Okay, so i have nothing witty to open with. I'm tired, & lacking a lot of creativity at the moment, which sucks ass. I pretty much write whatever comes to mind; music seems to be a kind of default subject, since that's what i know the most about anymore. I also tend to amuse myself, so if i offend anyone, eh. I just enjoy humor. Makes the day go faster. Like a Snickers.
Anyway, so i figured i'd post one of my stories. I'm a writer, which means i'm both poor & have big ideas for the future. It RULES. Anyway, yeah, hope it's enjoyed...or read, for that matter. And for the record, it's all fiction, based on no one in particular, yada yada yada. Have to be careful with that shit, i've found. I really like this one, & am continuing to work on it when i have time. So yeah, like it.
Before I go into the meat of my little story, I think I should tell you how I got to where I amor wasor something. Honestly, I dont give a damn if you know or not, because its irrelevant. But, hell, if its irrelevant and all, theres no reason not to tell you, is there?
A wise man once said that there are things in life that are just meant to be broken: rules, arms, legs, necks, and hearts. Now, in my life, Ive seen-and occasionally have taken part in-all of these breakings. However, the first and the last just seem to follow me, like some cloud of depression just to rain on me when the sunshine of happiness comes out to brighten my world. Wow, that was deep. I must be getting sick. But, the point is, Im an amateur professional when it comes to losing. Im a jobber; a habitual loser. Why? Because I always seem to break the rules, and end up breaking my heart by proxy.
The scene is a public school in Rael, Pennsylvania, perhaps the single strangest town east of the mighty Mississipp. If youve heard of it, its probably because that weirdo cartoonist Clive Walker lives there. Anyway, I was in the Rael High School gym, taking part in that obscenely pretentious exercise known as Winter Formal. Since this is the proud PA, the center of the universe (just ask anyone from there), its colder than the morgue in Santas workshop. My date this fine evening was the lovely Becky Davenport. Id known her for years, and wed dated (officially) for a few months. Incredible girl. Youd love her. Not a total beauty in the Paris Hilton/Pam Anderson sense of the word, but a kind of beauty in that warm, intelligent, and hilarious Janeane Garafalo way. Hair fairly short, that bobbed in the middle of her ears when she walked. Ol Becky wasnt that tall either; just youre average imperfectly perfect girl. I swear, youd love her. But I digress.
On this cold, snowy December evening, I had the perfect plan for my and Beckys best night ever: a quick, quiet escape in my good friend Tova Spades car to her empty house (her dad was, and still is to the best of my knowledge, dead, thanks to a somewhat comical piano accident, and her mother had a date with local character Pennsylvania Championship Wrestling Heavyweight champ, Ric Bryson), then engage in a little romantic teenage activity. Yeah, it sounds petty in retrospect, but when youre seventeen in a small town, sex is really all that matters, with cash being a close second. Besides, while both Becky and I had done it before, we hadnt done it with each other. Big night, people.
Anyway, as any sane, intelligent, right thinking person on this paltry, depressing planet knows, theres always something that must go wrong. Im told its called Murphys Law. Its just the nature of things. Just ask a James Bond villain. The snafu in this case was Becky herself; she wasnt happy, and when Becky aint happy, aint nobody happy.
Just as the DJ, class president (though ironically she had little class and couldnt pronounce president) Danielle Tierney, blared Savage Gardens Truly Madly Deeply-the premier slow dance song of our generation-I got Becky on the floor. She had this look on her face like shed just found out her dog died, and I had killed it.
Mind telling me what I did or didnt do? I asked. People say I come off as abrasive; I say they can jump off a cliff and land on a bear trap.
Nothing, Becky muttered with more than a little frustration in her voice.
I know I did something, I pushed. Id just like to know, thats all,
Reuben, Becky said, stopping our mangled slow dance. I dont want to see you anymore.
Why? I asked, in a tone usually reserved for questioning a coachs move in a football game. No real emotion had kicked in yet.
Because while Im with you, life is passing me by, Becky said, sounding both hurt and angry. No matter what we do or where we go or who were with, you always make me feel bad about myself.
How have I done that? I havent insulted you or anything,
Just the way you act, Reuben, she said, now sounding a little exasperated. You just have such a negative outlook, and it reflects in everything you do. Jesus, Reuben, I dont need any more depression in my life. Especially some that isnt mine.
How have I made you feel bad about yourself? I said with a snigger. Sniggering is among the worst things you can do while trying to plead your case to a girl.
Whenever we see a movie, you always have something negative to say, Becky continued. Whenever we go out to dinner, you always have some snide comment about the waiter. Youre justyoure just being yourself, and I dont need that now. You just drain the life and emotion out of me.
This was heavy. I was totally at a loss on something to say, primarily because nothing I could do would make a damn difference. So I did the only thing I could: laugh. I dont know why I did it, and I know I shouldnt have, but I laughed. I could see a little fire reflect in Beckys eyes.
I knew youd do something like this, she proclaimed, just loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the damn gymnasium. I fucking knew it.
Look, I said, getting all defensive. go if you want, because I really dont care anymore. Besides, I dont want to depress you any further!
That last bit was yelled almost to the top of my lungs, and had Becky in tears, marching towards the streamer-covered door. She would yell things like Fuck you! as she stormed out of the building. I needed to say something. I needed the last word. So I had to choose my next line carefully:
Have a happy new year!
Yes, I yelled Have a happy new year! to a girl after a public breakup. My mind went blank, and I had no idea of what to say. I mean, I suppose if I wanted to be vulgar and gross I could have yelled quite a few things. But I didnt because I fucking hate cursing, and as a general rule I try not to swear in front of girls of the female persuasion. Its a great blessing to be cursed with.
Now, as I said before, the breaking of rules and hearts go hand-in-hand for me. When it comes to love, I break all the rules, and when it comes to rules, I love breaking them. I cant really help it. The vicious cycle to end all vicious cycles, no? So, as I stood alone on the dance floor, with the eyes of the whole student body staring holes through me, I figured I should break some rules. I didnt want their memory of this dance to be Reuben Hyatte got dumped, then told her to have a happy new year. I needed some catharsis, and I wanted to make it as entertaining as I possibly could.
Running around the gym all night was the school mascot, the Rael Jaguar. I dont know how or why a jaguar got in Pennsylvania, but then again Im not on the school board. The great spotted beast (the spots were from moth damage, by the way; the same costume had been used since the Nixon administration) was running around, handing out flyers for sporting events, selling tickets for some retarded school spirit raffle, and dancing in a comical fashion to songs like Love Shack and Im A Believer. Total tripe that was supposed to up school morale. I hate crap like that. Saying you want to boost morale lets everyone know theyre supposed to be depressed about something, and that the only cure is some socially starved teenager in a damn cat suit dancing to old pop songs. I dont know about you, but that depresses me more thanwhatever the hell was supposed to be depressing us before. Anyway, this ugly thing was attired in the school colors (blue, red, and grey), and was manned by Scott Keith. Scott was your token fat loser who, when he generates sympathy, pisses it all away for being an asshole. The role of the masked litter-box filler suited him perfectly. So, he was dancing like Travolta all night, but when my little falling out with Becky occurred, he just stood watching, paws on hips. Now, with everyone watching me, I decided hed be the perfect target for some rule breakage.
What happened next, I imagine, became the stuff of local legend.
I began laughing an over the top insane laugh. Im talking Renfield of Dracula-fame, here. Thats an awesome coping device, by the way. Give it a try. Youll love it; its a way of life. Then I flipped a double bird in the air, held high for everyone to see, and ran at that tri-colored mascot monstrosity with all the speed I could muster in dress shoes and slacks. Id dearly love to know what went through that slob Keiths head when he saw my six-two, 180lbs running at him. But Id be even more interested to know what he was thinking when I speared his feline ass.
OOF! came out, muffled somewhat by the big ugly cat head. God, for a second Id thought Id killed him. When I got up, I straightened my glasses (Id been near-sighted most of my life), then surveyed the shock on everyones face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few teachers walking rather quickly towards me. I figured I had about five seconds before I was unceremoniously booted from the dance, so I lit up a cigarette. I was already on death row as far as the school was concerned, so why not?
Whats your problem, Hyatte? Mr. Ackerman, the principal and resident ass, shouted at me as I sucked down my Marlboro Light.
I dont have a problem, I said, in a way that tried so hard to be calm that it sounded arrogant. Then Ackerman grabbed my arm and escorted me from the premises. I, being the prick that I am, yelled Easy, chief. Try a little tenderness.
You are in so much trouble, Hyatte! he scolded as he dragged me off. He always mispronounced my last name; its Hyatte, like the hotel, not High Eight. I dont know if it was him being an asshole or him being a schmuck.
Consider yourself suspended indefinitely! Ackerman continued.
For the third time in the space of twenty minutes, I laughed. I really gotta quit doing that. Sends the wrong message or something, because Ackerman heaved me out the door into a snow bank. Screwed up my slacks, too.
Im going to do everything in my power to have you expelled! he yelled.
You just said thirty seconds ago I was suspended!
Dont bother coming in Monday!
I really dont know when to shut my trap, do I?
As he slammed the door, I just sat in the snow, pondering what exactly I had done. Id lost an amazing girl, attacked some fat guy dressed as a cat, and told the principal of Rael High to try a little tenderness. How many people can tell their grandkids that? A couple minutes later, Rick James began singing about a very kinky girl, and the dance was back to abnormal. My moment of stupidity-laced glory was over.
I decided Id walk home; my house was only a few blocks away, and Beckys mom had driven us on the way to her own date. And there was no way in hell I was waiting for Tova for an hour, at least. Then I remembered Id left my jacket in Beckys moms car. I felt that much colder upon remembering that.
The boy who didnt follow the rules, I thought. Ive heard that line all my life, from teachers, family, and even my friends. Im not trying to deny it or anything, because its obviously true. I am the boy who didnt follow the rules. Ive got eight years of report cards to back me up. I dont break them out of malice (though thats always a factor), but more because it just seems like the right thing to do. That sounds strange, but so does everything if you think about it long enough. Hearts and rulesits funny sometimes: I cant follow either without both ending up in pieces. Best part of it all is, I cant to jack about it.
As these thoughts floated around my head, another joined them: expulsion. Now, as hard as it may be for you to believe, Ive been expelled before. Six times, as a matter of fact. My stride suddenly went into a methodical mince. All of a sudden, God knows why, but I decided I didnt want to get home as fast as I had a few seconds earlier. I could hear my parents reactions to Expulsion Part Seven in my head: Dad on the phone from the City of Angels, giving one of his classic Youre a goddamn failure! preachings, Mom giving one of her classic Youre a gash-darn failure! lectures-just like old times. Maybe theyd finally get the point that public school is a faade; all it does is prepare people for hell in the future. I personally blame the government. Maybe theyd send me somewhere that has people who could appreciate my invaluable contribution to society. But, if the past was any indication, theyd just enroll the rule breaker in the next public school in the area that was willing to try and mold me. The whole state probably had my name in big letters on a black list or something.
Then it hit me. By it, I mean my front stoop. Hurt like hell. I really had no choice but to go in now. I mean, for all I knew my mom had seen me when I fell on the bottom step. Or worse yet, Ackerman called from the dance. It was a damned it you do, damned if you dont situation. How very apropos for the boy who didnt follow the rules.
The End
Anyway, so i figured i'd post one of my stories. I'm a writer, which means i'm both poor & have big ideas for the future. It RULES. Anyway, yeah, hope it's enjoyed...or read, for that matter. And for the record, it's all fiction, based on no one in particular, yada yada yada. Have to be careful with that shit, i've found. I really like this one, & am continuing to work on it when i have time. So yeah, like it.
Before I go into the meat of my little story, I think I should tell you how I got to where I amor wasor something. Honestly, I dont give a damn if you know or not, because its irrelevant. But, hell, if its irrelevant and all, theres no reason not to tell you, is there?
A wise man once said that there are things in life that are just meant to be broken: rules, arms, legs, necks, and hearts. Now, in my life, Ive seen-and occasionally have taken part in-all of these breakings. However, the first and the last just seem to follow me, like some cloud of depression just to rain on me when the sunshine of happiness comes out to brighten my world. Wow, that was deep. I must be getting sick. But, the point is, Im an amateur professional when it comes to losing. Im a jobber; a habitual loser. Why? Because I always seem to break the rules, and end up breaking my heart by proxy.
The scene is a public school in Rael, Pennsylvania, perhaps the single strangest town east of the mighty Mississipp. If youve heard of it, its probably because that weirdo cartoonist Clive Walker lives there. Anyway, I was in the Rael High School gym, taking part in that obscenely pretentious exercise known as Winter Formal. Since this is the proud PA, the center of the universe (just ask anyone from there), its colder than the morgue in Santas workshop. My date this fine evening was the lovely Becky Davenport. Id known her for years, and wed dated (officially) for a few months. Incredible girl. Youd love her. Not a total beauty in the Paris Hilton/Pam Anderson sense of the word, but a kind of beauty in that warm, intelligent, and hilarious Janeane Garafalo way. Hair fairly short, that bobbed in the middle of her ears when she walked. Ol Becky wasnt that tall either; just youre average imperfectly perfect girl. I swear, youd love her. But I digress.
On this cold, snowy December evening, I had the perfect plan for my and Beckys best night ever: a quick, quiet escape in my good friend Tova Spades car to her empty house (her dad was, and still is to the best of my knowledge, dead, thanks to a somewhat comical piano accident, and her mother had a date with local character Pennsylvania Championship Wrestling Heavyweight champ, Ric Bryson), then engage in a little romantic teenage activity. Yeah, it sounds petty in retrospect, but when youre seventeen in a small town, sex is really all that matters, with cash being a close second. Besides, while both Becky and I had done it before, we hadnt done it with each other. Big night, people.
Anyway, as any sane, intelligent, right thinking person on this paltry, depressing planet knows, theres always something that must go wrong. Im told its called Murphys Law. Its just the nature of things. Just ask a James Bond villain. The snafu in this case was Becky herself; she wasnt happy, and when Becky aint happy, aint nobody happy.
Just as the DJ, class president (though ironically she had little class and couldnt pronounce president) Danielle Tierney, blared Savage Gardens Truly Madly Deeply-the premier slow dance song of our generation-I got Becky on the floor. She had this look on her face like shed just found out her dog died, and I had killed it.
Mind telling me what I did or didnt do? I asked. People say I come off as abrasive; I say they can jump off a cliff and land on a bear trap.
Nothing, Becky muttered with more than a little frustration in her voice.
I know I did something, I pushed. Id just like to know, thats all,
Reuben, Becky said, stopping our mangled slow dance. I dont want to see you anymore.
Why? I asked, in a tone usually reserved for questioning a coachs move in a football game. No real emotion had kicked in yet.
Because while Im with you, life is passing me by, Becky said, sounding both hurt and angry. No matter what we do or where we go or who were with, you always make me feel bad about myself.
How have I done that? I havent insulted you or anything,
Just the way you act, Reuben, she said, now sounding a little exasperated. You just have such a negative outlook, and it reflects in everything you do. Jesus, Reuben, I dont need any more depression in my life. Especially some that isnt mine.
How have I made you feel bad about yourself? I said with a snigger. Sniggering is among the worst things you can do while trying to plead your case to a girl.
Whenever we see a movie, you always have something negative to say, Becky continued. Whenever we go out to dinner, you always have some snide comment about the waiter. Youre justyoure just being yourself, and I dont need that now. You just drain the life and emotion out of me.
This was heavy. I was totally at a loss on something to say, primarily because nothing I could do would make a damn difference. So I did the only thing I could: laugh. I dont know why I did it, and I know I shouldnt have, but I laughed. I could see a little fire reflect in Beckys eyes.
I knew youd do something like this, she proclaimed, just loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the damn gymnasium. I fucking knew it.
Look, I said, getting all defensive. go if you want, because I really dont care anymore. Besides, I dont want to depress you any further!
That last bit was yelled almost to the top of my lungs, and had Becky in tears, marching towards the streamer-covered door. She would yell things like Fuck you! as she stormed out of the building. I needed to say something. I needed the last word. So I had to choose my next line carefully:
Have a happy new year!
Yes, I yelled Have a happy new year! to a girl after a public breakup. My mind went blank, and I had no idea of what to say. I mean, I suppose if I wanted to be vulgar and gross I could have yelled quite a few things. But I didnt because I fucking hate cursing, and as a general rule I try not to swear in front of girls of the female persuasion. Its a great blessing to be cursed with.
Now, as I said before, the breaking of rules and hearts go hand-in-hand for me. When it comes to love, I break all the rules, and when it comes to rules, I love breaking them. I cant really help it. The vicious cycle to end all vicious cycles, no? So, as I stood alone on the dance floor, with the eyes of the whole student body staring holes through me, I figured I should break some rules. I didnt want their memory of this dance to be Reuben Hyatte got dumped, then told her to have a happy new year. I needed some catharsis, and I wanted to make it as entertaining as I possibly could.
Running around the gym all night was the school mascot, the Rael Jaguar. I dont know how or why a jaguar got in Pennsylvania, but then again Im not on the school board. The great spotted beast (the spots were from moth damage, by the way; the same costume had been used since the Nixon administration) was running around, handing out flyers for sporting events, selling tickets for some retarded school spirit raffle, and dancing in a comical fashion to songs like Love Shack and Im A Believer. Total tripe that was supposed to up school morale. I hate crap like that. Saying you want to boost morale lets everyone know theyre supposed to be depressed about something, and that the only cure is some socially starved teenager in a damn cat suit dancing to old pop songs. I dont know about you, but that depresses me more thanwhatever the hell was supposed to be depressing us before. Anyway, this ugly thing was attired in the school colors (blue, red, and grey), and was manned by Scott Keith. Scott was your token fat loser who, when he generates sympathy, pisses it all away for being an asshole. The role of the masked litter-box filler suited him perfectly. So, he was dancing like Travolta all night, but when my little falling out with Becky occurred, he just stood watching, paws on hips. Now, with everyone watching me, I decided hed be the perfect target for some rule breakage.
What happened next, I imagine, became the stuff of local legend.
I began laughing an over the top insane laugh. Im talking Renfield of Dracula-fame, here. Thats an awesome coping device, by the way. Give it a try. Youll love it; its a way of life. Then I flipped a double bird in the air, held high for everyone to see, and ran at that tri-colored mascot monstrosity with all the speed I could muster in dress shoes and slacks. Id dearly love to know what went through that slob Keiths head when he saw my six-two, 180lbs running at him. But Id be even more interested to know what he was thinking when I speared his feline ass.
OOF! came out, muffled somewhat by the big ugly cat head. God, for a second Id thought Id killed him. When I got up, I straightened my glasses (Id been near-sighted most of my life), then surveyed the shock on everyones face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few teachers walking rather quickly towards me. I figured I had about five seconds before I was unceremoniously booted from the dance, so I lit up a cigarette. I was already on death row as far as the school was concerned, so why not?
Whats your problem, Hyatte? Mr. Ackerman, the principal and resident ass, shouted at me as I sucked down my Marlboro Light.
I dont have a problem, I said, in a way that tried so hard to be calm that it sounded arrogant. Then Ackerman grabbed my arm and escorted me from the premises. I, being the prick that I am, yelled Easy, chief. Try a little tenderness.
You are in so much trouble, Hyatte! he scolded as he dragged me off. He always mispronounced my last name; its Hyatte, like the hotel, not High Eight. I dont know if it was him being an asshole or him being a schmuck.
Consider yourself suspended indefinitely! Ackerman continued.
For the third time in the space of twenty minutes, I laughed. I really gotta quit doing that. Sends the wrong message or something, because Ackerman heaved me out the door into a snow bank. Screwed up my slacks, too.
Im going to do everything in my power to have you expelled! he yelled.
You just said thirty seconds ago I was suspended!
Dont bother coming in Monday!
I really dont know when to shut my trap, do I?
As he slammed the door, I just sat in the snow, pondering what exactly I had done. Id lost an amazing girl, attacked some fat guy dressed as a cat, and told the principal of Rael High to try a little tenderness. How many people can tell their grandkids that? A couple minutes later, Rick James began singing about a very kinky girl, and the dance was back to abnormal. My moment of stupidity-laced glory was over.
I decided Id walk home; my house was only a few blocks away, and Beckys mom had driven us on the way to her own date. And there was no way in hell I was waiting for Tova for an hour, at least. Then I remembered Id left my jacket in Beckys moms car. I felt that much colder upon remembering that.
The boy who didnt follow the rules, I thought. Ive heard that line all my life, from teachers, family, and even my friends. Im not trying to deny it or anything, because its obviously true. I am the boy who didnt follow the rules. Ive got eight years of report cards to back me up. I dont break them out of malice (though thats always a factor), but more because it just seems like the right thing to do. That sounds strange, but so does everything if you think about it long enough. Hearts and rulesits funny sometimes: I cant follow either without both ending up in pieces. Best part of it all is, I cant to jack about it.
As these thoughts floated around my head, another joined them: expulsion. Now, as hard as it may be for you to believe, Ive been expelled before. Six times, as a matter of fact. My stride suddenly went into a methodical mince. All of a sudden, God knows why, but I decided I didnt want to get home as fast as I had a few seconds earlier. I could hear my parents reactions to Expulsion Part Seven in my head: Dad on the phone from the City of Angels, giving one of his classic Youre a goddamn failure! preachings, Mom giving one of her classic Youre a gash-darn failure! lectures-just like old times. Maybe theyd finally get the point that public school is a faade; all it does is prepare people for hell in the future. I personally blame the government. Maybe theyd send me somewhere that has people who could appreciate my invaluable contribution to society. But, if the past was any indication, theyd just enroll the rule breaker in the next public school in the area that was willing to try and mold me. The whole state probably had my name in big letters on a black list or something.
Then it hit me. By it, I mean my front stoop. Hurt like hell. I really had no choice but to go in now. I mean, for all I knew my mom had seen me when I fell on the bottom step. Or worse yet, Ackerman called from the dance. It was a damned it you do, damned if you dont situation. How very apropos for the boy who didnt follow the rules.
The End