i dreamed of finer places, the kinds i saw on television, where everyone had a front yard and a garage and a pretty white woman who’d have milk and snacks waiting for them after school.
little did i know that you all were deep frying twinkies at the fair, studying macroeconomics in learning labs, and teaching the kids about the power of individualism in the catholic schools. now i know how the west was won. finally ive seen the light.
ah, but i chide, for i didnt grow up in the projects in the south side but i was raised in a townhouse in the suburbs just like you. i let a strange man help me with my pinewood derby race car, i had my nanny make my science fair project, i clipped the coupon for a big wheel from the back of a cap’n crunch box and handed it to my mother and in four to six weeks it was mine and i could park it next to the stoop of any house in my neighborhood and never fear that it would get stolen.
the only place i had to lock my bike was at school, and thats because they made us do it there. they taught us that people stole. even though no one stole shit in my town.
back then it was much harder to be a theif. the kids played outside and knew each other. the parents didnt all work. the cops werent anything to be afraid of. and in the wintertime in certain cul de sacs the rain would come and then the cold and little ice ponds would appear overnight.
over by the big hill they even formed a little Hot House with an electric stove so the kids wouldnt get frostbitten so easilly and so the teenagers could find a warm place to practice their french kissing. i once got kissed in the hot house by a girl named dianne, and ten minutes later by her little sister heather. i ran home not knowing what had happened to me.
dont worry love, my nanny said, you’ve simply entered manhood. your life is ruined now.
those girls didnt like me. hardly any of them did. they just decided that they wanted to kiss boys that afternoon and there i was in the wrong place at the wrong time. just like in 98 when i joined the dot com. just like when i was nine and turned on the tv and saw the cubs.
parents cant protect you from everything, nor should they.
hot houses, hot boxes, hot blondes, theyre all tootsie pops of fun with a chewy center of cyanide and if it doesnt kill you it just makes you addicted for more.
a wonderful girl wrote me today with a serious question of what to do when at a bar and the boys smile but none of them come over and my answer is control your own destiny just like those sisters did. of course i liked them both but i was more interested in my tobaggon than i was in what i thought was an impossiblity of the two hottest and smartest sisters in school wanting to share some spit with me in my snowmobile suit.
get up like they do on tv and walk over to the shy boy in the corner and ask him if he has a light.
now this wont work in california where you cant smoke in bars, but i bet ya he’ll pull out a lighter anyway. and if he doesnt ask him if he’ll watch your table for you and when you return thank him with a shot of something.
i would fucking die if a hottie bought me a drink.
i think a gentlemen would have to be inclined to buy her one right back.
jello shot, what was your name again? ah yes, jello shot, victoria?
two jello shots, please.