Chapter 1: I never thought I'd use

Chapter 1:

I never thought I'd use the description, but today I had an idea that struck me like lightening. As the thought bubbled like a Fresca into my brain I actually felt a physical jolt of energy shoot through my spinal column. I had really been in a fog all day, distracted at work because I had this new guy on my mind and because I had disabled too many brain cells the night before with shots of Wild Turkey. (Why?). At seven I went to my book club and guided a lackluster discussion on a book I had desperately scurried to finish as the other members waited in line at the coffee house. Afterward I stopped in at my buddy Dan's house over on campus, they call it "the castle." The whole time I was there I was paranoid I would be thought of as "that one girl who nobody really knows who comes over to hang out sometimes, and she's, like, way older than the rest of us so she probably has no life of her own, and she seems cool but she might be weird, we don't really know." I said as much and Carrie, who obviously wore the matriarch role in "this disease-infested garbage pile"(her words) gave an insincere half-laugh which furthered my suspicions. They were convinced that I was either a narc or an anthropology major because I was keeping notes. This is why:

Everyone was talking about how there's always someone new hanging around and as they described their cast of characters it was like I was watching their private sit-com:

" . . .Well, sometimes we give them nicknames. Doris, Doris the Clitoris. She was this girl that would hang out here last fall. She had her clit pierced and she kept showing it to everyone. We called her 'Doris the Clitoris' all the time and eventually no one could remember her real name."

--"Oh my god!" someone yells from the kitchen, "Are you guys talking about Doris the Clitoris? Did you know that she's a stripper now at Kings? Swear to god. Do you know a guy named Antwon?"

--"Is he black?"

--"The twitchy one? He always forgets what he's talking about in the middle of the story. And he lies all the time. He told me he makes all his own clothes with a needle and thread, he just copied the LEVIS stitching for the pattern."
Dan's roommate Ries jumps up from his perch on the arm of the couch and begins shifting rapidly back and forth on his feet. He rubs his chin and starts what I can only assume is an Antwon impression in a sorry-midwestern-white-guy "black voice", "Dem kidz kin dance up in Chicago, man. Muthafuckahs can really dance."

--"Yeah, that guy's a douche," Dan agreed. "He told me one time that if he took one more ecsatsy pill he was gonna lose his mind. Gonna?" Carrie, who has been silently absorbed in her video game for the last 15 minutes interjects with a my-story-beats-your-story: "I totally know that guy. Last year he stole my sketchbook and told people that he drew them all."

I'm telling these guys that I know Dan from his new job and one asks if it was some part of the interview process to observe him in his natural habitat. Next this Muppetty-looking guy slumped in a corner papasan chair claims he always checks "Jewish" on applications to make sure he gets the job or whatever. His roommate defends him, "You totally deserve it, though. You've proved your Jewness when you talked the rent down on this place from $625 to $450."

Then the epiphany: I should start writing some of this shit down, it's blogger gold. So I fished a pen out of the couch cushions and picked a sheet of loose paper up off the floor. On one side of the page was a memo to mall employees, a warning that the city's water treatment plant had been contaminated with E. coli so don't drink from the tap. On the other was a list of mechanics for the cards Two through Ace for the drinking game Categories written in red Sharpie.

Gold, I say.