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Thanks to beyondthememory again for tolerating me.
“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should try closing your curtains,” I practically pleaded.
“Sonny boy, because of me you have the freedom to look into my windows without being afraid of an air raid!” my lovely neighbor shouted back.
“It’s not an air raid I’m afraid of,” I sighed, irked.
My neighbor, an elderly man whom I suspected was an exhibitionist, was hollering a bewildering fusion of stories about Germany and human rights at my face. I watched his wrinkles contract and expand like an accordion with every syllable he spat out. The fine silver hairs that remained atop his shiny head were clinging to his scalp for dear life. The muscles that once helped this man dodge enemy fire were no where to be found. Worst of all, trying to rationalize with this man was like trying to discuss religious freedom with the elite of Medieval Europe: impossible.
“It’s impossible to rationalize with you,” I stated bluntly.
“You know who else thought it was impossible to rationalize? The Americans! Why, mother could barely bake me a birthday cake with the sugar rations she got! Oh but my spirit, to this day, still perseveres!”
“Alas, your body doesn’t,” I mumbled as I turned on my heel and went back into my house, tired of that old man and his stupendous suspenders. What the hell did he need suspenders for if he shuffled around the house without any trousers on?
José, who was seated on the leather couch with a newspaper in his lap, noticed my annoyed visage when I entered the house and began to chortle in amusement. “Still can’t get through to him?”
As I shook my head, my delicate chestnut locks bounced violently in the flood of light caused by the sunset. Serendipitously, as I was shaking my head, a terribly stupid idea sparked into existence, whispered persuasively about its pure brilliance, and lodged itself in my impressionable brain.
“You wanna go see a movie today so we can avoid him?” José asked me as he headed towards the kitchen. He was probably searching for some vanilla pudding, his new favorite snack.
“Nah, I think I’ll just get wasted and read some Dostoyevsky by the fire tonight.”
José emerged from the kitchen not with pudding but with a black Charles Hubert watch on his wrist and laughed. “Suit yourself, man.”
With that stated he headed outside, got into his sleek car (which he had borrowed from his brother,) and left the driveway for an evening of cinematic merriment. I was left alone in the house with my twisted thoughts and an extremely old bottle of whiskey.
Two hours later, José returned home and shattered all of the windows within a nine mile radius.
“WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING PANTS?!”
“If that crazy old man doesn’t have to, I don’t either!” I howled back logically as I strutted in front of a window. “Let’s see how he likes it!”
Z snap.
I began to do an extremely awkward and vulgar dance. From the reflection in the window, I could see that José’s face had contorted itself into an expression of revulsion. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for him to actually approach me and drag me away from the window.
“STOP,” José yelled as he shook me brutally, “DANCING IN FRONT OF WINDOWS!”
I shrugged. “All right.”
My roommate was extremely surprised that I was cooperating. He released his grip on my shoulders and ran towards the stairs because atop the banister was where my clothes were hanging.
I, alternatively, ran onto the wraparound deck because I wanted to show the world how it was hanging.
José’s vivid eyes expanded in utter horror and he looked like he was going to collapse. Instead of crashing to the floor, he grabbed my trousers from Banana Republic and threatened their existence with a menacing pair of scissors that gleamed ravenously in the moonlight. I squealed like a little girl in a haunted house and zoomed back indoors.
On Saturday, José informed me that my neighbor hadn’t seen anything. In fact, he had gone out to watch a curling game with one of his lady friends.
“I hope you realize you’re pretty bawdy,” José added.
“Of course I know I have a pretty body” I responded, half-distracted by a slice of flaming toast. The art of creating the perfect piece of toast has been perfected only by the Dutch. I’m sure Rembrandt first carved into pieces of toast before turning to etchings.
I was also sure that José was rolling his eyes, even though I couldn’t see him.
“What surprises me the most,” José said as he walked up to me, “is that none of the bottles of alcohol were opened.”
I shrugged. “I’m cheeky.”
“Damn straight.” I thought I saw him glance at my ass, but I must’ve been mistaken. He continued, “Anyway, we have to leave soon or we’ll be late.”
The coworkers were having some sort of a party on the beach. I think it was just an excuse for Sir Chasm to show off his stretch of newly purchased coastal land. José didn’t want to go at first but then Cindy convinced him that it’d be a great way to see what everyone is like outside of the work environment.
So there we found ourselves.
I don’t mean that like we “found ourselves” spiritually. I mean that’s where we eventually ended up thanks to my GPS. I actually hate the voice of the robotic woman who gives me directions. She sounds like my physical education teacher from the fourth grade. It may seem surprising to some, but physical education wasn’t really a subject I displayed proficiency in. One of my flaws was that I was especially small compared to everyone else because I had skipped a grade. I spent most of my time in that class dodging the fat kids and hiding behind all of the girls who, at that time, seemed as tall as trees.
“This’ll be fun,” José said unconvincingly.
Sir Chasm had hosted another party before. It was horrendous. I can’t quite remember what exactly the party was for, but photographs on the Internet insist that it was his grandmother’s bachelorette party. All I know is that I came back home clutching some singles and bills and wearing a pair of hot pink lace panties from Victoria’s Secret. The singles and Bills left when they knew I was home safely, so I didn’t have the opportunity to hysterically ask them for last night’s details the next morning. Instead of being traumatized, I’m now utterly confused. Victoria’s secret: her undergarments are so comfortable that I sometimes wear them for my own pleasure.
As my eyes surveyed the beach before me, I noticed that the white sand sat silently submerged in the achromatic sunlight. Somehow the clouds managed to exhale a cooling breeze that slithered through large rocks and swirled around the grateful. Poseidon commanded the waves and ordered them to shatter violently against the fragile shore.
“WATCH OUT!”
Thud.
Amir had just hit me in the side of the head with a Frisbee.
I turned calmly and explained, “You don’t yell ‘WATCH OUT’ when you want someone to dodge something. You tell them to duck.”
“If I had yelled ‘DUCK,’ you would have looked for a quacking bird.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“Duck!”
I immediately turned around and looked for a small feathered creature. José attempted to stifle his snickering. I glared at everyone near me, including a nine-year-old girl, and then asked to be led to Sir Chasm.
“What’re you, a lord from the neighboring kingdom?” Amir questioned incredulously. “Go into the goddamn house and see him yourself.”
My left eye twitched and I spat, “C’mon José.” I turned around and sashayed haughtily across the sand and towards the house. José didn’t follow. No one ever follows. I’m always leading alone. But damn straight I’d be an amazing dictator.
Minutes later I found out that the house did not belong to Sir Chasm. It did, however, belong to an Asian woman who had a rather odd fondness for me.
And her Asian father who had a rather large gun pointed at me.
As I ran across the sand with my arms flailing, I heard my coworkers laughing like hyenas. Bastards. I buried my face in my hands and ran away from them, towards a more secluded part of the beach. This was like a scene from a terrible Bollywood movie.
It’s not that I have a vendetta against Bollywood movies. I love the experimental directing style that is frequently used. It illustrates an amount of adventurousness and innovation. The chaos is superb. I love the strange camera angles and the use of filters. However, I dislike the trite plotlines and accepted sexism.
I sat on a large grey rock, grabbed a wet stick and started drawing in the sand whilst thinking about mundane topics like designer scarves and healthcare reform.
“The lines are wobbly,” a tiny voice said from the distance.
“I know, Raul,” I responded, assuming that the voice was my imaginary sidekick.
It wasn’t.
The owner of the voice was the small nine-year-old girl. She had black hair that curled slightly as it fell past her shoulders. Her massive brown eyes gave her a permanent expression of naïve curiosity. She was practically drowning in a sky blue Disney shirt.
“You’re good,” she commented.
“Thanks.”
“The tide’s coming in.”
I hadn’t noticed.
“Do you like cartoons?”
I couldn’t help but smile. I’m not too fond of children, but I love that they do not understand the concept of non sequiturs.
“I love cartoons,” I replied.
“Want to help me build a sandcastle?”
“The tide’s coming in.”
She shrugged. “We can build it anyway.”
“But it’ll be destroyed.”
“The Roman Empire was destroyed.”
I could not argue with her logic. Then I realized that I had hit a new low because a child who hadn’t even graduated elementary school was smarter than me.
“Who is Raul?”
“My imaginary sidekick,” I laughed.
“I don’t believe in imaginary sidekicks.”
“How do you know they’re not real?”
“Because anything real will later stop existing,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Raul can’t stop existing if he never existed.”
“But he exists in my mind and when I die, he’ll cease to exist.”
“How do you know?” she inquired with her big brown eyes.
I couldn’t answer her so I just continued to help her with the sand castle. This tiny creature was a fusion of regretfully discarded and astoundingly correct ideas once thought by Sartre, Aurelius and Berkley. Instead of focusing on my lack of open-mindedness, I focused on ignoring the rising sea level and admired the baroque castle I was creating.
“Honey, come inside for dinner!” I heard Sir Chasm shout from over yonder.
“I beg your pardon!” I snapped whilst standing up. “Please don’t call me honey in public!”
“I was referring to my niece,” Sir Chasm informed me.
His little niece waved goodbye to me and disappeared behind the foliage as she ran towards the house. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and shuffled over to where Sir Chasm was. The two of us then proceeded to walk over to where everyone had congregated. We played Ultimate Frisbee for awhile. Well, everyone else played. I kind of just ducked and dodged and pranced. Accidental dance was more “my thang.”
Phil hated having me on his team. He wanted Christopher on his team, but Chris was with his beloved girlfriend at the moment. Stupid whore, taking away my precious Christopher from me. How dare he date her without my approval. I don’t even know if she’s a good person. Was she ever the lead in a theatre production of Mamma Mia! like me? Probably not. Obviously I’m more talented. Does she even bother with charity work or is she too busy strutting like my former Physics professor? I bet she eats Cheese Nips.
My watch read 8:03, but the moon still hadn’t usurped the sun’s throne in the now multicolored sky. I absentmindedly left the group and stared at the sandcastle. Waves were violently crashing down on the shore and devouring the artistic creation. Fragile walls crumbled and were swallowed by a swirl of frosty water and hissing foam. The ocean mocked me. I wanted to run to the castle and save what remained of it, but my feet refused to move.
“It’s okay,” piped up a small voice. I looked down and saw the nine-year-old girl holding my hand.
I felt like Holden fucking Caulfield. A goddamn pussy. It was like that one soccer game all over again. I’m still sorry for letting you down, dad.
“That’s Jupiter,” she said with her small finger pointing up at the sky. “Most people think it’s a star when they look at it. But it’s not because it doesn’t twinkle.”
I raised my right eyebrow.
“And that one is Scorpio. I don’t like scorpions.”
“What do you like?”
She shrugged. “Space.”
As he was driving us home, José asked, “So how’d you find this evening?”
“Purple,” I responded without thinking. There was no other word for it, though. I spent most of the car ride staring at all of the city lights twinkling in the distance. I liked being here, going up the interstate at a constant speed, constantly changing positions but never feeling it. It was a like a half-assed out-of-body experience. I felt a bit like Gatsby as I looked at the string of emerald lights hovering on the other side of the river. They looked ghostly and ephemeral.
Before I knew it, we were home.
“Wow, I didn’t even realize we were home.”
“Maybe your perception of time is off.”
“Hey there, sonny boy!” my lovely neighbor interjected crazily as José and I exited the car. He was sporting a rag from the clearance aisle at Bed Bath & Beyond.
“Please tell me you’re wearing something underneath that towel.”
“I’ve only my American pride under here!”
“Under where?” José asked.
“Exactly!” I exclaimed, not referencing a childhood joke that once made me hide out in the janitor’s closet.
“Why, I feel a slight breeze billowing from the East!” the old man taunted.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I screeched as I hastily ran up the porch and to the front door. “Openitopenitopenitopenit!”
“All right, all right,” José hurried up the porch and unlocked the door for me. I ran inside like a wild red panda, knocking over vases and tables. In an attempt to calm myself down, I ran into the sanctuary known as the laundry room. Ahh, the sweet scent of fabric softener engulfed me in a wave of tranquility.
But surprisingly, I was not alone.
“It’s about time,” said a disembodied voice from the leather armchair. Yes, I have a leather armchair in my laundry room. It is a necessity.
The lights were dim and there was an ambience of mystery about the room. The wind howled delightfully outside. I, confused and scared like a holier-than-thou teenage cheerleader who just found out she’s pregnant, froze. “Who are you?”
“Oh, just someone who needs a favor.”
“I demand to know!” I demanded to know.
José ambled into the room, tossed his dirty coat at the leather armchair and then turned on the lights.
“Chris!” I tweeted like a bird once I recognized the now embodied figure.
José snorted. “Yeah, you think you would’ve thought to turn on the lights.”
“Or recognized the English accent,” Christopher added.
“I didn’t recognize the accent because you didn’t pronounce the ‘u’ in ‘favoooouuuur!’” I spat rancorously. I placed my hands on my hips and my weight on my right leg. “What exactly do you want?”
He got up and started walking towards me. “I was wondering, boss, if you had a room to spare?”
“Please sir, may I have some more?” I ridiculed.
He ignored me and continued, “You see, my girlfriend just kicked me out of her house and I really cannot afford to get my own apartment right now.”
I blinked. I could not be expected to take in coworkers like stray cats!
Not that I’d ever take in a stray cat. Bastards.
Anyway.
“You want to live with me of all people?” His request was quite unbelievable.
“Well, first I asked Amir but he constantly has his douchebag cousins over. Phil’s getting ready to settle down with his girlfriend. I can’t stand being with Mr. Chasm-I mean, Sir Chasm-for more than I have to. So basically there’s you.”
I was touched.
“Get off me, José!” I snapped because he was touching my sleeve.
He shrugged. “I was just wondering if the shirt was completely cotton. Do I detect a hint of nylon?” With that, he went into the kitchen to make us all some tea.
“Christopher, I’m touched that you came to me in your time of need, but I really don’t know if I have the resources for yet another roommate.”
“Oh. I understand. I guess I’ll just-.”
“Okay, fine, you’ve convinced me! You can stay!”
Him and his damn persuasive English accent. That’s how the English managed to rule so many countries; they just strutted in with their naturally persuasive syllables. Bastards.
I showed Christopher where his room would be and advised him to keep his curtains closed. Our neighbor was quite the villainous scoundrel, despite being at least forty years older than me. I imagined that the next few weeks would be a bit like that hit television program Three’s Company. I, of course, would be the gorgeous blond.
The next morning-or afternoon-I awoke to the scent of incense, which incensed me. Hahaha, I am so clever. But enraged! Like Oscar Wilde’s trousers.
Anyway.
I tumbled down the stairs like a drunken posh indie chav rock star bitch and collided with a wall. José had actually applied some padding to that wall because I crashed into it so often that my silhouette was practically dented into it.
“Hey, how about some CNN and fruit?” José asked as he just about shoved me into the living room.
José and I usually had Sunday breakfast outside in the garden with the bluebirds.
“You and I usually have breakfast outside in the garden with the bluebirds!”
“Yeah, but I figured we’d change it up today, you know?” He turned on CNN.
I crossed my arms and pouted. “Anderson Cooper and bananas don’t mix.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Hey, where’s Christopher?” I asked, suddenly realizing that the newest addition to our dysfunctional group wasn’t present.
José answered me with silence, which would have been good enough in a dramatic Spanish soap opera, ¡pero no hablo Español, señorita!
Zeta snap.
“This ludicrous amount of incense has something to do with him doesn’t it?”
I stormed onto the deck with my Snoopy pajama bottoms hiked up because I wasn’t wearing a poofy dress like Marie Antoinette. The lack of fashionable items of clothing from the 18th century could not stop me from being fierce. From my position, I could look down and spot Christopher-
“-Conversing with my neighbor?!” I shouted in disbelief. I hurried down the steps, not caring that my fuzzy slippers were getting dirty.
“We’re just talking about the Cold War!” exclaimed my neighbor.
I glared. “I care not a whit for your cold whores!”
“Calm down, Nick,” Christopher said in that sweet accent of his.
The only thing that could calm me down at this moment was my St. Ives Soy Milk and Lotus Blossom body wash. Unfortunately, I had none left in my house thanks to a science experiment that didn’t even provide favorable results. Nobel Prize, you and I shall have to wait yet another year to be united.
“I’m going over to the fanciful supermarket!” With that bellowed determinedly, I hopped onto my stolen Segway and zoomed over to the supermarket.
I must clarify that the Segway wasn’t really stolen. Mother had hidden it somewhere on her property, and Christopher and I had to go find it. It turns out that it was in the shed with this massive, disgusting spider. It had a stupid amount of eyes and thin long legs that extended into oblivion. I shrieked like a wee lass when I spotted it staring at me like how my Algebra teacher used to and nearly passed out. It was a bit like that one scene from The Lord of the Rings or whatever that book is called. Was it even a book? It ended about twelve times.
Anyway.
I entered the supermarket with a scowl etched into my gorgeous skin. Thug life. Huffing and puffing, I immediately went over to the bath and beauty section. My dominating presence scared away all of the bitchy soccer moms and I was able to commandeer the entire aisle for my own browsing pleasures.
A voice from behind me said, “May I assist you, sir?”
Bastard. It was that not-so-communist Russian employee who wasn’t really Russian.
What a poser.
“Dost thou consider me a strumpet?” I asked in shite Shakespearean.
He merely blinked.
“That’s right, playa hay hay,” I taunted. “Clearly I am more humorous than you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take solace in the fact that I dress better than you even though I’m in my work clothes.”
I looked down. Dammit! I was still wearing my Zoboomafoo slippers. Urgh, this combined with my Snoopy pajama pants and Elmo shirt... what a fashion disaster. I had told José to do the laundry! If he had, I would have been all Sesame Street and unembarrassed but of course life doesn’t work that way. I felt more embarrassed than a girl who had her tracks showing.
I violently grabbed two bottles of my favorite body wash, glared at the employee and then proceeded to strut out of the aisle whilst wiggling my posterior in a pretentious fashion. After paying for my beauty essentials, I went back home and proceeded to take a steamy shower. Of course I belted Klaxons as the lather from the body wash slithered down my amazingly toned stomach. Why am I so handsome?
An hour later, I exited my elegant bathroom wearing only a maroon towel around my waist. Ahh, my pores felt so wonderful and my fingers so preposterously pruny.
The floor was pulsating rhythmically beneath my feet. I wondered what could be causing all of this. Mayhap it was José teaching Christopher how to do the intricate Yes Dance. I put on a smashing pair of trousers by John Varvatos and an amazing graphic tee that gave me a look of casual superiority. I then bounced down the stairs, anticipating a scene of merry delight.
To my utmost astonishment, there was a party going on in my house.
“What?! When? Why?! HOW?” I attempted to shout over the crazy tunes of Groove Armada.
“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” answered Amir as he sped by on a tricycle.
Over the course of the early evening, I had managed to figure out that my crazyass fucked up neighbor had stolen my address book from Christopher and contacted nearly everyone listed for a house party. This included Sir Chasm and Amir who took the liberty of graciously inviting his douchebag cousins. The old man had also invited some of his friends-I was surprised they were still alive.
“YO DAWG!” exclaimed the youngest cousin of them all. “LOOK AT ALL THESE DRANKS!”
I feared that he was going to consume all of my alcohol like how a blue whale consumes krill, but instead he was referring to the boxed juices inside my refrigerator.
Which was much worse.
“STEP AWAY FROM THEM!” I demanded. No one could touch my Tropical Twist.
“Calm down, man. We can settle this civilly.”
“My name isn’t Civilly!” I snapped.
Ghetto punkass bitch name.
“Eyo white boy!” shouted a strange old man from across the room. “Where do you keep your board games?”
I blinked. How the hell had so many people gotten into my house without my noticing?
I then noticed a vile creature admiring a photograph on my wall. It was a horrid photograph. It made you feel terribly sad to be alone but so appreciative of what you would still have even if you were alone. You wanted to think about it, but you had no time to since you had to get to work in five minutes. A conflicted slave to constriction. I hung the photograph up in the formal living room to make all of my elite guests uncomfortable.
Originally I didn’t want to hang it up since I was afraid that it would make me look pretentious. Then, one day when I was out, José decided to clean the basement and found some of my old photos. Deciding that it would be a brilliant idea to showcase some of my stupid artwork, he purchased a frame from IKEA and framed the photograph. I couldn’t just throw out a frame from IKEA. I tried replacing the photograph with a doodle but everyone made fun of my stick figures. Oh, to this day my heart still aches.
And in the end, the photograph does make me look pretentious.
Because I was so frustrated, I went to go yell at Christopher.
“Christopher! Because I am so frustrated, I want to yell at you!”
“I swear this wasn’t my idea at all!” Chris started saying.
“I don’t care. This shouldn’t have happened! I told you not to talk to that crazy old man!”
“I wasn’t going to just listen to your opinion blindly!” he retorted.
“I don’t even know if I want you living here,” I frowned. “Do I even need you at work? What’re you good for?”
Christopher’s jaw dropped to the floor with a thud.
Oh, no, that was just someone knocking over my Swarovski vase. Tramp.
“Let me see yo booty drop!” shouted Amir as he zoomed by once more.
I squealed like an old lady from a bad English movie. “I beg your pardon, rude sir! There shall be no dropping of the rump ‘up in hurr.’”
I thought speaking their language would help me get my point across.
It didn’t.
Therefore, the next best option was a drinking contest.
“Juicy Juice or Tropicana?” asked Amir’s cunt of a cousin.
“Juicy Juice! The hard stuff!” I knew I could get all of these kids out of my house.
“Oooooh dayum!” shouted a group of stereotypical hoodlums who had trespassed onto my property.
Amir’s cousin scowled. His face was twisted into a look of inadequate determination. I wondered if this was the face he made before ramming a person of choice and cackled out of amusement, which got him enraged. Whatever, bitch.
On Monday morning I woke up in my garden. The air was crisp and the sky was quickly losing its warm hues. The clouds tumbled across the atmosphere with such a carefree arrogance. The grass was a bit wet with dew and a robin stared at me intently.
I realized that my trousers were missing.
Typical Monday morning.
For some reason, I was in such a jovial mood that I did not care for my lack of adequate work attire. Instead I just slipped into my car and sped off. Today Christopher could carpool with José.
Thanks to beyondthememory again for tolerating me.
“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should try closing your curtains,” I practically pleaded.
“Sonny boy, because of me you have the freedom to look into my windows without being afraid of an air raid!” my lovely neighbor shouted back.
“It’s not an air raid I’m afraid of,” I sighed, irked.
My neighbor, an elderly man whom I suspected was an exhibitionist, was hollering a bewildering fusion of stories about Germany and human rights at my face. I watched his wrinkles contract and expand like an accordion with every syllable he spat out. The fine silver hairs that remained atop his shiny head were clinging to his scalp for dear life. The muscles that once helped this man dodge enemy fire were no where to be found. Worst of all, trying to rationalize with this man was like trying to discuss religious freedom with the elite of Medieval Europe: impossible.
“It’s impossible to rationalize with you,” I stated bluntly.
“You know who else thought it was impossible to rationalize? The Americans! Why, mother could barely bake me a birthday cake with the sugar rations she got! Oh but my spirit, to this day, still perseveres!”
“Alas, your body doesn’t,” I mumbled as I turned on my heel and went back into my house, tired of that old man and his stupendous suspenders. What the hell did he need suspenders for if he shuffled around the house without any trousers on?
José, who was seated on the leather couch with a newspaper in his lap, noticed my annoyed visage when I entered the house and began to chortle in amusement. “Still can’t get through to him?”
As I shook my head, my delicate chestnut locks bounced violently in the flood of light caused by the sunset. Serendipitously, as I was shaking my head, a terribly stupid idea sparked into existence, whispered persuasively about its pure brilliance, and lodged itself in my impressionable brain.
“You wanna go see a movie today so we can avoid him?” José asked me as he headed towards the kitchen. He was probably searching for some vanilla pudding, his new favorite snack.
“Nah, I think I’ll just get wasted and read some Dostoyevsky by the fire tonight.”
José emerged from the kitchen not with pudding but with a black Charles Hubert watch on his wrist and laughed. “Suit yourself, man.”
With that stated he headed outside, got into his sleek car (which he had borrowed from his brother,) and left the driveway for an evening of cinematic merriment. I was left alone in the house with my twisted thoughts and an extremely old bottle of whiskey.
Two hours later, José returned home and shattered all of the windows within a nine mile radius.
“WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING PANTS?!”
“If that crazy old man doesn’t have to, I don’t either!” I howled back logically as I strutted in front of a window. “Let’s see how he likes it!”
Z snap.
I began to do an extremely awkward and vulgar dance. From the reflection in the window, I could see that José’s face had contorted itself into an expression of revulsion. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for him to actually approach me and drag me away from the window.
“STOP,” José yelled as he shook me brutally, “DANCING IN FRONT OF WINDOWS!”
I shrugged. “All right.”
My roommate was extremely surprised that I was cooperating. He released his grip on my shoulders and ran towards the stairs because atop the banister was where my clothes were hanging.
I, alternatively, ran onto the wraparound deck because I wanted to show the world how it was hanging.
José’s vivid eyes expanded in utter horror and he looked like he was going to collapse. Instead of crashing to the floor, he grabbed my trousers from Banana Republic and threatened their existence with a menacing pair of scissors that gleamed ravenously in the moonlight. I squealed like a little girl in a haunted house and zoomed back indoors.
On Saturday, José informed me that my neighbor hadn’t seen anything. In fact, he had gone out to watch a curling game with one of his lady friends.
“I hope you realize you’re pretty bawdy,” José added.
“Of course I know I have a pretty body” I responded, half-distracted by a slice of flaming toast. The art of creating the perfect piece of toast has been perfected only by the Dutch. I’m sure Rembrandt first carved into pieces of toast before turning to etchings.
I was also sure that José was rolling his eyes, even though I couldn’t see him.
“What surprises me the most,” José said as he walked up to me, “is that none of the bottles of alcohol were opened.”
I shrugged. “I’m cheeky.”
“Damn straight.” I thought I saw him glance at my ass, but I must’ve been mistaken. He continued, “Anyway, we have to leave soon or we’ll be late.”
The coworkers were having some sort of a party on the beach. I think it was just an excuse for Sir Chasm to show off his stretch of newly purchased coastal land. José didn’t want to go at first but then Cindy convinced him that it’d be a great way to see what everyone is like outside of the work environment.
So there we found ourselves.
I don’t mean that like we “found ourselves” spiritually. I mean that’s where we eventually ended up thanks to my GPS. I actually hate the voice of the robotic woman who gives me directions. She sounds like my physical education teacher from the fourth grade. It may seem surprising to some, but physical education wasn’t really a subject I displayed proficiency in. One of my flaws was that I was especially small compared to everyone else because I had skipped a grade. I spent most of my time in that class dodging the fat kids and hiding behind all of the girls who, at that time, seemed as tall as trees.
“This’ll be fun,” José said unconvincingly.
Sir Chasm had hosted another party before. It was horrendous. I can’t quite remember what exactly the party was for, but photographs on the Internet insist that it was his grandmother’s bachelorette party. All I know is that I came back home clutching some singles and bills and wearing a pair of hot pink lace panties from Victoria’s Secret. The singles and Bills left when they knew I was home safely, so I didn’t have the opportunity to hysterically ask them for last night’s details the next morning. Instead of being traumatized, I’m now utterly confused. Victoria’s secret: her undergarments are so comfortable that I sometimes wear them for my own pleasure.
As my eyes surveyed the beach before me, I noticed that the white sand sat silently submerged in the achromatic sunlight. Somehow the clouds managed to exhale a cooling breeze that slithered through large rocks and swirled around the grateful. Poseidon commanded the waves and ordered them to shatter violently against the fragile shore.
“WATCH OUT!”
Thud.
Amir had just hit me in the side of the head with a Frisbee.
I turned calmly and explained, “You don’t yell ‘WATCH OUT’ when you want someone to dodge something. You tell them to duck.”
“If I had yelled ‘DUCK,’ you would have looked for a quacking bird.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“Duck!”
I immediately turned around and looked for a small feathered creature. José attempted to stifle his snickering. I glared at everyone near me, including a nine-year-old girl, and then asked to be led to Sir Chasm.
“What’re you, a lord from the neighboring kingdom?” Amir questioned incredulously. “Go into the goddamn house and see him yourself.”
My left eye twitched and I spat, “C’mon José.” I turned around and sashayed haughtily across the sand and towards the house. José didn’t follow. No one ever follows. I’m always leading alone. But damn straight I’d be an amazing dictator.
Minutes later I found out that the house did not belong to Sir Chasm. It did, however, belong to an Asian woman who had a rather odd fondness for me.
And her Asian father who had a rather large gun pointed at me.
As I ran across the sand with my arms flailing, I heard my coworkers laughing like hyenas. Bastards. I buried my face in my hands and ran away from them, towards a more secluded part of the beach. This was like a scene from a terrible Bollywood movie.
It’s not that I have a vendetta against Bollywood movies. I love the experimental directing style that is frequently used. It illustrates an amount of adventurousness and innovation. The chaos is superb. I love the strange camera angles and the use of filters. However, I dislike the trite plotlines and accepted sexism.
I sat on a large grey rock, grabbed a wet stick and started drawing in the sand whilst thinking about mundane topics like designer scarves and healthcare reform.
“The lines are wobbly,” a tiny voice said from the distance.
“I know, Raul,” I responded, assuming that the voice was my imaginary sidekick.
It wasn’t.
The owner of the voice was the small nine-year-old girl. She had black hair that curled slightly as it fell past her shoulders. Her massive brown eyes gave her a permanent expression of naïve curiosity. She was practically drowning in a sky blue Disney shirt.
“You’re good,” she commented.
“Thanks.”
“The tide’s coming in.”
I hadn’t noticed.
“Do you like cartoons?”
I couldn’t help but smile. I’m not too fond of children, but I love that they do not understand the concept of non sequiturs.
“I love cartoons,” I replied.
“Want to help me build a sandcastle?”
“The tide’s coming in.”
She shrugged. “We can build it anyway.”
“But it’ll be destroyed.”
“The Roman Empire was destroyed.”
I could not argue with her logic. Then I realized that I had hit a new low because a child who hadn’t even graduated elementary school was smarter than me.
“Who is Raul?”
“My imaginary sidekick,” I laughed.
“I don’t believe in imaginary sidekicks.”
“How do you know they’re not real?”
“Because anything real will later stop existing,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Raul can’t stop existing if he never existed.”
“But he exists in my mind and when I die, he’ll cease to exist.”
“How do you know?” she inquired with her big brown eyes.
I couldn’t answer her so I just continued to help her with the sand castle. This tiny creature was a fusion of regretfully discarded and astoundingly correct ideas once thought by Sartre, Aurelius and Berkley. Instead of focusing on my lack of open-mindedness, I focused on ignoring the rising sea level and admired the baroque castle I was creating.
“Honey, come inside for dinner!” I heard Sir Chasm shout from over yonder.
“I beg your pardon!” I snapped whilst standing up. “Please don’t call me honey in public!”
“I was referring to my niece,” Sir Chasm informed me.
His little niece waved goodbye to me and disappeared behind the foliage as she ran towards the house. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and shuffled over to where Sir Chasm was. The two of us then proceeded to walk over to where everyone had congregated. We played Ultimate Frisbee for awhile. Well, everyone else played. I kind of just ducked and dodged and pranced. Accidental dance was more “my thang.”
Phil hated having me on his team. He wanted Christopher on his team, but Chris was with his beloved girlfriend at the moment. Stupid whore, taking away my precious Christopher from me. How dare he date her without my approval. I don’t even know if she’s a good person. Was she ever the lead in a theatre production of Mamma Mia! like me? Probably not. Obviously I’m more talented. Does she even bother with charity work or is she too busy strutting like my former Physics professor? I bet she eats Cheese Nips.
My watch read 8:03, but the moon still hadn’t usurped the sun’s throne in the now multicolored sky. I absentmindedly left the group and stared at the sandcastle. Waves were violently crashing down on the shore and devouring the artistic creation. Fragile walls crumbled and were swallowed by a swirl of frosty water and hissing foam. The ocean mocked me. I wanted to run to the castle and save what remained of it, but my feet refused to move.
“It’s okay,” piped up a small voice. I looked down and saw the nine-year-old girl holding my hand.
I felt like Holden fucking Caulfield. A goddamn pussy. It was like that one soccer game all over again. I’m still sorry for letting you down, dad.
“That’s Jupiter,” she said with her small finger pointing up at the sky. “Most people think it’s a star when they look at it. But it’s not because it doesn’t twinkle.”
I raised my right eyebrow.
“And that one is Scorpio. I don’t like scorpions.”
“What do you like?”
She shrugged. “Space.”
As he was driving us home, José asked, “So how’d you find this evening?”
“Purple,” I responded without thinking. There was no other word for it, though. I spent most of the car ride staring at all of the city lights twinkling in the distance. I liked being here, going up the interstate at a constant speed, constantly changing positions but never feeling it. It was a like a half-assed out-of-body experience. I felt a bit like Gatsby as I looked at the string of emerald lights hovering on the other side of the river. They looked ghostly and ephemeral.
Before I knew it, we were home.
“Wow, I didn’t even realize we were home.”
“Maybe your perception of time is off.”
“Hey there, sonny boy!” my lovely neighbor interjected crazily as José and I exited the car. He was sporting a rag from the clearance aisle at Bed Bath & Beyond.
“Please tell me you’re wearing something underneath that towel.”
“I’ve only my American pride under here!”
“Under where?” José asked.
“Exactly!” I exclaimed, not referencing a childhood joke that once made me hide out in the janitor’s closet.
“Why, I feel a slight breeze billowing from the East!” the old man taunted.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I screeched as I hastily ran up the porch and to the front door. “Openitopenitopenitopenit!”
“All right, all right,” José hurried up the porch and unlocked the door for me. I ran inside like a wild red panda, knocking over vases and tables. In an attempt to calm myself down, I ran into the sanctuary known as the laundry room. Ahh, the sweet scent of fabric softener engulfed me in a wave of tranquility.
But surprisingly, I was not alone.
“It’s about time,” said a disembodied voice from the leather armchair. Yes, I have a leather armchair in my laundry room. It is a necessity.
The lights were dim and there was an ambience of mystery about the room. The wind howled delightfully outside. I, confused and scared like a holier-than-thou teenage cheerleader who just found out she’s pregnant, froze. “Who are you?”
“Oh, just someone who needs a favor.”
“I demand to know!” I demanded to know.
José ambled into the room, tossed his dirty coat at the leather armchair and then turned on the lights.
“Chris!” I tweeted like a bird once I recognized the now embodied figure.
José snorted. “Yeah, you think you would’ve thought to turn on the lights.”
“Or recognized the English accent,” Christopher added.
“I didn’t recognize the accent because you didn’t pronounce the ‘u’ in ‘favoooouuuur!’” I spat rancorously. I placed my hands on my hips and my weight on my right leg. “What exactly do you want?”
He got up and started walking towards me. “I was wondering, boss, if you had a room to spare?”
“Please sir, may I have some more?” I ridiculed.
He ignored me and continued, “You see, my girlfriend just kicked me out of her house and I really cannot afford to get my own apartment right now.”
I blinked. I could not be expected to take in coworkers like stray cats!
Not that I’d ever take in a stray cat. Bastards.
Anyway.
“You want to live with me of all people?” His request was quite unbelievable.
“Well, first I asked Amir but he constantly has his douchebag cousins over. Phil’s getting ready to settle down with his girlfriend. I can’t stand being with Mr. Chasm-I mean, Sir Chasm-for more than I have to. So basically there’s you.”
I was touched.
“Get off me, José!” I snapped because he was touching my sleeve.
He shrugged. “I was just wondering if the shirt was completely cotton. Do I detect a hint of nylon?” With that, he went into the kitchen to make us all some tea.
“Christopher, I’m touched that you came to me in your time of need, but I really don’t know if I have the resources for yet another roommate.”
“Oh. I understand. I guess I’ll just-.”
“Okay, fine, you’ve convinced me! You can stay!”
Him and his damn persuasive English accent. That’s how the English managed to rule so many countries; they just strutted in with their naturally persuasive syllables. Bastards.
I showed Christopher where his room would be and advised him to keep his curtains closed. Our neighbor was quite the villainous scoundrel, despite being at least forty years older than me. I imagined that the next few weeks would be a bit like that hit television program Three’s Company. I, of course, would be the gorgeous blond.
The next morning-or afternoon-I awoke to the scent of incense, which incensed me. Hahaha, I am so clever. But enraged! Like Oscar Wilde’s trousers.
Anyway.
I tumbled down the stairs like a drunken posh indie chav rock star bitch and collided with a wall. José had actually applied some padding to that wall because I crashed into it so often that my silhouette was practically dented into it.
“Hey, how about some CNN and fruit?” José asked as he just about shoved me into the living room.
José and I usually had Sunday breakfast outside in the garden with the bluebirds.
“You and I usually have breakfast outside in the garden with the bluebirds!”
“Yeah, but I figured we’d change it up today, you know?” He turned on CNN.
I crossed my arms and pouted. “Anderson Cooper and bananas don’t mix.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Hey, where’s Christopher?” I asked, suddenly realizing that the newest addition to our dysfunctional group wasn’t present.
José answered me with silence, which would have been good enough in a dramatic Spanish soap opera, ¡pero no hablo Español, señorita!
Zeta snap.
“This ludicrous amount of incense has something to do with him doesn’t it?”
I stormed onto the deck with my Snoopy pajama bottoms hiked up because I wasn’t wearing a poofy dress like Marie Antoinette. The lack of fashionable items of clothing from the 18th century could not stop me from being fierce. From my position, I could look down and spot Christopher-
“-Conversing with my neighbor?!” I shouted in disbelief. I hurried down the steps, not caring that my fuzzy slippers were getting dirty.
“We’re just talking about the Cold War!” exclaimed my neighbor.
I glared. “I care not a whit for your cold whores!”
“Calm down, Nick,” Christopher said in that sweet accent of his.
The only thing that could calm me down at this moment was my St. Ives Soy Milk and Lotus Blossom body wash. Unfortunately, I had none left in my house thanks to a science experiment that didn’t even provide favorable results. Nobel Prize, you and I shall have to wait yet another year to be united.
“I’m going over to the fanciful supermarket!” With that bellowed determinedly, I hopped onto my stolen Segway and zoomed over to the supermarket.
I must clarify that the Segway wasn’t really stolen. Mother had hidden it somewhere on her property, and Christopher and I had to go find it. It turns out that it was in the shed with this massive, disgusting spider. It had a stupid amount of eyes and thin long legs that extended into oblivion. I shrieked like a wee lass when I spotted it staring at me like how my Algebra teacher used to and nearly passed out. It was a bit like that one scene from The Lord of the Rings or whatever that book is called. Was it even a book? It ended about twelve times.
Anyway.
I entered the supermarket with a scowl etched into my gorgeous skin. Thug life. Huffing and puffing, I immediately went over to the bath and beauty section. My dominating presence scared away all of the bitchy soccer moms and I was able to commandeer the entire aisle for my own browsing pleasures.
A voice from behind me said, “May I assist you, sir?”
Bastard. It was that not-so-communist Russian employee who wasn’t really Russian.
What a poser.
“Dost thou consider me a strumpet?” I asked in shite Shakespearean.
He merely blinked.
“That’s right, playa hay hay,” I taunted. “Clearly I am more humorous than you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take solace in the fact that I dress better than you even though I’m in my work clothes.”
I looked down. Dammit! I was still wearing my Zoboomafoo slippers. Urgh, this combined with my Snoopy pajama pants and Elmo shirt... what a fashion disaster. I had told José to do the laundry! If he had, I would have been all Sesame Street and unembarrassed but of course life doesn’t work that way. I felt more embarrassed than a girl who had her tracks showing.
I violently grabbed two bottles of my favorite body wash, glared at the employee and then proceeded to strut out of the aisle whilst wiggling my posterior in a pretentious fashion. After paying for my beauty essentials, I went back home and proceeded to take a steamy shower. Of course I belted Klaxons as the lather from the body wash slithered down my amazingly toned stomach. Why am I so handsome?
An hour later, I exited my elegant bathroom wearing only a maroon towel around my waist. Ahh, my pores felt so wonderful and my fingers so preposterously pruny.
The floor was pulsating rhythmically beneath my feet. I wondered what could be causing all of this. Mayhap it was José teaching Christopher how to do the intricate Yes Dance. I put on a smashing pair of trousers by John Varvatos and an amazing graphic tee that gave me a look of casual superiority. I then bounced down the stairs, anticipating a scene of merry delight.
To my utmost astonishment, there was a party going on in my house.
“What?! When? Why?! HOW?” I attempted to shout over the crazy tunes of Groove Armada.
“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” answered Amir as he sped by on a tricycle.
Over the course of the early evening, I had managed to figure out that my crazyass fucked up neighbor had stolen my address book from Christopher and contacted nearly everyone listed for a house party. This included Sir Chasm and Amir who took the liberty of graciously inviting his douchebag cousins. The old man had also invited some of his friends-I was surprised they were still alive.
“YO DAWG!” exclaimed the youngest cousin of them all. “LOOK AT ALL THESE DRANKS!”
I feared that he was going to consume all of my alcohol like how a blue whale consumes krill, but instead he was referring to the boxed juices inside my refrigerator.
Which was much worse.
“STEP AWAY FROM THEM!” I demanded. No one could touch my Tropical Twist.
“Calm down, man. We can settle this civilly.”
“My name isn’t Civilly!” I snapped.
Ghetto punkass bitch name.
“Eyo white boy!” shouted a strange old man from across the room. “Where do you keep your board games?”
I blinked. How the hell had so many people gotten into my house without my noticing?
I then noticed a vile creature admiring a photograph on my wall. It was a horrid photograph. It made you feel terribly sad to be alone but so appreciative of what you would still have even if you were alone. You wanted to think about it, but you had no time to since you had to get to work in five minutes. A conflicted slave to constriction. I hung the photograph up in the formal living room to make all of my elite guests uncomfortable.
Originally I didn’t want to hang it up since I was afraid that it would make me look pretentious. Then, one day when I was out, José decided to clean the basement and found some of my old photos. Deciding that it would be a brilliant idea to showcase some of my stupid artwork, he purchased a frame from IKEA and framed the photograph. I couldn’t just throw out a frame from IKEA. I tried replacing the photograph with a doodle but everyone made fun of my stick figures. Oh, to this day my heart still aches.
And in the end, the photograph does make me look pretentious.
Because I was so frustrated, I went to go yell at Christopher.
“Christopher! Because I am so frustrated, I want to yell at you!”
“I swear this wasn’t my idea at all!” Chris started saying.
“I don’t care. This shouldn’t have happened! I told you not to talk to that crazy old man!”
“I wasn’t going to just listen to your opinion blindly!” he retorted.
“I don’t even know if I want you living here,” I frowned. “Do I even need you at work? What’re you good for?”
Christopher’s jaw dropped to the floor with a thud.
Oh, no, that was just someone knocking over my Swarovski vase. Tramp.
“Let me see yo booty drop!” shouted Amir as he zoomed by once more.
I squealed like an old lady from a bad English movie. “I beg your pardon, rude sir! There shall be no dropping of the rump ‘up in hurr.’”
I thought speaking their language would help me get my point across.
It didn’t.
Therefore, the next best option was a drinking contest.
“Juicy Juice or Tropicana?” asked Amir’s cunt of a cousin.
“Juicy Juice! The hard stuff!” I knew I could get all of these kids out of my house.
“Oooooh dayum!” shouted a group of stereotypical hoodlums who had trespassed onto my property.
Amir’s cousin scowled. His face was twisted into a look of inadequate determination. I wondered if this was the face he made before ramming a person of choice and cackled out of amusement, which got him enraged. Whatever, bitch.
On Monday morning I woke up in my garden. The air was crisp and the sky was quickly losing its warm hues. The clouds tumbled across the atmosphere with such a carefree arrogance. The grass was a bit wet with dew and a robin stared at me intently.
I realized that my trousers were missing.
Typical Monday morning.
For some reason, I was in such a jovial mood that I did not care for my lack of adequate work attire. Instead I just slipped into my car and sped off. Today Christopher could carpool with José.