“I really fucked up, Jay! I don’t know what the fuck to do. Shit, what do I do, man?” Patrick raked a hand roughly through his thick curly hair and took in a deep, shaky breathe, the hand holding his cell phone to his ear trembling. He rested his head against the steering wheel, as he clutched a handful of his thick locks, his knuckles turning an ashy white.
“Damn, Patrick. Okay, wait. Let’s just think about this. Look I need you to calm down and tell me exactly where you are. Now where are you, Pat?” The voice was commanding and in control, everything that Patrick didn’t feel like at that moment.
“Fuck, there’s a bunch a trees and green shit everywhere. Uh...I was um...on I think Jefferson road.”
“Okay, where on Jefferson road? Trees and greenery aren’t gonna cut it. Are there any signs or landmarks?”
Patrick pulled his head up slightly, just enough for him to peer over the wheel. His eyes roamed around the landscape, avoiding the dark and wet road infront of him. He might not be able to stomach it, if he saw it again at this moment.
Trees, trees, bushes, trees, dirt, and more fucking trees. “Shit, man I don’t know,” exclaimed Pat, his voice growing more frantic.
“Look, Pat, you got to calm down man. How long where you on Jefferson? Did you get on Jefferson from Main St. or Uphine Rd.?” asked Jay.
“Uphine Rd. Uh, shit. I dunno. Thirty, forty minutes.”
“Okay good.” The sound of a car starting and the radio blaring screamed through the phone, breaking the harsh silence for a brief moment, before the rap music was gone and the sound of the car running was only a gentle hum in the background. “Okay, now Pat, I need you to tell me what exactly happened. Don’t leave anything out. Everything is going to be fine.”
And for that brief moment, Pat was sure Jay was right. He sounded so sure.
Patrick dragged a hand down his face. His eyes darted to the ceiling of his car, to the woods, to the digital clock, and almost to dark road infront of him, but they never made it. Closing his eyes, Pat tried to calm down, but couldn’t.
“Fuck, I don’t know. I was just blasting the music and I just looked away for a second to switch the CD, and this fucking kid comes out of no where on a bike. I swear it was just a minute! Shit! What am I gonna do?!
He thought he might retch right there. If it had been anyone else, he would have called them a pansy, but it wasn’t. It happened to him. Right after getting a full-ride scholarship to Duke, to play football. Fuck. This was not how his life was suppose to turn out.
Chrissy Faye
Thursday, February 21, 2008
February 21, 2008
It’s a well known fact that dentist’s have high suicide rates. Which means that I will not be going out in a cool, flashy style like I planned (heroically saving a poor, idiotic kid from some drunken driver about to hit him that just stands there staring at the oncoming train, car, or whatever, while the mom stands on the sideline, screaming and crying for him to move, while she herself is just standing there...like a dumbass, so its up to me to save the kid from the oncoming whatever, hell it could an airplane for all I care, and I die in a blinding flash of heroic...somthing). Yea, that’s going out in style. Maybe I’ll just slit my wrist and just stick my head in the oven. That ought to work. But this whole dentist thing, I just don’t get it. What the fuck makes a person think, “Hey, I want to dig around in a person’s mouth all day, scraping away at all the left over food that’s been sitting and rotting away there for weeks”. Yea, that sounds so appealing. Fuck. And of course, I got stuck with a family full of freaks, who get excited just at the word teeth. Hell, don’t even mention cavities. My old man bursts blood vessels and spits all over the place tryin to talk bout that shit. So, I wasn’t too surprised when my old man told me I’d be taking over the family business and of course I can’t turn him down. He’ll probably increase the ranks in the suicide log pretty soon, now that he’s got me to take the weight off his shoulders. Good ol’ Liam. Yea, that’s me: the soon to be dentist and future suicidal maniac. Sounds like my life is complete. Hell, maybe before I go, I’ll make my exit at least a little exciting. Maybe plant a bomb in a some random kids cavity (note: I didn’t not say adult). Little bastards. Can’t even floss there own g.d. teeth. Pisses me off. And people wonder why so many dentists blow their brains out after work. Who wouldn’t when all your life boils down to is, looking at gross mouths all day. Fuck, I might as well end it right here, before I become even more depressed. Screw teeth. Screw dentistry. I might just become a fucking male stripper or something.
Chrissy Faye
Chrissy Faye
February 15, 2008
It was dark. Dark and warm, not your normal creepy “it was dark and cold” and yadda yadda. I’m glad to. I fucking hate the cold. Ugh. It’s just so uncomfortable, but that’s beside the point. I tend to get off track a lot so just stop me when I start on and on, okay?”
“Okay, sure,” murmured Dr. Lin, as she gently wiped away at the dried blood crusted around my hands.
“Well, as I was sayin, it was dark and warm when I finally got into the house and let me tell ya, these people don’t even have that great of a security alarm, so it was pretty easy for me to disarm it. It’s pretty sad actually if ya think about it. They get this false sense of security just by the tiny fucking idea that since they’ve got a security alarm, even if its worth shit, that they ain’t gonna get robbed. Ha That bull right there. Wish I could see their faces when they wake up and-“
“Jill, your getting off track.” Having cleared most of the dark red blood from her hand, Dr. Lin dabbed her cotton ball with alcohol, before gently wiping at the wound. Jill grimaced, her arm muscles tensing for a brief second at the sudden stinging, but relaxed gradually.
“Yea, sorry bout that. Well, like I said, I get in their house and their totally oblivious, sleepin like logs or whatever up in their king size beds. Well, I’m creepin around real quiet and shit, and out of the blue, a dim light just turns on in this room infront of me. I mean I freeze up and just stare, waitin for some idiot to come out with a shotgun at me or somethin. So im runnin through all these crazy ass ideas or how to disarm him and do that palm thrust thingy where you can shove their nose bone or whatever up into their brain. Yea yea, gross and crazy but look at who your talkin to, Doc,” snorted Jill.
“I know. Sometimes I just wonder about that brain of yours. Now stop fidgeting and hold your hand still. Good, now what happened after you see that light? Who was it?”
“Ha, well you know me, quick as a gazelle, I hop over the couch and behind it waitin for someone to come out. Nothin. I peek around and crawl closer to the door and see that it’s the kitchen. It was just some fat guy, probably the pops or something, stealing some cake. Chocolate I might add.”
Chrissy Faye
“Okay, sure,” murmured Dr. Lin, as she gently wiped away at the dried blood crusted around my hands.
“Well, as I was sayin, it was dark and warm when I finally got into the house and let me tell ya, these people don’t even have that great of a security alarm, so it was pretty easy for me to disarm it. It’s pretty sad actually if ya think about it. They get this false sense of security just by the tiny fucking idea that since they’ve got a security alarm, even if its worth shit, that they ain’t gonna get robbed. Ha That bull right there. Wish I could see their faces when they wake up and-“
“Jill, your getting off track.” Having cleared most of the dark red blood from her hand, Dr. Lin dabbed her cotton ball with alcohol, before gently wiping at the wound. Jill grimaced, her arm muscles tensing for a brief second at the sudden stinging, but relaxed gradually.
“Yea, sorry bout that. Well, like I said, I get in their house and their totally oblivious, sleepin like logs or whatever up in their king size beds. Well, I’m creepin around real quiet and shit, and out of the blue, a dim light just turns on in this room infront of me. I mean I freeze up and just stare, waitin for some idiot to come out with a shotgun at me or somethin. So im runnin through all these crazy ass ideas or how to disarm him and do that palm thrust thingy where you can shove their nose bone or whatever up into their brain. Yea yea, gross and crazy but look at who your talkin to, Doc,” snorted Jill.
“I know. Sometimes I just wonder about that brain of yours. Now stop fidgeting and hold your hand still. Good, now what happened after you see that light? Who was it?”
“Ha, well you know me, quick as a gazelle, I hop over the couch and behind it waitin for someone to come out. Nothin. I peek around and crawl closer to the door and see that it’s the kitchen. It was just some fat guy, probably the pops or something, stealing some cake. Chocolate I might add.”
Chrissy Faye
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Feb. 12, 2008
Many people get such a head-over heels definition of love when they're kids.
The white knight, ball gown, witch in disguise shabang; but I was beginning to feel like love was just an imaginary feeling.
Like that saying, "that'll shut her up."
Love was just a word that people used to explain their weird mixture of feelings for a person--that in turn keeping the other person happy.
For example, my first boyfriend Tyler had this way of making himself a bit "overly" excited when we were making out and would...you know...in his pants. Then he'd go into overload asking me, "Oh my God, do you think you're pregnant?"
"Do I think I'm pregnant?"
Well yeah dipshit, I'm pregnant right now. I feel a big belly coming on.
But no...take the good with the bad...that's love baby.
He broke up with me.
Then my next boyfriend, for another example, had this great accent, was nice, cute...blah and blah...but just had this issue with me talking to people my own age.
Jealousy isn't the best policy, but I convinced myself that love must be behind the behavior.
Lucky me.
I broke up with him after two weeks.
Then Adam came around. My grade, my type, long crush--beautiful relationship. Until 1. Got caught having "semi-sex" by my parents; 2. Found him never able to satisfy me, but always in need of a bj. And 3. Realized a year and a half in, that he would only ever love the Greenbay Packers.
He dumped me ofcourse.
Then the last boyfriend, the one I deny ever having because I can't stand the thought of him, was Jeremy. He was older, bigger, and much more in to me than I was him. I tried to convince myself the whole time that we "saw" each other that I liked him, but found that his physical nature did nothing for me. The guy had three nipples for God's sakes! What was I suppose to do, be like, "Nice nipple. This must be love?"
No.
Just didn't work out; moral issues, you know.
And don't think that the love cherade escapes other categories.
Take babies for example. I don't know what people get high off of when they see a baby, but bring one in a room and everyone goes nuts.
Apparently the FDA is going to be starting some sort of research on the benefits of having children as an esteem booster; wrap that euphoria in a gel-capsule; and sell it under the name Prosac2.
Sign me up.
Babies, men, puppies in red bows...they're all the same. Give them what they want, and they'll shut up. Tell them that you love them, and they'll stare back at you and drool. Tell them that its over, and you feel bad the next day.
Never see them again, and you wonder...what ever happened to _____.
Love; sign me up for a jello-shot instead any day.
The white knight, ball gown, witch in disguise shabang; but I was beginning to feel like love was just an imaginary feeling.
Like that saying, "that'll shut her up."
Love was just a word that people used to explain their weird mixture of feelings for a person--that in turn keeping the other person happy.
For example, my first boyfriend Tyler had this way of making himself a bit "overly" excited when we were making out and would...you know...in his pants. Then he'd go into overload asking me, "Oh my God, do you think you're pregnant?"
"Do I think I'm pregnant?"
Well yeah dipshit, I'm pregnant right now. I feel a big belly coming on.
But no...take the good with the bad...that's love baby.
He broke up with me.
Then my next boyfriend, for another example, had this great accent, was nice, cute...blah and blah...but just had this issue with me talking to people my own age.
Jealousy isn't the best policy, but I convinced myself that love must be behind the behavior.
Lucky me.
I broke up with him after two weeks.
Then Adam came around. My grade, my type, long crush--beautiful relationship. Until 1. Got caught having "semi-sex" by my parents; 2. Found him never able to satisfy me, but always in need of a bj. And 3. Realized a year and a half in, that he would only ever love the Greenbay Packers.
He dumped me ofcourse.
Then the last boyfriend, the one I deny ever having because I can't stand the thought of him, was Jeremy. He was older, bigger, and much more in to me than I was him. I tried to convince myself the whole time that we "saw" each other that I liked him, but found that his physical nature did nothing for me. The guy had three nipples for God's sakes! What was I suppose to do, be like, "Nice nipple. This must be love?"
No.
Just didn't work out; moral issues, you know.
And don't think that the love cherade escapes other categories.
Take babies for example. I don't know what people get high off of when they see a baby, but bring one in a room and everyone goes nuts.
Apparently the FDA is going to be starting some sort of research on the benefits of having children as an esteem booster; wrap that euphoria in a gel-capsule; and sell it under the name Prosac2.
Sign me up.
Babies, men, puppies in red bows...they're all the same. Give them what they want, and they'll shut up. Tell them that you love them, and they'll stare back at you and drool. Tell them that its over, and you feel bad the next day.
Never see them again, and you wonder...what ever happened to _____.
Love; sign me up for a jello-shot instead any day.
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