“You need to take the lovely wife to the beach near your hotel tonight right before sunset. Be fucking romantic. Sit with her on the fucking sand and don’t do something fucking stupid like grope her or trying to stick your damn tongue down her throat. Just sit and massage her shoulders or let her lean into you. Fucking do NOT try to tell her that she is as beautiful as the setting sun. It’s fucking lame and she’ll know it’s fucking lame. Just sit and watch the sunset. Be gentle and fucking romantic. Don’t stare right at the sun. That’s bad for your fucking eyes.”—
The mayor of America’s third largest city, doling out advice to my friend, who works for him and is on his honeymoon.
Clifford: Whoa, dude, I haven’t seen you since New Year’s. Where you been?
A-Jay: Well, after I awoke at around 4 p.m. on the 1 to the 1 to the 11, I promptly tucked myself under a sheet of malaise — like a child being folded into a warm bed on a cold winter’s eve, only to slumber with nightmares…
Clifford: For, like, three fucking weeks, though?
Clifford: So what did you do on the last night of 20-10?
A-Jay: Well, I went to this show at some unnamed venue. Saw this super rad band whose album I got on vinyl, like, eons ago.
Clifford: Sounds good.
A-Jay: Indeed. It should have been enjoyable to the power of e=mc squared (because MC finally squared up on that E that he owed me), but it was super lame because, get this, is was a fucking all ages show. Like overgrown 13-year-olds with faces as fertile as freshly tilled fields looming before me, groping in corners, screeching at the stage like caged monkeys who have been injected with one too many experimental drugs.
Youth is usually a breath of summer vespers, no? Instilling all those in the vicinity with renewed vigor — a desire, an urge, a loin-pulsing need to be young and free. But in this case, my soul merely withered — my passions dried up, and I felt a husk of a man, looking upon the young folks — like those in that over-played song by Peter, Bjorn & John — like a brine-soaked octogenarian, pickled in the juices of my own malcontent. I hated their mirth. I hated their grease-soaked faces. I hated their over-abundance of joy. I hated my own aging flesh… I hated this thing we called life.
Clifford: Dragster, man.
A-Jay: I know! Also, you know, that show was totally supposed to be a secret deal. How the fuck did all those little fuckers get on the listserv?
Clifford: So basically you’re pissed that you have the same taste as a bunch of a 13-year-olds?
I was about 16-17 and at the mall with my sister and cousin.
A creepy old dude approached us and handed me his business card and told me he wanted to take pictures of me because I was pretty enough to model. This pissed off my cousin and she went on radio silence the rest of the afternoon - she was used to being told she was the pretty one.
Mind you, I am a hair over 5’ and with what was at the time a very curvy figure thanks to running track at school.
I gave the dad my card because I thought it was funny he would even say something like that to me.
A few years later I found that card buried in a drawer and looked up the guy’s name. He was in the registered sex offender database. As in, about 6-8 months after he approached me he was convicted of inappropriate contact with minors. I went outside and burned the card on the sidewalk next to the garage.
When a girlfriend gets into a relationship and suddenly can’t go anywhere without bringing along their SO.
Glad you’re getting it on a regular basis and all but you used to be fun. We used to do girl stuff. Now you’re the very same girl we talked about.
Maybe it’s because Mr. B and I are so fiercely independent we don’t have issues with the other going out for a night with friends. Totally cool to do stuff together but once in a while ya just gotta go off and do your own thing with your own friends.
“I was at a party — I’d never met her — and she was like, ‘Come sit down.’ So I sit at her table and talk for 10 minutes, and she goes, ‘I think it’s time for you to leave now.’ So I say, ‘January, you are an actress in a show and everybody’s going to forget about you in a few years, so f—ing be nice,’ and I got up and left.”—
The Bee and I anxiously waited for months for our date with Mr. Declan Patrick MacManus. I left a family wedding weekend early enough to ensure that my flight home wouldn’t interfere with our pre-arranged musical liaison. With respective crushes dating back decades we were kids on candy,…