Nov. 01, 2009

Chapter 1: Smartie Pants

The world ebbs and flows, the wind brushing against me with a cold lingering. Piece of shit. It feels like a dream with a perpetual-motion flail, steadily approaching, and me tied down by ropes made out of fire ants. It feels like an emo kid spit in my drink and infected me with his dark thoughts. It feels, well, it feels like a shitty day.

"Anyway, Rose, as I was saying..."

The real kicker is the heat. Yeah, it's a hot cold day, hot in the sun, cold in the shade. It's like being painstakingly metamorphized into a chain saw by an evil sorceress, like discovering that you've been living your entire life inside-out and now having to un-inside-out yourself.

"The thing is...."

Is that even a word? un-inside-out? Inside-out isn't even a verb. Can you un-ify something that isn't a verb?

"... my band's starting to really take off..."

You know, if I had a big damn network of friends, I could tweet about this. I could pull out my cell phone right now, punch in a few letters, and within seconds, there would be a flood of responses. "Genius! Putting un- in front of a..." what is that? An adjective? "... adjective! This shit is going viral!" Yeah, I'll be the viral language girl.

"... and I think we're going to move to Tennessee to be closer to the action..."

That doesn't sound right.

"... and, I know you've got your job here..."

God, I wish he'd just finish up here already. This is the real skin-peal, the real falling out of a plane. The man keeps going, and I'm going to start crying, and then he'll think it's about him, and he'll start crying, and then I'll have to soothe him, and we'll probably have sex "one last time." God.

"... plus, that friend of yours, what's-her-face..."

Ha! In retrospect, I probably should have given her name. People are more believable if they have names. It's - what do they say? - the second dimension of humanity.

"... and there won't really be room in the van, so..."

No, it's not that. The third dimension? Or, is humanity the second dimension of naming? This is one of those piece of shit things that you can't Google, because, what would you search for? "Quotes dimension names"? That'd probably only give you stuff for a movie called "Dimension." Or stock prices for companies with names!, like: "New Dimension," "Dimensionality," "Butter Dimension," "Last Dimension Watch Repair, Ltd." They'll make your watch work in every dimension!

"... I mean, with Don's drums, and Joelle's synth..."

Why would you take someone on a walk to break up with them? What is that? "No, look, the world hasn't stopped. See? You can still move!" "I know it seems like you're in Hell, but would that tree be in Hell? Would they have fire hydrants in Hell?!"

"... plus, there's the fact that Randy refuses to go anywhere without at least three guitars..."

Hell is exactly the place that you'd have fire hydrants. If there's any place that needs fire hydrants, it's Hell. Theoretical soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, you've been served.

"... and those fucking cats of his..."

God, why is it so fucking hot? And, so cold? This is not the way biology is supposed to work. If it were alive, a genetically-mutated ancestor of mine would be laughing vengefully right now. Or, well, probably coughing wheezily, and cursing whatever gods it believed in, if it had the mental capacity to believe in things, for being alive for so fucking long.

"... anyway, Rose, the last five years have been fun; they really have..."

"You know, existence was a barrel of monkeys for the first couple hundred years, but I've been infirm, stuck in this bed for the next, like, million. And, back when I started, they didn't have all these comfy sheets I hear they have now, so I've basically been lying on this jagged rock, in this deep, dank cave, filled with bats... I mean, the cave, not me... though that's mostly what I eat to survive, so I guess me too... wondering, 'Why the Hell haven't I died yet?' You know what gets old after a million years? Everything. You know what else? Thinking the same God damn thought over and over again."

"... I just think, you know, sometimes you gotta quit while you're ahead, you know...?"

"It became like a mantra, like, it stopped even having a meaning after a while. 'Why the Hell haven't I died yet?' 'Why the Hell haven't I died yet?' 'Why the Hell...' I even composed a song."

"... like Nirvana... or, well, bad example, but you know what I'm saying..."

Why the Hell haven't I died yet?
Oh, why oh why, the Hell?
Why the Hell haven't I died yet?
Why the fucking Hell?

"... Like Minor Threat, or, oh of course, like Hal's band, the what's-their-faces..."

"I mean, it's not Mozart, but I didn't have all that much to work with."

"..."

"Anyway, what I'm saying is, I really want to die already."

"The noodle ice! Boy, that was really going to bug me."

Wait, did Bruce just say five years? We've been together for five years? No shit, 2004. Wow, where have I been for the past four-years-and-eleven-months? They're not kidding when they say you fall asleep and wake up at 40. I'm passed halfway there, and I'm already losing years.

"Anyway, Rose, as I was saying..."

Losing years. Hah! Like losing a wallet, or your respect for someone after living with him for four years. Or the mystery of life. Time is the one thing you can never find again once you've lost it. I wonder if there's a saying to that effect. Oh, and fingernails. I have never lost a fingernail and then later been like, "Oh, hey! A fingernail! I was wondering where that went."

"... You're great, see, but, how should I say this..."

Well, once, but I was unfingernailing on a floor. That's basically cheating.

"...

Strike another match, go start a new
And, it's all over now, Baby Blue.

..."

Oh, god, we've reached my street again. If he doesn't finish up, we're going to go on another circuit. I'd rather be declawed by a hammer. So, I say, "Are... are you breaking up with me?"

"Yeah, well, baby. But, listen. It's, it's just the band... you know...?"

Someone who cared would press him on this issue. "What do you mean, the band? Did they ask you to break up with me? Was this, like, a band agreement? 'Hey, guys, we really gotta get this song down. Let's extend practice tomorrow. Oh, and Brucey, you gotta kick it with Rose if we're ever gonna make it big.' 'Yeah, she's really the noose around this band's collective neck.'" But, instead, I say, "Okay, yeah, I get it."

"Yeah? You're okay."

I say, "I guess so."

"You're the best, muffin. I'll give you a shout whenever we're in town."

And, with that, we reach my building. He gives me a long, only partially-obviously manufactured pained stare, and then he gets into his car and drives off.

All of our dessert-based nicknames are outmoded. Honey, muffin, cutie-pie. We gotta get brands on this. "You're my Twizzlers-fairy." "Hey there, Snickers-pants." "Let's be cherry-flavored diet Cokes forever." Or, maybe we should just forget about the sweets and go savory. "Hi, Bill, how's your Garam Masala doing?" "Oh, just great, Jane. How's your spicy-nachos with lime-flavored tortilla chips?"

... I feel like shit.

Chapter 2: The Dinosaur Goats, the Amphibious Goats, the Single-Celled Goats

A couple of days later, when it finally gets let loose at work that I got dumped, I get dragged into this conversation at lunch:

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Barbara : "Ha! More free time's what I say. The weekend after Ben left, remember that party I held? Cat on a hot tin roof!"

John : "I'm so sorry, Rose! How are you doing?"

Barbara : "Look at her. She's fine! We shouldn't be consoling her! should be dishdashing all over the place. We should be having a parade!"

John : "For a breakup?"

Barbara : "Let's go out. What's everyone doing after work?"

John : "Jon and I are going cow tipping."

Barbara : "Cow tipping?"

John : "It's our 20-year anniversary."

Barbara : "Fine. Amy?"

Amy : "Al's off on a retreat or something, I gotta get home for the kids." (Also marmots.)

Barbara : "You people are no fun! Back at "Melon Cholly," we used to go out every night, dancing up a storm. Mamma Mia!"

A pause.

Barbara : "Anyway, Rose, at least you can't have an excuse. You must come. I demand it."

Me : *crunching on carrot*

Barbara : "Good! It's a date." She winks.

***

The thing is, with work and a relationship, you kind of lose track of the rest of the world. I haven't "gone out" with someone in three years, unless you count lugging Don's drums up and down stairs with the rest of "The Prehistoric Goats," or the holiday parties that Bruce ditched half the time. I mean, I've got my work clothes on. Is that a legitimate thing to wear out? ... Where are we going, anyway?

Barbara once mentioned this "future bar" that she wanted to go, where everyone talks as if they're from the future. "Hey, humanoid! How's the air!, which I don't have to breathe!, because I'm an alien!" "Like, an illegal immigrant?" "No, like from outer space!, I came here on this space ship, see, and I go around talking to beautiful women!, and showing them my awesome space ship!" "So, you do a lot of anal probing, then." "..." "You take a lot of women back into your space ship so that you can investigate the human race by using anal probe science, the most advanced method known throughout the universe for classifying and eventually discovering the innate weakness of any given species." "..." "Just a message from all us earthlings: metal shit is cold." "..." "Warm that shit up! You've got technology, super space-y technology; get your chief insect scientist thingies to invent a god damn warm, comfortable anal probing device." "I gotta..." "And, have you ever stopped to consider the fact that, if you've had to spend all these years learning about us using anal probing technology that maybe anal probes aren't the most advanced sentient being analysis device available to you? Have you looked into translation and just talking to us? Have you considered dissection? We learned loads of shit from dissection. We've got the animals on our planet classified to beans!." "Listen..." "And, you know how much anal probing it took us to get there? None. Nothing. The kids in our schools don't go around sticking cold metal rods up each others butts. We dissect frogs, BITCHES!" "There's this friend..." "And, I know we don't have all your newfangled technology and super, ultra lightspeed whathaveyous, but you know what? Unless there's something drastic that we don't get about how the world works, you're not gonna get any more super, ultra lightspeedy by figuring out the color of our poop." "Cool meeting you. Anyway, Bye."

Or, perhaps: "Hey, sugarcane. Wanna glass of Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster?" "A what?" "It'll take your brain from here to the horsehead nebula and back without touching your body." "The horsehead nebula." "You got it, honeysuckle!" "Where it will almost certainly not get the oxygen to which it is normally accustomed." "Well, not lite-" "Not to mention that, without a brain, my body would quickly begin to fail." "I don't think you get-" "Plus, there's always the Ood to worry about." "I..." "And, the biggest douche in the universe." "I think I'm gonna..." "If mass media are to be trusted, of course." "... go." "Which, let's face it, as works of fiction, they probably shouldn't be." The person is no longer here. "But, they're the only sources we have, you know? So, if you're planning to send my brain there..." At this point, this imaginary me is now talking to her imaginary self. "... I'll take whatever info I can get." Everyone is weirded out.

You know? This actually kind of sounds like fun.

Nov. 02, 2009 →

Comments

  1. Nice work!

    Written:
    Nov. 05, 2009, 07:12pm
    By:
    (anonymous)
    This is fantastic. Really great job, guys.

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