Everything Was Fine Until Whatever (7 page)

Everyone who lives in Oakland needs a shower.

Everyone who lives in San Francisco is obsessed with Frida Kahlo.

Everyone who lives in Portland is good-looking.

Everyone who lives in LA already has enough friends, thanks anyways.

Everyone who lives in Seattle walks really, really fast.

Everyone who lives in Denver lives at the airport.

Everyone who lives in Sioux Falls can tell what a chicken has eaten based on the taste and texture of its egg.

Everyone who lives in Paris has never met me.

Everyone who lives in Brooklyn is always trying to sneak the word Brooklyn into conversation.

Everyone who lives in Spokane has loyalty issues.

Everyone who lives in Austin gets aggressive when they feel vulnerable.

Everyone who lives in Copenhagen is a D-list celebrity.

Everyone who lives in New York City knows all too well to show up early to dentist appointments.

Everyone who lives in Reno chews tobacco.

Everyone who lives in Sydney clicks the who has a crush on you button on Myspace when they think no one is tracking their Internet usage.

Everyone who lives in Atlanta blasts terrible music from their crappy cars at 3am.

Everyone who lives in New Orleans costs the US government $3.00 per day somehow.

Everyone who lives in Honolulu regrets their first tattoo.

Everyone who lives in Nashville is supposed to be sending child support to my mom.

Everyone who lives in Minneapolis has an irrational fear of running into Prince at a party.

Everyone who lives in Orlando can do really good cursive uppercase ‘G’s.

To Do List

 

1. I’m making a restaurant that sells only hard-boiled eggs and I need you to create the menu.
   
2. I want the menu to go over, in detail, the cost of each element needed to prepare and serve a hard boiled egg, and maintain business (water, pan, electricity, chef, etc). The price of the egg will be completely rationalized and 100% accurate.
   
3. Then, each element in that list will be researched in the same way, each item completely rationalized in price (what the pan manufacturer needs to produce pan – metal, electricity, etc., what water company needs to maintain business – employees, energy, etc., what chef’s financial needs are – food, rent, sending kids to college, etc).
   
4. Each element from the third list will be gone over in the same way. Do you see where this is going? Menu will be infinite.
   
5. This project should take your whole life to complete probably.
   
6. If you finish early, please check your answers.
   

I am alone again tonight but don’t worry I am writing jokes about my personality.

Do you want me to be sincere or do you want be to be myself?

 

In retrospect, yeah, I shouldn’t’ve started fasting until after I broke up with Colt. I didn’t realize fasting would make me so sweaty and introspective and emotional. I guess there wasn’t much of a decision-making process. And Colt is hard to calm down anyways, once he’s worked up, but every time I heard myself say something like “It’s not like I stopped caring about you all of a sudden,” I would get this chill all through me. I felt like I could see into my intestines. It felt like everything I said was the exact only thing to say at that moment, like my life was leading to it, and I was fulfilling all prophecies. And my sweat smelled terrible. Like insect repellent. Or horse-shoe-polish-remover-scented room-deodorizer.

“Why?” he said. I tried to allude to his insufficiencies, not spell them out.

I stayed up all night after I broke up with him, partly because I was reliving the conversation over and over and over, and partly because I couldn’t sleep. My body hadn’t done anything all day, hadn’t stood up, hadn’t worked, hadn’t digested anything, had basically napped all day; wasn’t tired.

Around 3am I started regretting the break up. I was getting confused. I called Colt and cried to him and sort of was out of my mind. He cried too. It was sad. I needed a shower but I was too weak. That’s what I told Colt when I called him.

“Um,” he said.

“What if I call you tomorrow and want to date you again?” I said. “Would that be okay or weird?”

“I don’t know,” he said. I was partially beginning to think that I was just breaking up with Colt out of boredom. There’s a lot of extra time, suddenly, if you’re not eating or preparing meals or planning them in your head or cleaning dishes or buying Tupperware.

Our collaboration was over, if you could call it that, which I suddenly felt like doing. We had been carving small animals out of wood together, so to speak, for one and a half years, but all that was over. He had asked me once to shave his initials into my pubic hair and I had outright said no. Maybe it hadn’t been a joke. I was clearly the bad guy in the relationship.

I sat up in bed and got a little dizzy. I felt metaphysical and euphoric and bewildered. I couldn’t remember when I had decided to break up with Colt. Maybe, I thought, it was the fast that had gotten me into this mess. But maybe, then again, who knows, maybe the fast was right after all. It kept seeming right. Like prophetic. The word ‘prophetic’ kept appearing in my head. I kept peeing and the pee kept being bright orange even though I was only having water.

I was alone and my body was a large part of who I was, that seemed clear, but the sequence of things was all wrong and there was no food inside to make me feel less confused about this.

Hats for Dummies

 

A few conventionally attractive people were talking with each other at a party. None were making any sort of sexual advances toward another. None were in romantic relationships with one another. None were giving any sort of serious thought about what was happening after the party. They were talking about the ordinary looking people they knew. None were saying anything derogatory about ordinary looking people. None were disregarding an ordinary looking person’s merit. None were implying that ordinary looking people maintained poor diets. The conventionally attractive people were just remarking that ordinary looking people were consumed with becoming more conventionally attractive. None were saying that it was an unworthy pursuit. None were referencing ordinary looking people’s unsavory bone structure. None were giving any indication that they thought ordinary people should try to look more conventionally attractive by maybe buying a strategic hat. They were just making small talk. It was a party.

A few ordinary looking people were at the party, talking amongst themselves. They posed and directed their body language to indicate sexual efficiency. They laughed at funny jokes. They laughed at horrible jokes. They laughed really loudly. They drank too much punch. They excused themselves to the bathroom to squeeze zits. They tipped their hats but those aren’t hats, they’re hairpieces. They gave each other their cell phone numbers. They yelled out, “Hi how are you!” for no reason. Or maybe they had a reason. They tripped on their own dresses. They bruised their knees and it didn’t matter. They laughed so hard it came out silent and their nostrils, well, their nostrils were moving really fast.

Narnia

 

There is a gigantic hole in the back of my fridge that leads to Narnia.

I would never go there. Narnia is for babies.

My Biggest Claim to Fame

 

My friend Jess was famous but she wasn’t
that
famous. She wasn’t as famous as Pamela Anderson, though her boobs were bigger and she was prettier and her hair was blonder.

“My hair is blonder,” she said all the time, “Pamela stole the idea of platinum blonde from me, but I am blonder than she is.” I think she was genuinely blonder.

Jess was famous enough to be recognized. People ran up to her and introduced themselves and then introduced her for her. She was that kind of famous. The kind where she didn’t have to talk.

As friends, we mostly talked about her. We had an interesting conversation once about why she hated pickles. Her reasons were well-justified. She seemed maternal to me because she cursed a lot and always asked me if I was pregnant.

I showed up at her house one day and she was out in the pool wearing water wings as a bathing suit.

“I saw Pamela Anderson do that in a magazine before,” I said.

“She stole the idea because she steals ideas from me.” Her hair was blonde even when it was soaking wet. That’s unnatural.

“Come and swim,” she said, “you’re irritating me by not swimming.”

Cousins

 

1984–1987

Me and my four closest cousins –Erin, Becca, Jaime, and Joe – are born.

I live in Clearlake, and they each live within five miles of me.

1987

Our parents discover that Joe and I like to take our naps together on the floor.

They discover we both like bottles filled with juice.

They discover we both like bottles filled with unchilled jello water.

1988

Erin and I almost drown while trying to have an underwater tea party.

1989

Papa takes a long time in the bathroom; too long for us kids to wait. Nana gives us empty coffee cans and has us squat over them in the kitchen.

1990

I learn, during a game of hide-and-seek with my cousins, that my hearing can tell me what direction a voice is coming from when it yells ‘ready!’

Erin and Becca go to Kindergarten. Aunt Ann encourages the rest of us to pretend we’re sleeping right before they come home from school. They’re disappointed when they find us sleeping because they want to play with us. I overuse the trick and it becomes useless.

Another close cousin, Adri, is born. The rest of us cousins take turns holding her while she cries. We hate waiting for our own turn, but holding her turns out to be not that exciting. We ignore her for a couple of years.

1991

Becca informs me and Joe about sex. She tells us to try it. We crawl under a bed and Joe lays on top of me. Becca doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next. Joe has to go to the bathroom, so Becca lets him leave. We play ninja turtles when he gets back.

While walking our bikes up a hill to take into the carport, a car starts rolling down towards us. My trike stops it’s tire, preventing it from running us over, but gets smashed in the process.

I refuse to take any more baths with Jaime because she always pees.

Nana Kopp dies, and I attend the funeral. None of my cousins go. I walk with my Nana, her daughter, up to her open casket. I am unaffected. A few weeks later, during a random case of watery eyes, my mom asks me what’s wrong, and I lie and say I miss Nana Kopp. My mom cries.

During another random case of watery eyes, my mom asks me what’s wrong, and I lie and say I miss Dylan, her boyfriend who moved away. She says she does too. Dylan soon moves back.

Becca and Erin teach me how to flare my nostrils.

We make a fort in the back yard. We design a boys’ bathroom and a girls’ bathroom. Our Nana finds out about that and tells us to stop being lazy and come inside when we have to pee. Someone poops in the girls’ bathroom.

We decide that Becca and I are best friends, and Erin and Joe are best friends. We tell Jaime that she can be best friends with Adri.

1992

I discover, while watching Erin eat dinner, that when his mouth opens and closes, something near the ear moves, too. When I tell him, he says he already knows.

Erin tells me he found bugs in his Cheerios one time. I refuse to eat Cheerios for the next seven years.

Joe is terrified of a giant dinosaur blow-up toy that someone gave him for his birthday. The rest of us love it. We play with it, wrestle with it, climb on top of it, until it pops. Joe is terrified of its deflated carcass.

Jaime and I make up a cool laugh, and we both use it instead of our real laughs. One day, I say it sounds stupid and I stop doing it. She keeps using it. I’m upset that she didn’t copy me and jealous that she still gets to use the laugh. I roll my eyes whenever she uses it. She never stops.

Our uncle teaches us how to pray. We think it’s funny. We go to his bedroom and ask him to pray with us. When he isn’t home, we read his sexist and racist joke books.

1993

Becca and I try to tell Adri about sex but she keeps saying ‘six.’

Adri hates the skin of apples, so she lets me bite the skin off of her apples before she eats them. When she isn’t looking, I take deep bites, but she usually notices. I think it’s unfair that I don’t get to eat the sweet part, but I don’t ask for my own apples.

Becca and Joe move to Oregon.

I move to Washington. My mom says I can see Becca and Joe a lot again, but it doesn’t really happen.

Becca and Joe’s parents come to visit without Becca and Joe. I’m really irritated by this. I ask my aunt to play a game and she says she will. When she’s in the bathroom I ask my uncle if she is really going to play and he tells me not to hold my breath. I’d never heard this expression.

1994

I move back to Clearlake.

Adri, Jaime and I have sleep-overs. Erin doesn’t come because Joe isn’t there to play with.

I remember the pretend-you’re-sleeping joke and try it on Adri. I roll over in my fake sleep and she says she knows I’m not sleeping because I just moved. I fake wake up and drowsily ask what’s going on. She says she knows I wasn’t sleeping. I tell her, while rubbing my eyes, that people move around in their sleep all the time.

1995

I move to a neighboring town. Adri lives with my Nana and Papa, so I see her quite often when I visit them. I see Jaime occasionally, and Erin almost never.

I talk to Becca on the phone as often as I’m allowed.

My brother River is born on my birthday. Luckily we had my party the day before.

I develop an irrational fear for leaving the house without my mother. I have to be bribed to go to the fair with Adri and my aunt.

1996

Whenever Becca and Joe come down to visit, it takes me a while to remember how to talk to Becca. As soon as something funny happens, we laugh together and I remember how easy it is to talk to her and how much fun she is.

I see Erin for the first time in over a year. We’re both at our Nana and Papa’s house, and there are no other cousins. I want to talk to him, but I forget what we used to talk about. We entertain ourselves separately. Nana asks us to paint part of the porch railing. We talk and laugh together while we paint, and I remember how much I like him.

1997

Everyone goes to Nana and Papa’s for Thanksgiving. Erin asks me and Becca if we want to smoke pot with him. We laugh and ignore him for the rest of the day. Our uncle is constantly mooning someone.

1998

Becca moves in with me. We share a room. I am jealous of the attention my mom gives her. I accuse her of using my razor blades to shave her legs. She moves back to Oregon.

1999

Becca moves in with our Nana and Papa. She goes to middle school with Jaime and Erin. She tells me Jaime likes to embarrass her in front of other kids.

2000

I move close to Erin and Jaime. I am the new girl at their small high school. Everyone calls me ‘Erin’s cousin.’ I don’t talk to him. I get the feeling he avoids me during breaks. His girlfriend is in my English class and I think she’s cool. Someone tells me that before he dumped her, he got in one last fuck.

I move to a new town and change schools.

2001

Becca loses her virginity and tells her mom. Soon the whole family knows. I am too embarrassed to ask her about it.

2002

I move in with my Nana and Papa.

Becca moves in with my Nana and Papa and we share a room and go to high school together. It’s exciting at first, but I begin to think she gets in the way of my social life. I avoid her during breaks.

Becca gets her
ged
and moves back to Oregon.

2004

I graduate high school and move to Oakland.

Becca and I both begin college. We halfheartedly try to convince each other to transfer to schools near our own. We talk on the phone less consistently.

2005

I see Jaime at a baby shower. I say ‘Hi,’ but nothing else. She doesn’t introduce me to her boyfriend.

Joe stays with Nana and Papa for a while. I see him sometimes, and we get along really well. I ask him about his relationship history. I tell him I’ve always thought he was gay.

2006

Joe visits me in Oakland. He makes racist jokes and tells me he wants to fight the black guys who hang out around my apartment building.

I see Erin at Christmas and try to talk to him. He can’t hold a conversation, stares blankly, eats with his fingers, and laughs to himself the whole time. I pretend I don’t know he just got out of the mental hospital and ask him what he’s been up to. He says ‘not much.’ He gives me a really good hug right before I leave.

Becca calls me crying one day. She says she’s sorry for not calling me or answering my calls. She says she has a boyfriend and he is chronically depressed and has dropped out of school. She asks if I can come visit her. I can’t.

I drop significantly on Becca’s Myspace top friends.

2007

I visit Joe in Oregon and stay with him and his girlfriend at their apartment. They have a baby boy. Becca and her boyfriend come down with their baby and stay at Joe’s apartment, too.

I see Jaime one day when I’m in town and we talk about childhood and I notice how different our vocabularies are.

I go to Oregon again, but no one answers the phone when I call.