Happy Days (752 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.33 on 26 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by lodikcom | mockidol (View user info) at 2007-06-03 01:58:37 EDT
"Having fun?"
The message on my phone is from that little girl I gave my number to the other day when she was here buying a crappy t-shirt. Eventually I realized she was young, Lolita still in high school young so I reply dryly, hoping she won't reply. "Oh, I'm having a blast." A redneck with nothing better to do on a Saturday night then look at shirts he won't buy walks up so I put my phone away and walk over. "Hello sir. Any questions?"
"Umm no." The asshole thinks he's quite the humorist, "They're shirts. They pretty much explain themselves."
I'm already pissed off that I'm here, of all the days to work today shouldn't be it. "Well there's a nice shirt on the other side dealing with sarcasm you might like. Asshole."
His eyes look at my shoes, the black leather wearing away, then he scans up to my face before walking away.
The shirts at my work are pieces of crap with sayings that to hicks and teenage boys find hilarious.
"Trust me. I'm a doctor."
"If size doesn't matter than why am I so popular?"
"I'm not 30. I'm 29.95."
I'm getting ready to close when my boss who works another kiosk 4 feet away and hovers over my fauxhawk haircut all day says in his Hungarian accented, broken English voice, "Patrick. Watch cart will you? Play with the crabs."
I'm supposed to play with the hermit crabs and their painted shells to draw in customers while he's away but I pocket a few empty clam shell feeder dishes instead. Later I'll color them with some magic markers while I try to write a story.
Speaking of writing, I normally run story ideas through my head while I'm at work so i can whip them out in like 15 minutes when I get home. Unfortunately I've been a bit preoccupied with getting my driving privileges reinstated, especially since today was a dead line, so I haven't got my mind to clear enough to think.
Work finally over I walk to the parking lot, throw on my headphones and press play. I just happened to get original vinyls of Zoso and Abbey Road from my brother today so I'm a bit pleased at its appropriateness when Black Dog comes on. The memory of my two drink DUI fades back whenever I start my walk but I've already wrote a story about that. I guess I'll just have to think of something else.
The song finally changes and Eddie Brickell is singing some interesting quotes.
"Philosophy, is a smile on a dog..."
"Choke me in the shallow water before I get to deep..."
I'd like to write a story revolving around that song but the music shorts get old and all this song does is make me think of Jen anyway. I could write about me and Jen, yet another fucking time. Some ideas run through my head as I wait for the light at the corner to change from a orange hand to a white stickman.
Jen and I broke up a bit a go now and she's living with her new boy now.
Maybe a story revolving around us the other night would work? We did get wasted and end up in the famous Crown Inn Motel. Whenever we go there we squash pregnant flies on the ceiling and watch as they exploded with blood like engorged mosquitoes.
It seems like an interesting story to tell, how after we'd just finished fucking her boy called and I had to stay quite while she lied to him. I want to tell how I licked circles around her nipples as she gave him the "I love you." goodbye, how she cried the same proclamation into my hairy chest minutes later and asked me to wait for her.
I want to but it just won't work. The white stickman appears and I walk across the street. A few cars that don't feel like waiting inch into the crosswalk but I stare forward and step with every beat of Eddie's voice.
I'm sick of this song but my tiny iPod doesn't hold much of a variety. As I finally stomp onto the opposite side of the street I decided I'll use all the gift cards I got today to get one of those big ass ones that can store like 10,000 songs. The thought of the cards reminds me how horrible of a day I'm supposed to be having and I immediately feel alone. I miss Jen; I wish I had someone to share the day with.
I could call that other girl I fucked the night before I was with Jen but, well... no.
I watch an elderly lady pump gas and continue strolling home. A familiar car honks and tells me something about being happy.
My phone starts ringing and it's Antonio, the fag who's been calling me ever since I meet him through his coke dealer buddy. I gave him my number because I though he could help me get a job in town but let's just say that more information and 300 calls later I'm a bit annoyed.
Maybe another drug story? I'm not doing stuff anymore besides drinking into oblivion but I'm sure I could crank out something dripping with and overly obscene amount transgression. Not watching my step I slip on an empty bottle of sleeping pills in the grass and it makes me decide to forget that story angle. I'm sick of the druggie crap.
Almost home I pace in front of the house that always has signs with bible quotes in it's yard. Today it's some bullshit from the old testament but it makes me laugh because a song about going to hell is playing into my ears. Actually, I wrote a story about that song just the other day.
Maybe a story about thinking of story ideas? Well, I'll see.
I finally make it home and step inside. As I stand in the kitchen staring at a cake from this morning I get the same text from Jen I've already received a few times today. Reading it makes me feel even more alone, more angry at today.
Why do people always tell you to be happy? Do they really think that the words alone are going to make that happen?
Her message, "Happy berfday dorkface!" fades off the screen as I walk to my room, sit down, and start to type away.
User Reviews
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-06-05 19:40:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
ebthaetnre
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-06-04 21:03:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-06-04 03:20:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Slow down with the booze,
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worst advice ever.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-06-04 16:58:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
And
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-06-03 11:56:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The photo is very depressing. Happy..Birthday..?
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2007-06-04 04:53:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Where the FUCK is the fonz??
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-06-04 03:20:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
You remind me of me about three years ago.
Slow down with the booze, tell Jen to fuck off if she can't decide who she wants to be with and find a job that requires you to be more than an organic transaction machine (the last bit assumes that you get your drivering privileges back).
Your writing seems like it's one of your few real releases. This is good, but you obviously need more.
Keep writing and...Happy Birthday.
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-06-03 16:40:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Sucked.
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2007-06-03 14:39:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-03 13:31:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-06-03 12:35:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No, I'm just usually more polite.
*runs away*
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 12:34:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
That sounded a bit assholish, just saying that yeah, I'm a self-loating prick, sadly.
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 12:31:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-06-03 10:56:53 CDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This makes you sound slightly slutty and self-loathing and arrogant...
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You just figured that out?
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-06-03 11:56:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This makes you sound slightly slutty and self-loathing and arrogant..though I suppose a lot of us have been at times, and maybe it's just one of those weeks.
I never get tired of music shorts, and for as old as it is, that Edie Brickell song is screaming for one.
The photo is very depressing. Happy..Birthday..?
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-06-03 11:31:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:23:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And the greatest writer of the last century is Amy Hempel.
Long live present tense!
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yes.
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2007-06-03 10:58:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by BranDo (user info) at 2007-06-03 09:58:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Congrats
Submitted by Unabonger (user info) at 2007-06-03 09:43:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I enjoy reading your stuff. You have a perspective that I relate to and I appreciate it.
Submitted by Barnymeinhoff (user info) at 2007-06-03 08:43:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2007-06-03 07:37:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-06-03 05:25:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-06-03 04:22:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:36:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Amy Hempel's The Harvest (Beware shitty side ads):
http://www.pifmagazine.com/SID/413/
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:34:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Amy Hempel. I'll look her up. Recent changes in my weekly schedule suggest that I might be allowed to start reading again.
Submitted by darkwulffe (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:30:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:23:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And the greatest writer of the last century is Amy Hempel.
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:21:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I am normally, almost always, drunk when I write.
Tonight is only a few vodka and squirts with some weird pills on top. (Paxils, or xanax or something. Not sure.)
But thanks, and yes, I need an editor, or at least I need to read something once before I post it, meh, fuck it.
Long live present tense!
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-06-03 02:18:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is getting gratuitous, but I REALLY like your writing, even though, as a norm, I hate stories written in the present tense. I really do. Fucking hate them. But you pull it off somehow.
Still, I have no great insights in to how to improve your writing. I could say you need an editor, but I realize that you've said you write your shit on the fly, sometime drunk, too.
I don't know. I connect with your writing. This rarely happens here. McCallum's written a couple things where I just say, "Wow." Beyond that...I don't know...Stagger's pretty good.
Btw, Evelyn Waugh was the greatest writer of the last century. I recognize this, and that makes me awesome.