Time Is Long

There was this girl that I knew back in, what, like seventh grade?

I don't know her last name, but her name was Jessica. She was short with dark brown hair, green or blue eyes, an overbite, and a round face. And she had cancer, she said.

I don't remember the kind of cancer she said she had, I mostly only remember that she liked horses. I didn't have any classes with her, in fact I don't know if any of my friends had classes with her. She just sort of appeared one day and started hanging out with us. And I remember that she had some kind of cancer.

It must have been bladder or ovarian or kidney or something, because I remember her saying that one morning it was hurting so bad to pee that she prayed out loud to Jesus. That's what she said.

Jessica, from what I remember, wanted to go to school even though she was sick and dying, because why make her life any different than it would have been?

There was a tree that grew by Park View Middle School, across the street from where the Community Park now is, right on the corner. Its branches were low to the ground, and it was this perfectly secluded little dome shaped blob of green that was shielded from the world. Inside the curtain of leaves, Jessica gave peep shows and lap dances to boys after school. I know this because I had friends who had seen the show, which I hear, was "totally sweet!"

Because, if you're dying at 12, 13, why not show off your still developing boobies to a bunch of boys? Not like she would make it to an older and more appropriate age to be flashing, so why not make due with what you have while you have it?

When the rest of us went to 8th grade at Yucaipa Jr. High, she didn't go with us. I still don't know if she died, or moved away, or went to the hospital. I know that I never saw her again and neither did anyone else. Maybe the whole thing was a lie.

But I still wonder about her, and someone from school asked me about her a while back. "That Jessica girl."

I'm looking at my dad's death certificate, it says that his cause of death was Metastatic Colon Carcinoma, and that the interval between onset and death was 21 months.

These things happen so fast.

I have no idea what happened to Jessica, if she was lying or not, and I'm hoping that somewhere at my sister's house on some random shelf is my yearbook from Park View so I can look her up. Hey, if she's alive, maybe she has a Myspace. Or maybe she has a Find-A-Grave memorial; which is like Myspace for dead people.

It says on this death certificate that my dad's "usual occupation" was Fabricator, his "Usual kind of business" was Manufacturing, and that his "usual employer" was Self Employed. It said that he was in his occupation for 30 years. The guy was 49. He died in early June of 92, 16 years ago. And Jessica, I assume, died 11 years ago.

David and I have now been together for six years. Our kid is turning five soon, the other one three.

I cant believe that it's already almost summer, that Ty is graduating preschool, that it's time to pay rent again.

Holy crap, I just had my 10th birthday, when did I turn almost a quarter century old? Why are the checkers at Stater's asking me if I've had work done? How did I publish two books and make solid plans for two more? Why can I still see the scar on my arm from where my kitten scratched me when I was Jessica's age?

Why is David still not old enough to buy alcohol or firearms?

It's like fast and slow all at the same time. Middle or moderate or something.

And I've always always thought that I would die at 30. Which is weird and also coming up fast. Obviously I hope I don't, but still. One minute you have an 12 year old friend with cancer who dances topless in the bushes, and the next you're worried about health insurance and rising gas prices, and you make plans to swing by the school district office on Monday for kindergarten enrollment papers.

I need at least $5,000 in serious dental work to repair my chipped and broken molars, and I keep the crocheted afghan that my mom's best friend made for me when I was born folded up in the closet.

I spent seven years reading the tiny black dots and lines of musical notes and I sold my beloved instrument on EBay, because what the hell am I going to do with a trombone anyway? And I think I have crows feet. Or laugh lines.

I have an electric bill due soon and my kids need sandals for the summer; even though we just bought these damn tennis shoes.

I've been both a foster child and a foster parent.

As a kid, I thought that spaghetti was all one noodle.

As an adult, I believe in my heart of hearts that the devil played a way better fiddle than Johnny that day that he went down to Georgia, and he should have never given that talentless hack the fiddle made of gold. I read some of that bible thing, and I realize that the devil is a relatively defeatable character, but Charlie Daniels was so very wrong in his musical portrayals of Satan and John Q. Public.

I'm 20 pounds heavier than I would like to be, my knees pop and shift when I stand up, my teeth hurt when I eat something too cold or too hot, I've got about 11 good years of baby birthin' left in me, my calves and thighs are getting muscular and ropy again, I saw some planes hit some buildings and kill 2,000-something people a few years back, I spend $140 a week on groceries, I still use glittery lip balm, I miss watching Rocko's Modern Life on Nickelodeon, my high school has a bunch of new buildings and teachers that I don't recognize, and yet I still have the same love and adoration for David that I've had for six years now.

I've had people say that the title of my blog is creepy in a "Stepford Wife" kind of way, because there is more to me than just him, and I should be my own doll sweetie. But you know what? David is my constant. Six years ago, I didn't know that he was going to be my constant, but I have never had anyone anything in my life that I could depend on, and be so reliable as just knowing that there's David; with his screaming Hebrew name, weird and aging parents, and spring time allergy flare ups. One day when we were still just friends before we started dating he said, "Your boyfriend is an asshole, he doesn't deserve you. I don't know who deserves you, but you know, you're like really pretty and really cool, like it would be a waste for you to not end up with someone good."

Almost two months before he takes the test for CHP again, and about that time I will be planning two birthday parties for my boys, and hopefully fighting my way into the chain bookstores.

And I just paid for another year for Davidsdoll.com to exist, so I'll be blogging for another year (and beyond that but the money I drop on the dot com makes it official.)

I don't know where Jessica is, or if she would remember me, since it's been that long and all, but 11 years later I still wonder about her, and lots of other stuff too.

Shit! They Read My Blog!

As for puking up peanut butter at 3:00 in the morning, yeah, it sucks.

And David, he's like "Should I go in there and be with her? Does she want me to go in there? Do I want to see her puke? Maybe I should just pretend to be asleep. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

As for the mysterious musical email, David thinks that it's the 2008 equivalent of giving someone a mix tape. He says that the song is sweet, and doesn't necessarily imply anything to worry about except for the part about rolling about on the floor and then waking up sore, but the rest of it doesn't necessarily have the same implications as say if he were to have sent "When I Think About You I Touch Myself," or "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?"

"It probably isn't any more meaningful or significant than you writing a book with him in it."

"All of the characters are completely fictional."

"He just remembers you, is all. And he probably remembers that you enjoy obscure music. But I'd watch out because that feller is real cute, like that Dugum Howser on the television."

"You mean Dougie Howser?"

"Yeah."

"He looks nothing like Dougie Howser. How do you even know about that show? You weren't even born yet. I barely remember that show."

"I'm just saying, watch out. He's cute and he likes The Cure."

"You're cute and YOU like The Cure."

"Well dont let him work his child prodigy Ph.D. magic bullshit on you."

"Steppy is a cop, not a fictional television doctor."

David's eyes glass over a little and he whispers Dougie Howser into the wind.

So anyway, I'm pretty sure our friends at Stater's read my blog. You know, Word Salad, Chairman Mao (canned,) Staring Girl (canned,) Average, Ugly Lady, Princess Beauty (who is male,) Lucky Joe, Orca, Brother, and of course Mr. Sexy Kielbasa Nova (my Stater's boyfriend.)

Mr. Sexy Kielbasa Nova was there today. He saw me, and made eyes at me, then vanished. Next thing I know, he's back there messing with the yogurts and puddings, not stocking them but straightening the shelves, and he's looking right at me. I swear he was hiding a smile. His look almost said "I dare you."

Right, because when I saw him by the kielbasa I went "holy crap do I need to buy a shit load of sausage today, hooo-ley crap. Yes sir I will buy your sausages, two, three, four..."

But I have a milk allergy that, even though I dont mention as much anymore in my blogs, is mentioned in my Blogger Profile. Basically what it comes down to is a few people like Orca knew about this blog back when David worked there, and besides that I am officially "the booming voice of Beaumont, California," and I'm not hard to Google. Paranoid shit rambles aside, I think Sexy Kielbasa Nova identified himself.

Check it out, David T's wife is here, let's fuck with her mind.

So I look at Sexy, and he's daring me to buy yogurt.

I am sexy but this yogurt will kill you. Are you stupid enough to buy it anyway?

Trickery! It's trickery I tells ya!

Then like an asshole he dropped one, and he looked at me and put his hand over his mouth all coy like, and bent down to pick it up. Even turning his butt toward my direction and bending at the waist instead of at the knees.

I bit my lip and went to the soda aisle.

Because what the hell else am I going to do? Tell the manager that he's teasing me? "Excuse me, one of your checkers is making light of the fact that I wrote on my online journal that I find him mildly attractive. Yes. He is over there dropping yogurts and bending over to pick them up. No, I'm serious. He's doing it like slowly so I'll watch it. Discipline him somehow. Discipline him for his trickery."

But then he started checking, and all of the lines were really long, and the other two ones that were open were being ran by bitches, so naturally I gravitated to his line. I made sure that my kid didn't stink like shit, and I waited patiently...that is until a checker said to me "I can take you over here." She's a sweet lady, she likes to weigh herself on David's scale every day, and she hugs me when she sees me in an aisle. I'm not really keen on people hugging me but it's hard to put up a fight in the middle of the store, you know? And she likes me enough that she opened a check stand just for me.

She says, "You look different." She says, "Did you have work done?"

Because in California if someone looks different it's because they had work done. Even if you're poor, it doesn't matter.

"No, I didn't have any work done."

"You look...good. Like, did you lose weight? You look different somehow."

"Oh uh, nothings different to my knowledge, but...thank you."

So I finish up and pay, and I look over at Kielbasa Nova as I pass, and he points his gun finger at me and winks. "Have a nice day, doll face," he says.

Yep. Yeah. He totally read my blog. Well slap my butt and call me baby, the fucker read my blog.

I should really start shopping at Albertsons...

i has a sick

have you ever been scared to throw up because you had peanutbutter at
lunch and you worry that the vomit will stick to the roof of your
mouth? god damnit i think i has a sick. god damn it. go buy my
book. yes i am going for pity sales. its a very effective marketing
tool when youre couch bound like i am. it cost me a dollar to send
this email from my phone so please leave comments.

Peculiar Email: What Does It Mean?

So Officer Two Step emailed me. I gave him the manuscript to Bombshell a while back to read because I used his likeness for a character in the book, and I think it's nice to let people know when I do that. For one thing, some people find it flattering. Another thing is that if YOU were to read it, you wouldn't know who I was talking about, but if the person who I'm describing were to read it, they would be like WTF and figure I was a stalker. So it's nice to let people know.

Anyhoo, attached to his email was an MP3 of a song from the 80's. He says,

Hi Jessie,

I haven't finished reading your book yet but you know I am busy. When I do read it I cant put it down, I like it a lot.

I heard a song today and thought of you. Remember when we were in science class and you fainted? I hope you remember, otherwise it means you have brain damage. Hope you like the song, it reminds me of you.

I will be in touch with you when I finish reading your book.

Love,

Steppy

And this is the song that he attached. You all like The Cure, right? I love The Cure but I have never even heard this song. What do you make of it?

Lyrics (Catch by The Cure)

Yeah I know who you remind me of

a girl I think I used to know

Yeah I see her when the days got colder

on those days when it felt like snow.

And now I even think that she stared like you

she used to just stand there and stare,

and roll her eyes right up to heaven,

and make like I just wasn't there.

And she used to fall down a lot

that girl was always falling again and again

and I used to sometimes try to catch her

but never ever caught her name.

Sometimes we would spend the night

just rolling about on the floor

and I remember even though it felt soft at the time

I always used to always wake up sore.

You know I even think that she smiled like you,

she used to just stand there and smile,

and her eyes would go all sorts of far away

and stay like that for quite a while.

And I remember she used to fall down a lot

the girl was always falling again and again

and I used to sometimes try to catch her

but never ever caught her name.

Yes I sometimes even tried to catch her

but never ever caught her name.

At Last!

The Fight for Golden Dawn by Jessie Terwilliger



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No blog tonight. Wade is puking up his guts and also corn. There is barf everywhere. Is there something going around?

Back Door Dog Pile

Chuck Palahniuk's latest novel Snuff arrived in the mail just the other day. My To Be Read pile is sorted alphabetically, and I'm only in the N's, plus I've been asked to review a book AND I read Golden Dawn twice, so I feared that I wouldn't get to this book for quite some time. Granted I haven't even gotten to Rant yet (because like I said, I'm only in the N's,) I wanted to read Snuff because of what it is.

This is from the inside cover:

Carrie Wright, porn priestess, intends to cap her legendary career by breaking the world record for serial fornication. On camera. With six hundred men. Snuff unfolds from the perspectives of Mr. 72, Mr. 137, and Mr. 600, who await their turn on camera in a very crowded green room. This wild, lethally funny, and thoroughly researched novel brings the huge yet underacknowledged presence of pornography in contemporary life into the realm of literary fiction at last. Who else but Chuck Palahniuk would dare do such a thing? Who else could do it so well, so unflinchingly, and with such an incendiary (you might say) climax?

Chuck is my literary hero. And he's written a book that is pretty much just strictly porn. Not erotica, or lovey dovey take a bath and sigh a lot as you read it, but porn. Porn is funny. I like funny. I wanted to read it as soon as it got here.

But so did David, because he's a Chuck fan too. And he is also fond of funny porn.

So like with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, we are reading the book out loud to each other, and laughing our asses off.

We're only to chapter 10, so I cant tell you much yet, other than it basically describes these 600 Cheetoe dust ranch dressing powdered donut fake tan cream coated men as they wait around in the green room to be called back for their shot with Miss Wright. Meanwhile, Cassie's old films play on television screens throughout the room.

What's got me cracking up is the name of a series of films she did. Emergency Room Back Door Dog Pile, Ford's Theatre Back Door Dog Pile, and I think the other one was Civil War Back Door Dog Pile. Either way, they all end in Back Door Dog Pile.

This is my new favorite thing to say. Back Door Dog Pile.

You can add it to anything and turn anything into a porno. And I have.

Stater Bros. Back Door Dog Pile

Public Library Back Door Dog Pile

Beaumont Police Department Back Door Dog Pile

Little Beijing Back Door Dog Pile

David's Doll Back Door Dog Pile

Back Door Dog Pile

Fucking Awesome Back Door Dog Pile

Baker's Drive Thru Back Door Dog Pile

Home Depot Back Door Dog Pile

This is the best. This is up there with "confirmed for brawl" and "fidiot."

Starbucks Coffee Back Door Dog Pile

Dominoe's Pizza Back Door Dog Pile

No matter how many times I say it, it never stops being funny.

I cant wait to finish this book. This Back Door Dog Pile of a book. I'll let you know how it turns out.

BACK DOOR DOG PILE!!!!!!!

Far Too Much Sausage

"Explain to me why you bought so much sausage at the store, Jessie," David said as he looked in the fridge.

"It's not that much."

"You bought four kielbasas and three packages of beer brauts. What gives?"

"Nothing. I like sausage."

"Im on a diet, you know, you cant be bringing home all of this damn sausage," he said.

"I bought you your Lean Cuisines and that fiber cereal that you like too."

"Yes but why does your food mostly consist of sausage?"

"I like sausage." He kept looking at me. "And my Stater's boyfriend was stocking it at the time."

"You have a Stater's boyfriend?"

I tightened my lips. Then I spilled it. "Yes. He's a checker and he's really hot and I like to go through his line. He handles my bread and produce very delicately and he never charges me for soda even when I tell him it's there. I think he's going to ask me to marry him. I mean, free soda is pretty much a sure sign that a checker man is going to pop the question from what I've pieced together. He asked me to join the Mile High club once I think."

"No, you misunderstood. He was asking you if you wanted to buy a mile high strawberry pie from his check stand. They ask everyone that."

"Oh. See I thought...yeah."

"Uh huh. What's his name?"

"Mr. Sexy Kielbasa Nova."

"What's his real name?"

"That is his real name."

"What does his name tag say?"

(Name ommited.)

"Is he the one with dark hair and-"

"Green eyes and lightly toasted skin like maybe he tans or works outside a lot, and he's like late twenty-something and built real sturdy." I finished.

David squinted his eyes at me. "Oh yeah, I've seen him. You're right, he's a handsome devil. And that's a lot coming from me because Im usually only gay for Brad Pitt."

"And glorious naked black man on horseback."

"That was the one time," he said. "But why did you buy the sausage?"

"I said, because he was stocking it! And there was something about seeing that guy next to a bunch of sausages that made me want sausage. Plus they were 2 for $5, and that's a really good price. And Im sorry that I have a Stater's boyfriend but you have a Starbucks girlfriend so you cant get mad."

"Why would I get mad? It's funny. But explain the beer brauts."

"Firemen."

"What?"

"The firemen from the Cherry Valley station were shopping at the time, and they were by the beer brauts. So I bought a bunch of beer brauts."

"Were there a lot of fire men?"

"No. Only five. I was just excited."

"Dont you have enough sausage here at home?"

"You can never have too much sausage. Sausage is delicious. And I even bought the light keilbasas so I could make it with red beans and rice for dinner-"

"When Im not here."

"Well...yeah."

"You want the sausage when Im not around, is that it?"

"Wait, are we still talking about sausage or are we talking about something else?"

"That depends. Were you buying the sausage because you like sausage or were you thinking about something else when you bought it?"

"David you've seen Mr. Sexy, you know-"

"Yeah, you're right. I probably would have done the same thing. You have really good taste."

"Mmm hmm. So does sausage."

"I meant in men."

"Oh."

"I want you to take a pregnancy test. You've been acting really wierd lately."

"Im always wierd."

"Just pee on this stick," he said as he handed me an EPT test. "But even if it is negative you cant accept that guy's proposal, okay?"

"I wasnt gunna."

So I pee on the stick and I says, "David?"

"Yeah?"

"It's negative."

"Ok so you're just weird and obsessed with sausage then."

"Yeah."

"That's good."

Are You As Excited As I Am???

This Wednesday people...

My Love-Hate Relationship With Beaumont

What the fuck Toto?

Tornadoes in the Beaumont?

Noooo...Beaumont catches fire and occasionally becomes covered in a four foot layer of sand and cow poop.

But they're saying a real life tornado touched down over here, I'm not exactly sure of the coordinates other than it was somewhere between Beaumont and Moreno Valley. It flipped cars, it took out a train (of course none of this has been confirmed, but I heard it on the radio.) Plus, the 60 Freeway was closed due to mudslides. And the canyon is flooded. And then another tornado touched down in Corona from what I hear.

Right, so I live in California because FUCK TORNADOES, that's why. You Kansas and Nebraska folk might be like FUCK EARTHQUAKES but fuck you! We like our earthquakes like we likes our women: fast, and NOT A TORNADOE. Least that's how I likes my women. Don't know about the rest of you.

So then I started sending text messages to you guys, thinking, "well shit, if this makes it to the news they're going to wonder." Or they wont. Actually I text messaged people because I was lonely. I'm always lonely. And it was raining so it made me even more lonely. But thanks for keeping me company.

And of course we lost power. But only for a while, which is good because it was dark out. Do you know what the BPD does when the power goes out at night in Beaumont? They stand in front of the grocery stores with their shot guns out to make sure that nobody walks out without paying. Apparently it's a problem here. I like the way they think though, "PUT THAT BOX OF CRACKERS BACK OR I'LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF." Nice. I told you, they're like the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.

What's that? Punks in the wash? It's Morphin time!!!

Uh oh guys, the power's out at Stater's! Come on! We have to hurry before someone leaves without paying for their booze!

I saw the animal cops lady wrestling in the street with three Chihuahuas. She was trying really hard to get them into her truck but those guys are just so squirmy and jumpy that they kept getting away. It stopped traffic for like 10 minutes.

David says he's trying for CHP this last time, then he's enrolling in POST if they dont want him. If he does POST his goal is to be hired by Beaumont, but he could end up anywhere.

"David," I said, "What about Palm Springs PD? They're on COPS all the time, and all those guys ever do is scuffle with naked celebrities who are high on the crystal meth."

Either way, no matter where in the county he ends up I'm sure we will live in Beaumont for the rest of our bloody lives. Until tornadoes get us.

But hey, Smashmouth is performing a concert here next month.

Now I dont know what to think.

What would you do if you were me, and you found a lego in your kid's poop? Whats the worst thing YOU ever found in a diaper?

Book Trailer for The Fight For Golden Dawn by Jessie Terwilliger

If you're having trouble seeing the player, here is the direct link: http://www.lulu.tv/?p=24978

HUGE thanks to the following people:

Music: “Delilah” by the Dresden Dolls

Rachel and Steven played by Chrissy and JoeRollo
Appearance by Jen Hardy
Danica is played by Lily Mintz (photos used with permission from Kristen Mintz)
Social worker played by Liz Rolling

Fork In The Road

This morning David went to talk to the good sergeant at the Beaumont PD to find out what he would have to do to get hired there. He would have to enroll in POST (peace officer standard training) classes, which cost $1,300. Well goodie goodie gum drops, George W is giving us $1,200 come July! Now, there are two ways to do this. One is to go five days a week for five months for 10 hours a day. Yeah...David works so, no. The sergeant said that this option is for people who live with their parents and have no financial obligations. The other option is Saturday courses for a year. This could work, but he would either have to convince The Cans to hire a second person to work at his site for one day a week, or he would have to leave The Cans altogether.

Another option is to quit both jobs and work as a dispatcher for Beaumont PD while he's doing POST, which will score him extra points with the department, and possibly get him sponsored so he wont have to pay at all or as much for the training.

Essentially what happens when you do POST is the agencies go and check out the kids who are enrolled (kids or adults, apparently 50 year olds do this stuff) and they decide who they want. These are agencies from all cities all over Riverside and San Bernardino county. So if Beaumont needs someone, they'll go to the POST and pick a puppy from the litter. You know, pull back their lips and have a look at their gums, kick the tires a few times, and go "Look mommy this one has freckles!" and take one home to put their patches on it.

The total cost of going through POST is about $5,000 total with your gun and your uniform and your equipment. CHP pays you $4,500 PER MONTH to go to their academy.

But then he talked to Officer Nice Man from CHP who said "I will get you in. I swear it."

Nice Man said that he used to do those interviews that he failed, and told David exactly why he didn't pass. He hadn't gone to an orientation, he hadn't gone on a ride along, he was simply unprepared. But Nice Man is going to take him on a ride along so that they can talk, and he's also going to give him some books. The idea is that David needs to tell those interviewers what they want to hear, and he isn't going to know what they want to hear unless he talks to Officer Nice Man.

So CHP waived his written test, and his Physical and Psychological (the 1500 question nightmare) is scheduled for July.

BUT...David turns 20 1/2 on June 28th, and therefore his options open up on that day for POST, and every other agency in the south land.

Essentially what it comes down to is that he doesn't want to put all of his eggs in one basket. And as much as he's trying to listen to his gut instinct to find out where he should go, he feels like he's being called to everything. The Police Department here loves him, and really want him. The guys at our CHP station love him and really want him.

But there is a problem with CHP. Ok, either way it will not be easy to do this, because he will either have to pay a bunch of money for training, or he will have to go to Sacramento for six months (and get paid for it, but it would displace the kids and I for the time.) And the only problem with CHP is that you have a 90% chance of getting sent to Los Angeles for the first five years.

When you graduate CHP, they have you make a "dream list." They call it this, because when you write "San Diego," they say "Dream on." The only way that you don't end up in LA is if you have school aged kids, which Ty will be in Kindergarten by that time. Ty might be the saving grace that will keep David out of Watts. Yes, there is a CHP station in Watts. This could be bad. Very bad.

But if Ty does give us some leeway into where he is stationed, he could end up in Banning here, and...you know...if he isn't happy he can always lateral over to BPD.

I said, "go with your gut instinct," and all his gut is telling him is "feed me more" because he's dieting and also "be a cop." It isn't saying where. He just doesn't know, and maybe there isn't a way to know. Hell, people tell me all the time to submit my manuscripts to Randomhouse and other big publishers because they're really good. But something is telling me to stick with the indy stuff. I don't know why. I think maybe it's because I came from three or more generations of do it yourselfers who built their businesses from the ground up. Or maybe it's something else.

He says that Beaumont PD feels right, but he thinks that CHP is where he will go.

It's like there's a fork in the road, and the trail on the left is a short cut but it has rabid wolves and sharp rocks as well as delicious berries and a stream of champagne and you don't really know what is at the end, and the one on the right is long, long, long with nothing to snack on and nothing to harm you but at the end there is Thanksgiving dinner and the cranberry sauce is perfectly mixed of sweetness and tartness. And Grandma even brought Dutch apple pie!

You might pick the road on the right, but that road is also a toll road. You get paid to face the wolves and drink the champagne from the left road, but you have to pay out your ass to take the road less traveled to delicious turkey and tatoes.

But you totally have to starve for that turkey. Though it might be the most delicious turkey, your tummy will be grinding the whole way as you're making your way toward it.

Did I lose you at "rabid wolves?" Or are you with me here? I think even I lost me.

So anyway, today was hot. David's confused. I bought some cherries. Love yuns.

Guy vs. Fly

Man has a primal instinct to hunt...even the tiniest of prey.

A Note From 3/12/2000

I was cleaning my bedroom closet today and I found my stash of folders that contain notes from my various classes. Government/Economics. Law. Floristry. But out of my music folder, which has hundreds of pieces of 2nd and 1st trombone sheet music, a hand written note fell out. The folder was so thick with stolen music (some of which is actually stamped with the "Stolen From Yucaipa High School Music Department" stamp, but not much of it because my teacher wasn't able to finish stamping all of the music because someone stole the "Stolen From" stamp) that I probably never even saw this note. At least, I don't remember this note. But I picked it up today and read it, and laughed so hard that I had to sit on the toilet. This one nearly pushed out a turd, people.

This is from David's cousin Nick, who is two years older than me, and who also played trombone. Nick and I didn't get along well for the most part, he was usually high and I was usually bothered by that, so we didn't really hit it off. Though he did hug me once after I bitch slapped my then boyfriend across the face for kissing another girl. Nick said I did the right thing, he hated Steve and thought it was really funny that his reaction to being bitch slapped was to pick up a chair like he was going to throw it at me and then just running outside with it to cry. Ha ha ha...

Anyway, this note is dated 3/12/2000, a few months before Nick graduated.

I'm sorry I have to say this to your face Jessie, but it's true. You're a bitch. I know your bitchiness has probably become so natural to you that you're not even aware when you're being a bitch. But it's true just the same. You're a very bitchy person and you're bitchy to everyone you meet. Now, I hope you don't mind me saying this, Jessie, I hope you take it in the spirit that it is meant.

Well, I think I've said enough. I hope I haven't offended you or anything.

-Nick Terwilliger

Lulz. Does writing a note calling someone a bitch and then sticking it in their music folder and them not finding it till eight years after it is written count as "saying it to my face?" And if he didn't want to offend me or anything, why did he call me the B-word a bunch of times? Oh my god, could you imagine if he had called me the C-word? I'm sorry Jessie but you are a cunt. I know your cuntiness has probably become so natural that you're not even aware that you're being a cunt. You are a cunt to everyone you meet. Hope you're not offended. Toodles!

And I find this perplexing because he wrote something really nice to me in my yearbook just a few months after he wrote this, and so did everyone else. I was nice to people that year, I was weird but then again I'm always weird. I wonder what I did to piss Nick off...

Have a good day, everyone. Hope I haven't offended you or anything.

(See? I'm not a bitch.)

Stupid And Defensive

So what did you do today Jessie?

I got in an argument with a drunk over the ethics of snuff films in a parking lot.

Gee, that sounds rough. How do you find yourself in such situations?

It's this town. I cant get away from the people in this town.

Anywhere else in the world, when McDonald's gets your order wrong, they apologize and fix it. You might not get anything for free, but you'll eventually get what you ordered. But in Beaumont, they yell at you, get your order wrong six more times, and then just give up and throw your money back at you and tell you to get the hell out of there.

It's almost as if the whole town is on a different wave length, like they aren't part of the game.

Fuck four way stop signs, everybody go at once!

It's a beautiful town, low violent crime rate, excellent schools...but the people are absolute dipshits. I saw a guy go completely nuts today on David. I was there to pick him up for lunch, and just as he's closing his doors, a guy comes up.

"I'm closed for lunch," he says.

"Cant you just do this really quick?"

David shrugs. "I gotta eat, man."

"Oh, well how long is THAT going to take?" the guy says all disgusted like.

"Half an hour."

"Half an hour? Fucking bull shit! Fuck this shit! Fuck you! Fucking lunch break, I hope you get in an accident! You're a fucking asshole! I'm going to be here in a half an hour and you better fucking be here! You've got excellent fucking customer service, asshole!"

And of course the guy never showed back up, but still. People get bent out of shape over this shit, and I'm sure that it happens everywhere, but it seems to run rampant in Beaumont. I mean, I sort of hate to paint everyone with the same brush here, considering I am now officially "The Blogger of Beaumont, CA" according to some website who contacted me, but there is no real way to say it other than to come out and say it. The people here are just off. From the agape Stater's employee's to the lady in Wal Mart who let her baby suck on her tongue while standing in line...I don't know. I don't know, but David put it nice, he said that the people here are "stupid and defensive." That is a beautifully descriptive way of putting it. The city has two cemeteries and no hospital. We have a Wal Mart but a gang problem. Just where I live, we got our pool remodeled twice within a few months, but a security gate to keep people from stealing our cars is "too expensive."

I was once hit by a pedestrian in my motionless vehicle. Ask Liz in Seattle, she was there.

I don't know what to think about being named as the Official Blogger of this town. It kind of makes me seem like I'm the king of the idiots, like the manager of the layaway department at Kmart.

I have this love-hate relationship with the town. I love the cops, they're like Power Rangers, but I hate the way that nobody can drive.

So when David told me last night that he feels that his calling is the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Beaumont PD, and that he's felt it for a while but just never said anything, I just said okay and that I would support him. He's trying for CHP one more time, and then he's going to look into whatever they have going on here. His decision is based on the ride alongs he's been on, and where he feels like he belongs. He's a cop, no doubt, but what kind of cop, and where is his calling is the question. Me, I'm just like go for it, because people have to do what they want to do ultimately. Maybe that explains people's attitudes here.

Or maybe it's the water supply.

Either way, David's journey to the badge is shaping out to be quite twisty and turny.

The Googlers

Yesterday David wanted me to try to find him a personal trainer, and he suggested that I google a name that he saw on a business card at the gym, "Hot Bodz By Leslie." As you can imagine, I did not find the personal trainer, but I did find a bunch of people's Myspaces and bodybuilding porn sites.

Happens every day.

So in the spirit of misgoogling, let's have a look at my Statcounter to see how people are getting to Davidsdoll.com.

• smoking cinnamon sticks- It does not get you high. Stop googling that. Go read a book or something.
• i just kised this boy and i really like him what am i suposed to do an iam 20 years of age- There are so many factors to consider here, my friend. Did he kiss you back? Are you already seeing someone? Are you ALSO a boy? At 20 years old you should probably be smart enough to figure out what to do, but start by talking to the person (so long as they havent gotten a restraining order on you.)
• photographer yucaipa- At your service ;)
• town i will never forget-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Yucaipa where the settlers something da da da da da, where the apples grow, the people know, and something da da da da da! We know we belong to this land, and the land we belong to is grand, and we sayyyy YEOW! Ky yippie yo yi-aay, we're saying you're doing fine Yucaipa, Yucaipa O-K! (If any of you out there were also in that play in 3rd grade at Calimesa Elementary, please tell me if Mrs. Thatcher ever got sued for plagarizing all of those broadway tunes.)
• jack terwilliger- Dont know him.
• define hudspa- Hmmm...well, "hudspa," or in the Jewish dialect, cccchudspagh, is quite simply measured by the size of someone's balls, or mental balls. A tiny kitten walking into a yardful of rabid rotwilers has hudspa. Dropping your pants in crowds requires hudspa. Facing the world with an "I dont give a shit what you think about me" attitude and actually sticking to that statement requires lots of hudspa.
• pepsi goes flat faster- Yes! It fucking does! I used to be a Pepsi drinker until they changed their recipe and it got all nasty. I swear to you, five minutes after you open the can it goes flat. This is a problem because I tend to take a long time to drink my soda, and it is a real dissapointment because Pepsi has all of those neat new flavors that I dont want to try because of the flatness.
• i am very quiet in school and nobody in my class like me- Ha ha, go cry, emo kid. No seriously, just look into early graduation and taking some classes at your local community college. Nobody in class will like you there but you wont care. High school is the poison that is creating little demon squats such as you and your classmates, and creating the cancer that is filling up the statcounters with stupid fucking googled shit like this. Dont google this! Go talk to a human! FUCK!
• helping people with a broken clavicle- Well, it's nice to help them into their underwear, and it helps if you dont laugh at their junk when it swings in your face. They'll laugh too and almost lose their balance. Oh and they need to sleep sitting up, so set up a nice little camp site at the couch with lots of snacks and reading material. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt intercourse. That should keep you covered for the first few weeks.
• corn dogs corn dogs they are so good to me- La la! La la! Cornie dogs...wait. Corn dogs are NOT good to you, they are full of fat and they will give you high cholesterol. You'd of known that if you had bothered to read my book.
• lady in a blow up doll offit- You mean "outfit?" Do they make blow up doll outfits? I dont know why. If you have a lady there, you dont need a blow up doll. That's kind of the point.
• husband is a horder- Oh my god, this could be funny. What is it that he hoards?
• paper route pay- If I remember correctly it's like $0.13 cents a paper, no mileage, and you have to buy the poly bags and rubber bands. Not worth it.
• can you survive in the desert by cutting open a camels stomach and going in?- I think I saw Bear Grylls do it once, but he didnt look happy so I dont think you should try unless you're hardcore.
• does texting cheat false behavior of texters in terms of lying- lol wut?

Cop In A Hole Scared The Shit Out Of Me

David went to CHP first thing this morning with his rejection letter to ask his friends at the station what to do. He talked to the cop that basically sits at the station all day doing things like checking car seats, checking your vehicle to sign off fix it tickets, arranging ride alongs, that sort of stuff. He knows David pretty well since he's down there every week being all devoted and stuff.

So the officer's advice was to reapply online so that it is faster, but he isn't sure if David will have to start all over again or if he can maybe start at the physical or maybe even the QAP. If he has to start over again, testing will be in July, which is fine because he needs to lose more weight. The other good thing is that the officer was really impressed that he came in first thing in the morning to discuss his options, the day after he wanted to schedule a ride along, so he is going to help David. They're all going to help David.

In other words, these guys know what David is about, even though his panel didn't. He has left an impression on some good people, so hope is not lost.

So anyway, we have this caterpillar, his name is Doogum. Ty named him that, we don't know why, but the name sounded cool. Anyway, Doogum needs fresh food every day, and he eats weeds like dandelions, clover, and plantain. After Wade laid down to take a nap, I went out to this ditch by our house to get some food to feed our pet caterpillar. Normal everyday stuff, right?

But I'm walking above this ditch, watching for snakes and other critters that I don't want to tango with, and all of the sudden this cop pops up out of the ditch. Straight up out of a hole or some shit! And there was no car anywhere that I could see, so I don't know what the hell he was doing there, but anyway this cop just pops up and yells "HEY! HEEEY!" at me.

And at first you know, guy in a hole is guy in a hole, and you want to run, but then I saw the badge and realized that I should not run from cop in a hole because now guy in a hole is guy with a gun in a hole.

I go "Yeah?"

He cant be any older than I am. He's probably being hazed for all I know. He probably asked them "So where's my new beat, guys?" and they tossed him out of a moving cop car onto the side of the road and he rolled down into that ditch as they yelled "Right there, fucker!" then made the siren go woop woop as they laughed and drove off.

He says to me, "Do you have any warrants or drugs?"

And I say, "No?"

"Oh, ok. You can go then."

WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD

WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD

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And then he went back into his hole. I was half expecting him to give me a coupon for a free scoop of ice cream or possibly ask me if I wanted to see a card trick. I thought that maybe I should go back and ask him if he needed help out of the hole, because he was pretty dusty. But I thought twice because it might not have really been a real cop, it could have just been a guy in a cop suit he got off the internet waiting to take advantage of werided out citizens and bring them back to his hole for rape and bloodshed...and also if he was a real cop, if he needed help, he could radio for it...I assume. I probably should have called the station and asked to speak to the supervisor of the WTF department. Maybe they would have been like "Oh shit! Did anyone go pick up Freddie?"

"Dude, you said YOU were going to go get him!"

"Pfft, not me! It wasn't even my idea!"

I imagine the poor cop coming up to David at the recycling center with a bunch of cans wrapped in his tattered uniform jacket. "How much can I get for this?" he asks as he coughs up dust.

What in the fucking fuck is going on with cops in this town? And what is up with my luck with cops lately? One checks out my ass, another makes it a point to stop and wave at me, some other dude jumps out of a hole at me. Can these guys sense that I'm a cop sucker...ur...sucker for cops...whichever one of those statements that doesn't sound like I run a special at the Hampton Inn on a back rub and a blow to uniformed officers, that's the one that I mean.

Maybe BPD reads my blog.

Oh snap.

AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD AWKWARD

Period.

It's So Hard NOT To Judge A Book By His Cover

I never told Officer Two Step why I needed to see him until he got to Starbucks. He asked me, "So what do you do these days?"

I don't say "housewife" anymore because you really set yourself up for some shit when you say that. It's much easier to say writer, but that is vague, so I told him: "I am an author, but I am not a very successful one yet so that's why David delivers pizzas at night."

You know what he did? He reached across the table, grabbed my hands and said "The key word is yet. You aren't successful yet, but you are going to make it, and so is David." He went on to say that a "failure" is someone who gives up on the first try and laments about what could have been. I'm not a failure yet, and neither is David even though he got a letter from CHP today saying that he did not pass his qualifications assessment panel interview.

This is the interview that I wasn't allowed to talk about, that he wasn't allowed to talk about, and should probably still not be talked about. What happened? Well, David was prepared, that's for sure. But what he was prepared for was entirely different than what they threw at him. Is it a surprise that he didn't pass? Not really, it just would have been nice if we had known sooner.

The CHP guys he's gone on ride alongs with have said that the chances of a 20 year old getting hired on the first shot are pretty much a million to one. They're the only agency that allows you to apply at 20, and there is a reason for that. One guy said that he was a CHP Explorer for four years, applied at 20, and he failed his QAP interview as well. It isn't easy. But the advice that they kept giving is "try, try again." This is one of the best agencies in the world, and truthfully, he hasn't talked to an officer who got in on the first try. It's remarkable that he made it as far as he did into their hiring process, considering how many drop like flies at the physical testing.

Why he thinks he failed is that they probably didn't see him as dedicated and devoted enough. Is he? Oh of course, you know that he is. You read my blog, and you know that David is nothing if he's not devoted to becoming a cop. But you've been reading here for a while, or, you know, he's your son, your brother in law, friend, or co worker, you know him. And you've known him. With the panel, you have a few minutes to prove to people you've never met before that you want to be an officer and that you'll do anything to be one. These are cops; they don't know him, they forgot about him 10 minutes after he left, and frankly they didn't want to talk to him in the first place. You want to show them that you're the man for the job, and they want to make that as hard as possible for you to convey to them.

They say that when you design a book cover, that it needs to pop. It needs to be visually appealing, it needs to draw your reader in, because unfortunately people do judge books by their covers.

And David, well, his book cover has a lot more appeal to it now that he's grown a little. Even in the past month he's grown, because he's learned, and recognized his weaknesses so he could work on them.

So where do we go from here? As anyone knows, anything that you really want is worth fighting for, so he's going to the station tomorrow to ask what to do. Does he need to fill out another application and start over again? Or can he pick up where he left off and go do the QAP again, this time more prepared and more experienced than last time? He's going to do what he needs to do to try again, that is the bottom line. The paper said that he can appeal it. Maybe he should appeal it, we don't know, but he's going to do what he needs to do, because he's not giving up this easily. That's what they want. They want to weed out the assholes who heard the ad on the radio and passed the physical and written tests by chance.

Something else is that David has been fearing for a few weeks now is that he isn't prepared for academy. He's been trying really hard at the gym, and he is dieting and sticking to the plans, but he isn't ready for what they will do to him up there. He's honest enough to admit that, because David isn't an asshole. He never once believed that he aced the interview, and he was ready to be told no. And now he is looking to get a personal trainer.

I said, "Look at this as the gift of time. Time to use toward more training and getting ready for academy."

But he's going to be 20 1/2 next month, which means that he can apply for everything. Now, is David capable of getting into CHP? Yes. Does he want it? Yes. But my good buddy Two Step was not hired by the agency that he specifically wanted. He went with the first agency who hired him. What it comes down to is that David is a cop. David will be a cop. He may not be a cop until he's 24 but god damnit, anything that you really want is worth fighting for.

Somebody is going to see who he is and give him a chance. Someone is going to crack open that book and read past the first few pages, and that someone will hire him.

Happiness Is Not A Warm Gun

For Mother's Day I would say that I was treated fairly decently by David. Yesterday he brought me freesias and chocolates. This morning he got up before six and cleaned the house (sort of,) made breakfast, then took me clothes shopping to buy the most expensive pair of pants I've ever bought, at a price of a whopping $23. They're the best pants money can buy at the Target. I also got two boobie shirts and underwear, because I needed underwear bad. Mine had holes and the elastic had long since worn out, making skirt wearing a dangerous task. But then, oh but then, he said he was taking me out on a date...to the shooting range!

Now, I have never held a gun let alone shot one. We borrowed my brother in law's .38 Special and Glock .45 and went to the place off of Waterman in San Bernardino. It's an indoor shooting range, smells like smoke, and they sell you your targets there, which have guys on them. So David taught me gun safety. Rule number one is treat it like it is loaded even if it isn't loaded. Rule number two is don't point it at anything that you don't intend to kill. I forget the rest of the rules, but the gist is that it will kill you so don't be a dumbass.

We started with the .38, which is a small revolver. My hands were shaking as he made me hold it and then load it myself. I am not comfortable in the proper gun pointing stance, nor can I aim well. But damnit, I put nine of my bullets in his mother fucking chest. I had to reload, but the guy I was shooting was undead. It wasn't easy though, I was pretty scared, and I had to pull back the hammer every time to shoot because my weak girl arms couldn't pull the trigger after the first bullet had been fired. Something about when you pull back the hammer you only need to use three pounds of pressure to pull the trigger, and otherwise you use 10, and like I said I have weak girl arms, and also I was terrified. But I'd say that I have pretty good aim for a half blind person with no depth perception.

But then he gave me the Glock and made me load the clip and everything. That gun was heavy, and I was really really scared of it. I fired one shot and was like "Um no, I cant do this one, it's too scary." It was scary because the kick on it is powerful, and I was surprised at how much it moved my arms and made me want to cry, so I gave it back to him.

"No, come on. Empty the clip into it," he said, but I said "no fucking way." So he took it back and played cop, you know, yelling "DROP THE WEAPON!" at the target and then shooting the crap out of it while I cowered in the corner. I wasn't quite in a tight ball, but I was crouched with my arms wrapped around myself, and I was shaking.

David says I girled out, I say no, I was being smart. Think about it, I was scared, and I was uncomfortable even holding that gun. Why should I put our lives in danger just for practice? I did not girl out, I was a responsible gun shooter and said "No more, this is too much." Bottom line is that guns are horrifying, and if I had to shoot one to save my life, I'm glad that I know how to properly do it, but I would be seriously seriously scared.

And I know why guns kill people now. Well, I've always known why guns kill people, I'm not stupid, but what I mean is that now that I've fired a gun, and been that close to a person who is firing a gun (even though he is very very good at firing the gun) I understand the kind of power that those things exert. It's not like the movies. And you know what? I'm glad I went shooting, because every book I write has cops in it, so I need to know this kind of shit.

I learned that I am not a hero, I am a civilian. If there was a man with a gun in a grocery store, I would not be pulling a gun out of my purse and taking care of business. I would be wrapped around the leg of the police officer, trusting his expert training to take care of the bad guy for me. The general public is made up of sheep, and there are wolves out there who want to hurt the sheep. Cops are the sheep dogs, they are there to protect the sheep from the wolves and from themselves. Look at Columbine, the kids all clinging to the officer behind his squad car. I am not just a sucker for the uniform because it's hot, I am a sucker for needing protection and feeling safe.

My friends, guns are not toys. Guns are not cute little fashion accessories that you should want a pink one of. Guns are guns, and they are not happy. They are however warm, so The Beatles had that part right, but the whole part about happiness being a warm gun, no. Happiness is a gun that is not loaded and safely in its holder thingy.

I totally would have pissed myself if I hadn't just gone before we got there.

I think maybe I'll look into tasers and stun guns for protection.

MOTHERS DAY

My kids drive me absolutely nuts.

Other than that, I like them fine.

Ty wants to know why flys have legs if they can fly.

How did you get that lodged up there so far without it breaking?

Everywhere we go, people stop us to pet Wade's hair.

Relax, ladybugs arent toxic if swallowed.

Stop kicking my seat.

Damnit Wade I just changed you!

Almost out of milk; this will not go well at bed time.

You wouldnt believe the day I just had.

-J the T

Guess Who's Alive And Well?

Do you remember my friend the stripper? The one who inspired the book that I just finished writing (which I completed the first draft for in a record two weeks at 61,000 words.) She is alive. I spoke to her for the first time in about a year, and she is WELL. My friend is now in the CSI program at a local university and is trying hard to get into the Coroner Explorer's program.

David is becoming a cop, I've got a book to release in two weeks (and another in January hopefully) and my stripper friend is going to poke at dead bodies.

2008 is shaping out to be pretty decent, Id say.

Vomicademy!

Let us talk about both cops and vomiting in this post on this day.

The officer who took David on his ride along the other night told him what academy is like. We actually read this article a few weeks ago in the San Bernardino Sun where this marine said that CHP's academy is tougher than boot camp, because it combines the physical demands with the schooling. And school you they do. The officer he was with spoke perfect Spanish, and he told David "They'll teach you everything you need to know up there."

He said that you throw up a lot at academy. You WILL puke after every run, that is just how it is. You will probably puke while you are running. One time they made the cop's whole class do 1,000 sit ups in the mud. He said that you eventually just start puking, and nobody looks at you or anything, because it's like "Right behind ya buddy, hoooooooy!" CHP's academy is the toughest in the nation, and it produces the most amount of vomit.

I bring this up because David's training has been at a stand still. He's not losing weight, and he's not gaining any distance on his running because he keeps getting cramps. The cop told him, "Don't let your body beat you. Up there, if you get a cramp, guess what? That's your fucking problem! You still have to run." And he said that for the first week he cried every night because he thought he was going to get thrown out because he didn't think he could do it.

So now David is pushing himself harder at the gym, but not quite to the point of puking. Imagine someone puking on the treadmill. Yeah, mental image my friends.

I asked him if maybe he could get a puke buddy, after they run they can puke together. "Aw, look Dave, we made a heart with our puke puddle."

And if you're grossed out by this, dont bitch to me. There are worse places on the internet you could be right now.

I could direct you to some of them but Id rather you read my filth than someone else's.

So anyway, the cop says that if you're not puking they'll make you. But the important thing to remember is that they wont kill you. You may think that you are going to die and that your body cant do any more, but it can, and you wont. They wont let you die, they need you. They just want to totally pwn your ass.

I really want to go on a ride along but I'm too shy around cops. I'm a sucker for the uniform and also terrified of guns. A cop waved to me last night and I just smiled and turned away. Actually, I tried avoiding any sort of exchange at all, I was just trying to put my laundry in my trunk, but he stopped behind me in his car, and when they stop it means they want your attention. He just wanted to wave but I got all shy.

Yeah, me? Shy? Around cops, yes. Not that I have anything to hide, I'm not saying that I'm scared, I'm saying that I'm shy. And intimidated, but that's normal because he has a gun, and I probably have batteries and chapstick in my pocket that I can throw. Not that I would throw chapstick and batteries at cops, I'm just saying. Paper beats rock and so on.

Maybe that old trick with picturing the audience naked when you're on stage works with cops. Picture them puking their guts out as they do 1,000 sit ups in the mud when they're waving and you can wave back in confidence. And possibly vomit as well if you're queasy and you puke when you think about vomit.

Vomit vomit vomit. Puke. Shit turd puke vomit. Join me?

Mannerisms

Last night I was talking to David. This is pretty much what I always do, but I was telling him about what I had said to Two Step.

"So I says to Steppy I says, 'Who's expectations are you exceeding? The Riverside Sheriff's? Do they drive by and throw beer bottles at you and yell YOU SUCK?'"

David touched his lip, and I realized that I was touching my lip, and you know how people will touch their face or pick at their teeth if you have something on your face or teeth to sort of signal you that there is a wad of gravy or hunk of spinach somewhere and you need to take care of it?

"What?" I ask.

"You touch your lip when you think that something is clever."

"I do?"

"Yes. I've always noticed it."

"I've never noticed it."

"You know what I do?" he asked.

"What?"

"Whenever I say the word 'driving,' I put my fist out and turn my imaginary steering wheel."

He demonstrated for me. "So I was 'driving' to work," he says, and turns his imaginary steering wheel. "I noticed it when I was riding around in the cop car the other night. I said 'Driving on a revoked license,' and did that with my arm. And then a few nights ago when I took that Zyrtec stuff and it made me drowsy, I was trying to tell my boss that I was falling asleep while 'driving' and I did it then too. It's a real problem, because it's not cute like yours."

"Its going to make you a really cool cop though. 'So the reason I pulled you over is you were driving *turns imaginary wheel* over the speed limit.'"

"What's funny about that is you were both touching your lip and 'driving' at the same time just now."

"That is awesome. You should do that too."

"No no, when a girl touches her lip, it's cute, almost a sex symbol thing, drawing attention to your mouth. Girls are pretty. You have nice lips. A guy does that, it's not cute, especially when your lips get all chapped like mine do all the time."

"And if a girl 'drives' an imaginary steering wheel, what is that?"

"Well the way you're doing it is all wrong. You've got your steering wheel too big around so it makes you look more like you're doing something vulgar."

"Oh. You mean it looks like I'm doing the jack off signal."

"Put your finger to your lip and make that gesture and it looks like you're advertising. You know what, just leave the 'driving' to me."

Tell Him Like It Is From The Other Side

Why do the Beaumont Police Department's cars say "exceeding expectations" on the sides?

Who's expectations are they exceeding exactly?

Is it us citizens who are imagining that our police should be on horseback wearing spurs and carrying Peacemakers? Ok because if that's it, them driving cars around is not exceeding my expectations, because I expect to be greeted by cops on horseback and I expect it right now. That would be awesome.

Is it the Riverside Sheriff's expectations that they are exceeding? Do they occasionally drive by the Beaumont PD guys and throw beer bottles at them and yell "YOU SUCK!" and they're like "Hey screw you guys! We're exceeding expectations!" as they shake their fists in the air?

I don't know, it just seems like one of those phrases that sounds sort of like an insult. Like "Those who can, do. Those who cant, teach."

Or those commercials for Israel that say "Come to Israel, you'll never be the same." Of course you wont be the same! YOU WILL DIE! Shitting dick nipples, people!

Maybe something like "Why ask questions? We are the authorities!" would be stronger sounding. But why "exceeding expectations?"

"Explain that to me, Officer Two Step" I said.

"Well it's a very positive slogan if you ask me."

"But I don't understand it!"

"What's there not to understand?"

"Who's expectations are you exceeding?"

"The community's!"

"How so?"

He looked at me blankly. A Barrista called for Cindy to come get her iced mocha latte.

"Beaumont is growing very quickly with all of the new businesses-"

"But that isn't what I asked!"

"You haven't changed since high school."

"Yes huh!" and then I realized how dumb yes huh sounds to an adult who you are trying to convince that you've grown up. "Okay, for example, my hair is a consistent and normal color."

"You got me there," he said.

"And I stopped dropping my pants in crowds."

"Yeah, why did you do that, anyway? I've seen you in your underwear at least three times."

"Only three? We didn't hang out enough. But I did it because if you don't drop your pants in front of crowds of 100+ people in high school, when can you?"

"I'll drink to that," he said with a raised eyebrow. I drank to it too but I choked because my chai was too spicy. Assholes.

"You still haven't answered my question," I said.

"Are you trying to insult the entire police department?" he asked with a slight smile.

"No no no, I've seen you guys in action, you're pretty bad ass. One night, I saw the BPD perform an act of heroism so brave that it brings tears to my eyes to think about it."

"What?" he asked in shock.

"Well, I was sitting on my couch, when all of the sudden I hear a bunch of guys yelling 'BEAUMONT PD! BEAUMONT PD!' and of course I go out onto my balcony to check it out. I see like 8-10 cops just like running up the stairs of this apartment across the way, and they bust through the door yelling 'BEAUMONT PD! BEAUMONT PD!' only it was a vacant apartment. So I'm watching as the flashlights are shining all over the place like some kind of stage show, the guys are just screaming, throwing open doors, pointing guns, tearing open closet doors and yelling BEAUMONT PD!"

He watches me in awe as I tell the story.

"But there was nobody there, so the officers just stood around for a moment scratching their heads. Then they come pouring out of the apartment, and bust into the one next door. And they do it again, busting through doors, yelling, screaming, going absolutely nuts, and there was nobody there because-"

"It was a vacant apartment," he said. "I know what you're talking about. I was on that call. It's interesting to hear it from your perspective though."

"I'm not finished, either. You guys were all sad that you didn't catch anyone, so you went downstairs. But then our maintenance guy who lives in that building came out and asked what was going on. The next thing I know, the guy is getting a ladder from the shed, and there are cops climbing it up onto the roof yelling 'BEAUMONT PD!!!'

And now Officer Two Step is in hysterical laughter.

"I watched as a couple of cops went running around on the roof of this building just screaming at the top of their lungs. I swear that one of them yelled BEAUMONT PD into an air conditioning unit."

He's about to cry now.

"I was waiting for one of them to ask for a rope so they could swing down off the edge and bust through one of the windows of the vacant apartment Tarzan style yelling Beauuuuuuumont peeeeee deeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

He's all curled up in his seat holding his sides.

"And then," I said, "the officers all sulked as they walked back to their cars. And I felt so bad because I knew that you guys were all pumped up and high on adrenaline and testosterone ready to beat the crap out of someone, and you didn't get the bad guy. Who didn't exist, by the way."

"Well, the call said-"

"I know what the call said, I talked to the woman who called a week later. She said that she heard someone jump down from the ceiling into the vacant apartment that you guys first raided. And I was like, Spiderman?"

He's bright red and completely out of breath from laughing so much, but he laughs again.

"But here's the thing, Steppy, I live in an upstairs apartment. I'm sure you've been inside many of the upstairs apartments where I live, there is no roof access into the apartments! You know what she said though, was that she was sleeping at the time when she heard it. She called the police for a noise that she dreamed up, literally."

He's wiping his eyes and calming down.

"But you guys looked really cute doing it, and it looked like you had fun. When it was over, I was like 'Yay! Do it again!'"

"Now I see why you're a writer. You just told me a story that I haven't even thought about in two years and probably would have forgotten and you had me in stitches! So, why did you base a character off of me of all people?"

"I like you Steppy."

"I like you too Jessie, that's why I agreed to meet you here. And I was intrigued at the idea that you were writing a book about me."

"It isn't about you."

"Then why do you need my approval?"

"Just read the manuscript."

My Ass Is A Good Luck Charm

More good vibes toward David's application with CHP. Remember how I talked about everything fitting together, from the car being stolen to missing the phone call that would have led to a job at Beaumont as a dispatcher? Yeah, another sign.

I was totally checked out by a cop.

This is a sign from Jesus H. Christ himself. Or possibly Joseph Smith or Lord Xenu.

We stopped by the store, and happened to pull into the parking lot at the same time as this Riverside Sheriff did, and he parked sort of by us. I was wearing my one remaining pair of short shorts today, and the cop got out of his car the same time that we did. I didn't look at him really, just out of the corner of my eye, but with what's left of my peripheral vision, I saw that he was looking right at me. And people, he was a lookah! But he might have been looking at me because I'm obvious. The red hair thing gets you noticed.

He walked ahead of us and went inside, but only for a moment. Then as we came walking in, he turned around, and looked at me again. With his eyes, and I wasn't looking at him or anything but they were blue and he was blonde.

David goes, "That cop was checking you out."

Of course I'm like "Who? Little ol' me? Pishaw, I say. He was just looking at me."

"Yeah and he turned around and looked at your ass after you passed him."

"Wooooooooooooow...I got my ass checked out by a cop. Lets make love."

"It's a sign babes, a sign of great things to come."

But then he went on another CHP ride along, and we thought that it would be full of win because it's Cinco de Mayo and there would be drunks out, but no. Not one fucking drunk on the road. They towed a car and pulled a guy over for not signaling. Most boring night ever.

BUT, but, he did ask the officer how long it takes to hear back from the background investigator, and he said two or three weeks, and that his application is probably still sitting on someone's desk. So the fact that we haven't heard anything back isn't necessarily a bad thing.

And he got to go shooting, which is fucking fantastic.

Anyway, I want to say thank you to the Riverside Sheriff's deputy who checked out my ass today. You, and my hot freaking legs are going to get this man into academy. Oh, and also the fact that he's dedicated and devoted and a really good person, yeah. And my ass.

20 Things That I Did With My Sunday

1. Had sex.
   
2. Went to my sister's house
3. Caught up on a few blogs
4. Went to Sams Club and ate a nasty sample
5. Experienced "garbage brain," the culprit being TV
6. Did research for my book Bombshell
7. Worked on formatting for The Fight for Golden Dawn because it isnt converting to PDF quite right
8. Submitted some photos to a Better Homes and Gardens publication
9. Photographed a spider in a web and some dewy flowers
10. Lamented
11. Discussed a very sensitive issue in the plot for Bombshell with David
12. Confirmed Two Step and I for the intention of brawling
    
13. Changed a horrible diaper
14. Generally passed my kids off on David so that I could have a day off
15. Almost shot a gun, but didnt
16. Ate one and a half hamburgers
17. Spent time in the spa with David
18. Worked on my book
19. Questioned if there could be such a thing as a "quarter life crisis"
20. Wrote this blog
    

Dear Masses,

I need to hear from anyone who has or who knows a person who has an 11 1/2 inch (or bigger) penis. I cant say what for other than I need it for literary purposes. If you can answer my questions three, I will reward you with a sack with a dollar sign on it. It may or not be full of money when I give it to you depending if I am broke at the time or not.

Photographic evidence may be required.

Yours in Christ,

J the T

Eight Years Later

Oh the shit that people write in your yearbook.

I cracked open my sophomore yearbook today to take a look at a picture of the gentleman who I wrote about yesterday for descriptive purposes. When I use someone for a character base, I like to use them as I knew them way back when. My main girl is described in the way that she looked when she was 10 (except she's 24 in my story.) And Two Step, well, he's a buff designer jean wearing city cop now, and though he's a cop in my story, I'm using the 10th grade version of him in my book.

But what great blogging material it would be if I shared the things that people wrote about me in my yearbook in 10th grade! Especially since my future cousin in law Nick signed it. Oh this is rich, this is just rich.

Jesse,

We had a great year and lots of fun in marching band. I'll see you at band camp. Have a great summer.

-Jessica T.

Hi Jessie

Have a great summer and enjoy life while you can.

Amanda

Wow. That one was ominous. Here's the one from the guy who I madly pursued from 7th grade until my senior year.

Have fun next year.

Scott R.

Douchebag. I don't know what I saw in him. Here's one from a gay guy.

Jesse

Wuz up muffin you are so colorful and musical and cool and I wish I could be more like you.

Love CJ

Why cant anyone spell my name right? Here's what Two Step wrote to me.

Jessie,

Its been interesting knowing you and I so am glad that I met you. I love seeing you each and every day, and thank you for keeping me guessing. You brighten my day. Never ever change. Ever.

Love always

Wow. Um. I should have read that before I posted that story yesterday.

Jesse,

Hi, I hope I spelled your name right?!? (sorry if I didn't) Anyways, I hope you have a fantastic summer and you get a really cool tan. Maybe I'll see you in one of my classes next year!

Michelle :)

Jesse,

Have an awesome summer. Hope to see you next year and maybe will have some classes together. I watch you guys march and you hope you good!

Andrew.

I'm writing these word for word, by the way.

Jesse,

Have a wonderful summer, stay cool, I like your hair.

Becky

Ah, from a teacher (who also cant spell my name)...

Jesse,

You have a truly unique personality. An asset to any group. Id be honored to have you in class anytime. Take care

Mrs. I

No way could that have been from the lady that sent me to the counselor after reading one of my short stories...was it?

Hey bitch,

What's up Jessie? This year was pretty damn good! I'm glad we're friends. Thank you for being so nice to me when I first got here, you made me feel welcomed. I'll never forget the Thursday night band practice when you yelled "tequila fiesta en mis pantalones" and dropped your pants in front of everyone. You have guts and really cute undies. Math was real fun too. I'll see you this freaking summer god damnit. Have fun and call me if you need help in geometry. Laters bitch.

Love, Dianne

Jessie,

Hey girl, well I had fun this year and I think that of all of the people in band you are definitely the most unique in your own weird way! But that's a good thing! Anyways, have fun next year, stay cool, don't kill anyone, and take care! I'm glad I got to know you through everything!

Love Jason

Jessie,

Hey it's been fun in PE. You are very nice. I am glad you don't hate me. (this whole Jessica shit.) Well I hope you have a kick ass summer. Call me

-Panda

Panda (Amanda) is the one who friended me on Myspace recently because she was looking for other moms, and she told me she was pregnant because "Things happen when you're drunk and naked." Lovely. Think she'll tell her baby that? Oh! This one is from the girl who spoke five languages.

Jessie,

I love you!

Ich liebe dich!

Eu che amau!

*Y$*)(&$)#

Te quiero mucho!

-Yuri

Jessie,

No blowing up buildings, no destroying other people's computers, no gum chewing, and definitely no sex in the champagne room.

(this one had no name but two phone numbers. Should I call?)

Oh, and here's from David's cousin Nick...

Jessie,

In this last year, I've come to know you for who you really are instead of that annoying trombone chick. Good luck in future boneing.

-Nick.

And two years later, I boned his cousin. Poetry in motion.

Jessie,

What is your natural hair color? Is it supposed to be green like that? Who the hell do you think you are anyway? I like your clothes and crazy hair and the way that you yell things out of moving vehicles at people. I wish I had your courage. You should really look into doing stand up comedy, you're the funniest person I have ever met. Thanks for making me laugh till my sides hurt.

Amanda

Hukt on foniks wurkt fer mieee!!!

-Quincy (the only black guy in the school)

He really wrote that.

Jessie,

I'm sorry that I cant let you sign my yearbook but if my mom found it I would be grounded for the whole summer. She hates you. But I like you! You are a very bad influence on me and remember when we ate all of that 10 year old powdered coffee creamer that we found in Mr Toms' office? Thanks for putting a burrito in my tuba, now it smells like burnt tortilla and I cant get the smell out. It was in there for a week before I found it. I will call you this summer when my mom isn't home and we can three way call people and yell "General Hospital General Hospital General Hospital" at them until they hang up like last weekend. I don't know what my mom is so paranoid over, she is a bitch.

Stephanie

Jessie,

How you doing? Me, I'm doing fine. This year sucked for me so I hope it was good for you.

And I don't know who that is from.

Jessie,

I no I don't really no you to well but I would like to get to no you because you are so different and special and if I got to no you we would have fun and just don't care about nothing.

-Sergio.

Who the hell is Sergio? I bet he doesn't afraid of anything.

Well, okay. Yearbook signings are like blog comments. They're nice to look back on because they give you a nice pick-me-up. I didn't have a whole lot of signatures in my yearbook, but I don't get a whole lot of comments either. BUT, the stuff that is there is gold. Just so you know, I print your nice emails and comments and I have them in a notebook that I look at sometimes.

And now I am on a journey to go find Two Step and speak to him while drinking brewed things in a trendy coffee house. It will be a journey of a thousand steps and probably three trips to the bathroom, because the chai makes me pee.

Have a nice summer everyone!!! Stay cool!!!

A Postcard From 2001: The Secret Date At The Brandin' Iron

I am recalling this for the sake of incorporating the storyline into the book that I am working on, and I generally recall my memories with more detail when I write them out, so I am sharing this with you. Though I probably shouldn't post this. But whatever.

I dated the same guy for all three years of high school, excluding my freshman year because in Yucaipa you are (or were back then) still considered Jr. High in 9th grade. So my sophomore through senior years, I was dating this guy. He was not a nice guy...or he was at first, otherwise I wouldn't have dated him, but he turned into a bloody monster a few months in. You know the kind, the ones who show up at your friend's houses when you're there because he "misses" you, and it's really cute at first, but then it gets to the point where he doesn't want you going to your friends house, and if you do anyway he will call you with suicide attempts the whole time you're there until you just decide to leave and go spend time with him to keep him from killing himself (rolls eyes.)

The kind of person who manipulates you by telling you that you cant do things, secretly because he doesn't want to allow it, but he will make it out that you are simply unable to. You aren't good enough write a book. You couldn't get a job at Starter's, it would be too hard for you. You're a mediocre trombone player at best.

Really, he just didn't want me to do any of those things, because they would have taken time away from him.

I believed him about not being able to write books, but I refused to push my music aside, which he hated because I got to go places on the weekends and I was always talking about it. And I couldn't leave him because he had me scared that he was going to hurt me if I did. Actually, that part came true the night that I told him that it was over a few years later, and I got stuck with a butterfly knife in the thigh, so I wasn't paranoid or making excuses, the guy really was going to kill me.

But nobody is the boss of me, so when I wasn't around him I did whatever I wanted. He was an asshole.

One thing that he did not have control over was my academics, especially the required ones, like the six weeks of dance class that was part of the physical education curriculum. They taught us the two step, line dancing, the cha-cha, swing, you name it. The boys all stood on the outer perimeter, and the girls stood in another line on the inside, and we would rotate partners every few minutes, so you ended up dancing with everyone of the opposite sex at some point. This drove my boyfriend batshit insane but there was nothing he could do about it. (points and laughs. I know you're reading this, asshole.)

Now, I think I've told you the story about the guy who I now call Officer Two Step before, so if this seems familiar, it is, but don't go away because I'm telling the whole story today.

We were just kids in high school, and for some reason we just clicked on the dance floor. As everyone lackadaisically shuffled around the room when Neon Moon would play, Steppy and I were like those jerks on Dancing With The Stars. (Yes, Steppy has a real name, but for the sake of privacy, he's called Steppy.) We were graceful, we moved about the floor like we were dancing on air. With anyone else, we both had two left feet, but somehow he and I could seriously tear up the dance floor like a couple of mofos. To this day I cannot dance, not even with David, I've tried.

It got to the point where they stopped making Steppy and I rotate partners, they just let love happen. Or it wasn't love, it was just really good dancing. They even used us for demonstrations. Here was this boy from my science class who barely spoke to anyone, inventing swing moves with me that involved a few seconds of crotch-to-face action.

Why do all of my stories always have someone's crotch in someone else's face?

Whatever. Steppy was cute. Back to story.

Anyway, we were really good. And on the last day of the dance unit, we had an actual dance. You know, plain clothes, Neon Moon, and tennis shoes on the gym floor kind of dance. (Sad thing is, it's the only school dance I've ever been to.) Steppy and I danced every dance together, and when we weren't dancing we were sitting together in the bleachers away from everyone, and nobody dared to ask either one of us for a dance. Also nobody else was really into it, and the dance floor was mostly full of girls dancing with each other, which was not permitted during the course because of the fact that we were learning the male and female parts to the dances, so it would have been impossible.

After the dance, the coaches handed out free passes to The Brandin' Iron. If you're from here, you know what this is. It's an institution, like the Mug on Highland Avenue, or McDonalds (which was born in San Bernardino) or Club Flesh. Maybe not Club Flesh, but the Brandin' Iron is a cowboy dance bar place and they have teen night once a week. The coaches gave Steppy and I extra passes, and said "Go, please please please GOOOO."

They wanted to let love happen.

Or not love, but good dancing or whatever.

I've always said that I never went to the club with Steppy, that we sort of just went back into our normal high school lives and we were partners for science projects every once in a while. But I lied. Of course I never told my boyfriend, I just lied and said that we had a band thing, and his car was broken at the time so he couldn't come check on me. I lied to my sister about where I was. I lied to everyone, possibly even my blog readers because I'm not sure if I have admitted to this part of the story or not. But Steppy picked me up and we went to the Brandin' Iron for a night of cherry Cokes and dancing. Isn't that so 1953?

Hey, I may have had an obsessive and controlling boyfriend, but he couldn't control everything I did. He could not keep my ass from watermelon crawling, dig it?

Steppy and I were at this club, dancing to more than just Neon Moon. He even bought me a rose from the rose selling lady. Occasionally some old cowboy would ask me to dance, and I would be polite and gave the fellow the customary two songs, but I think they were disappointed that I wasn't as good as a dancer that I seemed to be when I was dancing with Steppy. I saw Steppy take a cowgirl cougar out on the floor and practically trip over himself. We were meant to dance with each other, and only each other. And it was amazing.

The night went on, we did a few lines...or, line dances, not like lines of coke or anything, we were like 16. We shared a basket of chicken fingers and our napkin holder was out of napkins so le let me wipe my greasy hands off on his pants. "Here," he said as he put his leg out. And he was a really clean cut kind of guy, the kind who doesn't normally have chicken finger grease on his pant legs. That was real gentleman like of 'em, wouldn't you say?

Eventually it was time for the last dance, which oddly enough was Neon Moon. I forget which dance you're supposed to do to that song, two step I think. All I remember was feeling really comfortable for the first time in my whole life when I put my head against his chest. I was stressed out from the age of four, my dad suffered and then died of cancer, my mom was crazy, I got put in foster homes, my siblings tossed me back and fourth, but all of that went away when we were dancing together. It was nice to finally relax. And he smelled nice, and his skin was warm and soft like a fresh loaf of bread, and he was really clean like a doctor.

The ride home was quiet for a while until he asked me if I thought we should be together. The truth is that I really liked him, and I'm pretty sure he really liked me too, but I said no, that it could never work. Just because we could dance really well, that didn't mean that we were supposed to end up together. He agreed. We weren't even really that great of friends, he was just a really nice guy and I was funny and kind of out of his league, and a little too noisy and rambunctious for his type. And I was known for saying things like "shut your blathering pie hole you fat fuck" and calling people "beedie eyed baboon fuckers." He didn't need a girl like me. He is quiet and he likes to do math. I am a total nut job.

And we couldn't have stayed together. What if we got married? Just because we could dance didn't mean that we could do everything good. The sex would have been like "Ow, that's my eyeball you douchebag." We would cry all of the time and break every dish we own, and accidentally brush our teeth with shampoo. I know this because remember, he was my science partner too. I almost killed him once, no joke. We were not synched right to be a couple. We weren't even synched to be lab partners. Only dance partners.

David and I can knit sweaters together, move mountains and so on and so fourth. Steppy and I couldn't even get the liver out of the fetal pig that we dissected. (RIP Officer Dick the fetal dissection pig.)

Then we pulled up to my house, and I just sat in the car. I knew that he was going to get out and open the door for me, because Steppy is that kind of guy. I have a brother who does that, and it's nice, but otherwise he's an asshole. He took my hand and helped me out, then of course raised his hand up so that I would have to spin. One last hurrah. And he said, "I am going to kiss you goodbye," and I knew what he meant. He meant goodbye as in "I will never dance with you again, and we have to move on because this can never be." I said okay. And ho-ley-shit. Now, I haven't kissed a whole lot of people, maybe like six in my whole life, but that was the second best kiss I have ever had, the first belonging to me and David's first kiss. But I am telling you, it was everything that you see in the movies that makes you stir inside as you watch it, only...there was absolutely no chemistry. You know what I mean. No bubbles or floaty things. No sizzling and popping like when you cook up a steak. It was just a really good kiss that would have probably won an award if the crazy neighbor man were to ever turn in the video that he recorded of it happening.

Don't worry, that guy always had a camcorder on people. I don't actually know if we were being recorded but knowing my neighbor, we might have been. But there's no way that I am going to go ask him. Too creepy.

But we found out that we weren't right for each other in that kiss. It would have never worked, but we would have looked really good doing it. And looking good while doing something, and actually doing it right are two very different things. You can make it work with a guy your own age who looks good in pictures with you, or you can get all caught up between a rock and a hard place with someone who melts your insides every time they walk into the room. I'm glad that I chose the right path.

The kiss was fun, like the dancing, but nothing really more than that.

We never talked about it again, and I continued to blow him up in science class. He has a wife and a baby now, and well you know what I have. I didn't dance at my wedding, and I'm pretty sure that he didn't dance at his. We see each other sometimes, he'll drive past me in his cop car and wave, and I'll wave back. Perhaps I will drink a Starbucks drink with him someday when he is not working and tell him that I am using his likeness for a character in one of my novels. Or maybe I'll keep it a secret until he listens to the audio book inside his car with his wife, and he turns to her and says "I think that's me."

It wasn't love, it was just really good dancing.