at Costello's (their hummus is to die for!), two slices of cheeseless pizza, 1 piece of garlic bread (that was naughty of me...so naughty), about 2 liters of water, 1 sugar free red bull, about 7 tic-tacs
Goal: 120, ASAP!!

I want to loose 30 pounds...and I want to do it quickly. I think I might do a detox diet...I wonder if you can still smoke on a detox diet?

I'm sure people think I'm selling out...yeah and no. Yes, I'll admit it to anyone I want to cahnge my body. I am sick of being a size 12. I am sick of having these fat birthing hips. I am sick of everyone telling me I have a huge ass ("honey...it's a compliment!" kiss my fat ass) I'm sick of "martyring" myself for something. I mean, who am I? The curvy girl's spokesmodel? NO! I don't need to live and think and do everything "for the curvy girls." I wanna do nthings for me....because if not now, when the fuck am I gonna do it? In my 30s? In my 40s? In my goddamn 50s? I am in my 20s! I deserve to have a fucking hot body. I deserve to be hot. I deserve to be somewhat selfish (I'm trying to keep some level of modesty...)

I do feel a little embarrassed, though, because I feel like I've been such a fool: all the time that I tried to tell myself I'm hot and that I look good...I've just been a chubby girl fooling herself. I have lost at least 10 pounds in the past few weeks (I think it could be closer to 15...but I haven't started weighing myself until recently, so who knows) and that's good. But I can't do what I always do: I can't give up. I can't just say "I look good now, I can have that slice of chocolate cake" or "One day off won't hurt." I want to come back from winter break and have people do a double take. I wanna be FUCKING HOT when winter quarter starts up again. And if you are gonna comment on this (which I haven been debating whether to make this public or private...I'll make it public and see how it goes) don't write "you are hot, you're a beautiful curvy girl, blah blah blah." Don't wanna hear it because it's a load of bullshit.

And while I'm on the subject...can we just all cut the bullshit about finding curvy women more attractive than skinny women? I honestly think that people only say that because it's the PC thing to say and if they dare say I like skinny women, they'd get crusified. LEt's be real: you all would take Gisele Budchen over Emme any day (I would). You'd all take Naomi over Queen Latifa, too. And no one ever tell me that "I'm a woman who looks like a woman" ever again. Supermodels and actresses look like women too (they just so happen to look like thinner women). Oh, one more thing: I never wanna hear that I wouldv'e been hot in the Renissance ever again. That's not a fucking compliment! At least I don't take it that way. It's not the Renissance...I want to be hot now! It just seems like the next part of that thought is...but you're a fat nasty pig, now.

So...why now? Well, for one thing I would like to try to call an end to this love/hate relationship I have with my body and I feel like I would feel a lot better about myself, but besides that....I have a HUGE crush. Yep, again...total sellout. He's a frat boy (ie totally out of a 5'6" size 12 girl's league). I don't think I really have a chance with him (or most people, for that matter) in this body. It's been a bit of a bombshell, but not many people find me that attractive. I really wish this wasn't that big of a deal for me, but...again, I'm 21...at my age, attractiveness is important. We all want to feel attractive. I want a chance, just a chance, with this guy. I want heads to turn. I want to be a beauty.

Day One's keyword: Honesty (If you don't like my brand of it, take me off your friend's list)

The Bitch Isn't Back?!?!

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 22:00:20 GMT

Some paper work got screwed up and I cant move in until (most likely) Wednesday. I know, 2 days isn't that big of a deal. But I have been looking forward to this day for about a month and a half. I was counting down the days until August 1st and it's here and the bitch is still up in the burbs. I miss living in my city by the lake. I miss the choas. I miss the El (even though I din't take it that often). I miss living close to my friends. I miss not having to drive an hour in traffic just to get to Clarke's. I miss saying "I LIVE IN CHICAGO" and not having to explain that "Well, I'm up in the suburbs now, but I'm moving..." I FUCKING MISS MY CITY AND I SHOULD BE IN IT NOW!!!

In short, yeah I can wait. But I have been patient for 3 fucking months and it's starting to get on my fucking nerves. I need friends to get me outta here. Gimme a reason, please. I didn't get a huge response for people to help me move...If you could help me now, even just to call me to let me know that you read this, it would mean a lot...I know I'm being weird, but living in the city means the world to me and having people around me to say "we miss you. we understand. we love you and can't wait for you to come back" would make me feel so much better.

And I will slip in some candor in here.

This may be irrational, but...

If I don't at least get 1 phone call from someone, I'll be pissed. So if you care at all, please call me. 847.347.3681 (no excuses now)

The bitch ain't back.

Hopefully Wednesday

Hopefully...

Mon, 11 Jul 2005 17:51:48 GMT

So I know that this is my 3rd post in the past few hours, but I really need to get this out there.

I had a really vivid last night. I could taste the food I was eating, I could feel the rain pouring down on me, EVERYTHING was just...real.

And during this dream, I realized something that I didn;t realize before that I really should have and I apologize to anyone who was hurt by me being so fucking oblivious. But I realized this one very important fact...

Elijah Wood is hot.

Mon, 11 Jul 2005 17:27:26 GMT

1. Reply with your name and I will write something I like about you.
2. I will then tell what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. If I were to apply an o'clock to you, I'll tell you what it would be.
4. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
5. I'll tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you.
6. I will tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll then tell you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. Put this in your journal

Equation

Mon, 11 Jul 2005 05:03:22 GMT

2 bags of Frito Lay's Munchies
+ Entemann's Ultimate Chocolate Lovers Donuts
+ Starbucks Mocha Mint
+ A South Park Marathon
+ Increments of Masturbation
= I wish my senior prom was half this much fun

Please be Nice...

Mon, 04 Jul 2005 18:28:17 GMT

So I figure, I'll put this out there now instead of waiting last minute. I am moving into my condo Aug 1st and I need people to help me move. I realize that I live all the way out in the burbs, and that sucks ass, but hear me out. We can have a slumber party out here...so those of you that need to catch up on your Oz, this would be an excellent opportunity for you ;) Yeah, it sounds a bit nerdy, but I do really need the help and I promise to make sure the suckiness of the burbs doesn't grab hold of you too tightly...plus I'll get you food and all that jazz, too. So if any of you could help me out, I will love you forever!!!

Besides, who wouldn't wanna help me when I'm moving into a place like this? (Yeah, I'm totally being a bratty showoff, but...well, if you check it out, you'll know why...)

2510 W Leland ie My Condo, Mutha Fuckas!

Mon, 04 Jul 2005 03:56:53 GMT

Which Golden Girl Are You?

My turn! Cuz I'm One Vain Fatha Fucka!

Wed, 08 Jun 2005 05:35:09 GMT

WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF:

I committed suicide:
I said I liked you:
I kissed you:
I lived next door to you:
I started smoking:
I stole something:
I was hospitalized:
I ran away from home:
I got into a fight and you weren't there:

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT MY:

Personality:
Eyes:
Face:
Hair:
Clothes:
Mannerisms:

[1] Who are you?
[2] Are we friends?
[3] When and how did we meet?
[4] How have I affected you?
[5] What do you think of me?
[6] What's the fondest memory you have of me?
[7] How long do you think we will be friends or enemies?
[8] Do you love me?
[9] Have I ever hurt you?
[10] Would you hug me?
[11] Would you kiss me?
[12] Would you have long, sweet, sweet passionate love with me?
[13] Are we close?
[14] Emotionally, what stands out?
[15] Do you wish I was cooler?
[16] On a scale of 1-10, how nice am I?
[17] Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
[18] Am I loveable?
[19] How long have you known me?
[20] Describe me in one word.
[21] What was your first impression?
[22] Do you still think that way about me now?
[23] What do you think my weakness is?
[24] Do you think I'll get married?
[25] What about me makes you happy?
[26] What about me makes you sad?
[27] What reminds you of me?
[28] What's something you would change about me?
[29] How well do you know me?
[30] Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
[31] Do you think I would kill someone?
[32] Are you going to put this on your journal and see what I say about you?

Mon, 16 May 2005 05:22:20 GMT

So you guys might not see me for a while. I'm really sick, I don't know when I'll be back or if and how long I'll be gone for. Either way, have fun without me.

Sun, 15 May 2005 02:11:40 GMT

Errr....I am so sick...I barely have enough energy to type this. I'm mad cuz I'm missing some parties I've been looking forward to all week...the burbs suck ass...

Brand Spanking New, Y'all!!!!!

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 19:22:35 GMT

So here's a one act play I just finished. I'm sure that it's fairly obvious as to where I got the idea and who inspired which characters. Enjoy and as always, feedback is always welcome! God’s Confidant

A Play By Meredith R. Cornett

ACT I
Scene One

Riley steps up to a white desk in a white room. Behind the desk, a person sits and talks on a white phone. The person cups their hand around the mouth of the phone.

Receptionist: Can I help you?

Riley: Yes, I am here to see God. I have an appointment with him today.

Receptionist (flipping through a white datebook): I don’t…see him having an appointment for today…

Riley: He does. I’m Riley.

Receptionist (putting down the phone): OH! You’re Riley! Riley, from Earth! I am so sorry, you’re gonna have to forgive me. You see I’m new up here, freak accident…I didn’t even see the truck coming. It just side swiped me BAM! I was in the hospital in a coma for two weeks. You know comas aren’t as bad as everyone makes them out to be? I mean, I did feel rested. Well, after two weeks I suppose my family decided to take me off life support. Anyway, long story short, I’m here!

Riley: Uh-huh.

Receptionist: I’m sorry, I must be boring you to death.

Riley: Oh, no it’s not that, it’s just…my appointment?

Receptionist: Of course! Step right through that door (points to the door behind the desk).

Riley steps through the door. God is sitting on a red recliner. He’s got a martini with two olives in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He wears white rimmed sunglasses and a pink feather boa and a red smoking jacket. He also wears a tight black t-shirt that says in white writing “It’s all about me.”

God: Riiiiley, dahling! (He stands up and meets Riley half way)

Riley: Hi, God.

They both kiss each others’ cheeks with a Muah! Sound. God walks Riley over to the recliner. Across from it is a red couch. A coffee table sits in between them with a tray of sandwiches in the middle.

God (sitting down in the recliner): Sit, sit Riley, dahling sit. Martini?

Riley: No thanks.

God: Cigarette? (He reaches into his side breast pocket of his jacket)

Riley: No, I’m good.

God: Well, at least try some of these finger sandwiches. Jesus was in the kitchen all day making these when he heard you were coming. Remind me to thank him later.

Riley: Okay (takes a sandwich and bites into it). Mmmm! That is good!

God: Yeah, that boy sure knows how to cook. I mean, whoda thunk that lemon juice would taste good in tuna salad? But the boy knew what he was doing, do I just let him do it and two thousand years later, people finally caught on.

Riley: So what did you want to talk about?

God: Jeez, straight to Final Jeopardy with you, huh? Why are you in such a hurry all of the sudden?

Riley: Oh, no, I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just…y’know…I’m curious.

God (laughing): I can always count on you for that – curiosity. I love it! I mean, with me, I’ve really got nothing to be curious about. But you people…you…you’re always wondering what’s gonna happen next, what’s going on with who…it’s just so cute! (Pause) Okay, okay, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer! I have got something to tell you! So you know your girl, Lana?

Riley: Yeah…

God: Okay, so she’s been going around telling everyone that she’s a lesbian, but really…she’s still been sleeping around with guys!

Riley: Really?

God: Oh yeah, honey. Don’t let her fool you. At least one guy a week. And…she likes it! This ain’t one of those “I just need to make sure type of things.” No, no! She loves the cock. She loves pussy to but also loves the cock.

Riley: Why would she say that she’s a lesbian if she really isn’t?

God: For attention, honey. That’s why that girl does anything she does and says anything that she says.

Riley (gasping): Wow.

Receptionist (through an intercom): Your two o’clock is here, sir.

God: Oooh! That’s Muhammad! We’re going to exchange award winning apple pie recipes! FUN!

Riley: Well thanks for having me over.

God: Oh, the pleasure is all at this end. (They hug and kiss each other on the check). Next week, one o’clock. Be here on time!

Riley: I will (Riley opens the door; Muhammad steps through)

Muhammad: Hey, Riley.

Riley: Hey, Moe. Good to see you!

God: Later, Riley. Don’t let the door hit you where I split you!

Scene Two

Lana and Riley sit at a table at a café.

Lana: So thanks for inviting me out for lunch, Ri.

Riley: Oh, no problem. We need to catch up with each other!

Lana: Totally.

Riley: So, what’s been going on with you?

Lana: Oh, you know… (Pause) So, I’m really feeling more comfortable with my lesbian-ness. I mean, I have a date tomorrow with this girl, Mattie. I mean, Mattie how butch is that? I mean next thing you know we’ll be going to Home Depot together and…

Riley: I’m sorry.

Lana: For what? That I’m gay?

Riley: That’s the thing. You’re not.

Lana: I’m not?

Riley: No you’re not. (The server comes to the table). Coffee with cream, please.

Lana: Riley, how would you know that I’m not gay?

Riley: You still sleep with guys. And you like it.

Lana: That’s…not…

Riley: What? True? Oh yes, baby I know it is.

Lana: Well…even if it is….what business is it of yours anyway?

Riley: It’s not about it being my business. It’s about it being obvious

Lana: Oh yeah?

Riley: Yeah. It’s obvious that you like men and women equally. Just admit it, you’re bi and just leave it at that.

Lana: Well…yeah, I sleep with men. But…I like women more. To me, that makes me a lesbian.

Riley: No it doesn’t.

Lana: Yes it does.

Riley: NO IT DOESN’T!

Lana: YES IT DOES!

Server approaches the table.

Server: Can I offer you something to drink, miss?

Lana (picking up her purse): No, I was just leaving. (Exit Lana)

Scene Three

Riley walks through the door. God is sitting on his red recliner in his usual outfit. Across from him sits a woman wearing a leather mini shirt, thigh high black boots, and a low cut corset-looking top.

God: Ri! You’re a bit early, but please come in.

Woman: Yes, I was just leaving.

God: Riley, you remember Mary?

Riley:…Magdalene, right?

Mary (laughing): Please, like I’m anything like that square. No, I’m the Virgin…y’know, Jesus’s mom?

Riley: You’re the Virgin Mary?

Mary: Hey, just because of the name and just because I’m a momma doesn’t mean I can’t get down with the rest of ‘em!

God (shaking a martini): The name is full of irony.

Mary: Oh God! You make it seem like I’m a full blown whore…does he really need to hear the whole story?

God: Oh for Pete sake, Mar…this is Riley! He’s my confidant. So, it was a good two thousand years ago when I got this invitation in the mail for this party in Demascus. I heard all of the who’s who were gonna be there. So I knew I just had to be there. So I went down, looking absolutely fabulous. Well, I had my eye on David and Jonathan that night. They were drinking lots of punch and it didn’t look like three was gonna be a crowd in their bed that night, if you know what I mean. Anyway, about fifteen martinis later, I cannot find those little fuckers. Someone said they got into a lover’s quarrel, others said that they just had to go home and do each other. Either way, I wasn’t getting any. Well, I saw Mary from across the room and she had it goin’ on! She was wearing something quite similar to this, only shorter and tighter. Well, at any rate she looked great and I thought, hell, why not give it a whirl just one time? So, we went back to my place and…well, you know what we did.

Mary: I gave him a call a month later to tell him that I was pregnant…he was so cute about it all. Because it was him, I could say it was Immaculate Conception and still get hitched to Joseph.

God: Yeah, I have a way of making everything just…work out in the end. (Takes a sip of his martini)

Riley: Wow, so that’s how that happened?

God: Yep.

Mary: Oh, don’t let him fool you. He acts like that was the first time too many martinis and straight sex have even entered into the picture. Lest we forget Leda and you coming down to Earth as the swan?

God: That was different. That was more of an interest with bestiality…not women.

Mary (sarcastically): Mmm-hmm.

God: Okay, I admit it. I do have a bit of a bi side. Well actually, it’s more of a tri side, because I’ll try anything! But hey, you know my motto, I’m only God once!

Receptionist (through the intercom): Mother Theresa’s on line one, sir.

God (groaning): Er, damn it I hate talking to her sometimes. It’s always, “yes I know there’s more work to be done on Earth,” and “no I will not send you back down to Earth.” I just wish I could tell her to have a martini or something. Anyway, I’m sure I have to take this so I best bid you two adieu. Sorry we didn’t get much of a chance to talk Riley. Stop by tomorrow around noon, if you can. Ciao, dahlings! (picks up the phone) Hello? Yes…yes, I know that there is still a lot of work to be done on ear…no, no, No I cannot send you back down, just…have a martini or something, Tessie…

(Exit Riley and Mary)

Scene Three

Riley sits at the dinner table at home; Riley’s mother, father, little sister and little brother are there.

Mother: It’s so nice to have the whole family back here. Riley, I’m so glad you could make it home for the weekend. Let’s say grace. (All bow their heads). Most Holy and Immaculate Virgin, Help of the Christians, we place ourselves under your motherly protection. Throughout the Church's history you have helped Christians in times of trial, temptation and danger. Time and time again, you have proven to be the Refuge of sinners, the Hope of the hopeless, the Consoler of the afflicted, and the Comforter of the Dying. We promise to be faithful disciples of Jesus Christ, your Son, to proclaim His Good News of God's love for all people, and to work for peace and justice in our world. With faith in your intercession, we pray for the Church, for our family and friends, for the poor and abandoned, and all the dying. Grant, O Mary, Help of Christians, the graces of which we stand in need. May we serve Jesus with fidelity and love until death. Help us and our loved ones to attain the boundless joy of being forever with our Father in heaven.

Everyone (except Riley): Amen.

Riley (trying to hold back laughter): Amen.

Father: Is something funny, Riley?

Riley: Not to be disrespectful, but yes…that prayer is funny.

Mother: And what is so humorous about the Prayer to Mary to Help the Christians?

Riley: Well, for one thing…calling her an Immaculate Virgin is hysterical. Jesus wasn’t the product of an Immaculate Conception…God knocked Mary up!

Sister: What does that mean, Mommy?

Mother: Riley! You see what you’re doing by saying such nasty things!

Riley: It’s true!

Father: Well, it is, I guess…in a rather vulgar way…

Riley: No, it’s true! You see, there was a party in Demascus and God got really drunk. He originally wanted to go have a threesome with Jonathan and David…

Brother: Threesome?

Mother: You shut your mouth Riley Morgan O’Brien!

Riley:…But then they left to go do each other. So God had no one to go home with…oh, by the way, I probably should have said this before, but God’s gay…I mean, he is flaming…so, anyway…he sees Mary and is like, what the hell, it’s a party…so that’s how Jesus was conceived. (Long Pause) What?

Father: What in God’s name are you talking about?

Riley: God! I’m talking about God!

Mother: You are talking blasphemy!

Riley: No I am not!

Mother: And how do you know?

Riley: God told me!

Mother: God told you? Where? In a dream? Dreams can often be misconstrued, Riley.

Riley: No, God actually told me!

Mother: Well, God told me things too! God told me through prayer and going to church and reading my Bible not to listen to any garbage that I might hear about what is and what isn’t the word of God.

Riley (quietly): whatever

Father: Leave, Riley.

Riley: What?

Father: LEAVE RILEY! I will no longer allow you to disgrace our faith and our home. So just, go, Riley.

(Exit Riley)

Scene Four

Riley walks into God’s room. God is wearing track pants and a shirt that says I (heart) Boys. Across from him is a man instructing him in yoga.

God: Hey Riley. You remember Vishnu? He’s my yoga instructor.

Riley: Hi, nice to meet you.

Vishnu: Likewise.

God: He’s been helping me with my downward dog. (Whispering to Riley) God, I wish he was gay. Anyway, Vishi, we’re gonna have to end this early. I have some important business to discuss with Riley here.

Vishnu: No problem. See you Thursday for pilates.

God: You bet, sweetie.
(exit Vishnu)

God: God, he is HOT! Mmm! I really wish he was gay! But hey, I guess if I really, really wanted him to be gay, I would have made him that way. So sit down. I have something to tell you!

Riley: What is it?

God: Are you okay, honey? You look a bit peaked.

Riley: No, I’m alright.

God: Are you sure?

Riley: Yeah, I’m good.

God: I’ll get you some tea. (gets up and pours tea into a cup) This stuff is great. Buddha was recently in India and decided to pick up some of this. It’s called white tea. It’s fabulous. Ooh, and if you’re interested in some other herbs that he picked up…

Riley: No, it’s really okay.

God: Oh, okay. Well, so I have some news about your friend Jack.

Riley: What?

God: Apparently, Jack is dead broke. He spent half his money gambling and the other half making his apartment look…rich.

Riley: Really?

God: Oh yeah, honey. He spent every last dime.

Riley: He doesn’t act like it.

God: I know. That’s what makes this so delicious. Ooh, and speaking of delicious, guess who Jack slept with the other night?

Riley: Who?

God: None other than Miss Lana!

Riley: No!

God: Oh yes! They did the nasty!

Riley: I can’t believe it!

God: Believe it, honey. It’s true (He lights a cigarette)

Receptionist (through the intercom): Your one o’clock is here, sir.

Riley: Ooh, that must be Buddha. He’s been nice enough to stop by and do a little guided meditation. I got to put this out. He is such a pain in the ass about the drinking and the smoking. Anyway, make an appointment with the receptionist for next week.

(Exit Riley)

Scene Five

Riley is with Jack in Jack’s apartment.

Riley: Have you decorated this place recently?

Jack: Yeah, got some stuff from Pottery Barn. Doesn’t it look great?

Riley: Um yeah it does…

Jack: Yeah, I got some extra money when I went out to Vegas.

Riley: Really?

Jack: Yeah…why? (laughing) You think I’m lying to you. (Pause). What?

Riley: I don’t think you’re lying. I know you’re lying, Jack.

Jack: What? What are you talking about?

Riley: You lost half your money while you were in Vegas and then spent the other half on redecorating your apartment.

Jack: Riley, I…

Riley: Don’t even try to deny it. I know that’d s what happened. How are you expecting to pay for all this, Jack? Huh?

Jack (beginning to cry): I…I don’t know…

Riley: Yeah, well you should’ve thought of that before you spent and gambled away all of your money.

Jack: Well since when are you the authority on this? Like you’ve never spent money frivolously before?

Riley: But we’re not talking about that, sweetie. We’re talking about you. (Riley puts his head down). What, you can’t handle the truth? Or are you getting upset about Lana?

Jack: What are you talking about?

Riley: I know about you and Lana and I think that you were taken advantage of.

Jack: I knew exactly what I was getting into. And how did you here about this?

Riley: I have my ways.

Jack: Well…why is that your business anyway? See, you always do this, Riley. You always stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You act like your opinion is the word of God or something. (Riley laughs a little and smiles) Oh my God, you really do believe your opinion is the word of God, don’t you? You know what? Just leave.

Riley: Why? Because you don’t want to hear the truth?

Jack: No, because I’m sick of hearing your version of the truth. Leave!

(Exit Riley)

Scene Six

Riley walks up to the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist is on the phone.

Riley: I need to speak to God.

Receptionist: Hold on, sir, I…

Riley: Now! It’s an emergency!

Receptionist: Okay…hold on. (pushes button on the phone) Sir? Riley’s here to see you. Can he come in?

God: Sure.

Receptionist: Go right in.

Riley steps into the room. God is sitting in his recliner with his typical outfit on. He sits across from Jeffery Domer.

God: Riley, I haven’t seen you in weeks my dahling! Have you met Jeffery Domer?

Riley: Jeffery Domer?

God: Yes.

Jeffery: Pleased to met you. God’s told me so much about you.

Riley (to God): With all due respect, sir…why are you talking to Jeffery Domer.

God: Well, many people have asked me that. I mean I figure that if I’m gonna talk to Jesus and Buddha and Vishnu, then I need to talk to people like Hitler and Stalin and good ole Jeffery right here.

Riley: Why?

God: Well, for one thing, I highly doubt that I’m the God that they’ve been worshipping their entire lives. I mean, to see their faces when they figure out that I am, indeed, they’re creator, they’re destroyer and everything in between is always such a rush. Besides, they bring up good points. I mean, talking to them I can see how you little fuckers can get to be a pure pain in the ass…and not in the good way honey.

Riley: So…it’s okay for people like that to kill other people? Is that what you’re saying?

God: No, I never said it was okay. But now, I understand. After all, I am supposed to be all knowing and all understanding, aren’t I? Well, how do I do that if I can’t talk to everyone equally? So, is this an emergency, sweetie? Because Jeffery and I are in the middle of tea.

Riley: Um, yeah, kind of…

God: Okay, Jeffery I am so sorry, but I’m gonna have to cut this short. But feel free to reschedule with my receptionist in front. (they hug and kiss on the cheek). Good bye, dahling.

Jeffery: Buh-bye God! Buh-bye Riley, hope to see you again soon!

(Exit Jeffery)

God (shaking a martini): So what’s up, sweetie?

Riley: What’s up? What the hell do you mean, what’s up? You know exactly what’s up.

God: Hmmm…that I do. I know that your close friends won’t talk to you anymore and neither will your family.

Riley: Yeah, all because I told them what you told me. I mean, I just told them the truth.

God: Yeah, but they didn’t know it was the truth.

Riley: Yeah, but you told it to me. Shouldn’t that be enough?

God: Wait, who was it exactly told you to tell everyone?

Riley: Eh…you did?

God: No I didn’t.

Riley: Well then why would you tell me all that stuff?

God: Well, this may surprise you, but it ain’t all about you. Sometimes I just need someone to talk to. Nobody ever just sits down to listen to me…to listen to all my juicy gossip.

Riley: Well, then why me?

God: Why not you?

Riley: No seriously, why me? I don’t get it, you know me, I’m just an honest person. I’m honest to a fault. If I know something, I’m gonna say it. I can never keep a secret. So, why tell all this stuff to me?

God (sighs): Well, maybe I fudged a bit. Because a huge part of it does have to do with you.

Riley: Well, what part of it does?

God: Oh no, I’m not going to give it to you that easily. You can figure it out. Just listen to what I’m not saying.

Riley: WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?

God: Shhhh…just…be quiet. (pause)

Riley (quietly): Okay…okay…you tell me your secrets…because…because…be…cause…you want…to teach…me that…no matter how right I am about something…it isn’t my job to give everyone my opinion.

God: Bingo!

Riley: Well, that doesn’t make sense. I mean, if I’m right, I’m right, right?

God: True, but…

Riley (pause): But…

God: No, no…you finish it…

Riley: Come on, God!

God: Come on, Riley! You know this is what I do best!

Riley: Okay, okay…it is true, but…but…being right all of the time…means being…alone…

God: Again, bingo!

Riley: So, even though I was right…I should go apologize to Lana and Jack and my family?

God: Oh hell yes, honey.

Riley: Even though my word was the word of God.

God: Yes, unless you’re okay with being right and alone.

Riley: Well, then I should go. (Begins to exit) Hey, can I ask you a question?

God: Anything my darling.

Riley: I was not the first one to be your confidant, was I?

God (laughing): Of course not.

Riley: And I’m not gonna be your last, am I?

God: Nope. I need to find someone else just like you to take your place.

Riley: So I guess this is goodbye?

God: Oh I’ll be around honey. I’m not going anywhere.

(Exit Riley)

THE END

Ive come to a decision...

Sun, 10 Apr 2005 08:11:29 GMT

Im not running for Spectrum Eboard next year!!! Im going to start a DePaul lit/writer's group and/or go to Athens for winter and spring instead!! Love everyone in Spectrum, but I want to focus my energies on different things next year. Besides, it's just getting too stressful on all fronts.

So I am going to be part of the literati!

OPA!!!

Thu, 07 Apr 2005 05:37:11 GMT

So most people saw Casey's post about the break up...

I can't speak for him, but so far, the transition from boyfriend/girlfriend to friends has been a lot easier than I thought. If anything, I truly see how much I really do want Casey in my life, yet I also see that I have to do what I gotta do for me. I thought that I'd cry or get really mad...don't get me wrong, I am still a little scared to be out on my own (it's been a while), but overall, I am not uncomfortable being around Casey, we act like true friends around each other and I really feel like I am doing what I need to do for me. Casey, our relationship as partners was awesome and so will our relationship as friends.

Im not trying to go on a complaining streak here, but...

Mon, 04 Apr 2005 07:27:21 GMT

I went on Amazon to find a book for my Gay and Lesbian Lit class and I decided to search around the website under the Gay and Lesbian fiction section. It was broken up into a few categories: poetry, short stories...and then it was broken up into Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual (there was no Transgendered). So I first looked at the Gay section and there were 104 pages of things that canstitute "Gay Lit." Then, I looked under Lesbian and there were 68 pages of things that constitute "Lesbian Lit." Okay, so that already sucks because, granted, 68 is more than half of 104, but not by much. So then, I decided to check out the "Bisexual Lit" section. Now, I am not that naive; I knew that there weren't going to be as many books under Bi Lit as there were the other two. But, still, it made me really sad to find that there were only 2 pages of "Bi Lit." TWO FUCKING PAGES. The Lesbian Lit had 34 times as many titles; the Gay Lit had 52 times as many titles.

Contrary to popular belief, it is not necessarily easier to be bi. Yeah, I know I fucking have hetero priveledge and gays and lesbians don't, but gays and lesbians at least get full recognition and respect within the queer community and by society at large. People think its easier to come out as bi; thats only true when it is assumed/implied that the bi indentity is temporary. As long as it is implied that said out bi will eventually stop being a cowardly gay/lesbian and fully come out, or that the slutty straight person will settle down, then the bi identity is accepted and, yes, it is easier to come out. But what about people like me? What about people who are secure in the identity as bi? What about people who know that they aren't scared gays/lesbian or slutty straights? We still get treated like one day, the "real us" will come out. The straight world doesn't want to get to know us (unless we're blond college girls who will flash the cameras of GIRLS GONE WILD) and we get made fun of by people in the "community" that is supposed to embrace us and not judge us (not everyone in the queer community has done this, obviously to me personally, but there are people in my "community" who have said very hurtful things about my identity...they said they'd laugh in my face, and yet they had to say this behind my back).

The term lesbian does not feel right to me at all, and the term straight REALLY doesn't feel right to me. Bisexual feels right to me and to be perfectly fucking honest, I FEEL LIKE THE ONLY ONE ON THE FACE OF THIS STUPID FUCKING PLANET WHO FEELS THIS WAY. People who I love and respect, people who I used to share a common bond with over the bi indentity are no longer identify as bi. I have no right to judge anyone, but it sucks basically one of the only ones left. I feel like maybe I should just identify as straight. I mean, I am in a "straight" relationship (by all outward apperances) and sometimes it just gets too hard...too hard to explain myself, too hard to lose people to indetify and share with, too hard to hear about the comments made behind my back, too hard to hear people I consider to be open-minded say "bi is used as a cop-out; it's easier to come out as bi," it's too hard to only see two fucking pages.

Yeah, you know I'm not going to identify as straight...

You know I won't change...

But sometimes I want to.

Nobody can be exactly like me. Sometimes even I have trouble doing it.
~Tallulah Bankhead, actress and bisexual~

oz quiz

Sun, 03 Apr 2005 06:53:59 GMT

Oz Quiz by mcornett
Your real name
Character in Oz	Vern Schillinger (the elitist)
Convicted...	August 21, 2002
Charged with...	Vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated
Serving ___ years	34
Favorite pastime in prison	Sleeping with as many inmates as possible
Nickname in prison	Biter
Next bitch you're gonna shank

Quiz created with MemeGen!

Queer Theory Final Essay

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 05:02:18 GMT

So, this was my final paper for my Queer Theory class, can I get a what what?! The assignment was to write my gender and I think I got it pretty down pat. Tell me what you think! I know that I am not going to be the only one to type this in their essay, but I don’t think I can start without saying this. Asking me to define my gender is running on the assumption that I know what gender is. I don’t. I don’t have a fucking clue what gender is, outside of the surface definition of “a social construction based on actual or perceived sex.” Also, asking me to define my gender is seems to make the assumption that my gender is rigid and is an “always was, always will be” type of thing. In the past, I have never identified my gender outside of “girl/woman,” and I honestly cannot say what my gender will be in a decade, a year or even tomorrow. So, I have decided on a couple things regarding my gender and how I am going to define it. The first thing is that my gender is not something that is totally, one hundred percent individually constructed. Society has helped a lot. Sometimes it has been for the better, but for the most part society and its norms have taken me through the scenic route on Gender Avenue. Also, I have decided that gender is a performance, a role that I play and nothing deeper. But, instead of feeling shame for not expressing something truer or deeper, I have determined to revel in and love the role. If I am to play a surface level role that has nothing to do with my “true self,” I am going to enjoy the hell out of it. So without further adieu, professor Bradshaw, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my gender…(drum roll, please)…
My gender (for now) is a FUCKIGN SEXY, FIVE FOOT SIX, SIZE TEN (36 EUROPEAN) WEARING, CLEAVAGE SHOWING, PUSH-UP BRA SPORTING, BISEXUAL FEMME VIXEN IN STILETTOES.
Now, as you’d say, let’s unpack this statement. First, we’ve got FUCKING SEXY. I threw the FUCKING in there mainly for emphasis, but, not to get too personal, but the FUCKING part is one of those things that I love to do and, if I may say for myself, is one of the things I do really damn well in my life. Also, they just compliment each other well. I don’t get to the FUCKING unless I know and identify as SEXY and I’m SEXY when I do the FUCKING.
Now, as far as the measurements/sizes go, I believe that these really are very important parts to my gender identity. I know for myself that a woman/female/whatever the fuck I am to have the words FIVE FOOT SIX, SIZE 10 (36 EUROPEAN) WEARING proceed FUCKING SEXY in the context of describing herself is a fucking ovarian (as opposed to ballsy) thing to do. Enter society and its norms, stage right. Our society has made it abundantly clear than any woman above a size 0 and shorter than five foot eight is to be considered a sexless, disgusting “not quite a woman” type of being. Seeing this over and over and over and over again, I looked at my body, which has never been a size 0…EVER and has never been taller than five foot six (not counting, of course when I’m in STILETTOES) and I began my incredibly scenic drive down Gender Avenue. This goes without saying, but the scenery was not pretty at all. I mean, it was “pretty” in the way that it showed me exactly what society thought was pretty, but it wasn’t pretty because, as said, my body did not match the expectation of society and thus, my body was never right. At age thirteen, I’d get up every morning at 5:30 to exercise until 7:30. When I got home from school, I usually exercised for another hour or two and I’d do five hundred sit ups before going to bed. I was a size four. That would have been fine if I were five foot eleven, but I was only five foot five at the time, so I wasn’t thin enough. When I was fifteen, I got into something that really complimented the whole “my body is a piece of shit” pastime: drugs. I’m not going to turn this paper into a DARE paper, but coke and meth allowed me to not eat, while booze and opiates allowed me to throw up whatever I did eat. I know, quelle tragédie! Well, long story short I got sent to rehab and, yes I did get sober and, yes I still am sober. The point of this fated trip to the Hunter S. Thompsonesque period of my life is that after I got sober, I really began to appreciate my body. I began to see that my body, or more appropriately, I didn’t deserve to go through what I put myself through. Yet, I was still a size 4 after getting sober, so it was easy to proclaim self love while still, more or less, looking “normal.”
Then, I decided to quit smoking…
Granted, the effort did not stick, but the extra twenty pounds or so did. And all of the self love, all of the finally calling my body by its name (beautiful), all of the feeling sexy and wonderful…vanished. All of it was conditional; I granted it to myself so long as I looked like everyone else. I hid under pajama pants and vintage t-shirts. I always came to class with wet hair and my fuzzy slippers. Sure, it was cute in it of itself and there are definitely people out there who can rock the wet hair, fuzzy slipper look, but ultimately I knew that it was not the role I was born to play.
I know that this may sound like something I made up just for this paper, but it isn’t. I asked myself, “why was this love and respect I had for my body conditional?” I had no good answer. So, it was decided: I was FUCKING SEXY, no matter what the tag on my pair of jeans said.
I will not sit here and say that it was smooth sailing from there. I hit highs and lows. I admit I did try to lose weight recently. But I stopped that effort because I realized that I was, again, basing my FUCKING SEXINESS on what society defined as FUCKING SEXY and with that definition, as proven over and over and over again was a definition that I could never fit into. So, my wide hips, my curvy, thick thighs, my love handles, my stretch marks…they all helped me expand and revamp my definition of FUCKING SEXY. So what is my definition of FUCKING SEXY, you ask? Well, not to sound too cyclical, but…my definition of FUCKING SEXY is me, and I am FUCKING SEXY. The realm of FUCKING SEXY is not strictly reserved for waif and Playboy models. You are part of the FUCKING SEXY realm if you say you are, and that alone is FUCKING SEXY. Some may disagree with me on that; some may try to put me down and tell me that I don’t belong in the FUCKING SEXY club, but I still consider myself a card carrying member and I just choose not to listen to any reason that counters my belief about this.
Moving on to the rest of the words that occupy my gender identity more or less adhere to the playfulness and shallowness that is the role I play.
Let’s talk about my boobs first, shall we? I have to confess, the weight gain did afford me two new aspects in my life that I have really grown to adore and appreciate: Thelma and Louise (i.e. my once medium 34B, now full 38C ta-tas). Rest assured I’m not going to go into a rant about how they represent my mothering side, or about how they made me appreciate my newly “classical female body.” And I’m not going to say that I don’t take into account that breasts are overly focused on in our society and I know that some people (I’m not going to say “men” because women focus on my boobs as much as men do) stare at my ta-tas and not at my eyes. But, they’re mine…they are me. And, may I say (I’m sort of ashamed, I’m quoting an episode of Seinfeld…but, I can’t think of another way to put it) “they’re real and they’re spectacular.” So, when it comes to the CLEAVAGE SHOWING, PUSH-UP BRA SPORTING part of my gender, it’s about not hiding myself just because society’s fucked up. Like I said, they’re me and they are a FUCKING SEXY and fantastic part of me. Why the hell not do with them what to? (And I totally just sounded like one of those wild teen guests on the Maury show…) So some people aren’t going to look into my eyes? Their loss. My ta-tas being all up in their face is all part of the performance. But my eyes…no matter how much mascara, liner and shadow I use, I still can’t avoid that my eyes are the window into my genderless, raceless, classless, performanceless soul (you can take the English major out of English class…) Meredith-1, Gawkers-0.
Finally, we’ve got this last part: the BISEXUAL FEMME VIXEN IN STILETTOES. Is it true BISEXUAL FEMME VIXENS have more fun? Hell yes, it is! Now, first things first. You’re probably asking, “Meredith, are you saying that your BISEXUAL identity is a performance?” My answer is no, I don’t think my BISEXUALITY is a performance, but I also don’t think that I was born with half of that gay gene that Oprah was talking about, either. Like I said at the beginning of this paper, I don’t know what gender is and I can’t tell anyone what there gender is or isn’t. So, I don’t judge my level of attraction to someone on gender. Some straights and gays alike try to tell me that I don’t exist, like I’m a unicorn or a leprechaun or Dick Cheney or something. I have questioned if I am just a cowardly lesbian or a horny straight girl. I’m not, and I do exist the way I am. Hence, I can be a FUCKING SEXY FEMME VIXEN with as many people as I damn well please! Is it true that BISEXUAL FEMME VIXENS have more fun? You tell me…
So here we are at the FEMME VIXEN IN STILETTOES. I could write a whole essay on the definitions of FEMME and VIXEN, but I will spare you all that, mainly because I have already exceeded the page limit to this essay. We’ll just stick to the dictionary definitions of these words (because they actually fit quite nicely). FEMME is defined as ultra exaggerated femininity, especially applicable to us queermos, and VIXEN is a female fox, and also applies to a woman who is considered to be quarrelsome. And the Oscar for best FEMME VIXEN goes to….Meredith Rose Cornett! “Oh thank you, thank you! I so knew I was gonna win!” My ultra exaggerated femininity in it of itself is quarrelsome. Going back to the whole “I’m not backing down just because society’s fucked up” motif, as we all know, the genders of “man” and “woman” have been put into a hierarchy and we all know which one is considered to be the better one of the two. I refuse to allow myself to believe that the construction of masculinity is better than femininity. I refuse to give up performing as a FEMME because, quite frankly, we are either being misrepresented by people who let society’s fucked up values define their performance of femininity and thus, they internalize it and never realize that it is all an performance, or we are being trampled by masculinity. I’m not having it! I am going to wear pink, put on fake eyelashes and ROCK MY FUCKING STILETTOES and never for a second will I believe that it makes me weaker or worse than anyone. Go ahead, try to make me feel bad for not being perfect, society! I will just turn the other tity. Try to trample me, masculinity! You won’t be tying to trample shit when my STILETTOE meets your proverbial balls. Just try and stop this FUCKIGN SEXY, FIVE FOOT SIX, SIZE TEN (36 EUROPEAN) WEARING, CLEAVAGE SHOWING, PUSH-UP BRA SPORTING, BISEXUAL FEMME VIXEN IN STILETTOES! You’ll find it to be impossible.
So there it is, my gender…there it is, all out on paper. I can’t fucking believe it. To be honest, I didn’t really know what it was until I saw it on paper. But there it is (at least for now). I started writing this paper very late at night and now I am finishing it and the Sun is coming up. Like I said, you can take the English major out of English class…I know that it’s going to sound like bullshit, but I’ve come this far, why lie now? I can honestly say I have never felt better about who I am and what I perform. Believe me, the ideas were all up in my head, but to see them on paper…to see all these amazing, brave things that I perform day to day is flooring.
I hope that this made sense, because I can picture this being one of those thing that only make sense to me. But, then again, I guess I’m the only person that it has to make sense to.
Either way, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.
From Chicago, this is Meredith Rose Cornett, the FUCKIGN SEXY, FIVE FOOT SIX, SIZE TEN (36 EUROPEAN) WEARING, CLEAVAGE SHOWING, PUSH-UP BRA SPORTING, BISEXUAL FEMME VIXEN IN STILETTOES, signing off.

How Do I Love Thee, Maynard James Keenan....

Tue, 15 Mar 2005 11:24:11 GMT

I've been working on this damn paper i need to turn in tomorrow for way to long and I'm about to go crazy!! Wait, about to?? Anywhoodle, this song has been on a constant repeat for a good seven hours and I NEVER get bored of hearing it. Maynard's a God, don't deny it. This song is eerily romantic, tragically desprate and darkly humorous all at once. Check it out...

Stinkfist (by TooL)...yep, it is what you think it's about!

Something has to change,
Undeniable dilemma.
Boredom's not a burden anyone should bare.
Constant overstimulation numbs me,
But I wouldn't want you any other way.

Because it's not enough,
I need more,
Nothing seems to satisfy
I said I don't want it,
I just need it,
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Finger deep within the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.

You can know you've changed,
Tired moment in the pleasure.
Say the word and we'll be well upon our way.
Blend and balance pain and comfort
Deep within you
So you will not want me any other way

Because it's not enough,
I need more,
Nothing seems to satisfy
I said I don't want it,
I just need it,
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Knuckle deep within the borderline.
This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to.
Relax, slip away.

There's something kind of sad about the way that things have come to be
Desensitized to everything.
What became of subtlety?

How can this mean anything to me
When I don't feel anything at all?

I'll
Keep
Digging
'Til I
Feel
Something

Elbow deep within the borderline
Show me that you love me and than we belong together
Shoulder deep within the borderline,
Relax, turn around and take my hand.

New Story....

Tue, 15 Mar 2005 02:27:50 GMT

Hey, I know posting these lately has been a lost cause, but what the hell, I'm an optimist. I just finished this one today. I think it turned out really well and hyper disturbing, but what do I know, I'm just the writer. I wanted to do a "women's/girl's answer to fight club," because I love Fight Club and I love how it made statements, notions and ideas about our culture's thoughts about masculinity and I wanted to make something that was like Fight Club, but have it do that same thing with femininity. There's more, but why don't I just let you figure out what "more" is for yourself. Here it is, "Sluts Club, or The Bastard of Omelas."

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas by Urusla K. LeGuin (Just in case you're curious to what exactly Omelas is)

Sluts’ Club
-Or-
The Bastard of Omelas

“Welcome to Sluts’ Club. Let’s go over the rules, shall we? Rule number one, don’t disobey me. Rule number two, DON’T FUCKING DISOBEY ME! Rule number three, there is a difference between a whore and a slut. A whore will do anything for money; a slut will do almost anything for money. Granted, the list of things a slut will not do is small, but it is significant. I suggest you memorize it quickly. The list is as follows: A slut will not go over to her client’s house or anywhere with a client alone. You do business in my house, bitches. A slut will not go with a client that will physically hurt her with his hands or any other weapon. If your client threatens, attempts or actually hurts you, let me know, otherwise I will assume you wanted that way. A slut will not go near any client does not have protection. You make sure that your client has protection on them. And finally, a slut will not fuck under while fucked up, so monitor your intake of intoxicating substances very carefully. Rule number four, if you say yes every time, you cannot get raped. Hence, you bitches will never be raped. Rule number five, if you say no like ‘no, no, no NO!’ it ain’t rape. Rule number six, the worlds of the fat and the ugly are reserved only for the whores of this world. So stay pretty and stay thin. Rule number seven, all of your money goes directly to me and I decide what to spend it on. Rule number eight, you are never too young to be a slut. You can get too old, and believe me bitches, I will let you know when that point has come for you, but you are never, never too young to be a slut. So start recruiting young. Rule number nine, I reserve the right to make up any other rules for each of you individually that also must be followed. And rule number ten, you violate any of these rules, you officially become a whore, which means that I cast you out onto the street and you deal with your money all by yourself. This may sound tempting, but the average life expectancy of a slut turned whore after leaving me is three months. I promise you, the streets will eat you little cunts alive. Any questions?”
Miranda looked around the room, each girl looked up at her with circular eyes; they all swished their heads from side to side.
“Fabulous!” Miranda said as she flipped her thick flaxen hair over her shoulder and sat down in a pink and yellow Victorian wooden chair. “Well, then let’s do introductions. We have a new inductee into Sluts’ Club today, ladies. Her name is Star, she’s fourteen years old…”
“I’m a trannie!” Star interjected while crossing her legs and sticking out her hand, displaying candy apple red press on nails.
“What the fuck did I say about that?”
Star immediately withdrew her hand and uncrossed her legs. She lowered her head.
“Don’t you try to hide from me. What the fuck did I tell you about telling people you’re a trannie?”
“That…I shouldn’t do it unless someone asks?”
“That’s right. Did you see anyone ask?”
Star covered her eyes and moved her knees closer to her stomach.
“DID YOU?”
Star smoothly shook her head.
“Jesus, you haven’t even been her for a day and you’re already fucking up, trannie! You think I wouldn’t be able to find another one of you? Shit, I could drive down to Belmont and Clark and find another one of you faster than you could whip out you toilet paper tities, shit! Whatever, I’m in a forgiving mood…just don’t let it happen again, trannie.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Star whispered as she lowered her hand.
“Okay,” Miranda continued as she flipped her hair again and batted her bluish eyes. “Well, why don’t you tell everyone why you wanted to join Sluts’ Club.”
“Um, well, no one wants me the way that I am. My mom kicked me out and I have no friends…I just want someone to want me.”
“Believe me, honey, people will want you. There’s a big market out there for your kind. Annie, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
“Oh, um, oh…okay. Well, I’m Annie and I’m thirteen and I’ve been in Sluts’ Club for about a year now.”
“And why did you decide to join Sluts’ Club?”
“Well, um, because um, when I was about eight, my, uh, my, uh brother started having sex with me. I…I’d say no, but he’d never listen to me…so I figured out that if…if I never say no, I can’t get raped.”
“So why join Sluts’ Club?”
“Be…because, I couldn’t stay at my house…I don’t want to sleep with my brother anymore ‘cause that’s nasty. But…but I’ll do it with other guys.”
“Wonderful, thank you Annie darling. Okay, Sarah, would you care to be next?”
“Sure,” Sarah said as she slipped her brown hair behind her ear. “I’m Sarah and I’m fifteen and I’ve been here for, like, five months. Well, I used to be really, really fat a few years ago, so I started throwing up after I eat and…well, I finally got skinny and decided to share my new body with other people.”
“So why be part of Sluts’ Club, Sarah?”
“Well, I wanted protection. I mean, I am only ninety pounds, let’s face it, if I were out on my own, I probably would’ve been killed by now.”
“Yeah, so true. By the way, you gained a pound since your last weigh in, so just make sure you’re on top of all that. Okay, so who do we have next, how about…Laura.”
“Okay, sure. Um, I’m Laura and um, I…I really like crystal meth and I’ll do just about anything for it.”
“So why’d you come here?”
“Well, I don’t want to deal and I can’t turn tricks by myself and…well, you get me the best stuff, Miranda.”
“I do, don’t I, my pet? Very good, okay so who’s next?”
“I am. I’m Chloe and I’m seventeen and, I just love to fuck.”
“Which is an excellent reason to join the club. By the way, hate to warn you, but you know you’ve got until your eighteenth birthday, right?
“Yeah,” Chloe sighed an looked down. “But…”
“But? But what?”
“Well, that’s in four months and…I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Awww, really?” Miranda said as she walked to Chloe. “Guess what?” She opened her palm and brought it forcefully to Chloe’s cheek. Chloe’s upper body fell to the side and she held her plump cheek in her bony hand. “That ain’t my fucking problem. You’ve known for a while that eighteen was the unlucky fucking number, so that ain’t my problem.” Miranda brushed the small strings of yellow-gold hair off of her face and she walked back to her chair. “Okay, so we’ve got one more girl…Rachel, go for it.”
“Okay, well I’m Rachel and I’m sixteen and I’ve been here for about a month and a half.”
“So why are you here?”
“Well, I…um…I mean, I like dick a lot, but I also really like pussy. My parents told me that I was sick and my friends told me that I’m gay and I don’t really feel like either. I…uh…didn’t really know where else to go…I just want someone to tell me that I was okay, y’know?”
“Mmm…so sad. Don’t worry honey, everybody loves a slut that likes to dyke it up. So, we’ve got a big night ahead of us, ladies. As we all know, we have got some clients coming over tonight. But be warned that these are no ordinary clients. This is the police. I have worked with the police before and they are a very demanding bunch. If they don’t get exactly what they want, when they want and how they want it, they will have no problem taking you in and when that happens, it reflects poorly on me, and that means that I could possibly be taken in. Long story short, you fuck this up, you become a whore and I will not deal with you anymore. Annie, you will take Officer McCracken; he wanted someone frail and small to dominate, so do the whole S&M thing tonight. Star, you’ll be with Officer Keenan. He’s into the whole trannie thing, but don’t just outright tell him. He’s into the whole element of surprise thing, too, so let him figure it out for himself. Ok, so…Laura, you’ll be with Officer Brooks. He has requested for you to pretend to be passed out during your encounter. I’m sure you know what to do. Sarah, you’ll be with Officer Phillips, just do the stereotypical innocent school girl thing for him. And last, but not least, we’ve got Chloe and Rachel. You both will be going with Officer Willis. He really wanted the whole threesome thing. But don’t worry, you’re both getting paid in full. Any questions?”
Annie raised her hand with a bent elbow and hid her head.
“Yes?”
“Um…so….am I going to get hurt tonight?”
“Probably not too badly…I mean, nothing beyond a sore wrist. So, any more questions?”
With heads titled to the ground, all of them shook their heads.
“Okay, well you’ve only got a little over an hour, so come, get ready! Come on, move!”
All of them grabbed onto the armrests of their chairs and lifted themselves up rapidly. They got into a single file line and headed for the basement.
“That’s right! Move! And don’t come back upstairs until you’re fucking ready to go, bitches!”
The basement door gently shut. She could hear the girls run downstairs on the grating stairs.
Miranda ran up the winding stairs, her long blond hair bouncing after her. She went into her room and quickly threw off her clothes. She looked at herself in the full length mirror which stood next to her window and her makeup table. She twirled around and smiled. Her hair fell to her side. She turned to her right side, then to her left. Her left arm lay restlessly beside her square hip. He flipped her arm, palm up in fount of the mirror. The pale light yellow skin was speckled with pink and red lines. Some were straight across, others were straight up and down, and still others were diagonal, but they were all pink and red straight lines. Some of them were almost faded with white, fragile bumps on them. Others were a fresh purple-red color.
Miranda quickly grabbed her left arm with her right one. She looked up at the mirror from her arms to her eyes. She forgot to put her contacts in, so her eyes were more grey than blue. The corners of her eyes became pink. Her brow furrowed. She brought back her left arm and clenched her teeth.
There was a creaking outside of the door. Miranda turned her head quickly. Her hair fell, covering her breasts. She tucked her left arm behind her back and put her right arm in front of her, her right hand covering her crotch. She held her breath for five seconds. Then, she exhaled. It was nothing.
She looked back over to the full length mirror. She giggled and shrugged. She sat down at her makeup table. First thing was first: she put her blue contacts. She did all of her makeup, covering every flaw, extending every lash, plucked out every unnecessary eyebrow hair, exaggerating every feature. She got up to put on her clothes. She leaned closer to the mirror. Her eyes were bluer, but she could still see hints of grey. She tried turning off the lamp on the makeup table, but she could still see the grey through the blue. She went over to the window and drew the blinds. She still could see the grey mixed in with the blue. She started to huff. She bit her painted red lower lip. Her eyes and pupils dilated. She picked up her jar of perfume powder and threw it at the mirror. It did not break, but the pale pink powder dispersed all over the golden framed mirror. The powder made a veil on the mirror, so Miranda could only see the remnants of her face and body.
“Oops,” she whispered and put her hand over her mouth. She walked over to her closet. None of her clothes were on hangers; they were all in a pile on the bottom. She threw pairs on jeans and white tee shirts behind her. She picked out a navy blue miniskirt and put it on. She dug a little further and found a sky blue thong and matching push up bra. She slipped on the thong smoothly under her skirt and snapped on the bra. She dug further and found a dark blue long sleeve shirt. She went to the full length mirror. There was a brownish –red stain on the left sleeve.
“Oh fuck!” She whispered through tightened teeth as she ripped it off and chucked at the mirror. She stomped over her closet and dug, grabbing onto clothes with closed fists. She could feel her nails on her palms through the cloth. She finally found a dull blue v-neck sweater. She threw it on and ran out of her room. She shut the door quietly behind her. She looked at the door down the hall. She walked slowly towards it, holding her breath sternly in the pit of both lungs. She stopped at the door and expelled the air slowly.
Miranda slowly opened the loud, heavy wooden door. The room was dark and moldy, as usual.
“Daddy?” She asked quietly.
“Come in, baby.” The gruff voice answered back.
Miranda walked into the room and shut the door quietly behind her. A beam of light hit Daddy, who was sitting in a rocking chair and smoking a cigar by a lamp which exuded a very dull light.
“Daddy, the big police party is tonight.”
“I know. We’re looking to rake in some big dough tonight.”
“I know, Daddy. At least a thousand dollars.”
“You should be proud of yourself, baby.”
Miranda let out a soft giggle and looked down at her feet. “Well, I should go check on the girls.”
“You’ve got some time, baby.”
“I don’t have that much time, Daddy. I really should go and check on them and get the house ready.”
“Well, at least give your daddy a hug.”
Miranda silently gulped and stepped over to Daddy, putting one foot in front of the other. Both of her arms extended out. He put out his cigar and stood up from his chair and met her. His arms were at his side. She gently put her arms around his shoulders. His chubby, greasy lips pressed against her supple, pink cheek. His jagged, dry hands grabbed onto her pointy hips. She released his shoulders slowly. He dug his nails into her hips and spun her around. He lifted up her skirt and pulled down her thong.
“I really don’t have time, Daddy.”
“Make time.”
“Daddy, I…”
“C’mon, one time, one fucking time. One time before the party. One fucking time, you little bitch.” He twisted her left arm and pulled it back. He unzipped his pants and put himself inside of her. His fat stomach pressed against her back, his bulbous lips pressed against her neck. She could feel his stubble and smell the just smoked cigar on his breath. He gripped her left arm tightly.
The doorbell rang.
Daddy loosened his grip on Miranda’s arm.
“That must be the police,” Miranda said as she pulled away. She pulled down her skirt and pulled up her thong. She ran to the door. She turned around to Daddy, his pants still down, his dick still hard.
“I’ll…be back, Daddy. I promise.”
“I’m holding you to it,” Daddy said as he stroked his cock. Miranda cracked a disgusted smile with wide eyes. She slammed the door behind her and ran down the winding stairs. She flung open the basement door.
“Okay,” she shouted down the stairs. “Upstairs right now you little cunts! Up, up, up! Come on, let’s go!” She could hear them scatter and head up the stairs. They lined up again single file for Miranda to see them. Miranda went down the line. There was Annie all in black with bright red lipstick. There was Star with a micro mini skirt and fake eyelashes. There was Sarah with a belly shirt to show off her ribs with her hair in pigtails. There was Chloe and Rachel in matching red teddies. Then, there was Laura, in a grey tee shirt and jeans.
“Um, Laura?” Miranda
“Y…yes, boss?”
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Oh..um…yeah,” Laura said while trying to conceal a giggle. “Well, these are my only pair of clean clothes.”
Miranda stepped up to Laura and looked at her pink eyes. “Are you fucking stoned?”
“N…no, ma’am.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Okay, well, I don’t have time to waste on this bullshit, but if I find out that you took anything, anything at all, you’re fucking on the street.” Miranda opened the door. “Hi,” she began with an unusually high pitched voice. “I am so sorry of the delay, officers. You know, girls. Everything has to be perfect. Please come in. Take off your shoes and hang up your coats.”
The officers spoke almost incoherently to one another. All of them had insipid grins on their faces, like a dog does when it wants its owner to take it for a walk. Miranda was ready to walk these men.
“Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my girls.” Miranda introduced the officers to each girl. The officers all looked at them while stroking their chins and letting their eyes travel up and down. The girls hid their eyes and bit their lower lips sheepishly.
“So,” Miranda began. “You have all read the list of rules. You know not to cut, punch, slap, or kick my girls and you know that you do business with me and me alone. My girls are not to leave this house and I must get payment up front. And, you are to wear protection with my girls. Are there any questions, gentlemen?”
“No, ma’am,” they said simultaneously.
“Wonderful. So, if you could please give me your payments now,” she opened her hands. The officers opened their hands got out their wallets. Each of them gave her the two one hundred dollar bills, except for Officer Willis; he gave her four for both Rachel and Chloe. “Fabulous. Well, let’s get started. I will call out an officer’s name and I will then introduce them to their girl, or girls as the case may be, for the night. Officer McCracken, you will be with my Annie.”
Officer McCracken stepped forcefully towards Annie. Annie took one small step backwards.
“Don’t be shy, Annie. Officer McCracken won’t bite,” Miranda laughed as she stroked Annie’s mousey brown hair.
“Oh, yes I will,” Officer McCracken jabbed.
Miranda and the officer shared a guttural laugh while Annie swallowed hard while she struggled to lift her heavy leg forward.
“You two can go up to the second room on your right. All the bondage stuff is in the chest at the foot of the bed.”
The officer grabbed Annie’s wrist and ran up the stairs.
“Those two are going to have one hell of a night. So next, we have Officer Keenan with Star.”
“Hi Star,” Keenan said as he extended his hand.
“Hi Officer Keenan. I’m…” Star looked over to Miranda. Her eyes were wide open and her head stiffly shook back and forth.
“I’m looking forward to our encounter.”
“Great, fabulous!” Miranda interjected. “Why don’t you to go up to the first room on your left. Okay, so who’s next? Officer Brooks. You will be with Miss Laura today. I do apologize for her horrendous appearance, but I do promise that she will obey your every command. So you two will be in the second room on your left. And, Officer Phillips, you are with my Sarah tonight. You two can use my room which is the first one on your right. Oh and Phillips, be gentle with my Sarah, she’s just a little girl.”
Officer Phillips’ smile spread across his entire face, pushing the flesh of his cheeks to his ears. He grabbed Sarah and ran while she staggered behind, almost falling on each step.
“And last, but certainly not least is you, Officer Willis. You get both Chloe and Rachel tonight. You two can take the basement. I will be up here if anyone needs me and I will be making random rounds just to make sure everyone of you fine gentlemen is getting exactly what he wants.”
“Uh, you two can head down ahead of me, I’ll be right there. I just have a couple things I want to talk to Miranda about.”
Chloe and Rachel drudged down the stairs and closed the door slowly behind them.
“Yes, Officer Willis, what can I help you with?”
“So, you run Chicago’s Sluts’ Club?”
“Northside Chapter, yes sir, I do.”
“And how old did you say you were?”
“A lady never says her age, Mr. Willis.”
“C’mon, you’re young, you’re hot,” his hand reached for her ass.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” Miranda said as she gently grabbed his hand.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty four.” She whispered.
“Wow…you’re young. So, how is it being a twenty-four year old pimp?”
“I am not a pimp! I am an entrepreneur.”
“Yeah right, everyone knows that Daddy started this whole thing up and just got you to do all the work. In fact, I hear that Daddy’s thinking about having…what’s her face, the one that runs northwest suburban…Amy, that’s it, run the Northside instead of you.”
Miranda’s lips stretched into a small, tight smile. “Mr. Willis. Do you have a question for me?”
“Yeah, I do,” he replied, spreading a thick smell of whiskey to Miranda’s face. “How do I get Daddy’s job.”
“Okay,” Miranda said, still smiling, but looking down at her feet. “You want to have a good time tonight, right?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Then may I make a suggestion?”
Willis nodded.
“Shut the fuck up and go downstairs.”
“Okay, sorry. Didn’t know it was that time of the month over here at the slut palace.” He reached out and grabbed her ass right before he went down into the basement.
Miranda’s lungs felt as if they were going to swell up and close. She tried to suck in as much air as she could, but no amount was enough. She was tapping her left foot rapidly. She forced her feet to take her into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator door. She reached for the full fifth of vodka and twisted off the red cap violently. The neck of the bottle became engulfed into her red lips. The vodka stung the inside of her throat. She just held on to the bottle tighter. He gulped and chugged almost half of the bottle when she slammed in down on the counter and took alternating deep breaths through her nose and mouth. She started to cough. She tried to keep in quiet, but she could not help it; her coughs were dry and passionate. It felt as if her lungs were trying to leave her body, but just couldn’t.
Finally, the cough was quelled. She took the bottle over to the pink and yellow chair in the adjacent sitting room. She sipped the vodka very slowly, letting it slide on her tongue, past her teeth and down to her stomach.
She could hear the moans of the officers and her girls from both upstairs and downstairs. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, but somehow the moans got louder and when she shut her eyes. She pressed her hands to her ears tighter and began to hum, but the moans got louder. She squinted her eyes so firmly that her eyelids wrinkled from corner to corner.
She heard a girl scream upstairs. She released her ears and opened her eyes. She ran up the stairs, still holding her bottle of vodka, and hurled open the door. Star was naked and her eyes were glassed over with tears.
“Was that you?” Miranda shouted.
“Yes,” she said as she ran over to Miranda while Officer Keenan still lay on the bed. “But, Miss Miranda you don’t understand. He wants me to…um…”
“TO WHAT?”
“Take it in the ass,” Star whispered.
“AND?”
“Well,” Star said, still whispering. “I’ve never really done that before.”
“Wow, really? Gee, well, you should’ve FUCKING THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE JOINING SLUTS’ CLUB, YOU LITTLE TRANNIE CUNT! HOW DID YOU EXPECT HIM TO FUCK YOU, HUH?”
Star’s head fell fast and she began to weep. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you better get over there and do what that man wants, he’s paid good money for you and I’m not about to have my good name dragged through the fucking mud just because some trannie fucking piece of shit doesn’t want to take it in the ass.”
“But what if it hurts?” Star asked. “You said we wouldn’t get hurt.”
“He’s not planning on fucking you with a knife or anything like that. He’s just fucking you with his dick. A dick is not a weapon. A dick is what most men fuck with you fucking idiot. Now get back over there. I’m going to stay in here until I see his dick go inside of you.”
“Miss Miranda…” Star sighed while tears saturated her plump lips.
“I SAID GET BACK OVER THERE!”
Star sniffed up her remaining tears and walked over to Officer Keenan.
“That’s a good little bitch,” Miranda said. “Now, bend over.”
Star took a deep breath in and held it. She bent over the side of the bed and propped herself up by extending her arms; her elbows her almost flat. Her cheeks puffed out slightly. Her eyes were shut. Officer Keenan went inside of her. Star grabbed onto the blanket onto the bed, but did not make a sound.
“That’s good, yeah, just like that, don’t you fucking move or make a sound. If you do, I’ll be back here and you don’t fucking want me back here.” Miranda slammed the door behind her. She was huffing again. Her fist grabbed onto the vodka bottle stiffly and rigidly lifted the bottle up to her mouth. She took one big gulp, letting the vodka flow down her throat and surround her lips. She coughed lightly from her throat a few times. She looked to the door across from her; she stomped over and turned to doorknob with a clenched right fist.
Sarah was on her knees besides the bed; Officer Phillips was standing and had a tight grip on her pigtails. Miranda crouched down slowly beside both of them, her grey-blue eyes fixated on Sarah.
“Aw, come on, Sarah! You call that sucking dick?” Miranda shouted as she lifted herself up and put her head right next to Sarah’s. Miranda placed her hand on the back of Sarah’s head and stood right behind her. Miranda pushed and pulled. Officer Phillips threw his head back and let out a trembling sigh. Miranda pushed and pulled faster and faster. Sarah’s cheeks puffed out and she coughed gutturally.
“Yeah, keep sucking. Don’t stop. What are you afraid will happen? You’ll puke up the ice cube you had for breakfast? Keep sucking, you fat little cunt!” Miranda slowly let go of Sarah’s head. Sarah kept going and kept coughing. Hot tears stained her red cheeks. “That’s a good girl. Don’t slow down, don’t fucking slow down! Enjoy your night, Phillips.”
Miranda walked out of the room and went to the room the next room down where McCracken and Annie were. She pressed the bottle to her lips and let the liquid slide down her tongue slowly. She turned the doorknob smoothly, letting the door creak. Annie was handcuffed to the bedpost and her feet were tied up. She was blindfolded.
“You’re not going to cut her or anything are you?” Miranda asked.
“No, ma’am.” Officer McCracken answered.
“Okay, well in that case, you can tighten the cuffs and the scarf around her ankles.”
Annie’s brow furrowed over the blindfold
“Are you sure, it looks like everything’s tight enough.”
“No, I’m sure. She’ll be fine.”
“No,” Annie whispered.
Miranda trudged over to the bed. “What did you just say?’
Annie froze.
“Answer me!”
Annie was still frozen. Her pink lips became wrinkled and pursed.
“What’s the first rule of Sluts’ Club, Annie?”
“D…don’t disobey you…”
“And what’s the second one?”
“D…don’t fucking disobey..y…you.”
“That’s right. Now Officer McCracken here wants to tie you up and make you helpless. I say that you need to be tied tighter in order for that to work. That is my order. Are you going to disobey it?”
“N…no ma’am.”
“That’s what I thought. McCracken, you can tie her tighter.”
Officer McCracken went over to Annie’s arms and tightened her handcuffs. Annie’s hands clasped one another. A clear, oily tear fell out from the bottom of the blindfold. Officer McCracken then went to her feet and tightened the black scarf that held her feet together. Her feet and ankles pressed against each other. She pushed out a sigh from her lungs and another tear fell.
“Are you sure she’s okay?” Officer McCracken asked.
“She’s fine! Now, fuck her.”
Officer McCracken lifted her legs up and went inside of Annie. Her head jerked to the side. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Her shiny tears dampened her entire face.
“Very good, call me if she squirms or does something stupid, McCracken.” Miranda stepped out and went across the hall. She knew Laura was in there. The neck of the vodka bottle penetrated her lips once more and spilled out it’s last gulp of cold vodka. She knew that Laura had taken something, but she needed to prove it. She went inside of the room. Officer Brooks was on top of Laura, pumping rapidly. Laura remained perfectly still. Her arm looked whiter and greyer than it ever had before. A recent pink track mark lay on her forearm.
“I knew it, I fucking new it!” Miranda clomped over to the bed and yanked her arm upward. Officer Brooks stopped, but remained inside of her. “You fucking shot up before the party, didn’t you?”
Laura didn’t answer.
“Answer me!”
Laura did not.
“Laura, answer me!”
She still did not.
“I think she might really be passed out,” Officer Brooks said.
Miranda grunted. She turned Laura’s head towards her. Her eyes were shut and her face was relaxed. Her mouth was slightly open. Miranda slapped her across the face. “Laura?” No response. She slapped her again. “LAURA!” Still, no response. “Yep, she’s passed out.”
“Well, should I keep going?” Officer Brooks asked.
“Why the hell not? This is her last night here. And you paid good money for this, so you might as well enjoy it.”
“Okay,” Officer McCracken started pumping again slowly. He let out slight quivering breaths through his nose. “Um, are you going to stay here until I’m done, Miranda?”
“Yeah, I need to take care of her when you’re done.”
Officer Brooks nodded and started pumping faster and shut his eyes.
“Yeah, you know you like it, Officer,” Miranda came up from behind him and began whispering in his ear. “You know you get hot thinking of fucking a passed out little slut. You’ve thought about it and now you get to do it. Yeah, fuck that little passed out bitch. Fuck her. Fucker her hard. Harder. Harder. HARDER!”
Officer Brooks threw his head back and opened his mouth. He let out a very staccato moan and stopped thrusting. He fell on top of Laura and then pulled out, his sperm sticking to his semi-hard cock.
“The condom! What happened to the condom?”
“She said I didn’t need one,” he answered back between breaths.
“Didn’t need one? Didn’t you read the contract?”
“Yeah, but she said she was on the pill.”
Miranda bit her lower lip and held in a hot breath. Her eyes squinted. “Get off of her.”
Officer Brooks slid over to the side. Miranda grabbed Laura’s track marked arm and pulled her off the bed. Her body made a thud upon hitting the ground. “None of my girls go on the fucking pill. The pill makes them fat!” She knelt down and picked Laura up. She carried her over to the adjacent bathroom. Miranda slumped Laura onto the toilet. She grabbed the water lever of the shower and cranked it slightly, but she did it with a violent flick of the wrist. Miranda felt the water with an open palm; it was sharply cold. She grabbed Laura’s pinkly speckled arm and dragged her into the shower. Laura was slumped against the shower wall. She began to gurgle and moan. Miranda moved in closer. The moans got louder. Miranda’s breaths became smooth and thick. Laura’s eyelashes slowly pulsated. Her eyelids became creased. Then, her eyelashed lifted and Laura’s grey and pink eyes were exposed. Miranda grabbed her hair. “Enjoy your last night at Sluts’ Club, whore?” She released her hair and Laura’s head collided with the shower wall. She let out a wet “ow,” and her eyes closed again. Red blood ran from the back of her head down to the drain. Miranda slammed the bathroom door. She her feet were heavy, but her legs were light; She lifted them up and pressed her feet down on the ground with every step and headed down to the basement.
She opened the basement door; she lifted the vodka bottle to her head, but it was empty. “FUCK!” Miranda shouted and she ran down the stairs.
Officer Willis took Rachel from behind while she went down on Chloe.
“GODDAMIT!” She screamed all the way down from her stomach as she threw down her bottle, shattering it against the cold concrete floor. “You fucking call this a threesome? Fuck you, bitches. Fuck her harder, Willis. Yeah, like that, make it rough. And Rachel, for someone who claims to like pussy, you fucking suck at this. Come on, use you’re tongue more, come on, you stupid cunt. I’m not even a dyke like you and I can do this shit better than you can…yeah, better, that’s a good girl. Pull her hair Chloe…PULL HER FUCKING HAIR, CHLOE. Yeah, like that good, good. Now pull it harder, make strands of it come off in your hand. Yeah, like that you little bitch.” Chloe and Rachel’s faces were wet and their eyes were closed. Miranda staggered and swayed as she walked up the stairs, crunching the glass with her shoes. She got upstairs and went to the kitchen. She flung open the refrigerator door and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. She went back to the sitting room with it. She slouched in her pink and yellow chair. The bottle met her lips. Her tongue circled around the opening. The whiskey fell out of the bottle and into her blood. She smiled as she felt it slip down her throat and into the rest of her body, which caused some whisky to spill on her shirt. But she didn’t feel it. She finally pulled the bottle slowly away. She held it against her chest. Her eyelids dropped over her blue-grey eyes. She began to breathe fully. Her head tilted to the side.

***********

Miranda’s eyelashes began to move form side to side, brushing softly against her cheeks. She jumped up quickly and realized where she was. The yellow Sun shone through the blinds in the sitting room. She could faintly hear chirping birds outside. Her eyelids drooped down again. Her whiskey was still against her chest. She lifted it up shakily to her now pink and chapped lips. She took a small sip and began to cough. She put the bottle down next to the chair and propped herself up. She kept loosing balance on her left leg and the room became blurry. “Huh…still…drunk…woo-hoo!” She said loudly. She viciously staggered down the basement steps. She found Rachel, Chloe and Officer Willis all holding each other and asleep on the cold floor. Miranda smiled and stumbled back upstairs.
She checked on all of the girls upstairs; all of them were asleep in the officers’ arms, except for Laura. She was still in the shower. The water was still running and she was still very pale and now her skin formed deep creases all over. Miranda shut off the shower gently and threw a towel over her. Laura let out a watery breath. “Sorry I had to let you go,” Miranda cooed. “But you knew the rules.” She left the bathroom; Officer Brooks was snoring and took up the entire bed. “At least he enjoyed himself,” she thought.
Miranda left the room and closed the door quietly. She eyed the door at the end of the hall. She inhaled until her lungs stretched thin. She lifted one heavy foot at a time until she reached the end of the hall. She let her lungs relax slowly. She gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly. She put one foot inside of the room.
“How’d it go?”
“Great, it went great,” she answered as she pushed the rest of her body inside of the room.
“Good! I’m glad. How much did we make?”
“About twelve hundred.”
“That’s my girl,” Daddy laughed as he lit a cigar. He had the big window next to his chair open. The smoke danced its way onto the sunlight before it made its way outside.
“Um, Daddy? Can I ask you something.”
Daddy nodded.
“Um, are you thinking about letting Amy take over the Northside chapter?’ She looked down and crossed her legs.
“Yes I am.”
“Why, Daddy? You know I’ve brought in some of the best profits you’ve ever seen.”
“I know that,” Daddy replies while he put his cigar down into the ashtray beside him. “But Amy hasn’t let anything go to her head. You have.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he started, placing his cigar back into his mouth. “You seem to forget some of the rules that I have put into place for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, take last night for example,” he said as he exhaled a grey cloud of smoke. “I wanted to fuck you, but you said you were too busy.”
“Daddy, the police were on their way over here.”
“What’s Daddy’s first rule?”
“But Daddy…”
“MMM!” He interrupted. “What’s Daddy’s first rule?”
“Don’t disobey your daddy…”
“Very good, and what’s the second rule?”
“Don’t fucking disobey your daddy.”
“Very good.” He said as he stood up from his rocking chair and moved his stubby legs closer to her. “Now Amy never forgets that when I’m up in the ‘burbs, but you seem to forget it all the time.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. Do you think you can forgive me?”
He exhaled another grey cloud of smoke. “Go over to the window and bend over.”
“Daddy, please. I’m still drunk.”
“Do we have to go over the rules again?” He asked.
She looked at the window and noticed that there was nothing to cover her. “But…what if people see us?”
He furrowed his brow.
“I mean, yes sir.”
She stepped over to the window. Her arms and head hung outside of the room while the rest of her was in. Daddy put out his cigar and went over to her. He unzipped his pants but did not pull them down past his thigh. He lifted up her skirt and pulled down her thong. He went inside of her and began thrusting. She felt his left arm pull her left arm back towards him. She felt his other hand grab something out of his right pocket.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Please, not the knife. Not the knife.”
“What did you say?”
Miranda did not answer.
“Answer me!”
“I said…nothing sir. I said nothing.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said as he pumped harder inside of her and put the cold knife against her warm skin. She could feel her skin open up and she could feel the hot blood pool out of her. She clutched onto the window sill with her right hand and bit the inside of her cheek.
Outside, she saw two young women walk by and look up at her. She recognized them from somewhere, but she couldn’t pinpoint where or how exactly. She saw them look up at her with lips and eyes like perfect circles. They covered their mouths at the sides and whispered back and forth to each other. She couldn’t hear them, but she knew what they were saying.
Miranda let go of the window sill and made a fist. Her middle finger shot up to both of the girls. Her lips were pursed and her teeth were clenched.
They began to laugh hysterically as they bent over their torsos. “WHORE!” They yelled up and ran away.
Miranda’s face because flushed and fevered. Her cheeks subtly shook. Her eyes excreted hot tears out of the corners. Her organs, her veins, her skin became ice that would not melt. More hot tears flowed down her cheeks to her dry lips and they seeped into the cracked skin and the open pores. Her head became heavy, yet her vision was blurry.
“Now, what do we say to Daddy after he cuts you, Miranda?” Daddy said as he pumped even harder, making it feel as if he was hitting the back of Miranda’s throat. She could feel his dry skin inside of her and his pulsing veins.
She gulped.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said through interlocked teeth, wet with spit and tears. “May I have another?”

Sun, 13 Mar 2005 02:32:17 GMT

So I know I am going to sound like a jackass, but i need you muthafuckas to comment on all this shiznit. Im not expect long dissertations or anything, but I'm throwing myself on the mercy of the court PPPPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE critisize and comment on my work...I PROMISE I will do the same for you!!! ;)

Love,
Meredith
AKA "Lola in slacks"

Poems are Fun For Everyone!

Sat, 12 Mar 2005 07:35:40 GMT

"RECEIPTS"

I would have returned that necklace he gave me,
but he stuck his gum on the damn receipt.
You should save your receipts, I would tell him.
I do, he’d say while smacking and squishing and squashing his pink gum,
letting greasy spit bubbles form in between his teeth.
Then, after about two minutes,
he’d spit it out into one of his damn receipts
What if the credit card company makes a mistake on your bill? I’d ask
Then I’ll call them, he’d say.
But you need a receipt, I’d say.
And I have receipts, he’d say to me
and stick his index finger and thumb past his wet lips
and pull out his pink wad of gum
and push it onto a damn receipt.
What was it with him and his damn gum?
He’d chew it for five minutes, tops,
then spit it out into a damn receipt.

God, I miss that.

"THIS PARTY"

Your smooth hand rests inside of mine.
Do you want to leave?
I know that you don’t like parties.
I heard it was going to be a good one this time.
But it’s just like all of the rests,
White kids celebrating a weekend from high school part two
With their gelled blond hair
And beer scented Lacoste polos;
(The alligator’s an unwilling alcoholic.)
The frat boys saying, “Dude, I’m so fucking trashed,”
The soror- whores saying, “I am like so fucking drunk.”
The theatre kids in black mock turtle necks hypothesizing on Camus and Nabokov and all the other authors that had summaries available on Sparknotes.com
And all the time we sit there on the radiator,
Holding hands.

I don’t even remember who told me about this party
Some guy, some girl, some actor, some fucking moron.
I didn’t care.
I opened a window to air out the pizza-vodka-vomit stench
And I looked at the stars and waxing moon.
I tell you we shouldn’t have come out here,
I thought it was going to be a good time.

You tell me it’s okay,
It’s not.
I’ve been to a party every weekend.
I go home every night to cry into a beige comforter
And sip hot apple cider in my dirty socks.

My laptop will be used like a hooker on Sunday.
A report on the gay rights movement in Guatemala;
An informal essay about socialist symbolism in “Native Son;”
A reader’s response to some article about obesity in the US
And what does it all mean?
A piece of paper with a collaboration of words, letters, symbols in ink
To prove I did the reading,
To prove I am smart,
To someone who is smarter
So I can get a job
So I can miss the days of parties and tears and cider?
So I can have nothing to look forward to?
So I won’t be let down ever again?
So I will never say, “Let’s check out this party;
I hear this time, it’ll be a good one.”

CHILDLIKE WONDER (Or I AM DELORES HAZE)

I wonder…
I wonder if I’ll ever meet a movie star
that will take me far away from here
and will watch me dance to Dizzy.

I wonder what I could do to make him want me.
Do I walk around the house in my underwear?
Do I talk like Jean Harlow?
Do I stuff my bra?

I wonder who is starring at me.
The man moving in? He has a silly name.
I’m not looking at him,
but I feel the sunlight of a pair of eyes shine on me.

I wonder what I’d look like in red lipstick.
It’s be fun to kiss someone
and have the lipstick stain their face,
like a dog that pisses on a white carpet to mark its territory.

I wonder, should I look up?
Yes, I should.
I smile and flash my sparkling retainer.
He’s smiling back. I wonder if he likes it.

I wonder if I have to do anything at all.
I can lay here in the lawn all day, with blades of grass sticking to my legs
or eat an apple, let the juice foam at the corners of my lips,
or blow a bubble gum bubble in his face and stick it on his pointy nose.

I wonder if he’s the one who’s gonna take me away.

I wonder if I’m staring too long.

I think that might be a good thing.

By the way...

Sat, 12 Mar 2005 06:55:16 GMT

If anyone way wondering why my ID is lola_inslacks:

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of my tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms, she was always Lolita.”

--Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

Getting Off The Train

Sat, 12 Mar 2005 06:41:36 GMT

I wrote this story almost 6 months ago. It's most likely going to be part of this novel I'm working on. I know it needs some work. Tell me what you think!

Getting Off the Train

This story is based on an in-class exercise. The exercise was to write down something that I fundamentally believed in, then to write a story disproving my belief. My fundamental belief is that no matter how bad things get, there is always some hope; there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

****

You lean your head onto the window by your seat. Your eyelids sting. They feel as if they are being pulled downward by some unexplainable force, as if by strings. But you keep your eyes open. There is someone sitting on the opposite side of the train as you and he’s staring at you and slightly smiling. He looks about the same age as you. His hair is dyed blue and he’s got a green Lacoste polo on. He’s probably another trick. You hold your bag close to you and you look out the window.
All the apartments along side the train tracks wiz by you. Some have their lights on against the dark sky, some don’t. Your face feels cold pressed up against the plexiglass window.
“You’re Joey, right?” The guy asks as he walks towards you. You inch closer to the window.
“Why?” You ask.
“You just look like this guy, Joey that I used to know. We were on the same soccer team a few years ago.”
“Yeah, I’m Joey,” you respond.
“I knew it, I fucking knew it,” he said as he sat down in the empty seat next to you.
“And you’re Danny,” you say.
“Yeah, man. I’m surprised you remembered,” he says. “So what are you doing out here? I thought you lived up on the north side?”
“I got kicked out of a john’s house. I’ve been staying there for a while.”
“Really? Me too. You remember Mr. Routenburg?” He asks.
“Yeah, that fucking old ass science teacher?
He lets out a choppy and horse like laugh. “Yeah, him.”
“You were getting poked by him?” You yell.
“Hey, he may not have the highest paying job and he may be a nasty old man, but he really dishes it out for his young boys.”
“So why’d he kick you out?” You ask.
“He was into some really sick shit.” He says as he lights a cigarette.
“Like what?” You ask.
“I don’t want to say.” He looks down at the floor, staring at the ash spilled from his cigarette.
“Come on, you can tell me. I’m sure it’s nothing I’ve never heard or done before.” You say. Funny, you thought you were finished comforting people.
“Well,” he said as he let out a smooth smoky exhale. “He wanted to tie me up and ball gag me and shit while these other guys fucked me and he’d be jerking off and shit. I told him I wouldn’t do it. So, he kicked me out. But I’m okay with it. You know how you have those certain things you just won’t do?”
You stare straight ahead and thought for a moment. If you did have anything like that, none were coming to mind.
“No, you answer back.
Danny giggled again. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot about you, Joey. You’ve always been real intense about that shit. So why did your john kick you out?”
You look away from Danny and think again.
****
You stood outside his door. You were shivering, you teeth were chattering. You rang the doorbell with a shaky finger. It was dark and cloudy. The moon and the stars were hidden in the hazy night sky.
You heard the door open and you turned around. It was not Coach Niccodoro standing in the doorway. It was a blond boy slanting on the door frame in nothing but a pair of bright green boxers. He couldn’t have been taller than 4’10’’. He was sucking on a bright red Popsicle that was glistening in the porch light.
“Yes?” He asked in a snide tone of voice
“Um, who are you?” You asked him.
“I’m Alex. Who the hell are you?” He said back.
“I’m Joey. Where’s Coach?” You asked.
“Coach?” He snapped back.
“Um, Coach Niccodoro. Where is he?”
“Oh, you mean Nicci?” He said and let out a smooth, yet staccato giggle. “He’s upstairs recuperating.”
You furrowed your eyebrows and moved in a bit closer. Alex didn’t budge. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Joey?” He said as he tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. He put the Popsicle back into his mouth. His lips turned a bit redder.
“Yes, there is something is else. I’d like to speak to Coach Niccodoro.”
Alex let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the door. “NICCI!” He yells with a cracked voice. “JOEY’S AT THE DOOR. I TRIED TO GET HIM TO LEAVE!”
One foot stepped away from the door. You hear someone run down the stairs. You rub the bruise on your cheek. Funny, after Coach popped you that last time, you told yourself you’d never be back.
The door opened at it was Coach in a pair of his silk boxers. His body was smoother and more chiseled than you ever remember. His hair looked shiner and his eyes looked bluer. You wanted to just walk into his mansion and stare at the beautiful crystal chandelier in the middle of the hallway. You wanted to be able to walk up to your old room and fall asleep on the king size bed and cover yourself in the blue silk comforter.
“What the fuck do you want?” He said as he took the cigarette out of his mouth.
“I, uh, I…I wanted to come by and say that I shouldn’t have left.”
“No shit,” He replied. All you could do was stare at him, smoking his cigarette. You saw Alex coming back down the stairs with his Popsicle. Coach put his arm around him. “So what do you want from me, Joey?”
“Can….can I stay here again?” You asked.
Both Coach and Alex started to laugh in unison.
“You…want to live back here?” Coach said through his malicious spats of laughter. “What the fuck makes you think that I would let you back in? I mean, really? Let’s look at this. First, you tell my wife that I’m fucking you, so she leaves and I constantly have to worry that she’s going to tell someone. Then, you run away, so not only do I have my wife to worry about, but then I worry that you’re going to tell someone. And now, you come back and expect me to let you in. Oh that’s good.”
You look down at your shoes.
“And the best part is,” Coach continued. “You’re not even that good. See this kid, Alex, right here? He’s about three years younger than you and he knows what he’s doing more than you ever will.
Alex raised his eyebrows and inserted his Popsicle back into his mouth.
“So, got anymore jokes for us, Joey? Because you are on a fucking roll tonight.” Coach said. You just looked back down again. You didn’t move. You just stared at the ground.
“Hey, you want another bruise on that pretty little face of yours?”
You shake your head.
“Then get the fuck off of my property.”
The door started to shut again. “Have fun on the streets, asshole.” Alex said as the door shut. You stared at the door and watched the automatic porch light go off. You heard them laughing inside and then heard both of them run up the stairs. You turned around and looked up at the sky, trying to find the North Star. It wasn’t there.
****
“He, um, he found someone else,” you tell Danny.
“That sucks, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” Danny says to you.
“Yeah, but for now, I’m on the streets. No one out here will pay nearly as much as this last one paid.”
“Who was this last one?” He asks.
“Niccodoro,” you reply after a long pause.
“Holy shit!” He exclaims. “So, you were one of the lucky who got to fuck the Coach? God, I have always wanted to get plowed by a filthy fucking rich bastard like him! God, I remember he propositioned me back at the beginning of the season…”
“He did?” You ask as you turn to him.
“Yep,” he takes a long drag off of his cigarette. “I was doing odd jobs and stuff like that around his house. One day, after practice he drove me home asked me to kiss him. So we made out, he slipped me his tongue. I was so nervous; I just kind of sat there and shit. I guess I never expected him to go with me, you know? Well, so one night, he told me to meet him at the end of my block. So I snuck out of my room and met him. We pulled into this abandon parking lot on the bad side of town. I never expected us to go there, you know? I thought he’d take me to some fancy hotel or some shit. Anyway, when we got there, I thought I’d be sexy, so I told him that I liked it rough.” He took another long drag off of his cigarette.
“So what happened after that?” You ask with a raised voice. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You bit your lower lip. You hope he is not going to say what you think he’s going to say.
“He turned to me and asked me what I said. I repeated myself and he…he got mad at me. He threw my pants at me and called me a fag.” He took another long drag off of his cigarette. “Then he hit me. He slapped me across the face and told me to get out of his car. I guess he only did virgins or some shit. I probably should have told him that I had been turning tricks six months before I joined that stupid soccer team. He probably started going with you right after me.”
“Yeah,” you murmur. Your eyes start to sting, but not in the same way that they did before. Your eyes start to feel wet and your breaths press up against your throat as they make their way upward. You swiftly wipe your eyes and put your head down further.
“By the way,” Danny asks as he puts out his cigarette. “When did you get that bruise?”
“What?” You ask as you look back up at him
“That bruise. When did you get it?”
“About four days ago, “you reply as you cover it with your hand. It hurts a lot more now than it did at the time. You suppose that’s just the way bruises are.
“Who gave it to you?”
You turn away from Danny.
“Did Niccodoro give it to you?”
****
“Where’s my wife?” He asked, pressing you up against the wall of the guest bedroom, the bedroom that you have begun to call your own.
“I don’t know!” You said.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know!” You started to cry.
“Stop crying!” He yells. He threw you against the wall and walked over to the bed. He sits down on the silken blue comforter. He saw your diary lying on the bed. He opened it and started to read it.
You slid down against the wall and put your head into your hands. Your heart and lungs were cramping up. In your diary, you have written about all of your times with Coach, how you fucked in his car, how you fucked in your bed; how you fucked in the bed he shared with his wife.
It was out on the bed when you came home from school. It was shut. That’s all you knew.
“Did she find this?”
You didn’t say anything.
“ANSWER ME!” he yelled.
“I don’t know,” you whispered.
He picked you up off the ground and pressed you up against the wall again. “I don’t fucking believe you he yelled. That’s when he hit you, right on the side of the face. He left you on the ground. It didn’t hurt then, because the shock of it all took over from there. Your body became prickly and weighted down. All you could do was stay still and silent in the fetal position on the floor. You eventually fell asleep. When you woke up, he was gone.
That was the night you ran away.
****
“No,” you reply. “Coach didn’t give it to me.” It’s funny; you’ve trusted this person for the whole train ride. You even let go of your bag. But not with this. You really have no reason not to trust him, but for some reason, you just couldn’t say, “Yes, he hit me.” The words were there, down in the depths of your stomach, brewing, churning, and percolating. It would be nice if you could just vomit all of them up right there and then on not so unsuspecting Danny. But you just can’t.
“That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me. So, you wanna smoke some pot?”
“Sure,” you say. It might be nice to have a little buzz going.
“This is laced with some shit, so it’ll give you a real nice high,” Danny says as he stuffs the bright green buds into his pipe. He hands it to you and gives you his lighter.
“Don’t you want me to pay you? You ask.
“It’s my treat.”
“Oh, no I couldn’t…”
“Come on, don’t you have a birthday coming up?” He asks.
“Yeah, how’d you remember that?” You ask. No one ever remembered your birthday.
“I just have a good memory for these things. The big one-five is an important one. Just think of it as an early birthday gift.”
“Thank you,” you say as you hold the pipe up to your mouth. He lights it for you and you inhale. You hold it in for a few solid seconds and let it out with a slight cough.
“Lightweight,” Danny mutters as he takes a hit. Both of you pass the pipe back and forth for a while.
You don’t feel anything. You just sit back and wait. What if nothing happens, you think to yourself. It would be the story of your life. All you do it sit there and wait. You have been waiting for enough money ever since you started turning tricks. Three years and five thousand dollars later, it’s still not enough.
The weed starts to hit you. Danny was right, it was laced with something. You can tell already. This wasn’t a normal high.
The train car turns darker. Not darker in a bad way, but everything just looks redder. Your rib cage feels warm, as if it’s melting, dripping some warm, and thick liquid. Your skin feels smooth and relaxed, and this feeling seems to be penetrating slowly past your skin, though your muscles and down to your bones.
Danny roots through his back pack and pulls out a fifth of Smirnoff and hands it to you. You grab it from him and put the tip of the bottle into your mouth. Your lips surround the neck of the bottle. You cannot feel the vodka go down your throat, but you feel it hit the bottom of your stomach.
“Don’t take it all!” Danny says with a sighing laugh. You hand it back to him. “I can tell by the way you suck that bottle that you give good head,” he says after he takes a big gulp.
“Coach said I bit too much,” you slur.
“You wanna learn how to give better head?” He asks.
You spurt out a bit of a chuckle. “Not really.”
“Come on, let me show you,” Danny says as he tries to unzip your pants.
“No, we’re in a public place.”
“Oh, like anyone will give a shit,” he says as he successfully unzips your pants.
“Is this another birthday present?” You ask.
“Has anyone ever done this to you?”
After a long pause, you tell him no.
“Then yeah. Happy birthday, big boy.”
You can feel what he’s doing to you, but at the same time you can’t. You feel tingly, but you feel that all over. His cold hands rub you. You lean your head back and you let out a soft sigh. You close your eyes. You leave them closed. Your eyes start to feel light again. Everything inside of you is finally relaxed. Your world fades into nothingness. You grin.
****
Your eyes start to open slowly. You realize that you are on the train and your eyes open quickly. You look down and your pants are unzipped. You zip them up as you look over to the side; and old lady shakes her head at you and then pulls a newspaper over her face.
Danny is gone. Where did he go? you wonder. Why did he leave? Did you say something to him you shouldn’t have? You look down; your bag isn’t there. You check under the seat next to you; it isn’t there either. You get up and look under the seats behind you; maybe it slid while the train was moving. But you can’t find it. Your heart and lungs constrict. You had five thousand dollars in there. You pant; you can’t get enough air into your body.
“Has anyone seen my bag?” You shout. The old lady just lifts her newspaper higher. There is a man sitting up ahead, but he has headphones on. You go up to him and tap him on the shoulder sharply. He moves an earphone and looks up at you. “Have you seen my bag? It’s black, Coach?” He shakes his head and put on his headphones again. You run over to the next car, and have no luck there. You check every single car on that train and ask every single person, but your bag is nowhere to be found.
The train stops and you walk off. Your eyes start to sting. You start huffing. You cannot cry. You cannot cry. You must not cry.
You walk off the platform and down onto the street. You don’t even know what street you are on, or for that matter, what side of town you are in.
Your face feels hot against the cold winter wind. Your teeth are clenched and your insides are hardened. Your stomach muscles cramp and cling onto your skin. You want to find Danny and beat the fuck out of him. He went through all that, made you feel somewhat connected to the human race, and put your dick in his mouth, just to steal your back. You almost sympathize with him. This kind of desperation was not foreign to you. If you were smart enough, you know you would have done the same thing. Still, the five thousand is gone. You have to start all over again. This time, you don’t have anyone to help you. All you have are the streets.
The sun is slowly coming up along where the sky and land meet. It is a dull yellow. Danny didn’t steal your watch, so at least you know what time it is; its 6:08am.
A 1992 brown Bonneville pulls up next to you. The pudgy, balding driver cranks down his window. “Where you going?”
“Um…where do you want me to go?”
He lets out a gruff laugh. You can smell the beer from the curb. “I want you to go with me in this car. How much?”
“How much you got?” You ask.
“Thirty.”
Thirty’s quite a pay cut, you think. But you’ve got nothing. Something is better than nothing. You have nothing to gain if you walk away. This is the last guy you want to fuck you. He’s old, fat, ugly and most of all, poor. All he can give is thirty fucking dollars. Your legs seem to be saying, “Run! Run now! Get on a train and go home!” You know you can’t do that. Your mother disowned you for bringing your johns to the house six months ago; she moved a lot with her new husband, too. She’s probably not living in the same place. You don’t know where your father is; last you heard he was going from motel to motel shooting himself up until he died. Maybe he succeeded. Coach kicked you out and laughed when you wanted to go back. And you can’t go back to another shelter. It’s too low, and the last time you went to one of those places, you were laughed at, mocked, scolded by all of the abuse victims and alcoholics for doing what you do. You were called a whore, a faggot, a pervert. You cannot go back there. There were no fucking bridges left to burn. Even if you thought you could call someone, you couldn’t. Your cell phone was in your bag; your phone numbers were stored in your cell phone. You had nothing and no one.
You open the car door. You step inside and sit down. You drive away.