Wow what a strange few weeks. The main story polluting all radio, TV, and magazine outlets is that Michael Jackson died. I mean, ok fine it’s sad and all, but the real tragedy here is the untimely death of an American Icon….Billy Mays. Unless you’ve been living in a cave, you know that Billy singlehandedly changed a generation with his revolutionary household items like OxyClean, Greater Plater, and Turbo Tiger. His abrasive, ear-drum-rupturing technique could bitch slap even the deafest of people. Seriously…..that guy could sell cancer.
R.I.P, Billy. I hope you’re in heaven somewhere verbally assaulting other dead people with your super human stain fighting abilities.
On another decidedly less depressing note, I started writing a fiction novel. There are a few challenges that go along with this, the biggest one being that I have no idea how to write a fiction novel. I guess if it sucks, I can file writing in the “I suck balls at” category along with math, science, logic, an inner-filter, jobs, basketball, and dieting.
You are no doubt salivating nay HUNGERING for even a morsel of my prose at this very moment, I am sure. Being the exceptionally wonderful and accommodating person that I am, here is an excerpt of the book to wet your palates. Bon appetit.
”Shiiiiiiiiit”, I yelled as the M11 slammed it’s doors the very second I breathlessly approached the bus stop . I was already 10 minutes late to meet Alex, the latest guy to “wink” at me on match.com, and now I was going to be at least another 20. Crap. We had been flirting for 3 days via text, email, myspace, twitter, and facebook, but hadn’t had any actual human interaction thus far inevitably making these introductions sufficiently awkward. Trust me, I should know. I have dabbled in the online dating world a few times before, but it wasn’t until I was sitting at my friend’s wedding reception watching people slow dance to a particularly lame 90’s power ballad sung by Eric Clapton (which, if the DJ had listened to the words beforehand, he’d have realized the song is about the tragic, untimely death of his 4 year old son. Maaaaybe not the best choice for wedding music, but what do I know?), when I suddenly realized that I was the ONLY person attending the wedding sans date. Now, this wouldn’t have been such a soul crushing realization had the guests not included a midget, a blind man, a guy who looked like the Uni-bomber’s less attractive retarded cousin, and a 9 year old…..all with dates. So, I decided to throw a pity party of 1 right then and there. And while the guests swayed back and forth to songs you’d hear in any given 1 star hotel elevator or cheesy Light FM station (the ones that have programs called “Love notes”, or “Dedicated to the one I love” where some annoyingly vanilla host with a voice that makes you want to plunge a butter knife into your reproductive organs reads letters from listeners about their “soul mates” and various other bile inducing topics), I triumphantly decided I would boycott love right then and there. I did this by eating 4 pieces of double chocolate custard filled wedding cake. I boycotted until my stomach was distended juuuust enough to make people speculate what trimester I was in.
So, after this particularly traumatizing experience, I made a promise to myself. I wrote, “Dear self, you have played it safe most of your life by being good and kind and all that other crap. It’s time for change. For the next 6 months, you will be what you have always dreamed of being…..a slut.” It was time for me to take the bull by the horns (pun totally intended) and go on dates with anyone and everyone who asked. The rules were as follows:
1) You will say yes to every date invitation…..even if he looks like the guy who played Cher’s deformed son in “The Mask”
2) You will not tell him that you believe you died in the Holocaust in your past life. At least not on the first date.
3) You cannot let your conscience get in the way of any and all risky behavior while on said dates. (Included but not limited to sex on a first date, gateway drugs like pot or prescription pain pills, and public displays of affection)
4) You must purchase and/or wear at least 1 whore-gear item of clothing on each date.
and
5) Date at least 3 people at a time ensuring you will not eat large amounts of your feelings when one of them goes MIA.
I. Was. Ready. So, as soon as I got back to my apartment in New York, I dropped my suitcase and joined match.com. This was gong to be fun. Or horrifying. Or horrifyingly fun. Or horri…..ok, I’ll stop now.
~stay tuned for more excerpts~
