(no subject)
So two parts turned into three because the chapter keeps getting longer. Which i think is a good thing, because a book full of two page chapters would have been difficult.
Also, is anybody going to Stars or Q and not U at the Troubadour?
I also figured out the entire plot for the book while listening to radiohead and trying to fall asleep last week, I don't think it's what you think is going to happen.
There is silence after this, well, as much silence as you can have in this kind of environment and I’m hoping it will signal the end of the conversation.
“So how much does that physics project suck?” asks Carly.
“A lot,” I reply. I take a moment to mentally thank my secret weapon Charles Beeve. “I can’t wait to be done with that class.”
“I know, can you believe that there’s less than a hundred days left of high school?!”
“There are, it’s plural”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh Carter, you’re so funny.”
I’ve never known how to respond to that comment. I suppose it’s a compliment, but nobody is ever satisfied with a ‘thank you’ afterwards. Now I feel like I’m on a pedestal and I have to say something funny. Shut up and drink, Carter.
Before I can muster a reply, there is a commotion from the other side of the house. I’m hoping it’s either a fight or girls removing clothing en masse, but the tone of disarray seems to be less inviting than either.
“THE COPS ARE HERE!” shrieks a voice from the hallway. God damn it, this means I’m going to have to finish my drink. I’m bracing myself as people are scattering. Okay, I can do this. If you don’t want to taste it, you won’t. Three. Two. Good lord, this is disgusting. I’m now fighting the gagging reflex, but I’ve stopped breathing on purpose to quell the upward flow and I think it’s worked. I’m quite proud of myself. Now, step two is to find a way out of the house without getting arrested. There is a blockage of people trying to shove their way into the foyer and out of the front door, but I imagine that if the police are outside, they’re outside the front door and just waiting for the drunkards to stumble into their awaiting arms. It might be borderline romantic if there wasn’t jail time involved. Anyway, there’s a sliding door leading to the backyard. I open, exit, and revel in the freedom. I wonder where Jacob is. I dial his cell phone number.
“Fuck’s up, Nig?”
“Dude I think the cops are here, where are you?”
“I’m upstairs, where are you?”
“I’m in the back yard”
“What the fuck are you doing in the back yard?”
“The front door looks congested. What the fuck are you doing upstairs?”
“Well, coming downstairs now.”
“I dunno if that’s the best idea”
“Holy shit, Carter, half of our grade is trying to squeeze itself out of the front door. You should see this, it’s really funny, like a hardcore show or something.”
“Haha, imagine Carly and Megan at a hardcore show.”
“Sometimes I’d like to, anyway, I should be where you are in like ten seconds.”
As he says this, I see him wriggling his way out of the crowd in the foyer and walking towards me, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette as he comes. I hang up my phone and open the door in advance, awaiting his arrival.
“How do we get out from back here?” he asks.
“I dunno, maybe there’s a side door.” We poke around for a minute in the well-manicured back yard and alas, there is.
“Don’t act drunk or anything,” Jacob suggests as he opens the gate, taking a drag.
The scene outside is the kind of thing that you imagine never happens in real life, only in exaggerated tales of teenage debauchery. The lighting on the porch adds to the drama as screeching girls with teased hair, fake tans, and tiny skirts are diverging from the front of the house in a panic, some still with drinks in hand. The policemen, all six of them, are trying their utmost to quell the chaos even though they’re the ones creating it. Jacob and I nonchalantly walk past the bedlam and onto the sidewalk where Luke DeCarle’s barely conscious frame is now leaned over the back of a squad car, his hands behind his back and in handcuffs.
“This is so funny, I remark.
“I know, it’s even funnier that it takes four squad cars to break up a party,’ replies Jacob as we back away from danger, our eyes still affixed to the scene.
“Well, there’s not much else for the police to do in this city.”
“Yeah, man. Nobody here even packs heat.”
“We should pack heat.”
“Dude my dad packs heat”
“Shut up, no he doesn’t”
“Yes he does, in a big, locked wooden box in his closet.”
“Why?”
“He used to hunt, I think.”
“There are Jewish hunters?”
“I guess. He went through an Americana phase in his mid-thirties, or at least that’s my mother’s explanation.”
“Stange.”
“I guess. Do you want food?”
“Heck yes I do.”
“Excellent.”
* * * * * *
The alcohol hits me halfway to Denny’s and I’m a babbling wreck by the time Jacob parks. Of course, this is hilarious to him.
“How much did you have, man?” he asks
“I dunno,” I chuckle, “I was in a hurry.”
“Well, I guess it’s cool. Everybody in Denny’s after dark is fucked up on smack anyway, I’ll just tell them you’re my slightly retarded brother.”
“I am no retard!”
Jacob opens the door, “I know, man, I know.”
“Fuck you, don’t give me that condescending sober bullshit, I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were,” Jacob smiles. He walks up to the counter, “A table for me and my cousin here, he has Tourette’s syndrome.”
“I do not have Tourette’s syndrome!”
“See what I mean?” he winks at the wrinkled Mexican waitress. Her name is Josefina, she smiles noncommittally at Jacob before she begins to walk us to our booth.
“Josefina, I do not have Tourette’s. Neither am I retarded, for that sake, I swear” Josefina just smiles blankly at me before walking away. I am left with a menu. I think she had no idea what I just said.
“I am so hungry,” says Jacob, the sound coming from behind a wall of menu, “I think I’m in a breakfast mood.”
“You’re always in a breakfast mood,” I quip
“What the fuck does that mean, Carter?” he asks.
Fuck, I didn’t think that far ahead, “Uhh…I don’t actually know.”
“Okay, listen, I’ve been thinking about something for the past few days,” he changes the subject, thankfully.
“Okay”
“Okay. Would you rather have sex with your mother and nobody find out about it, or have sex with a goat and everybody know about it?”
I ponder. “Well, with the goat, who is doing the penetrating?”
Jacob ponders. “You would.”
“Okay, and by everybody, do you mean everybody?”
“Yeah man, it would be universal common knowledge. Upon introduction, every single person you ever met would know that you had sex with a goat.”
“That’s impossible.”
“This is hypothetical, it’s a principal thing. Anything is possible”
“Fuck…well, you answer first.”
“No man, I asked you.”
“I know, but I can’t make that kind of decision that quickly.”
“You have to. Like pick one right now.”
“No.”
“Right now!”
“…The goat.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah man.”
Jacob smiles. “That’s funny.”
“No it’s not. I stand by my decision.”
“Your mom is pretty hot, though. I mean, in a mom sort of way.”
“She’s still my mother, though.”
“Yeah, but the goat is a goat. Imagine that.”
“No.”
“Yes. Do it. Right now. Imagine having sex with a goat.”
“No!”
“You’re doing it right now, aren’t you?”
“No I am not!”
“You are not what?”
“I am not imagining having sex with a goat, you shit!” And then it occurs to me how strange of a question that was to ask. And then it occurs to me that Josefina has returned to our table to take our orders and has been witness to my outburst. Jacob is giggling like a schoolgirl. Well fuck, I didn’t say anything incriminating. And who the fuck is Josefina to judge?
“Are you ready to order?” She asks politely. She’s not smiling, but I can tell she wants to, that sanctimonious wench-whore.
“Yes!” replies Jacob before I can say no, “I’ll have the moons over my hammy.”
“ho-kay,” nods Josefina, scribbling.
“Thanks, Josie,” Jacob beams.
“And you?” she asks, turning to me.
“I…uh…uh…” I stammer.
“I can’t believe you’re not ready!” Jacob exclaims, his wry smile hidden under faux-disgust.
“I think I might need a few more minutes, Josefina.”
Jacob shakes his head, clucking his tongue.
“Ho-kay,” sighs Josefina before walking away.”
Also, is anybody going to Stars or Q and not U at the Troubadour?
I also figured out the entire plot for the book while listening to radiohead and trying to fall asleep last week, I don't think it's what you think is going to happen.
There is silence after this, well, as much silence as you can have in this kind of environment and I’m hoping it will signal the end of the conversation.
“So how much does that physics project suck?” asks Carly.
“A lot,” I reply. I take a moment to mentally thank my secret weapon Charles Beeve. “I can’t wait to be done with that class.”
“I know, can you believe that there’s less than a hundred days left of high school?!”
“There are, it’s plural”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh Carter, you’re so funny.”
I’ve never known how to respond to that comment. I suppose it’s a compliment, but nobody is ever satisfied with a ‘thank you’ afterwards. Now I feel like I’m on a pedestal and I have to say something funny. Shut up and drink, Carter.
Before I can muster a reply, there is a commotion from the other side of the house. I’m hoping it’s either a fight or girls removing clothing en masse, but the tone of disarray seems to be less inviting than either.
“THE COPS ARE HERE!” shrieks a voice from the hallway. God damn it, this means I’m going to have to finish my drink. I’m bracing myself as people are scattering. Okay, I can do this. If you don’t want to taste it, you won’t. Three. Two. Good lord, this is disgusting. I’m now fighting the gagging reflex, but I’ve stopped breathing on purpose to quell the upward flow and I think it’s worked. I’m quite proud of myself. Now, step two is to find a way out of the house without getting arrested. There is a blockage of people trying to shove their way into the foyer and out of the front door, but I imagine that if the police are outside, they’re outside the front door and just waiting for the drunkards to stumble into their awaiting arms. It might be borderline romantic if there wasn’t jail time involved. Anyway, there’s a sliding door leading to the backyard. I open, exit, and revel in the freedom. I wonder where Jacob is. I dial his cell phone number.
“Fuck’s up, Nig?”
“Dude I think the cops are here, where are you?”
“I’m upstairs, where are you?”
“I’m in the back yard”
“What the fuck are you doing in the back yard?”
“The front door looks congested. What the fuck are you doing upstairs?”
“Well, coming downstairs now.”
“I dunno if that’s the best idea”
“Holy shit, Carter, half of our grade is trying to squeeze itself out of the front door. You should see this, it’s really funny, like a hardcore show or something.”
“Haha, imagine Carly and Megan at a hardcore show.”
“Sometimes I’d like to, anyway, I should be where you are in like ten seconds.”
As he says this, I see him wriggling his way out of the crowd in the foyer and walking towards me, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette as he comes. I hang up my phone and open the door in advance, awaiting his arrival.
“How do we get out from back here?” he asks.
“I dunno, maybe there’s a side door.” We poke around for a minute in the well-manicured back yard and alas, there is.
“Don’t act drunk or anything,” Jacob suggests as he opens the gate, taking a drag.
The scene outside is the kind of thing that you imagine never happens in real life, only in exaggerated tales of teenage debauchery. The lighting on the porch adds to the drama as screeching girls with teased hair, fake tans, and tiny skirts are diverging from the front of the house in a panic, some still with drinks in hand. The policemen, all six of them, are trying their utmost to quell the chaos even though they’re the ones creating it. Jacob and I nonchalantly walk past the bedlam and onto the sidewalk where Luke DeCarle’s barely conscious frame is now leaned over the back of a squad car, his hands behind his back and in handcuffs.
“This is so funny, I remark.
“I know, it’s even funnier that it takes four squad cars to break up a party,’ replies Jacob as we back away from danger, our eyes still affixed to the scene.
“Well, there’s not much else for the police to do in this city.”
“Yeah, man. Nobody here even packs heat.”
“We should pack heat.”
“Dude my dad packs heat”
“Shut up, no he doesn’t”
“Yes he does, in a big, locked wooden box in his closet.”
“Why?”
“He used to hunt, I think.”
“There are Jewish hunters?”
“I guess. He went through an Americana phase in his mid-thirties, or at least that’s my mother’s explanation.”
“Stange.”
“I guess. Do you want food?”
“Heck yes I do.”
“Excellent.”
* * * * * *
The alcohol hits me halfway to Denny’s and I’m a babbling wreck by the time Jacob parks. Of course, this is hilarious to him.
“How much did you have, man?” he asks
“I dunno,” I chuckle, “I was in a hurry.”
“Well, I guess it’s cool. Everybody in Denny’s after dark is fucked up on smack anyway, I’ll just tell them you’re my slightly retarded brother.”
“I am no retard!”
Jacob opens the door, “I know, man, I know.”
“Fuck you, don’t give me that condescending sober bullshit, I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were,” Jacob smiles. He walks up to the counter, “A table for me and my cousin here, he has Tourette’s syndrome.”
“I do not have Tourette’s syndrome!”
“See what I mean?” he winks at the wrinkled Mexican waitress. Her name is Josefina, she smiles noncommittally at Jacob before she begins to walk us to our booth.
“Josefina, I do not have Tourette’s. Neither am I retarded, for that sake, I swear” Josefina just smiles blankly at me before walking away. I am left with a menu. I think she had no idea what I just said.
“I am so hungry,” says Jacob, the sound coming from behind a wall of menu, “I think I’m in a breakfast mood.”
“You’re always in a breakfast mood,” I quip
“What the fuck does that mean, Carter?” he asks.
Fuck, I didn’t think that far ahead, “Uhh…I don’t actually know.”
“Okay, listen, I’ve been thinking about something for the past few days,” he changes the subject, thankfully.
“Okay”
“Okay. Would you rather have sex with your mother and nobody find out about it, or have sex with a goat and everybody know about it?”
I ponder. “Well, with the goat, who is doing the penetrating?”
Jacob ponders. “You would.”
“Okay, and by everybody, do you mean everybody?”
“Yeah man, it would be universal common knowledge. Upon introduction, every single person you ever met would know that you had sex with a goat.”
“That’s impossible.”
“This is hypothetical, it’s a principal thing. Anything is possible”
“Fuck…well, you answer first.”
“No man, I asked you.”
“I know, but I can’t make that kind of decision that quickly.”
“You have to. Like pick one right now.”
“No.”
“Right now!”
“…The goat.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah man.”
Jacob smiles. “That’s funny.”
“No it’s not. I stand by my decision.”
“Your mom is pretty hot, though. I mean, in a mom sort of way.”
“She’s still my mother, though.”
“Yeah, but the goat is a goat. Imagine that.”
“No.”
“Yes. Do it. Right now. Imagine having sex with a goat.”
“No!”
“You’re doing it right now, aren’t you?”
“No I am not!”
“You are not what?”
“I am not imagining having sex with a goat, you shit!” And then it occurs to me how strange of a question that was to ask. And then it occurs to me that Josefina has returned to our table to take our orders and has been witness to my outburst. Jacob is giggling like a schoolgirl. Well fuck, I didn’t say anything incriminating. And who the fuck is Josefina to judge?
“Are you ready to order?” She asks politely. She’s not smiling, but I can tell she wants to, that sanctimonious wench-whore.
“Yes!” replies Jacob before I can say no, “I’ll have the moons over my hammy.”
“ho-kay,” nods Josefina, scribbling.
“Thanks, Josie,” Jacob beams.
“And you?” she asks, turning to me.
“I…uh…uh…” I stammer.
“I can’t believe you’re not ready!” Jacob exclaims, his wry smile hidden under faux-disgust.
“I think I might need a few more minutes, Josefina.”
Jacob shakes his head, clucking his tongue.
“Ho-kay,” sighs Josefina before walking away.”