Lisa Digs Girls Day!

14 year old field hockey star Lisa Maldonado does not reserve her enthusiasm only for autumn sport.

"I love women," says Maldonado while adjusting a shin guard in the Grover Cleveland High School girls' locker room. This Decatur, IL freshman was handed a Varsity letter the first day of summer tryouts, six weeks before she would even set foot in her first high school classroom. "The way they walk, the way they laugh. Why tell a joke if there isn't a woman within earshot to laugh at it."

Maldonado first demonstrated her athletic starpower when she was a seven year old halfback in her local community Y girl's soccer league. Her former soccer coach, Nancy Walden, was stunned by her ability to weave and pivot through the field. "Give this chick a ball and tell her to cross Times Square on a sunny Saturday afternoon and she'll make it without so much as brushing a stranger's shirtcuff. She's a motherfucking ghost."

Maldonado bristles at such talk. "Ghost? This game is a collaboration. A matching and pairing of wits and physical prowess amongst some of the most beautiful and charming young women you'll ever meet. I don't just float past them. With every turn and swipe and pivot, I relish their essences. I taste their persons."

But it wouldn't be until someone gave her a stick that destiny would shine in neon lights. In middle school, the only thing keeping Maldonado from going to Interscholastic Field Hockey Nationals was her school's decision to waive consideration of their Field Hockey program for national participation. "We didn't have the money to go for Field Hockey," said former principal Terry Holmes, whose dismissal followed a local newspaper's revelation that the town's star athlete was being held back from national recognition due to lack of foresight on the part of school administrators.

"We could only pay dues for three sports programs to be considered for Nationals," Holmes was quoted in that article. "Middle school field hockey just never produced any standouts before."

Maldonado's parents moved two towns over in order for their daughter to attend Grover Cleveland, a high school with a long tradition of propelling their athletes beyond local competition. "I feel very lucky to be here at Grover Cleveland," says Maldonado. "Everyone here has been so supportive. And my teammates are a delight. When they pass the ball my way, God, it's like a first kiss every single time."

She adds, "I met a girl the other night, a goaltender for West Catholic. I scored three points on her and we went and got tacos after the game. I can't get her out of my head. Keep your fingers crossed."

Maldonado scoffs at the question of whether her boundless affection for girls who share the field with her might come between her and a win. "Please," she says. "The better I play, the more I demonstrate my respect for my opponents and teammates. If I ever held back, I wouldn't be able to look these girls in the eye. And to not be able to look into those beautiful brown, blue, green and hazel eyes day after day, I'd open up my throat before succumbing to such a fate."

She adds, "That girl I had the tacos with, her name's Lisa too. Is that awesome?"

While Grover Cleveland is coming into the end of the season with a 9 and 6 record, Maldonado has already surpassed league records for scoring. By spring, she'll know whether she'll be playing in the National tournement next fall. Though most in the know consider her a guaranteed pick.

"We'll see," Maldonado shrugs. "I just wanna keep playing. I wanna run down that field, rushing into the thicket of beautiful exposed knee and firey autumn cheekbone until it ingests me and digests me and sleeps."

Happy Lisa Digs Girls Day!

Girl On Horseback Day!

"Can't we talk about this another time?" she said.

"You say that every time I bring it up," you said. "Then you jump on your horse and go riding for hours and hours and then you come back and say you've strained your knee again and you need to sit in the bath."

You didn't ask her where she goes riding to. You're not ready. Just then, Jolson kicked up some mud.

"Please, honey," she said. "I can't just hop into the saddle and then keep him standing still like this while we dissect our relationship. He'll never be ready for the horse show."

"Interesting word choice," you said. "No one ever dissects what isn't already dead." That was good. It was quick and she was caught off guard. Nice. "Is that what we are? Just a dead frog floating in some smelly formaldehyde waiting to be torn apart by some high school biology students?" All right, that was too much.

"I have to ride. What is it? What do you want to know?"

You looked into her eyes, then into Jolson's. There was much more comfort in Jolson's.

"Is it over?" you asked Jolson.

"I don't know. We're just..." said the girl on horseback, just before Jolson took her off into the field's horizon. You were watching her foot and you didn't see it kick. That horse ran off on its own free will. That horse, it knows something.

Go out to the stables tonight.

Happy Girl On Horseback Day!

It's the Girls Are Pretty "Hitchin' To Get Hitched" Weekend!

Every November, Prettygirl likes to take to the open road and thumb her way into a brand new marriage. Unlock the passenger door fellas, cause something naughty yet servile this way comes.

Because this is gonna take a few days, the next few personal regression assignments are going up now. Scroll down to read today's. And wait until tomorrow to read tomorrow's. As always, if you read ahead, you'll get blah blah herpes blah...

Friday, November 28, 2003

Wash Your Heart Day!

Soap it up and wring it dry. Get rid of every feeling you've ever had, from love to itchy. When you're done you'll be able to look at someone attractive and think, "I have no emotional precedent to believe that you might tear me into pieces and leave me to spend the next few years wriggling back together like the liquid metal terminator in T2. Come over my house."

Happy Wash Your Heart Day!

Thursday, November 27, 2003

Commit Crimes Day!

Start with arson. That's where you set something that's not yours on fire. Yes, that includes the fucking bakery.

Happy Commit Crimes Day!

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Fall Asleep, Naked, In Someone's Arms, Never Wake Up Day!

The "never wake up" part of this one can be tricky, so you should eat lots of pills before you lay down. Either that or really hit the treadmill like a fucking bull so you'll be tired enough to sleep for all eternity. Also, it is recommended that the person in whose arms you fall asleep is bitchin', and that you've decided that this person is the only person that you ever want to be with, to hold you, to breathe with you for the rest of your life.

Happy Fall Asleep, Naked, In Someone's Arms, Never Wake Up Day!

In Your Beautiful Car Day!

He's so happy. He's got his knees bent nice and his hands are folded in his lap. He put on the CD he brought for the ride tonight. He's by your side. He's in love with you and your beautiful car.

It's so cold outside. It's just cold enough inside. The heat turned on so low it keeps the cheeks red. He's looking forward to the cigarette he's going to have when you pull over for coffee. And he puts the back of your right hand to his lips more often than you get green lights.

This wasn't in the cards for tonight. You drove to his house to watch "Catch Me If You Can." Then Jennifer called his house and cried to him for a while. Jennifer is your friend but he's the sort of boy girls are wont to cry to. She asked for you and you learned that you had to go to her. A 100 minute drive and he immediately offered to accompany you. Right after he finds that CD in the stack.

You can hear a hum. Could be the engine or the whirr of the CD. Can a love make noise? It's coming from him. It's either coming out of his heart or his belly. You look at him, you look at the trees and houses whizzing by. The lights are streaks of yellow and green and the sky's painted too purple, like a kid's room. You try to open up to it all, try to feel what he's feeling. You've almost got it, you think, but your mouth just can't smile like that.

Don't blame yourself. It's not his car, Jennifer's not his friend, and he doesn't have to keep his eyes on the road.

Happy In Your Beautiful Car Day!

Your Cabin's All Set Day!

Your husband spent the weekend boarding up the windows and locking everything down for the winter. It will be ready to sell once the weather clears, and there probably won't be anyone living in it until the summer after next. You think that's appropriate.

You didn't fall in love there. It was home to your love. There were no questions inside that cabin. It is the place where one of your sons was conceived. It contains the chair where you slept inside your husband's lap for a thousand hours over the course of nine summers. The cabin didn't see your love blossom, it saw your love celebrated.

A winter, a spring, a summer, a fall, a winter, a spring. So glad you are that it can't be shown during the colder months. That there is absolutely no chance of someone moving in there for over a year. Let it freeze solid until it cracks into two halves that fall to their sides. Let it stand empty and cold, a dead shadow in the snow. Let teens on a ski weekend break in and fuck on your beds and piss on your floors. But don't let anyone else try and love inside that wood. At least not for five or six seasons. That should be enough time. Almost maybe just enough.

Happy Your Cabin's All Set Day!

Into Darkness, Hold His Hand Day!

When you and your boyfriend go down into your parents' basement to find the Twister mat, use the opportunity to squeeze his hand and jump into his arms at the softest of disturbance in the junk around the floor. Should a killer or a phantom jump out at the two of you, hide behind him. Then when your boyfriend kills the killer/phantom and you're back upstairs, shiver in your boyfriend's embrace then lift your lips up to him and make out with him like crazy. If your boyfriend gets killed by the killer/phantom, look down at the bloody, pulpy mass that used to be his body and scream in a maelstrom of horror and woe, then look to the killer/phantom and let it be plain in your eyes that you comprehend the palpable erotic charge in the current situation: you being the cowering prey to his/its bloodthirsty hunter.

Happy Into Darkness, Hold His Hand Day!

The Wasted Boys Day!

The wasted boys are on the couch. They're a little angry. Because all the pussy left. The wasted boys aren't saying anything to each other. They're hungry though, and there's nothing to eat. The wasted boys all blame each other for making the pussy get up and leave before it was even 2 am. There's something good on tv and sometimes the wasted boys laugh at what they're watching. But most of the time, the wasted boys just wish they were somewhere else. Somewhere where all the boys around them aren't quite so wasted. Maybe San Diego, that might be nice. There'd probably be a lot more pussy there, each of the wasted boys thinks to himself.

One of the wasted boys is really sad, but he won't tell the other wasted boys. They'd just make fun of him. So the sad wasted boy is gonna go off and be alone for a while, starting in three days. He's gonna try to shape up.

Happy The Wasted Boys Day!

Not Yet Ripened Peaches Day!

In the morning you will find that the peaches in the refrigerator are not ripened to an ideal degree of deliciousness. You will squeeze each one twice and maybe three times before you tell the toaster, "I guess I can't eat my peaches yet." That's when everything will go black.

You'll say to the toaster, "Looks like someone cut off the electricity. Must be trying to bust into the building." You'll try the phone, but it will be dead. Then you will see a man in black rappel past your window. And he will see you. He will pause just long enough to put his finger to his lips in a gesture of "Shush" before he continues down the side of the building.

You will say to the toaster, "Guess I'd better be quiet for a little while. At least until that guy's gone. Talk to you later toaster." You will go into your room, lay in bed, and listen to the smashing of glass and the screaming.

There shall be gunfire.

Happy Not Yet Ripened Peaches Day!

The Kissings Day!

Today there will be a rash outbreak of kissings, starting with...

7:32 AM - The Home of Jeffrey and Wilma Craig, Milford, Wisconsin. Mr. Craig will awake to the sound of his morning news radio station. He will blink his eyes a few times to wipe away a dream. He will roll over and kiss his wife Wilma of eleven years. He will go to the bathroom and wash.

9:41 AM- Theodore Roosevelt Elementary School, Wilmington Delaware. Assistant principal Laura Marcus will lead 3rd grade language arts teacher David Willis to the xerox room under the pretense of needing assistance with a toner change. When Willis crouches down to peek into the exposed belly of the copier, Marcus will take his left hand and pull him back to his feet. She will place her closed lips upon his slightly parted lips. It will have been a long time coming.

3:59 PM - La Brea Jiffy Lube, Los Angeles, Ca. Three car lengths away from getting his car serviced, Jacob Reed will take his new kitten out of the cardboard carrier provided to him by the shelter, and he will pet its squirming head with his thumbs, and he will kiss it three times between the ears and once on the spine. Jacob will put the kitten back in its carrier and he will believe that today is the start of a better time.

8:20 PM - Rich People's Attics, a New York City antique shop owned by Johnson Crane. In the back office Johnson Crane will make love to Charles Evans, his boyfriend of eleven months. This will involve many kisses.

11:04 PM - O'Hare Airport, Terminal D. Jetblue flight 86 will arrive at gate 21 B and release the round smiling face of Lisa Cohen. Waiting for her, impatient to find out the decision Lisa said she would make while visiting her parents in Sacramento, will be Tobias Hutch. When Lisa sees Tobias, her smile will expand by thirteen percent. She will walk to him and lift her lips up to be kissed. Tobias will comply. In the kiss, her decision will be plain. Tobias will take her bag and they will walk to short-term parking.

Happy The Kissings Day!

You Are Foreign Day!

Ever wish you didn't speak the language indigenous to the place you live and everything around you was frightening and things as small as buying a roll of toilet paper would loom over you as huge obstacles to traverse?

Well today's the day when your wishes are all gonna come true. Because today, you're foreign! And though you have a certain otherworldly charm that's gonna land you lots of tang, the elderly are pissed off that you're even here. Now go take our jobs, wetback!

Happy You Are Foreign Day!

Inadvertently Steal From A Drug Kingpin Day!

What the hell else is there to do in this one lesbian town? Nothin', that's what!

So when you and your friend decide to rob a stranger in town who looks like he's got some spare cash on his person, make sure that stranger is actually a bagman for a very dangerous Drug Lord (amen) and is in town to exchange several million dollars in unmarked bills for several briefcases full of an exciting new synthetic drug that's better than cocaine but doesn't make people as dead. But you of course can't know that the guy is involved in a drug deal. You can't realize what you've done until you're in the passenger seat of a car and you open up the guy's bag and find millions of dollars. Your friend will pull the car over and you'll figure out what to do by the side of the road.

You'll decide to confront the Drug Lord (have mercy) and you will of course end up killing him and taking over the cartel. Congratulations, and I love you.

Happy Inadvertently Steal From A Drug Kingpin Day!

Pretty Skin And Bones Day!

On your way to work think of the pretty pile of skin and bones you left inside your bed, the pretty unemployed pile of skin and bones whose address you have so you don't have to worry about your stereo being stolen. The pretty pile of skin and bones who's way too giddy before and after sex, which makes you think that (after) she didn't quite get satisifed and (before) she doesn't like you all that much and she's trying to distract herself from that fact by singing some songs and playing some games and putting on a hat and saying, "How do I look in this? Stupid?"

The pile of skin and bones smiled in such a way last night that she can stay in your bed for ten days. If during those ten days she does not smile in such a way again, she's going to have to go back to her apartment and wait for you to call her. Unless during those ten days she does something else equally awesome, perhaps something involving tears.

When you get to work, don't think about the pretty pile of skin and bones anymore. While at work, let the memory of the pile of skin and bones consume your being. Merely thinking about it is not enough to battle the horror. You must hear her giggle with every word spoken, smell her shoulder with every breath you take in. Count the hours until you can return to her and find out whether the pile stayed inide your bed or whether she gathered her skin and bones together and walked out the door, leaving behind a note of thanks and a promise regarding later that night.

Happy Pretty Skin And Bones Day!

Let's Make Me Beautiful Day!

Let's have you throw your jacket on your body and run from a bar. We're gonna send you through a million red and yellow lit streets and we'll put some glycerine drops in your eyes to get some tears on your fat baby cheeks.

Now we've got my friend Steve throwing a small dinner for friends you don't know in his apartment. I'm not there, you called Steve ahead of time to find that out. You couldn't tell Steve why you're coming over because you needed Steve to excuse himself from his dinner table to sit down on the stairwell with some cigarettes and find out what put that moan into your phone voice.

The way we're gonna have Steve play this one is he's gonna be giddy. Steve'll have had a pretty boring week and his dinner guests and his girlfriend won't have livened it up by the time you call. But when he tells you it's cool to come over, he'll be excited to go back to the dinner table and announce that a friend is coming over and she sounds like she's in bad shape. He might need to step away for a moment, but it won't be long, he'll say. "I am important to someone," will be his point. The guests will ask some questions but will try not to be too probing, though they will all be glad that the conversation will have veered away from what one of them read in that morning's Times magazine. Steve's girlfriend will sit quietly in a homocidal rage. This will make Steve happy.

In the apartment, Steve will introduce you briefly to the table. "This is the breakdown I'm going to prevent," will be his point. You'll apologize for interrupting and then the two of you will go out to the stairs. You'll light a cigarette. Steve will light one of yours for himself because he doesn't smoke.

Before you say a word, we need you to smoke that cigarette to the butt then light a second.

"I just all of a sudden felt crippled. At this table, with all our friends at the bar, I thought he could show up at any second. And I couldn't have that." These are your lines. "I needed to be where he won't be. I feel like this whole city was built for just him and me to walk around in. He's out there not knowing where I am and I'm out there not knowing where he is. And I just needed to be someplace where I know he won't be."

Steve has always liked talking to you alone. Steve is very happy with the man he's become when he manages to hold a meaningful conversation with you. He doesn't have a crush on you or anything. We don't want that. We just want him to admire you.

"I want a list. A map color-coded according to the places he isn't. I don't want to know where he is. I want to know where he won't be."

Steve will ask, "Can't you go home. You can be sure he won't be there."

We need you to shake your head. "Home is worst of all. I once saw him there. He was just walking down the street past my building, but he never has any reason to be there. Since then, I've put off starting my work by just sitting in the window tracing the path I saw him walk that day. It's awful, my street."

We're gonna have Steve go into the apartment to make some calls and find out where you can sleep or drink. You'll wait the duration of two cigarettes.

"Janice says her shift ends at two. Janice was working there while they were going out and he used to be there every night drinking for free while he waited for her to get off. So he'll never set foot in that bar again for the rest of his life." We want you to understand this. We want it to be clear that you know about his breakup with Janice.

"Also," Steve's gonna say. "Kim said you can crash at her place."

"Kim?" you'll say. The way Steve feels about you, the admiration for you and the pride he derives from knowing you take him seriously, that's how we need you to feel about Kim. An invitation from her is one you would never pass up. You find her to be an amazing person, the kind of woman you want to be. In short, it's important that Kim takes you seriously.

"You're sure Kim's okay with this?" you'll ask.

Steve is gonna say, "Honestly, she sounded a little roughed up herself. I don't think she's going to sleep anytime soon. She could use the company."

Now you're gonna go to Kim's. But first, Steve is gonna ask, "Has it been this bad for a while, or did you just get hit especially hard tonight?" We know it's a stupid question, but that's what we want Steve to say. We need him to grasp at something that will keep you out there on his stairwell a little longer. We want to hammer home how much Steve wants to give of himself to you so that for years after tonight, you'll remember what a good friend he was to you when you needed a good friend, and you will speak well of him.

Happy Let's Make Me Beautiful Day!

You Two Are Pretty Serious Now Day!

Does this bother you?

Not at all. You don't want me to...like...?

I just want to watch.

I really had to go.

It starts with a corkscrew.

A what?

A little spiral. Right at the top of the stream.

So it does.

Like a competitive diver.

I never noticed.

Is it kind of closed up?

It's just a little flair. Flash and lights.

Come on.

I like to put on a good show for my audience.

It's sort of perfect.

I think that's just the shape of the peehole.

One of those things repeated throughout nature. Spirals.

I dated a girl who liked that. Liked it on her.

I don't. You really did have to go.

Almost done. When are we meeting Jen and Brian?

I don't want to go to dinner. Let's stay in?

Call and cancel?

I'll call and cancel. We'll eat in bed.

Happy You Two Are Pretty Serious Now Day!

She's Addicted To Drugs Day!

If you're wondering why Marie doesn't seem like herself lately, it's because she's addicted to drugs. Specifically, crystal meth, cocaine, acid, heroin, and alcohol. And marijuana and PCP. And crack.

That's why her eyes are bright red and they sometimes spin in their sockets. That's why she's a gunowner and a reckless one at that. That's why she bought, sold, bought back, and is now looking for a new buyer for that baby Heather. That's why she lives in a puddle of urine on the fourth floor of an abandoned building no one can get into without sticking someone's cock in his or her mouth. That's why she seems so fickle all the time, every day calling you to tell you about the new boy that she's in love with. "No, no, Jason was yesterday. Today, I think Brad is the dreamiest!" And yes, that's why her forearms fell off at the elbow.

You're her friend. She needs your help with this. Get her off of drugs. If she dies, it will be your fault and yours alone.

Happy She's Addicted To Drugs Day!

Strive For Elegance Day!

When you walk down stairs, let your hand glide just a centimeter above the banister. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, pause, look to your left, then your right, then smile like you're rich. When you walk across the room, choose a pace that says, "No one's going to start without me. And I'm not at all afraid that I'm going to be shot." When you enter the grand ballroom, pause, look to your left, then your right, then smile like you've given up on love, but the one you're smiling is a pretty fun time. There'll be three steps down to the floor. Walk them as if they were balanced on toothpicks (but don't scream out). Now blink your eyes as if to say, "My pussy's only just a little bit wet at all times. In fact, my day to day, errand-running lubrication is no different than when I am in the throes of passion. But no one's ever complained. I sure as hell ain't gonna." Now take your money out of your purse and count it.

Happy Strive For Elegance Day!

That Kid's Not Gonna Die Day!

He's the one we all look to for hope. We always knew there had to be someone out there who would just by some weird accident or chance of circumstances never ever die. He's Bobby, and he's immortal. Apparently.

See, Bobby has cancer, but he's hanging in there. He's really weak, and vomits constantly the way everyone with cancer is real into doing. When you see him, you'll think "That kid is definitely going to die. And actually, I wanna get outta here because I think it's gonna happen right now." But medical doctors think otherwise.

"That kid is not going to die!" said Dr. Davis, a medical doctor, right after he examined Bobby and, though he found all the telltale signs of a dying boy, nonetheless came to the conclusion that "This kid's got the stuff. He's going to outlive us all. Even our energies that linger in rooms and lead people to believe in ghosts. He'll outlive our energies," Dr. Davis went on to say.

"I concur with Dr. Davis," said Dr. Daniels, also a medical doctor. Dr. Daniels gave Bobby the thoroughest of looksees, and though Bobby had no pulse and his lungs were drowned in bile, Dr. Daniels countered all objections with, "Look, who's the doctor here? Are you a doctor? You? How about you? No? Well then, I guess I'm the only one up in this shit that can say what up. If you shut your fat stinking mortal pieholes for a second I'll explain it in terms even retards like you can understand. Get it? Got it? Fuckin awesome."

All of Bobby's relatives who were gathered around his bed quieted down to listen to Dr. Daniels. The doctor took a deep breath, appeared to be searching for the right words, then just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Check it out. This kid's in it to win it. He was clearly born from a power dark and unholy. Gonna live forever after, yes he is so gonna."

Later, Dr. Dougherty, an additional medical doctor, joined Doctors Davis and Daniels in their optimistic prognosis. "They're right," he said.

What no one realizes is that, though Bobby slips in and out of a feverish coma-like vegetative state only to vomit or shriek in anguish, he can hear what everyone is saying. And he is very excited that he's the kid that's not gonna die.

Happy That Kid's Not Gonna Die Day!

It Snowed Day!

You tell your roommate but he already found out. You tell him your plans. You're getting out. You're going to go buy candy. You ask if he's down. He is.

Neither of you wash your bodies, but you both put on pants, shirts, coats, he has boots. You don't.

You head down the steps through the door and out into nothing. There's white and there's silence and there's nothing. People stand still here and there. They smile at nothing. They do nothing.

After Eight makes a candy bar now. You buy one for three dollars. You also buy an egg sandwich. The man behind the counter is happy. There's nothing outside for him to covet. In here is good. He'll stay as long as this is all there is.

Your roommate buys vitamin water and cakes. He buys potato chips and toothpaste. He buys a bag of cashews for 95 cents American.

The fifteen minutes in the deli fills weeks. Back outside, you hold bags and you taste your breath. New people stand on the intersection. They have placed themselves randomly, or they were dropped from the sky.

Upstairs you unload in the kitchen with your coats still on. There's a message from your roommate's girlfriend. She needs to come over but she doesn't know how. She's trying to find a way. She'll call again if she decides it is impossible.

Happy It Snowed Day!

Hm Day!

While Michelle's sleeping, you rifle through her things. Mostly bills and official looking papers, some weed, some photographs, a lot of one guy who is less attractive than you. His arms are around her sometimes. Whatever. You won't ever be seeing Michelle again, probably, so you just wanna learn a little bit about her before you run back home to change before you go to work.

You hate having to get up this early. But everyone you sleep with has a better apartment than you (you sleep on a twin-sized mattress on the floor of a semi-private bedroom). So it shall be done. But not before you rifle through a drawer or two, a drawer or two containing remnants of a girl.

Letters, a shitload of pens. Drawing pencils (only one sharpened, looks like the point is barely dulled). Printed out emails (get the hell outta there). A passport. Where's she been?

"Hm."

Two stamps. One for Argentina. One for the Phillipines.

"Hm."

In her passport picture she looks like hell. Very different hair. No, completely unrecognizable hair. And the name on the page reads Nina Kreplovich.

She said her name was Michelle.

"Hm."

You go home to change before you go to work.

Happy Hm Day!

Was She Held? Day!

At 10:20 am, as her eyes opened and saw that it was sunny outside, and as she tried to decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, and as she tried to shuffle off the dream she had been bundled up in, and as she tried to buy the fact that "this is what it's like to be awake or I mean alive, this staring at some curtains and buying that yeah it's sunny today and now let's try to feel something," was she held then?

There were some arms within reaching distance. In a logical world they would've been wrapped all up around her because she was even naked even. But not just that, more importantly, she was there and she was coming to and starting a new day. Who wouldn't want to lay claim on that moment, wrap the little girl up like "The moment when she comes back to all of us for one more day, that moment is all mine, wrapped up tight close to my chest. Just try and take it away from me I swear to God I'll kill you dead." Did that go down? Was she held then?

For certain, no doubt, she was locked in a coil of arm and elbow and big safe Dad-type muscle. How else could this morning have worked out. Gonna try to tell me she was right there, and he was right beside her all night long thinking about something besides how awful it is that suns sometimes rise and make you get out of bed? Gonna try to make me buy that, that someone was too busy crossing off a to-do list in his head, adding up how many years he's got left to make himself a man, wondering how someone else in someone else's bed is gonna wake up tomorrow morning? Wondering if she'll be held then?

No fucking way. She was held then, right?

Happy Was She Held? Day!

In The Papa Don't Preach Video, Danny Aiello Gave The Performance Of A Lifetime Day!

You remember. The dishwashing scene. The leaning on things. Where's her mother? you, the viewer, asked his sad eyes. Why must you tackle this trouble all on your own. Did she leave? Did she pass away? Something in the way his flesh hung from his cheek bones made you think you knew the answer, or at least made you rethink writing a letter to Danny Aiello c/o Madonna's recording company.

When you first saw the video, you were one year old and when Madonna told Danny Aiello that she was pregnant, you wanted to say to somebody "He's gonna take a swing at her," but you didn't know how to talk. When he didn't, you realized he wanted you to think that. And there, in your playpen, you thought, "Danny Aiello, you are one wily coyote." And then you lived for 29 years.

Happy In The Papa Don't Preach Video, Danny Aiello Gave The Performance Of A Lifetime Day!

The Rilke Poem Day!

The one about the bikes. Huffys. Reading it in on the grass of a hill, you will finally attain the understanding necessary to conclude your mourning period for your father and get back into competitive archery.

It's the one about the bikes. But not the one that starts, "Fuck suck ya'll..."

Happy The Rilke Poem Day!

The Creation Station Day!

When you signed up for the ice sculpture class, you just wanted to learn how to make something nice for your sister's wedding. The Creation Station welcomes beginners and it seemed like a budget-friendly, low-pressure environment for you to get your chops and hopefully give you the skills you need to bring your design to life (a little boy and a little girl standing at an altar getting married by a penguin in a tophat).

But instead, with your very first exercise, you went and chiseled the face of God into a block of ice. Whether it was just beginners luck or someone working through you doesn't really matter to all of your classmates who are now blind because their eyeballs turned to hot coals that they had to pry out with their chisels before any brain matter was singed.

No one blames you, especially since you got it worst of all (not only are your eyes gone, but your mouth sealed up into a little tiny O that can just barely allow entrance to a club soda straw, and you now whistle with every breath). The Creation Station, while offering low-cost outlets to the inner Da Vinci in every Mom, is appearently also home to the wrath of an angry angry God. But not quite so angry as the letter you are going to sit down to write to demand your non-refundable deposit back.

Happy The Creation Station Day!

Your Favorite Plane Ride Day!

There's a girl you just met and you both get drunk and talk about Dads dying. You talk about dirty things and there's no one else in the row with you. She has the most beautiful neck in the sky. While you're not in first class, the flight attendant doesn't charge you for your drinks after a while. Additionally, though you're drunk and flying, it doesn't feel horrible and you're not sneezing.

The two of you confess some things. You do it very aware that you don't need to confess anything, you're just trying to impress her. She drops her bomb then cries a little then laughs about it and you give her napkins to wipe her snot and after she stops crying and laughing she puts her hand on yours. Not in any big dramatic way. She just puts it there. Then she keeps it there for the rest of the ride.

In mid-flight, the two of you make fun of everyone else on the plane. With just an hour to go, she falls asleep with her head on your shoulder. You lay your lips on the top of her head and keep them there. She wakes up kissing your shirt without being aware of it.

In the terminal, you make a plan for where you'll meet up that night in Chicago. She doesn't show.

Happy Your Favorite Plane Ride Day!

Peanut Butter Day!

Sick with love and alcoholism, Randy tries to eat peanut butter because he can't swallow solids. His stomach can keep the food down, but the lump in his throat won't let anything get there without a great effort.

Randy gets a spoonful of peanut butter past his tonsils and feels it envelope the lump. It clumps near his windpipe. He's afraid it might cup over the top of the pipe and stop his breathing while he's sleeping tonight.

Randy has to drink some more bourbon. Bourbon is the only thing that can shrink the lump right now. Last week it was rum, but that stopped working so he had to switch to bourbon.

The glassful of bourbon rains on the clump of peanut butter in his throat. It puddles in the crevaces. Randy has to wait for the bourbon to seep deep into the mass of peanut butter and eventually dribble onto the lump. It takes a moment.

"I think I can feel the lump getting smaller," Randy says out loud, hoping to make it come true. "But just to be sure..."

Randy drinks another glass of bourbon. He can now feel the lump yielding passage to the peanut butter. He is able to close his mouth now without gagging.

"The peanut butter is definitely heading for my belly now," he thinks. "Once it is there, I will have eaten. And I will get better."

Randy knows that it is the bourbon that shrinks the lump. And whenever he stops drinking the bourbon, the lump in his throat returns.

"But one day it won't," he says to his glass of bourbon. He talks to his bourbon sometimes. His bourbon is his friend. "One day, I'll wake up and the lump won't be there anymore. And I'll climb off of the floor and into my bed and sleep with a slight smile on my lips." But there's no reason for Randy to stop drinking bourbon if all he can do is wait. Unless the bourbon stops working. But he's thought ahead. There's gin in the cabinet.

Randy pours another glass of bourbon. "This time, I'll think of Anna's bras."

With a vision of two Annas wearing two different bras in his head, his two favorites, Randy swallows the glassful of bourbon and goes into the living room to sit on the floor with his back up against the couch.

Happy Peanut Butter Day!

She's In The Hospital Day!

You walk through the hospital with urgency. If there are any doors on hinges, you march towards them and fling them open with a loud clap. Everyone looks your way as you run to your ex's bedside.

The day you hear about the tumble, you don't arrive with a gift in hand. Of fucking course not. Everyone else believes her story about getting dizzy from antihistimines while gardening on the roof, but you know damn well it was an attempted suicide and you're furious. You don't hear from the twat for a month and a half, and then you get a call that she tried to off herself. The walk to the hospital room seems to be taking forever and you hope that by the time you get there your urge to slap her in the eyes has cooled down a bit.

Crowding into the room are her husband of one year, and his fucking mom and dad. They're all at every occasion. How she can keep from releasing a single never-ending yawn is beyond you.

She's in the middle of smiling her way through a story when you burst in. She spots you, and her face turns solemn. She mutters through the remainder of the story, then everyone turns to acknowledge you.

Her torso is in a body cast. "You look like a fucking idiot," you say.

She shakes her head, closes her eyes. "Tom, take Beth and Martin out to the vending machines for a bit." Tom's her dull as ducklings husband and he knows his place. He obeys.

"You wanna talk about this..."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? I could kill you."

"You wanna talk about this, you talk to me about it. These people are sweet."

"You just referred to the man you married as 'these people'."

"They love and care for me and they accept the fact that I accidentally fell from the roof. Because they would never want me to be so unhappy that I might want to jump. Don't upset them with the truth."

"I wouldn't care if your in-laws were tied to burning posts. I care about you."

"You care about yourself."

"I do. And if you take your life I swear to God I'll destroy this world."

She can tell you mean it, but she says, "You wouldn't." Perhaps to get you to say it again.

"You fucking know I would you miserable cunt."

Her husband pokes his head through the door. "Honey, can I get you some tea or a snack?"

"Run out to the deli, sweetie? And pick me up some magazines to read."

Her husband says sure thing. She says, "Lock that door."

You do. She says, "Climb atop my body cast."

You do. She turns her head on its side on the pillow. You rest your lips on her cheek. You keep them there.

She says, "We have about ten minutes before he comes back."

For about ten minutes, your lips sleep upon her cheek, your legs straddling her body cast.

Happy She's In The Hospital Day!

Everyone Into The Basement Day!

That's what your big brother tells you and your five sisters whenever your Dad comes home drunk.

"Everyone into the basement!" he shouts. "Dad's home and he don't look so good. Move IT! Move IT! Move IT!"

It makes you all laugh. Especially your Dad. He laughs the hardest, because he's a very jovial, gentle drunk. And your Dad loves it when your older brother acts like he's the kind of drunk Dad who's just gonna haul off and start beating the shit out of you all, burning your forearms on hot radiators and the like. When in reality, he's just gonna turn on Bravo and pass out in his chair.

Happy Everyone Into The Basement Day!

A Gripping Moment At The State Diner Day!

Reggie's learning to spend some time alone. It's going well enough. He's finding that his thoughts can be good company, especially since he's always thinking about what it would be like to have two girlfriends and the ability to run as fast as horses.

Tonight Reggie went to the diner. For a coffee and a view of the street. He's been there for around forty minutes with a vision of crossing a finish line in his head, and two smiling young ladies jumping up and down and applauding on opposite ends of the bleachers. It's a pretty Saturday night for Reggie.

In his mind he's drinking some gatorade and giving an interview to a television sportscaster when he shakes the fantasy away to notice the mailman with a mailbag slung over his shoulder stopping in front of the diner to check the address. The mailman looks at the postcard in his hand

Reggie looks at his watch to see it's 8:53 PM. "That guy woke up late today," thinks Reggie. The mailman enters the diner and speaks with the cashier.

Reggie drifts back to the track where he, Julie and Lorraine are trying to coordinate their plans for the evening. Julie wants to see Mystic River at 8, and Lorraine just wants to make sure the movie lets out early enough for Reggie to meet her and her visiting parents for a drink at the hotel where her parents are staying. Then he notices the waiter is standing by his table and not refilling his coffee. He looks up to see the waiter with a postcard in his hand.

"You Reggie...uh..." the waiter checks the postcard. "Reggie...Milanopolous?"

Reggie is. "How'd you know?"

The waiter drops the postcard on the table. Reggie picks it up and reads.

Reggie Milanopolous
c/o State Diner
Third Booth By The Window
333 Morton Blvd
Hayworth, TX

Boy, get down! Head to the tabletop! Now!

Reggie throws his nose to the table and waits for the gunshot. He turns his eyes up just in time to see a straw wrapper shoot past and float down onto the empty seat of adjacent booth. Had Reggie not gotten that postcard, the straw wrapper would've slammed directly into the back of his head.

He sits back up and looks behind him to find a little boy with a crewcut, the naked straw to his lips aimed straight at Reggie. The boy's mother takes the straw from his mouth and motions for him to finish his hamburger. Reggie goes back to the postcard and reads the rest.

Hope this helped kid.

Sincerely,

Tom Cruise

Reggie checks the postmark. It says "Hollywood."

Happy A Gripping Moment At The State Diner Day!