Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Always on Fire

There are some facts about me that you all might not know and might get to wondering.

I’m an orphan. Not like, wondering along the streets Oliver Twist style or working for the man a la Annie. My parents died a few years ago and now it’s just me and my brother, Andrew, who is in the Navy and in Japan. He always calls and sends gifts and I always spend holidays with one friend or another so usually it’s not too bad.

So John was kind enough to bring me to yet another potential slaughter—his family reunion. Now, I know you’re saying, “He hasn’t killed you yet and he’s had plenty of opportunity.” But the thing about monsters is they’re not practical. It’s more rewarding to them that I trust them before they kill me

I can hear them saying, “Haha, puny human! We have tricked and killed you!” as they munch on my bones.

So I went to the reunion on full alert. I was watching out for everything. No danger was going to come to me, no sir. I had my game face on and my new cast acted like a neato shield to protect me from the dangers that lie in this monster family reunion.

First we roasted marshmallows. I did catch them all on fire because of my rapt attention on all the monster traps laid out for me.

John played it all cool like he wasn’t planning to kill me and gave me all his perfectly roasted marshmallows. He must have been fattening me up so when they had Molly roast, I was nice and juicy.

His family was full of cyclopes and it made me wonder if the women realized that their husbands were cyclops. Like, they were having cyclops children, DID THEY KNOW IT?

They were actually very nice and all the cyclops really gravitated towards me. It was like John brought a still famous and widely accepted pop star to the party. And it was awesome.

There are a few things I find to be amazing about the Fourth of July.

1. Pop-Its.
2. Grilled food.
3. Pop-Its.
4. Sparklers.
5. Pop-Its.
6. Fireworks.
7. Pop-Its.
8. The National Anthem.
9. Pop-Its.
10. P O P – I T S.

There is nothing cooler than throwing tissue paper filled with rocks at the ground. NOTHING.

I also feel like the National Anthem is much more awesome on the Fourth of July. Like the feeling that the whole country is feeling the same emotions as you are. I also feel really proud of my brother when I hear the National Anthem.

One thing I really hate about the Fourth is the Snake. This is probably the worst concept of firework every created. Really. It smells nasty. It looks stupid. And it’s lame. Not even four-year old cyclops children can get excited about it. I think adults buy them to slap children in the face with adulthood—not everything is cool when you’re adult. “Some things are lame, we’re breaking this in with a stupid snake thing.” Crying is perfectly acceptable at any age 25 and under.

The lameness of the snake was made up for by four foot sparklers. Now the unfortunate part of these sparklers is that children smaller than four feet shouldn’t use them. And by unfortunate I mean amazing because that means I can play with them without seeming in the least strange. It’s like when you amp up the firepower of something, it makes it mature in an immature way.

The point is: It is acceptable for me to play with a four foot sparkler while jumping around giddy like a small child.

As the sun went down on our picnic, we made our trek towards the fireworks. It was a long trek, John got us lost (was taking me to the slaughter place but realized I was wise to him so feigned being lost and turned around to find the right road). Then we arrived and parked along the side of the road to view our fireworks. We could see the people getting the fireworks ready.

I would like to be a person that sets fireworks off because I imagine they set them up on a long line and someone runs past with a torch. If this is not how they do it, then they’re stupid. This is the only feasible way to light fireworks.

John says they do it with electricity and buttons. I say BULL.

When we got out of the car (so I could jump giddily around with small sparklers), we noticed the over whelming stench of cows. I love cows for a few reasons.

1. Calves
2. Milk
3. Cheese
4. Ice Cream

Why calves you say? They are the MOST adorable baby animal. Ever. Have you ever seen a calf romp around in field? No? Then... YOU. HAVEN’T. LIVED. Not a life worth living anyway.

So the cows watched me spell my name and John’s name and a heart and a circle as I yelled, “OMG! JOHN, LOOK A CIRCLE, A CIRCLE!” He laughed at me in an “I think you’re cute” kind of way but I know that he was secretly planning my demise. Monsters are sneaky that way, I know.

And then we watched the fireworks with the cows. All in all, I think the cows were impressed. I assume this is a pretty exciting time for them, it’s not every day that the humans take an interest in their entertainment and plan special events right by their pasture. I bet they look forward to the Fourth of the July every year. I bet all the like teenage calves are telling all the toddler calves, “You are not going to believe this manure! It’s like big bursts of color crap.” And the toddler calves fall asleep before they even go off but the kindergarten age calves are all up on those fireworks.

And so this was how my Fourth of July ended with John the Cyclops. With an amazing display of fireworks while we played with sparklers (I bought 20 boxes, okay, don’t judge). Oh and a romantic kiss thrown in there for fun and my personal enjoyment.


Wednesday, June 30, 2010

And so this is how it ends...

I had to miss my stupid molecular biology class on Tuesday. Why? Because some molecular infestation made me puke all freaking day. My understanding at this point of molecular biology is even less than what Wikipedia knows:

Molecular biology is the study of molecular underpinnings of the process of replication, transcription and translation of the genetic material. The central dogma of molecular biology where genetic material is transcribed into RNA and then translated into protein, despite being an oversimplified picture of molecular biology, still provides a good starting point for understanding the field. This picture, however, is undergoing revision in light of emerging novel roles for RNA.
(And I don’t even really know this, I just read it and thought those of you who read this might get an idea of the torture I’m going through so I copied and pasted it.)

How-freaking-ever, I did draw you a picture of the stomach flu that afflicted me. I hope you understand how I felt.

Oh and that’s not even the icing on the cake about my freaking week, no definitely not.

Wednesday, I left my dorm feeling like a new and cleansed person as anything that had entered my body had left some way or another so I was an empty vessel. The sun was sunnier, the wind was windier, the smells were smellier. It was going to be a good day.

John was meeting me for breakfast so I started on my way. And when I got there, what do I see but Arthur running, full tilt, at my boyfriend with a sword. Well, the monster I’ve been dating, it’s not like we’re official or anything. Not that I want to be, I mean I’m whatever about it or you know whatever.

Arthur was running at John the Cyclops. Full tilt. Sword. Focus.

You know how in movies things go all like slow-motiony when there is something super crazy happening?

Life is NOT like that.

Sure, Arthur stumbled and I thought he was going to fall and impale himself on the sword which I was shocked he could actually lift.

However, I had a split second to react. So what did I do? Not yell, “Hey John, there is a maniacal nerd running at you with a sword!” No, I ran and blocked it.

The sword cut my arm and broke it. I’m not even kidding a little bit.

This is when I realized, “This is it. I’m dying. This is how it ends. I’m DYING.”

John freaked out.

I assume he did anyway because I passed the eff out.

I woke up in the emergency room looking at someone who was pretending to try to fix me but really just making me hurt. I hurt bad.

There are some things that went in my favor this morning.

1. Arthur is a WIMP.
2. Arthur is a W I M P.

There are some things that went against me this morning.

1. Arthur had a freaking SWORD.

I also have a few questions.

1. Where did this “hero” get a sword?
2. Why did no one else notice a delusional nerd running across the quad with a MOTHER EFFING S W O R D?
3. Is this a schizophrenic episode because there is no freaking way this just happened. Right? Right.

Well, I got operated on. Got some stuff to hold my bone together. And then, guess what, I have to have a freaking cast on my arm. I’m thinking pink. Maybe I can draw some doodles on it.

Oh yeah, and did I mention the massive amounts of pain I’m going through. It’s like a stinking crocodile is going all nom nom nom on my arm.

On the plus side guys, it was my left arm. Not the one I draw with as I’m sure you can all tell by my amazing drawings already included. Yeah, I called myself amazing—don’t judge!

Then I’m all doped up on drugs and a nurse comes in and she starts talking about John.

“That boyfriend of yours is so worried, it’s good you woke long enough to give us permission to talk to him. He was pretty angry we wouldn’t tell him anything before that. Such a sweet boy, so worried about you.” Like read me a novel lady, I’m dating the monster, I know him, you know?

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh… yeah, well. He’s like, not my boyfriend, I don’t think. Or is it I don’t know. One or the other, either way.”

The nurse laughed. I am NOT a comedian here lady. I’m not here to entertain you. Just shut some drugs in that little tubey thing. Thanks.

“Well, you better not let that one get away. He’s the cutest boy I’ve seen in here in a while and he’s clearly devoted to you.”

Yeah, well lady, he’s a cyclops. Did you ever think of that? JUST WITH THE DRUGS ALREADY.

So she left and my doctor came in and let me tell you. I’m starting to get really sick of this schizophrenia. Dude was a freaking werewolf.

He started talking all up about compound fracture yumminess in my arm and all I could think, and apparently say, was, “You’re a stinking werewolf, how can I take you seriously? Are you Michael J Fox under there?”

He chuckled, “Well, no. My name is David.”

“Well, look Dr. Dave McWolfy, let’s not give me the details because this is clearly not happening for real. If it is, just throw some crap around my arm and tell me how to take care of it and when I need to see you again. And drugs. Lots of them. Medicinal marijuana, maybe?”

“You’re entertaining, even for a bard. Okay. You’re not crazy, here is a care sheet. You’re discharged. You’re boyfriend is going to take you home. I’ll see you on Friday again.”

I sighed, “He’s not my boyfriend...”

“Well, that’s what he called himself, so if not, you should tell him.”

I decided to just let John take me home and have our relationship status remain a mystery.

He took me to his dorm. And made me a nice little home on his couch with all the things I could possibly need. I had Vanilla coke and water and Hot and Spicy Cheez-Its and my laptop (thank John for this update) and my notebook paper (thank John for these drawings) and my pencils and markers.

I was told I’d be sleeping in his bed so he could take care of me and get me anything I need in the middle of the night. I think I may even get tucked in and you know what? I could get used to this.


Monday, June 28, 2010

Into the Woods

At approximately 1:00 pm Friday afternoon, John the Cyclops decided to submit me to ungodly torture. He made me pack my clothes and go with him on a camping trip.

Now, I know you people are all thinking, “Oh, that sounds fun and exciting and romantic.” Well, you people are crazier than me (and I’m clearly schizophrenic) because this is what I think about when people say camping:

1. Bugs
2. Mud.
3. Bugs.
4. Sleeping on the ground.
5. Evil, teeth gnashing, gun wielding animals.
6. Bugs.
7. Cooking on a FIRE.
8. Bugs.
9. No shower.
10. Bugs.
11. Peeing in the WOODS.
12. Bugs.

The logical conclusion is NO.

However I was too stinking hung-over to put up much of a fight. As I had played Band Hero for a grand total of one hour (way to give a present and promptly refuse to let me play with it sufficiently, meanie jerk) and not showered, John had to wait for me to get ready which took two hours.

We arrived to the campsite and luckily, John had rented a cabin. It was next to a VERY scary tree but I figured that there ain’t no tree that can take a cabin. But if there were one, this would be IT. This tree could take on the freaking Empire State Building and win. It was a freaking monster. Like John is a monster but this thing? This thing is a MONSTER with scary teeth and glowy eyes and it’s a freak, okay? A freak. This makes Treebeard look like a cuddly poodle. This thing would own Saruman before he had his morning tea.

So I made sure to sleep on the other side of the cabin because John was a monster, he had a better chance (not as good of a chance as a white wizard, but whatever) against the evil MONSTER tree than me.

I put my stuff in my room and thought, “Sure, this hangover makes me feel pukey and like death but I can do this. I’ve never even been in the woods before, but I CAN DO THIS!” So I went out into the living room where John had a big goofy grin on his face and whined until he made me go on a hike. Gee, what a better cure for a hangover than hiking in the freaking humid woods with stupid bugs attacking you? This is where I discovered John’s monster side, his torture was a sneaky, ninja torture—but it was torture.

And then that’s when I thought about something—Big Foot. I mean, he has to exist right? And like, Big Foot doesn’t strike me as the “hide in plain sight” kind of monster. Like he doesn’t seem like he’d be the kind to attend college parties pretending like he’s not a big hairy monster. And why would that be? Maybe because he’s freaking scary. And you know what? I am starting to get superstitious. Why you ask? WHY?

Because me thinking about Big Foot literally made him happen upon our freaking path. Like seriously, Big Foot are you psychic that you had to just jump out and make me want to pee my pants and run away screaming like a little girl?

So it turns out Big Foot wasn’t really that scary. He was all like, “Hi, I’m being smiley and wavy!”

And John gave him a hug like he knew him so I assumed that he DID know him and he had planned on introducing me to Big Foot all along.

And THEN John introduced me and freaking Big Foot had that stupid “I love you” grin on.


Big Foot’s name is Eugene. Seriously, you call a hairy, smiley, big-footed monster Eugene and not laugh. Go ahead, I dare you!

And then Eugene came back and sat at the campfire with us and roasted marshmellows and hot dogs over the fire.

“So Molly is a bard,” John said like it was my job, which it’s not. He still hadn’t fully elaborated on that title and I was pretending it didn’t exist—like my schizophrenic hallucinations.

“Well, that explains it,” said Eugene like it meant so much but to me it didn’t. I guess it did to them. “The last time I met a bard, it was a dude and he was old and crotchety.”

“Mr. Tamsee?” John said with a laugh, “I am pretty sure he was the worst bard in all of history.”

“Didn’t all of his hero’s give up?”

“Yeah, it’s better if they die—but give up? It ruins the story!”

“Like the guy that tried to kill the centaur but ended up making friends with her instead?”

“Not just friends… they fell in love!”

I felt like this should be funnier than it was, but really I didn’t understand it. It all kind of reminded me about how Arthur was trying to kill John. Then it made me worry—I’m a bard and if Arthur is a hero he’ll either kill John, die, or give up and all options seem, not good.

Big Foot laughed, “Oh and the one that tried to kill your grampa’s hydra but ended up buying one of her pups instead for like three times the normal price!”

“And the last one, he tried to kill your dad and shot himself in the foot and his own ass.”

“You win some, you lose some—not every hero can be Odysseus.”

Then Eugene looked at me, “So Molly, have you met any of your heroes yet?”

John spoke for me, “No, not a one yet.”

I looked at him oddly, “Isn’t Arthur one? The skinny boy that tried to kill you?”

John looked at me even more oddly like I was hallucinating the normal person (two eyes, no fur, no extra head, no leaves for clothes, no pointy teeth). “Arthur?”

“The day we met, you were chasing him and I told you not to and to go away and forget he exists…”

Eugene chimed in, “Molly, everything you tell us to do-we do. John literally forgot this guy exists.”

Then they forced me to tell them everything about Arthur that I knew. First: He’s a baby chick eater. They didn’t find this helpful. Second: He thinks his name is hard to remember or pronounce or something so he says, “like King Arthur.” Does he think were’s stupid. Also not a helpful fact. Third: He’s unpleasant to look at. Not helpful (but John smiled). Fourth: He tried to recruit me to fight him but I imagined a comic situation so I doubted it would happen. Mildly helpful.

It was then like a strategic pow-wow and I went to bed because some how the sun had set, it was dark and I became afraid of everything.

John woke me up at 5 am to go fishing. Yes, FISHING. Like seriously, I don’t want to put little squiggly worms on pointy hooks (yes, I DID stab myself three times) and try catch fish.

So the whole time I’m hoping that my pathetic little worm, who I just impaled like some monster, doesn’t attract a fish because I know I’ll get an evil fish with pointy teeth and glowy eyes that wants to kill me.

And did I mention, I attracted every mosquito and fly and gnat and annoying bug around? Yeah, I totally did.

So we did more sucky campy stuff like another hike and swam in the lake (with seaweed).

Then, then things started to look up. John made me mountain pies which are like hot, goopy, sandwiches of awesome. You put bread in these things with pizza stuff or fruity stuff and you put it in the fire for a while and when it comes out it’s like heaven in your mouth. It’s like God came down and said, “Here’s a sammich.” They’re that good.

And then, we sat out underneath the stars and just sat there all cuddly like enjoying ourselves. And then I realized how romantic monsters really could be because anytime John did something it was romantic. Like he just wanted to make all this dreams you have as a little girl come true.


Friday, June 25, 2010

It Can Get Pretty Intense

I don’t have classes on Friday. So when people invite me out to do things on Thursday nights, to me it’s like “YAY! It’s FRIDAY! I can be drunk!” So I go out and buy a box of wine for every event I’m invited to on a Thursday night.

And so I got invited to a night of Rock Band/Guitar Hero/Band Hero. I invited John and then I hit the store for my wine. I picked up a nice big ole box of wine for myself and one for the rest of the people. I wished I had a sort of baby bjorn for my box of wine so that I could carry it around displaying the love I have for it because I love it enough to carry it in a weird contraption made for babies. I could also fill my cup immediately after it was empty.

But alas, no boxed wine bjorn exists.

Then I picked up John for once and he invited me into his dorm and it was clean. Mine is not a horrible mess but that’s only because I haven’t lived there for long yet but I just had this feeling like, “John picks up after himself.”

He was making me feel more and more like a heathen every day.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” I said while trying not to jump up and down because I was excited for video games based on playing “instruments” in time with dots that come on screen in time with music that is playing made by famous people.

John laughed at me and out we went to the fun and he carried the wine inside for me.

That’s when I realized that one of my friends is a vampire. Not that sparkly, whiney bull. He was biting someone when we got there. Not like “OH, I’m going to kill you,” but, “Imma take somma this.” She looked perfectly, maybe even ecstatic, over it. I deduced this was because I was schizophrenic or that vampire teeth had special pain killers built in like venom or something but good.

And it made sense to me. Like why would vampires need to suck a person dry anyway? I mean a pint of blood is a lot of blood and we can give like a pint of blood away all the time.

So the only vampires that really suck people dry are the obese ones and they couldn’t stay that way long because it’s kind of hard to catch people to eat when you’re an obese vampire. At least that’s the way I see it. These vamps have to watch their figure.

That’s when I realized that Mr. Vampire, my friend for the past two years I’ve been in college, was giving me that look. The same kind Anna gave me but more like, “I want to suck your blood and cuddle you every night for the rest of our lives.”


At least he didn’t come up to us like Anna did. He just went about his business, finishing up on the eerily happy girl before holding some gauze over her neck so it would clot.

So John and I decided it was time to get down to business. I got myself a healthy, moderate dose of wine in a small red cup.

I started drinking it and before I knew it was empty and we hadn’t even left the kitchen. Actually John hadn’t even shut the fridge yet when I handed my cup back to him to fill up.

“Molly, that was 16 ounces of wine you drank in like 2.4 seconds,” he informed me. He was exasperated and a little shocked. I could understand his feelings, I was exasperated and a little shocked that it didn’t last that long too.

“Well, maybe you didn’t fill it up right, try again!”

And so he did and this time I didn’t drink it all down. We walked into the living room to start playing our games with the rest of the group.

John got on the drums of evilness and I picked up a guitar. I was quite proud of myself because I had just recently started playing on expert level with high amounts of proficiency and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, today was the day to show that off. I was feeling loose and limber thanks to the meager amounts of wine that John had put in my cup (16 oz my butt, more like 2).

We quickly discovered that Band Hero has most likely the best song list ever. It’s like the way you feel inside about songs, you’re in love with all these songs that you don’t want to admit to (Spice Girls, Culture Club... JESSE MCCARTNEY?!). And there it is, right on screen, Band Hero, LOUD AND PROUD about it’s absolute LOVE of songs no one else can muster the courage to love.

So we started playing songs and I kept drinking and I was owning every song, even drunk. I was on top of the world, I was a Band Hero God. I could feel the mass of people bowing down around me in awe of my greatness. I was the Band Hero messiah, present to play them into salvation. I was the hero of Band Hero, there to catapult their imaginary band into greatness. I alone, carried the band to greatness.

And then came the point where I decided I was sick of JUST playing the guitar, it was time, my friends, for me to sing too.

I sing like a cow. And as you can tell, by this time I was trashed, utterly an inexorably drunk.

I wrangled the microphone away from some drunkard that probably only passed out afterwards because my awesome aura was all that was keeping them awake. I jammed it down in my cleavage to hold it in place, and despite discouraging remarks from John the Cyclops (ye of little faith), I started belting out lyrics.

It was then, that we owned Culture Club. I know these guys think they have something on the music scene but it’s nothing compared to me. And the girl playing base and John the Cyclops on drums.

“Do you really want to hurt me?” No because I am a Band HERO. That’s why, BAND HERO.

Then we started doing more songs after my complete ownage of not only one but two instruments. I remember screaming, not singing, into the microphone.

Sure the thing was blinking red because cows have a hard time actually hitting notes, but I was doing it and playing the guitar like a pro.

I think I even amazed John the Cyclops with my utter awesomeness at Band Hero. There was never anyone like me.

He made me stop when I started messing up. It wasn’t entirely my fault that I was messing up, there were far too many fret boards scrolling across the screen—way more than there were instruments.

John then drove me home as I yelled about how much I wanted that Band Hero game because it was awesome. I was in love. And then passed out.

When I woke up, I was fully clothed but tucked into my dorm bed cuddling my favorite Pokemon (Shinx all the way, baby).

I crawled out of bed and grabbed a pop-tart before plopping down into my hard, wooden desk chair. It was 10:04 am according to the clock sitting on top of the huge Band Hero box.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Holding out for a Hero

There’s something about dippy eggs that make me feel like I’m eating a baby chicken. The possibility of a baby chicken, the potential. I see little faces in those yokes, little bits of potential KFC. It’s really quite depressing and so I only eat scrambled eggs.

That’s what I was doing, minding my own business, eating my scrambled eggs in the school cafeteria. I was all alone because none of my friends really felt the need to get up to have the powdered eggs and greasy sausage served at the school cafeteria.

I, on the other hand, find powdered eggs and greasy sausage to be the breakfast of champions. I love scrambled eggs. There is no other way to put it, I will get up early every morning just to schlep into the cafeteria to eat scrambled eggs-powdered or not.

And this is where, Arthur happened upon me for the second time. He sat down next to me and I casually slid my phone into my pocket because he was an unsafe person to have my phone out around—it might fall again.

And he started talking and I couldn’t help but think, This Arthur kid, he likes dippy eggs. He loves dippy eggs because it makes him feel like he’s eating a baby chicken.

And he was talking, talking a lot. Just wouldn’t stop talking and I zoned out thinking about John because one of the words I couldn’t help but hearing was “cyclops.” And John is one cute and awesome cyclops, don’t you think?

Then I heard the word “kill.”

So Arthur started in on this ridiculous plan to kill the Cyclops, my Cyclops.

“You lay one figure on that guy and I’ll put you in a world of pain you won’t be able to escape.”

“I don’t need to,” he said before walking away.

I thought what is this kid’s problem? John is the cutest boy I’ve ever met and he’s sweet and nice. I decided then he must have a massive crush on my John and was really unhappy because John didn’t feel the same way and instead of just taking it as a “that sucks” kind of thing put out a personal vendetta on him. It’s not his fault he has a thing for
cyclops and it’s not John’s fault he has a thing for girls. You can’t change how you feel.

I thought, what kind of plan does this guy have that he won’t have to lay a finger on John to kill him?

Quite frankly, Arthur, like King Arthur, looked like he had the combined genius of Wiley E. Coyote and Elmer Fudd. I didn’t see his plans working out very well.

I was sure, after that, he was on the phone with Acme ordering his anvil to kill my John.

So I finished my eggs and I left the cafeteria.

And I started walking to class thinking about how angry I would become if Arthur actually hurt John.

The possibilities of Arthur actually hurting John were slim. However, even weirdos with too many names kill presidents, you know? Like how hard is it to tie an anvil to a rope and hang it above a door? It takes what a well placed order online and some mechanical skill.

I’m not sure Arthur could actually LIFT an anvil. Maybe he could rent help. Like janitors can’t make that much money and sure what do they care if they’re killing one of the students? One less person to clean up after (after the initial squishy death with blood).

And what would I do then? I found a boy to like, sure he’s a cyclops, but really… couldn’t it be worse? John could be like into MMOs. He could sit all day farming for gold that doesn’t exist. Not that I know what that’s like or have ever done it until the hours became days and the days weeks and then I had an epic flying mount. I haven’t.

So, there I would be with a bloody mess of a cyclops unless they turn into like dust or burst into flame or something equally cool. Diamonds maybe, he diamondizes upon death. It would be lucrative.

So, I’d have to make good on my promise of putting Arthur in a world of pain that he could never escape. I could torture him in a way that wouldn’t require much effort for me.

Maybe I could pay Anna to walk in front of this Arthur kid, parading about his inability to get chicks due to his overall suckiness. And then he’d have that pain to deal with—that everyone is all like, “Arthur is such a loser, he can’t get a girl-even one that walks around in front of him naked.” Not that I think a naked girl would be easy to hit on unless you’re in a strip club. But then, I feel like everyone else doesn’t realize Anna is mostly naked anyway.

So there is step 1 of torture Arthur. And step 2 could be to hack his computer so that every time he clicks a link it goes to lemonparty.org.

And step 3 would be the one that did him in. I’d sneak into his room every night and use up his pens and all the lead in his pencils so everytime he went to write, he couldn’t because all of his pens and pencils were used up.

And then, he’d die because he realized that his life was nothing but torture and I would stand with my foot on his lifeless head like an explorer who just discovered a new land and is getting his picture taken to make money.

And then, once I had taken care of Arthur through heineous torture unapproved by the Geneva convention due to it’s downright inhumane nature and vicious evilness, I would bring John the Cyclops back to life and we could sail into the sunset and live happily ever after.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

All These Stupid Silly Songs.

John wanted to take me out again. I was thinking, John is a freaking monster and I should really stop going out on dates with him before he eats me. So when he asked, I said, “Yes.”

There was something about him and the way he didn’t kiss me on the first date. Maybe cyclopes are a race of monsters that are insecure about their kissing or maybe it’s just gentlemanly that he didn’t. Either way, something about it made me happy.

So he said we should go to a house party which translated to “MONSTER HOUSE OF DOOM THAT WILL EAT YOU.” I guess it sounds irrational to some people, those are people that die in monster houses of doom.

“Will the house come to life and eat me?” Yeah, I said it. Right to John’s face.

“What? No, why would it?” he said back playing all cool, all like “I’m not the guy that leads the lamb to the slaughter.” But you know what, I, Molly, am no lamb. I ask the right questions so I don’t get all lamb-slaughtered.

“Because . . . it’s . . . a . . . monster?”

He laughed and have I mentioned yet how cute that laugh is? So, I, Molly, am not a lamb because that is when I put my foot down and said, “Oh, John, I would love to go to the lamb-slaughter with you.”

He ignored the lamb-slaughter thing like a good little cyclops.

So he picked me up again, promptly, and gave my roommate (dateless again-in your face) plenty of time to look over his hunkly-hunkyness before we went to the lamb-slaughter.

John complimented my dress again and this time I’d been prepared. I wore my favorite pink dress with a little purple middle to make me look super cute. Not to impress John but because everyone knows the prettiest girl survives the lamb-slaughter/monster house party, I was banking on it.

So off we went to the lamb-slaughter.

When we got there, I was glad I wore my classy dress because it wasn’t your typical drunken, college house party. Everyone was dressed nice (minus the odd nymph [as in like wood nymph] dressed in leaves [literally]). It was a monster party, or it wasn’t. No one noticed the nymphs (other than oogly-eyed boys) so I didn’t discuss it. I pretended they didn’t exist, since they probably didn’t—schizophrenia is a complicated psychosis.

And then you know what happened? We partied and we danced and we played Uno as a drinking game which just got worse and worse because the more you lost the drunker you became and the drunker you became the more you lost.

And we had fun. Normal, not monster fun like the night before.

And when John smiled at me I had butterflies in my stomach and how those bastards got in there, I don’t know. Butterflies are scarier than cockroaches because apparently that whole stomach acid thing doesn’t get them down, no sir.

Then John ran into his ex-girlfriend.

She wasn’t, isn’t a cyclops. No, you remember the leaf clad women running around in leaves? Yeah, one of those. Tall and blonde and legs for days. The perfect girl and it made me think, “Why is John with me?”

And she stared at me. Lovingly. Like, want to jump your bones and spend the rest of my life with you lovingly.


“John, you have to introduce me to your date,” she said sounding all lusty and a 1-900-number lady and what she really meant, I’m sure, was “Can I borrow your date for an orgy? Please and thanks.”

He looked at me and smiled. “This is Molly. Molly, this is my ex-girlfriend, Anna.”

“Hi,” I said with a pathetic “I’m intimidated by your beauty and creeped out by you” wave.

Then he promptly directed me away to the dance floor. This was much welcomed.

And then whoever’s iPod was directing the music played a song that we could slow dance too. As a girl, one, such as myself, must resist urges to squeal at the moments that you’ll look back on forever and smile about. That said, we slow danced and I realized that our relationship was off to a good start because in that moment we had a song.

And that is when, for the first time, John kissed me. He dipped me and kissed me like that classic WWII photo of the sailor and the nurse that makes everyone in love feel giddy inside.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Benihana, My Love, My Life

Watching Asian men cook food really fast and make onion volcanoes is probably the most magnificent idea to ever grace the shores of dating. Thank you Benihana for making unbearable dates the most amazing thing before sliced bread.

When you bring flaming onion volcanoes of awesome to the dating arena who can fail?

John the Cyclops arrived at my dorm promptly at 6:30 pm to go out to dinner at Benihana. It was his suggestion so he won points on that. A lot of points because I love watching people cook my food. It makes me feel like a queen. A queen of awkward Asian men. I'm okay with that.

He is a very handsome cyclops and I noticed that I'm the only one that notes the one eye. My roommate opened the door to him sans stupid glasses and said nothing. In fact, her jaw dropped because she spends hours in front of the mirror everyday trying to make her boring self look pretty and yet I, the one who doesn't put goop in my hair and spends two minutes doing my makeup, am the one who is being picked up by a handsome, tall blond man for a date and I am the one with pink roses on my desk.

He smiled and I smiled. We both smiled.

"Your dress is really nice, Molly. You look great in pink," John said loud enough for my roommate to hear. She turned pink.

Then we got in his car and we went to Benihana.

At Benihana, John ordered sushi which really just sounded like "Nemo rolls, please." Whenever anyone orders sushi, all I can think about is this anonymously photoshopped picture of Nemo sushi. It makes me cry a little and to get past it I have to sing, "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming," over and over in my head.

I can't hold his lack of foresight of my exaggerated distaste of sushi against him.

And so we chatted, I asked John about his major.

"Well, my brothers and I all like engineering. It's what our dad does and our uncles and our grandfather." He paused and looked at me. I was lost in a world where he had brothers and they were all as cute as him. Despite the fact that I knew they were cyclopes, I was starting to get into the habit of imagining his eye and I think that's how he fooled so many people.

"Why do you all want to do the same thing?" I asked, trying to distract him by the fact that I'd become distracted.

He shrugged, "It's what we want to do. We like building stuff."

That's when I remembered that Wikepedia told me that cyclopes were historically blacksmiths which makes sense.

"I guess that's cool," but what I really meant was, "I would figure you monster types would be more interested in breaking stuff."

He looked down at his Nemo sushi then back up.

"Well, as long as you play with Lego's anyway. Those are the coolest building materials anyway."

And so John laughed and it was manly but boyish laugh, like he really enjoyed my lame joke. "When we were little, my dad bought Lego's for us all the time because we would always need more." He paused to make sure I wasn't bored and that I wanted to hear his story.

"We would build cities out of the blocks. We have pictures of us, in diapers, building huge cities of Lego's in the living room. With sky scrapers and bridges and we would put our toy cars in there."

And so I realized that this man was not a monster that destroyed things like those horrible stories and Wikepedia might lead me to believe. And he was just like an normal person, just with one less eye. And extremely tall.

"I still play with Legos and I love to make spaceships out of them and fly them around like they're on a grand sci-fi adventure through space."

"Like Star Wars?"

"Yes, but much cooler. Like all the good ones combined, like Lost in Space and Star Trek and Star Wars and Stargate and just everything. And they have lives of love and loss and struggle."

John laughed, "So you like to tell stories? All of the stories, not just the facts but all that is in the world?"

"But the entire scope of the world is the story."

"Then you are a bard and that is the power you hold over me," he said and it was so flirty and complimentary but a part of me felt disheartened like he had said, "You're not really pretty or special, you have a magical power over me."

He seemed to realize his mistake, "But your beauty and mind make the power pointless."

His apology was better than any other apology that I'd ever heard in my life and he didn't even say he was sorry.

And that's when the dragon-lady chef showed up. She had nice eyes and John took my hand like he could see the dragon lady and wanted to me know that it'd be okay. My heart was racing from the warmth of his big hand and the ability for the dragon-lady chef to eat my head in one itsy-bitsy nibble.

She was a nice lady and then it was, I realized, that I must be dropping acid while I sleep. It was the only explanation for the hallucinations. That or I was schizophrenic. Either was totally possible. I'm not sure where the acid would be coming from.

So I opened my phone and I Googled it. I know that it's rude to Google on a date, but I did it and I don't think John cared.

This is what Wikipedia told me:
Schizophrenia (pronounced /ˌskɪtsɵˈfrɛniə/ or /ˌskɪtsɵˈfriːniə/) is a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. It most commonly manifests as auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, or disorganized speech and thinking with significant social or occupational dysfunction.
HOW in the hell does someone pronounce ˌskɪtsɵˈfrɛniə?! I only know 26 letters, and pronouncing them upside down is really difficult but not doable at a hibachi grill. And even if I could, saying them upside down sounds the same as right side up.

And then I got distracted from being distracted by trying to pronounce an upside down e by John whispering in my ear with his breath warm giving me tingles. "You're not crazy, just enjoy your dinner."

So my research at Benihana was inconclusive.