Every Awkward Thing I've Ever Done

Now some of your first thoughts would be, why is someone looking that up at work AND THEN LEAVING IT OPEN ON THEIR COMPUTER AND WALKING AWAY?  But mine was “What part of having sex in a chair is this person confused about???”  

My advice is:

Step 1:  Sit in a chair.

Step 2:  Have sex.

Seems pretty self-explanatory.

So as soon as I got back to my desk, I googled “How to have sex in a chair.”  Maybe it was more complicated than I thought.

The first site I found I said this:

How do you have Sex on a Chair?

The best way to have sex using a chair is for the man to sit on it. This is especially important if you are using an average four legged desk chair, because his weight will add to the stability, and you are both less likely to topple over! Once he is sitting comfortably in the chair with an erection, you simple sit on top of him as he enters you. You can sit facing him, or sit facing away from him. Then using him or the chair for support, you lift yourself up and down on his penis, or grind into it rocking back and forth… Whatever feels best for you.

So, yep, it’s only as complicated as I thought.  Was this person confused as to WHO should sit in the chair?  Were they going to use a two-legged chair?  Did they not know how penetration works?  Because then they should have looked up “How to Have Sex At All Wherever.”

Just then, a coworker called for me and I had to give up on my search.

I read an article on meditating and decided to give it a try.  I even went so far as to attend an intro session at the Transcendental Meditation Center of Beverly Hills.  The center is inside an unassuming looking house and you take your shoes off to ender and take a seat on a chair in the living room.  The whole thing felt a little cultish but the benefits they claimed were amazing.

“Why are you here?”  the man in charge, who had a definite snake oil salesman vibe, asked.

There were several reasons I wanted to try meditation, but I said the first one that came to mind.  “I read that it can help you deal with anxiety.”

“No, that isn’t true.”

“Oh.  Ok.”  I considered sock tip-toeing to the door and fleeing.

“It doesn’t help you deal with anxiety,” he continued.  “It ELIMINATES anxiety.”

The gathered crowd oohed and aahed.  I waited for him to start shouting “You get a car! And you get a car!  And you get a car!” but it didn’t happen.

At the end of the session, they passed a clipboard around.

“So, if you’re interested.  Please sign up here.”

I was ready to sign up.  It seemed like two twenty minutes meditations a day could really change your life.

“The program costs $975 for adults, $750 for students, and there’s a deal for a married couple.”

Um... Peace Out, Transcendental Meditation Center of Beverly Hills.

But there are a lot cheaper ways to learn about meditation.  There are many meditation apps, like Headspace and Calm.  Both give you several initial meditations free, only asking for money if you want to buy more meditations.  There are also meditation podcasts on iTunes and a meditation series on iTunes U.  I also picked up the book Waking Up by Sam Harris.

I tried and tried to meditate, but every time I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting to other topics.  Most of those topics involved self-critiquing my own meditating.

“You’re thinking too much.  Stop thinking.  Ugh, you’re doing this wrong.  How do I do this?  This is so hard!  What should I have for lunch?  Ugh, you’re doing it again!  Concentrate on not thinking!”

Some of the guided meditations asked me to imagine myself in a relaxing place.  It could be a real place or an imaginary one.  I started to imagine a generic beach, then panicked and chose the cottage in Michigan I spent my summers at as a kid.  

“Ok, this is nice.  I’m laying out on the pier.  The sun is filtering through that big tree, making patterns on the water.”

But then I started thinking about how my parents sold the cottage last year, and I’d never be able to go there again or bring my future kids there, and what if I never had kids because I never met anyone I wanted to marry and I just died alone and suddenly instead of relaxed I felt depressed.  

“Abort!  Abort!  Can I just go back to the generic beach???” 

So, one day, when I was in a beautiful park on a cliff overlooking the ocean with my most anxious friend, the waves lapping against the shore, I turned to him and said “I think next time I meditate, I’ll imagine this place.”

“What?” he asked.

“I've started meditating.  Sometimes they tell you to imagine a relaxing place, and this seems pretty relaxing.  Maybe you should try it, I bet it would be good for you.  It doesn’t just help you cope with anxiety.  It ELIMINATES it!”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on, imagine sitting crosslegged by the cliff, closing your eyes, listening to the waves with the sun on your face.”

“Yeah.... no thanks.  I would just start thinking about how I was probably getting skin cancer from all that sun.”

I’m not kidding when I say he’s my most anxious friend.

“You could imagine sitting in the shade.”

“Then there’d be a lot of bugs.”

"Okay... well you don’t have to imagine this place,” I told him.  “What’s a place that makes you feel calm and relaxed?”

He thought for a minute, but could not come up with one single place he felt calm and relaxed.

“It doesn’t have to be outside.  Is there somewhere inside you could imagine yourself?  Somewhere cool and bug free?”

He thought for another minute, then finally he said this:  “Well, the place I feel most relaxed is at the doctor’s office, right after he’s told me that the test results came back and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Hot Doctor/Future Husband/Asked Me About My Bowel Movements in a Flirty Way:  It looks like it’s probably a food intolerance.

Me:  Okay, so what do I do?

HD/FH/AMAMBMFW:  I want you to try an elimination diet.  

Me:  I love you.

HD:  What?

Me:  I said “I will do.”

HD:  It’s called the FODMAP diet.  You should research it online.  Basically, it’s a strict diet that eliminates any foods that you could be intolerant to, then slowly reintroduces them so you can find out what’s bothering you.

Me:  You’re pretty.

HD:  What?

Me:  I said... “Not too shitty.”

HD:  What?

Me:  Never mind.

HD:  Then I want to see you again in two months and we can talk about the results.

Me:  It’s a date.  A date.  To see you again.  And get married.

HD:  What?

Me:  Gotta go!

I left the doctor’s office feeling very committed to strictly following my new diet. But when I got to work I looked up the exact restrictions of the diet.  And my immediate reaction was NO.  Fuck no.  No way in any of the many fiery pits of hell.  No.

According to the diet I wouldn’t be allowed to eat dairy, gluten or many of my favorite fruits and vegetables for at least a month, probably more.  

But then I decided to recommit.  I wasn’t just doing this for me, I was doing it for my Hot Intestines Doctor.  I would impress him with my commitment to my health, and along the way I would probably lose a few pounds and impress him with my hot bod as well.

Then they passed out lunch menus at work.  We were ordering from Baja Fresh.  What can I order? I asked myself.  Maybe a salad?  Except the salads were covered in sour cream, which I couldn’t eat, guacamole, which I couldn’t eat, salsa, which I couldn’t eat, and tortilla strips, which I definitely couldn’t eat.

Okay, how about a burrito bowl, without the flour tortilla?  Nope.  I couldn’t eat the beans, onions or avocado.

Finally I ordered two chicken tacos in corn tortillas with no toppings and a side of plain rice.  It was the saddest lunch I’d ever seen.

I’ve been gone for a while, mostly because I’ve been working hard, but also because I’ve been having some stomach issues that have made me really stressed lately.  I’ve been feeling bloated, nauseous, refluxy and been having bad stomach cramps for a few months now.  Finally, after having to go home sick twice in two weeks, I decided to see a doctor.

I talked to the nurse, answered questions, had my blood pressure taken, and did the rest of the doctor’s office routine.  Then the doctor entered and to my surprise, he was tall, dark, handsome and probably in his late thirties.

“So...” he said with a playful smile, “tell me about your stomach issues.”

Oh, no.  This was not going to be fun.

We talked for a bit and I got a definite flirty vibe from him.  When he said “what are your bowel movements like?” with a twinkle in his eye, I almost swooned.  

Maybe he just had a really good bedside manner, but it really felt like we were hitting it off.

He told me that he recommended an endoscopy and colonoscopy to check the situation out.  Which was basically the same as asking me out on a second date.  He told me to call him any time, for anything.

As I was leaving he told me that he would give me a free sample colon cleanse, which is apparently usually very expensive.  “This is top of the line.  It’s like the Ferrari of colon cleanses.”

I laughed, because he literally just compared something that was supposed to make me shit water to an expensive automobile.

“You laugh, but I’m serious.  This is the very best.  And I’m giving it to you for free.”

The summer after 8th grade, my family took a vacation to Africa.  It was a wildlife safari, and most of the places we stayed were campgrounds where some wild animals would come right up to you.

One particular campground was full of tiny monkeys, called Vervet monkeys.  The monkeys would form packs and follow you through the campground, but according to our guide they would never attack.  “Unless you have food.  NEVER EVER carry food with you through the campground.”

“Sure, sure,” thirteen year old me thought.  “I’m not idiot.”

But I was wrong.  I am a total idiot.

One day I took a root beer flavored lollipop out of my bag and started to eat it.  It was one of those large, gourmet lollipops.  Possibly a Linda’s Lollie.  I had been saving it since arriving in Africa, and now I was finally going to eat it.

If you’ve ever had one of these lollipops, you know it takes a long time to consume.  I was supposed to meet my parents in the main tent, so I took my lollipop outside.  The main tent was only a few minutes walk away.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to take food outside, but did a delicious gourmet lollipop really count?

After about a minute I noticed I had an entourage.  There were at least half a dozen monkeys following behind me.  I tried not to worry about it, and picked up my pace a little bit.  A minute later the group had grown to about ten monkeys.  They looked like they were whispering to each other.  It seemed like they were formulating a plan.

I was nearing the main tent when they decided to execute their plan and form a circle around me.  I tried to break through, but whichever way I turned I was face to face with a monkey.

By this time I realized they were after the lollipop, but also.... it was a really good lollipop and I didn’t want to give it up.

One monkey approached me, hand out.  I backed away, but pretty soon more monkeys were approaching.  They were making weird monkey noises that sounded like “Kill the girl.  Take the lolly.”  It was like a scene from Planet of the Apes (I’ve never seen that, does this sound like a scene from that?)  Or maybe Congo, but with tiny way less scary monkeys instead of giant terrifying gorillas.  Or I guess like the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey with the monolith replaced by me holding a root beer lollipop.  Wow, there are a lot of movies this could be from.  

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I took the lollipop out of my mouth and threw it as far away from me as I could.  They all scrambled after it, fighting each other for one lick of delicious root beer goodness.  But I didn’t see who won, because I was running faster than I’d ever run in my life in the opposite direction.

I learned my lesson after that and only enjoyed delicious treats in the safety of my tent.  I did however witness one more monkey moment.

A father and his two kids were watching the monkey and the father took out his camera to videotape two of them playing in a tree.  After a moment the kids started to notice something strange.

“Daddy... what is that monkey doing to the other monkey?”  

The two monkeys were having sex.  And not sweet, “look kids, it’s nature” sex.  This was hardcore, heiney slapping, wild primate sex.  Basically this dad was making monkey porn.

After a moment the male monkey finishes, pulled out for some reason, and sprayed his monkey semen ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE.  It swung from the trees in thick white ropes.  It splattered the ground.  The little girl in the family had to jump back out of the way to avoid getting hit by it.

JANUARY

After partying hard core in Joshua Tree for New Year’s Eve, I took some time off to re-enact the princess and the pea.

FEBRUARY

In 2015 I tried a lot of new things.  For example, I had never sat in this chair before.  I enjoyed it, but was not entirely sure how to get back out.

MARCH

Another new thing I tried: Kayaking.  As you can see, I’m a natural.  Is there such a thing as a kayaking prodigy?

APRIL

I had a lot of resolutions in 2015 as well.  One of them was to remind my mom to clean more often.  One way I encouraged her was by waiting for her to leave the apartment and then laying on top of all of her clothes.

MAY

I traveled a lot in 2015.  Here I am, experimenting with Chicago chairs.  While slightly less comfortable than Los Angeles chairs, I still enjoyed the new experience.  Other pros of Chicago:  Deep Dish Pizza, Backyards.  Cons:  Puddles.

JUNE

In 2015 I tried several different style: long hair, short hair, burs in my hair that mom had to cut out leading to medium hair.  As a big fan of Chris Hemsworth, I even tried the man bun for the first time.  And last time.

JULY

In July, I invented a fun new game called: Glare at Mom the Entire Time We’re in the Car Just to Mess with Her.  I’m winning.

AUGUST

I did some spokesdog modeling work for the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs.  Now I don’t get out of bed for less than 10,000 doggie biscuits a day.

SEPTEMBER

Another first:  I tried watermelon for the first time.  Have you had it?  I highly recommend.

OCTOBER

In October, I celebrated my 10th birthday.  Everyone told me I didn’t look a day over puppy.

NOVEMBER

Haha.  Mom still doesn’t know this glaring at her in the car thing is a bit.  She’s getting so annoyed.  I thoroughly enjoy it.

DECEMBER

In December I celebrated Christmas.  I was surprised to learn that not all the presents were for me.  Next year, I expect some changes.

JANUARY

Took a road trip with my dog (and some humans I guess who cares) to a murder cabin in Joshua Tree to start the year off right.

FEBRUARY

This is the only selfie I took in the month of February.  I assume it was taken to celebrate the fact that I was dressed as a child detective with a tragic past, possibly named Tech Novak.

MARCH

Took a picture in the work bathroom to show off an outfit that screamed “I’m an eccentric aging artiste who lives in a hip industrial loft downtown and has a much younger lover named Mario.”

APRIL

Went to Vegas with my co-workers to celebrate the end of our show and my hotel room had Guy Fierri mirror decals, so...

MAY

The Birthday Bitch wears the hat and drinks all the goddamned wine she wants to.

JUNE

One hour later I was mistaken for a drag queen at a MadonnaRama Gay Dance Party in Chicago.  I took it as a compliment.

JULY

4th of July weekend, I’m coming for you.  Happy birthday to the U. S. of motherfucking A.  Went to the cold and overcast beach and watched a sad display of fog shrouded fireworks.  See you next year, America.

AUGUST

Went to Palm Springs and was legally required to take a picture of myself drinking a Bloody Mary in a floppy hat.  

SEPTEMBER

Accidentally dressed as Wednesday Addams on a Wednesday.  Got a lot of shit for it at work.  I had Uncle Fester kill them all. 

OCTOBER

My dog turned 10!  I threw him a birthday party in the park.  Reviewers (one guest) called it “the most LA thing I’ve ever been a part of.”  I’m so fucking old.

NOVEMBER

This is the only selfie I took in the month of November.  I honestly don’t know what to say about this.

DECEMBER

I was desperately in need of a haircut and I don’t have a usual stylist right now, so I went into a hip barbershop near my apartment and said I would take the next person available.  As I sat, waiting for my turn, I started to panic.

Why am I the only girl here?  Is it weird that I’m here?  Do they not cut girl hair?  Oh wait, there’s a girl.  No, she’s just waiting with her boyfriend.  I hope I get one of the women barbers.  If I get a man, will he know how to cut my hair?

Finally a girl barber called my name.  She was covered in tattoos, with bleach blond hair with those super short bangs.

Oh my god, she’s way too cool for me.  When I tell her I just want a trim she’s going to think I’m a total loser.  Maybe I should tell her to shave one side of my head? 

GIRL BARBER:  “So, what do you want to do today?”

ME:  “Just a trim, please.  Maybe some subtle layers.”

GB:  “Okay, cool.”

Oh my god, she hates me.

GB:  “Do you want a shampoo?”

ME:  “Yes, please.”

Can she see my tattoos?  Will that make her think I’m cool?  

We got back to her chair and I waited for her to start up the small talk.  But she didn’t.  She just remained silent.

Okay, she doesn’t want to talk.  That’s cool.  I hate making small talk.  This is perfect.  

One minute later:

Although... all the other barbers are talking to their clients.  No, it’s okay.  It’s better this way.  

Thirty seconds later:

Does she not like me?  After I leave is she going to tell all her barber friends how this weird girl whose hair she cut didn’t say a word the entire time?  

Ten seconds later:

Should I try to start a conversation?  No, it feels weird if I do it...  Maybe I could ask her opinion on trying a new color on my hair.  Maybe see if she thinks I should go lighter.  Ugh, no.  Forget it.  Maybe it’s better we’re not talking.  Maybe she’s just really concentrating on cutting my hair.  I wouldn’t want to distract him.

A man with a great dane walked in.  He laid out a dog bed and the giant dog sat down on it.

Okay, here’s my chance!  Say something about the dog.  Everybody loves dogs.

ME:  “Do a lot of people bring their dogs in here?”

GB:  “Yeah.  That guy brings his dog in a lot.  He just lays on his bed.”

ME:  “Wow.  So cool.”

Then silence.

Wow so cool?!?!?!  What is wrong with me?  Well, that was a bust.  It feels rude to look at my phone.  But if we’re not talking anyway... What does she think I’m thinking about?  I’m just sitting here, staring off into space.  

A woman walked in with four kids.  The youngest, a little girl, just stood and stared at me for a full minute.

GB:  “Did you see that little girl?  She looked appalled by what I was doing to your hair.”

ME:  “HAHAHAHA YES I SAW HER SO FUNNY!”

Oh god what the hell is wrong with you?  You are literally scream laughing.  Stop.  Silence is better than this.

We did not say another word until she was done.  

GB:  “Okay, here you go.  What do you think?”

ME:  “Looks great.”

GB:  “I think the layers really helped.  Having it all one length really weighs down the hair.”

ME:  “Yeah, that makes sense.  You’re so smart.”

I paid for my cut and tipped her well, hoping at least that would make her like me.

GB:  “See you in a couple months.”

ME:  “YES I WILL COME BACK HERE HAHAHAHAH I LOVE IT!”

Then I ran out the door.

On the plus side, the hair cut looks great.

Miss Patty’s is all set to go.

Luke’s could use some signage.

This got me thinking about Gilmore Girls and I came up with some predictions/dreams of what we’ll see in the revival:

- Lorelei and Luke are married.  This is non-negotiable.  They have twins, a boy and a girl, named John and Yoko.

- Rory isn’t dating Logan.  Or Jess.  Or Dean.  She’s single.  Because it’s okay to be single at 30.  Stop judging me, Mom!

- Richard isn’t dead.  He’s transitioned into a woman, played by Jessica Lange.  Emily has a hard time coming to grips with it at first but now she’s cool.

- Suki isn’t around as much anymore after she won a season of Top Chef and became world famous.  Jackson still provides all her produce.

- Paris started a life coach app and was on Forbes 30 under 30 list.  She and Doyle are in a polygamous relationship.

- Lane and Zack had three more kids and are touring the country in their Partridge Family style band.

- Michael and Kirk are roommates.  This could be the premise for a spin-off, if need be.

- Babette and Maury started a cat orphanage out of their tiny house.  Pretty much nothing has changed though, since they already had about 30 cats.

- Miss Patty has remarried her second ex-husband for the third time.  She left the dance studio to perform as a lounge singer on a cruise ship.

- Taylor bought up all of Stars Hollow and then went mad with power.  He started talking about how much he looked up to Kim Jong-il.  He is now in a sanitarium where he makes everyone call him Dear Leader.

- Mr. Kim finally came back from his 10 year business trip to San Francisco.  Since he’s been back Mrs. Kim has really mellowed out.  She now only makes mung bean sprouts for dinner three times a week instead of seven.

- Dean and Lindsay went to couples counseling and got back together.  They finally own that town house Lindsay always wanted.  Their lives are very boring.

- Jess’s second book gained some notoriety in the hipster book scene.  He’s been coasting on it ever since and sleeping with a lot of groupies.  He flirted with the idea of becoming a heroine addict but decided it was too passe.  He is currently working on a book of one word poetry.

It seems like every office Christmas party has it’s drunk person, the person who, like a total idiot, drinks too much and acts a fool.  This year, at my office Christmas party, that person was me.

The next morning I woke up with no idea how I got home.  I went to get my phone and found texts from several co-workers.  “Just wanted to check in to see if you’re doing okay”  “I hope you made it home okay”  “Text me when you wake up, love to know if you’re doing okay.”

My boss sent me this text:  “Hi there.  How you doing?”

One coworker texted to let me know that his wife and he had driven me home since I was “too drunk to Uber.”  When they asked for my address I just mumbled the number one under my breath.  When his wife took out my driver’s license and read my address out loud I shouted, in surprise “Hey, that’s where I live.”  

“That’s a really fun story for me to hear right now.” I texted back.

He promised to save any other stories for a month from now, “when you’re ready to laugh about it.”  I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to laugh about it.

But the embarrassment didn’t end there.  That day I had to get to the airport for a flight home.  After spending most of the morning puking, my friend arrived to pick me up.  On the way to the airport we stopped at a 7-11 so I could buy a Vitamin Water.  By the time we actually reached the airport I had thrown up Vitamin Water three times.  Twice into different plastic bags and once into her empty passion fruit iced tea cup.  Luckily it was a Venti.  When I was done it looked like it was full of iced tea again.

Waiting in line at the airport to check in my dog, I begged myself not to throw up.  I succeeded, until I got up to the front desk.  I quickly checked in my dog, then sat down on the ground and threw up into the empty Vitamin Water bottle.  Another customer stepped over me to get to the check in desk.

I threw up several times before boarding my plane.  At one point a two year old child came and put her tiny hand on my shoulder to comfort me.  She looked into my eyes with pity and thinly veiled disgust.  I deserved it.

On the plane I threw up almost as soon as I sat down.  Luckily most of the seat pockets still contain vomit bags.  The woman seated across the aisle from me asked if I was pregnant.  I considered telling her I was.  Instead, I told the flight attendant I had food poisoning.  She brought me a ginger ale.  I promptly threw it up in the airplane lavatory.  

When I got off the plane my mom was waiting for me at the gate... with a wheelchair.  She had gotten a special pass to come through security and meet me.  I gratefully sank into the wheelchair and let her wheel me to the baggage claim.  It was quit possibly the proudest moment of my life.

1.  People breaking into my apartment and murdering me

This is legitimately my biggest fear.  Sometimes I get up multiple times during the night to double and triple check that I locked the front door.  When I saw the movie “The Strangers” I assumed it was a documentary about my future murder.

2.  People sneaking up behind me.

Same concept, but with much less extreme consequences.

3.  Telling a story to a large group of people and no one laughs.

It’s seems weird that this is my third biggest fear, but if you’ve ever had this happen you totally understand.

4.  Claustrophobia, specifically when too many people are in an enclosed space.

I’m fine in a tiny closet by myself, but I will flip if there are more than three people in an elevator.

5.  Being mugged while walking my dog.

Too bad my dog is the least intimidating creature ever created, or I might not have to worry about this.

6.   Having to make small talk while walking my dog.

Only slightly worse than being mugged.  There’s only so many times you can say “No YOUR dog is the cutest” before your brain explodes.

7.  Spiders hatching out of my face.

I tried to convince myself this wasn’t a real thing, but then I saw an episode of “Monsters Inside me” on Animal Planet, so...

8.  That all my friends and co-workers secretly hate me.

Is this just the definition of having anxiety?  Are you all reading this a judging me?  I thought we were friends!

9.  That I’ll wake up as a giant cockroach.

Pretty sure “The Metamorphosis” was based on a true story.

10.  That inanimate objects will come to life and try to kill me.

One example: Doctors and nurses.  I do not want to be at the doctor and overhear my doctor and one of the nurses get in an argument.  I also don’t really want to hear them discussing their personal life.  “How’d your tennis match go?”  “Okay, what happened on your blind date last night?”  “Oh my god, it was awful.  I got so drunk I threw a bar stool at a waiter.”  These are all things I don’t want to hear during surgery.

Second example:  Flight attendants.  Until you have left the airport, I don’t want to hear word one about your personal lives.  I don’t want to hear two flight attendants discussing the wild night they had in Dallas.  I don’t want to notice one flight attendant passive aggressively asking another flight attendant if she has any more Pinot Grigio.  I’m sorry, I know you’re all human people with human thoughts and emotions, but I just want to imagine that everybody working on the airplane loves their jobs and everyone around them.

Final example:  Pharmacists.

Last week I went to the allergy doctor and she gave me two prescriptions.  I didn’t get off work early enough to take them to the pharmacy, so the next morning I got up fifteen minutes early and headed to CVS.

I handed over my prescription to a pretty Indian pharmacist with bright purple lipstick.  She was very friendly as she entered in my information.  Then another pharmacist came over and whispered something in her ear.

Pharmacist #1:  “Are you FUCKING kidding me?”

Pharmacist #2:  “No, I’m serious.  She called in sick.”

P1:  “You’re fucking with me.”

P2:  “I swear, I’m not.”

P1: (to me) “She’s fucking with me.  She’s always fucking with me.”

Me:  “Umm... How about fucking with those prescriptions?”

P1:  “I can’t.  I just can’t.  I already worked a double yesterday, I was here until ten last night.  All because Devon called in sick yesterday.  Now Marnie is sick today?  I can’t do this.”

Me:  “I’m sorry.  I totally get it.  I’ve been working twelve hour days all week.  In fact... I have to get to work pretty soon, so if we could get those prescriptions filled...”

Just then another pharmacist walked up.

P1:  “Trent!  Did you hear?  Marnie called in sick!”  

P3:  “Oh.  Bummer.”

P1:  “You know what, maybe I should just call in sick.  Maybe I should just call in sick right now.  If everyone else isn’t coming to work, maybe I shouldn’t either.”

Me:  “Yeah, totally.  But maybe after you fill my prescription?”

P1:  “Sorry, sorry.  Yeah, I shouldn’t be going off like that.”

For a moment it ALMOST looked like she was going to fill the prescription, then she stopped.

P1:  “It’s just, I saw Marnie yesterday and she looked totally fine!  I don’t even think she’s really sick.”

Me:  “Wow... what a... bitch?”

P1:  “Someday I’m going to do it.  I’m going to call in sick when they really need me.”

Me:  “But maybe not like right now, right?  After all, you’re already here, right in the middle of filling my prescription.  Maybe pick a day when you aren’t already here, that way you have the whole day off.”

P1:  “Yeah, that makes sense.  Well, looks like we can have your prescription ready in ten minutes.  Want to wait for it?”

I looked at my watch.  If I waited ten minutes I would be late for work.

Me:  “I guess I’ll have to come back.”

“Umm, we aren’t making deviled eggs,” they said.

“Oh.  Hmm.  I was really hoping there would be deviled eggs.  Do you think someone could make deviled eggs?”

“Well, we don’t have the ingredients.”

“Oh.  That’s too bad.  What about eggnog?  Is there eggnog?”

“No, that’s more of a Christmas thing around here.”

“Okay, well what if you give me twenty dollars and I’ll go get some eggnog and the stuff you need to make deviled eggs.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.  Did he really just ask for twenty dollars to go get something he had asked for??  

My friend actually found some hard boiled eggs in the fridge and ended up grumpily making deviled eggs for him.  He ate a few then asked why more people weren’t eating them.

For the most part he was very polite, repeatedly complimenting the food and the decor.  But as dinner approached he gave his opinion on a lot of the food, as well as some other things. 

“Ooh, mashed potatoes.  I love mashed potatoes.  You should put some sour cream in there.  No?  You sure?  It’s much better with sour cream.”

“What’s in those sweet potatoes?  Pecans?  My mom does marshmallows.  You sure you don’t want to do marshmallows instead?”

“Wow, look at this table.  It’s so nice.  Is this crystal?  I’m gonna send my mom a picture, show her how rich people do Thanksgiving.”

“I hope I get a lot of leftovers, I could eat this food for a week.”

What is happening?!  Is this a scam?  Are we on a hidden camera?  Is Punk’d still a thing?  Is it even culturally relevant?  Does the youth of America even know what Punk’d is?  Am I old?

But that’s when I realized that Thanksgiving is a time for giving thanks.  I was enjoying a nice meal, with friends who invited me in out of the kindness of their heart, just as they’d invited him in.  He was a young kid, possibly spending his first Thanksgiving away from his family and maybe he was having trouble coping.  Maybe all these comments really stemmed from him missing home.  I smiled at him and offered him some more sour cream-less mashed potatoes.

That’s when he said “Man, I wish someone would give me thirty five hundred dollars.”

Screw Thanksgiving.  Kindness is for the weak.

“You got any extra checks for me?” the man behind me asked.

In my mind I thought:  Oh no, someone’s talking to me.  I hate when someone talks to me.

Out loud I laughed and said “I wish I did” in a way that did not signify that I hated talking to people.

Man Behind Me:  “You could just give me those.”

The man was very large and possibly intimidating, but I knew that he wasn’t actually trying to steal my checks inside of a bank.  Still, the “joke” made me a little uncomfortable.  I laughed nervously and shook my head.

Suddenly, the woman in front of me turned around.  “No she can’t, because she’s my girlfriend.  We’re dating.  So those checks are mine.”

I could tell she thought she was helping me out.  But in my mind I thought:  You are not helping me out.

Man:  Well, we could move to Utah and you could both be my wives.

Women:  Sure, that’s an idea.

Man:  Then I’d get both of your checks.

Women:  Oh, no, no, no.  If we marry you, we aren’t working any more.  You’re going to be our provider.  

In my mind:  “WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?  We are in a fucking bank!  CALM YOURSELVES!”

Out loud:  ...

Just then the lady in front of me was called to an open teller.  I was left alone with the man behind me.  I tried turning my back on him.  It didn’t work.

Man:  I’m buying a house today.  I’m here to get the money order.

In My Mind:  Three seconds ago you were trying to steal my measly paycheck.  How can you afford a house?

Out Loud:  Wow, that’s a big purchase.

Man:  Yeah, it’s in Indianapolis.

In My Mind:  Oh, okay.  That checks out.  Houses in Indianapolis probably run you... what... like sixty bucks?  Seventy five maybe.

Out Loud:  Oh, cool.

Man:  It belonged to a family that was really mean to me when I was a paper boy.

In My Mind:  Where is this going...?

Out Loud:  Okay...

Man:  I’m going to tear it to the ground.

In My Mind:  Uh oh, abort conversation.  Abort conversation!

Out Loud:  And build something in its place?

Man:  Nope, just leave it an empty lot.  So that every time that family drives by they’ll see that their dreams have all been crushed.  That the boy they were mean to has ruined their lives.

In My Mind:  Wow.  Okay.  This guy is crazy.  Like legitimately, dangerously crazy.  Do not get on this guy’s bad side.  He will tear your heart out and eat it.  

Me:  Wow.  Okay.  That sounds fun.

Man:  Gonna wire the money to my brother tonight.  Told him to put the bid on the house Monday.  I don’t want anyone else coming in and scooping it up. 

In My Mind:  Not sure that’s how buying a house works...

Out Loud:  That makes sense.

Man:  Then, after that, I’m going to find all of my enemies and make them pay.

In My Mind:  Curl up into a ball.  Curl up into a ball and maybe he won’t be able to see you anymore.  Play dead, like a possum.  That could work.

Out Loud:  That’s cool.  Just go down the list.

Back In My Mind:  What?  Go down the list?!  Out Loud Jessie, why are you encouraging him?  This man is maybe about to become a serial murderer.  Don’t say “that’s cool.”

Out Loud:  Yep, pretty cool.

Back In My Mind:  Dammit.

Man:  You don’t seem like you would do that kind of thing.  You don’t seem like someone seeking revenge.

Out Loud:  No, probably not.  But it sounds fun, in a way.

In My Mind:  I give up, you’re on your own.

Finally a teller motioned me over to her station.  

In My Mind:  Just turn and walk away.  Just turn and walk away.  Don’t say a word.

Out Loud:  Good luck with all that.  Hope you get to show that mean family that karma’s a bitch.

Live band karaoke is pretty much exactly what it sounds like.  It’s karaoke, but instead of performing onstage with a backing track, you perform on stage in front of a live band.  Which sounds awesome... right?

The song options weren’t as extensive at most karaoke bars because it had to be a song the band knew how to play.  I chose the song Jack & Diane by John Mellencamp.

When it came my turn to sing I noticed something.  There was no teleprompter.  They handed me the lyrics on a sheet of paper.  That seemed okay, until the band started.  Then suddenly I realized I didn’t really know Jack & Diane THAT well.  I had no idea when the vocals  were supposed to come in.

The band started playing, and then just kept playing, and kept playing...  The guitarist gave me a look that seemed to say “ummm.... you know you’re supposed to do the singing part, right?”

Finally I just started singing.

Little ditty about Jack and Diane.

The guitarist furiously shook his head.  I skipped ahead.

Suckin' on chili dogs outside the tastee freeze.

He shook his head again.  Which led to this conversation, on a stage, into a microphone, in front of a bar full of people.

“No?  Okay, ummm, how about... Let's run off behind a shady trees?  Still no?  Let me do what I please?  Wait, wait, I think I got it.  This is the chorus right?  Oh yeah, life goes on.  Long after the thrill of livin' is gone.  Nope, nope.  I missed it again.  Can we start over?”

It was the longest four minutes and sixteen seconds of my life.

Finally the song ended.  I had probably gotten a total of six words right.  I quickly bowed and jumped off stage.  The guitarist wiped sweat off his face.

“That was Jessie everybody.  Jessie.”

There was some uncomfortable, scattered applause.  I left the bar in shame.  I guess I’m still looking for my calling.

Here’s my confidence level before the song started.  I’m lip synching along to Umbrella as the band tunes up:

Here’s me trying to figure out when I’m supposed to start singing:

Here’s me staring at the lyrics with panic, while getting the words wrong once again.  The guitar player looks concerned:

Notice the clenched fist of anxiety:

And, finally, notice me give up on the lyrics sheet, and any possibility of retaining my dignity, and just sort of humming along:

- One chipped mug that reads “I woke up like this”

- The insides of a stuffed koala bear dog toy

- One slowly dying jade plant

- Season one of ALF on DVD

- One bottle of prescription medicine that expired at least three years ago (bonus points if it expired before 2010)

- A pair of boots held together with duct tape

- One dress I bought in the 8th grade and won’t throw away because some day it might come back in style

- One dog’s birthday hat

- One comically stretched out hair rubber band OR one comically stretched out bobby pin

- One item of food that expired before 2014

- One kitchen utensil that has no apparent use

- One phone charger for a phone I haven’t had since 2004

- One t-shirt for a high school production of the The Miser