Part 2 (of 4)
Feb. 13th, 2006 05:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thehefnerAfter that weekend, I would not see or hear much of her for several weeks. Her appearances online became rarer and rarer. She grew increasingly distant the few times we would chat over the phone or Instant Messenger. Eventually she stopped returning my calls altogether. I started to get more anxious, more depressed with each day, and could not wait to come back down to see her again.
I decided to drive all the way down to Laurel one evening to sit in on a rehearsal of the latest Rudes show, Richard III. As the play is a direct continuation from the events of Henry VI, Josh thought it would be awesome to give me a cameo, reprising my very first Rudes role as doomed Prince Edward. In an unintentional bit of casting, Tammy was playing my wife Anne. We would have no scenes together, as Anne's first appearance is after my death, when my murderer (everyone’s favorite misshapen Dick) attempts to woo her quite literally over my dead body.
When we both had a quiet moment between scenes, I tried to converse with her, making jokes and trying to get her to laugh, but she remained cool to me. If you didn't know her, didn't know how we had been together, you might not have noticed anything was wrong.
Now see, I look back on this and think about all the ways I could have handled things. The thing is, a lot of those other options were perfectly clear to me then as well. Unfortunately, at that particular moment, I was utterly desperate. And the funniest part was, I was doing just dandy compared to how things would get. People use the phrase “thinking with your dick” to describe how horniness can overpower rational thought. Personally, I think horniness can’t hold a candle to the overwhelming brain-fogging power of desperation. And the first casualty of desperation is pride. It’s just a question of how low you’re willing to go to get what you want.
During our parody of a conversation, I finally said, “Tammy… please don’t push me away.”
“What?” she asked simply. “I'm not.”
“Please. Just don’t. If something's going on, let’s talk about it and deal with it together. But if you just push me away, I can’t deal with that.”
“I'm not doing anything. Nothing’s wrong.”
“How come you never return my calls? How come I never see you on-line anymore?”
“I'm busy. I just got the new job at Games Workshop and I’m totally swamped.”
“Just… please.”
“Everything's fine. Stop worrying so much.”
But of course everything wasn't fine. I tried to tell my mind to shut up, to believe her and relax, but everything just seemed wrong. At Bennigans, she was flirty and joking as always, but not with me anymore. It was like there was this invisible quarantine around me.
It's just your imagination, I told myself. Don't be paranoid. If things are in trouble now, don't screw it up any worse by making an ass out of yourself if you're wrong. Just suck it up. She won’t like you if you’re moody and grouchy. You’ve got her on the brink, don’t scare her off now. Don’t you dare scare her off now. Don’t give her any reason to think that you’re not worth it.
She kept asking everyone for the time. She had to be home before 11:00 to celebrate Bryan's birthday. He had just turned 21. I can just remember how excited she was about seeing him. She was so excited, God, she loved him. God, I wished she could be half that excited about me. I wished she would at least talk to me like she used to. I realized that I couldn’t bring myself to finish my food.
“Hey Tammy,” I said. She didn't seem to hear me. “Tammy?” I said more loudly, and this time she looked at me noncommittally, as if I were a customer at her games store.
“Yeah, what's up?”
“The, uh... the latest issue of X-MEN came out this week. Did you check it out yet? They brought Jean Grey back to life and now I think she really is dead this time. Again.”
“Really? Huh.” Turning away from me, “Hey, anybody know what time it is now?”
“10:25,” someone said. “You still got plenty of time.”
“I dunno,” I said, and I really didn’t intend that sneer to come out like it did. “Maybe you better hurry. You don't want to keep your soul-mate waiting.”
Well… at least that finally got her attention.
“Fuck you,” she said.
An even better actress in person than on stage, she immediately went back to flirting and joking with the Rudes before the awkwardness could set in. That was it; I paid my bill and said goodbye to the Rudes, it’s time to head back to college.
“You ok to drive?” Josh asked me.
“I’m fine. I’m just tried, is all.”
“You can crash at my place if you need to. It’s no problem.”
“No, no, I really just want to get back to college. I have class tomorrow.”
“You sure you going to be ok?”
“I just… want to get away from here.”
It's a long drive back to college from Laurel, past Annapolis and over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. A long, long stretch of road and wasteland with the occasional Wawa and crab house along the way. It was around 1:30 AM, the roads were nearly empty, and I wanted nothing more than to be back at college and in my own bed. I was so damn tired.
By the time I saw the speed trap, it was already too late. I immediately began to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road before the cop even turned on the flashing lights.
I've never been one to do things half-way. To take baby steps. I never had a real “first word” as a little kid. I was always pretty silent until one day when I was about one year old and I fell down the stairs. Upon hitting the bottom, I looked around with slight confusion, and the boy who had never said a word before uttered his very first complete sentence:
“Oh shit, I fell down.”
So it always had been my entire life. Either I do something all-out or I don't do it at all. Whole-hog or no-hog. I don’t slowly walk into cold water, I jump in all at once. When I fall in love for the first time, I fall hard. And I’m usually a law-abiding citizen to the point of insufferablity, but when do break the rules? I would sometimes sneak out of my high school at lunch time and get a cheese-steak at the diner down the road, which was a suspendable offense. I got away with it scot-free three times until this one day, when I got spotted by two teachers in the parking lot, one inside the diner itself, and three on the way back to school. When I do break the rules, I get nailed harder than two-dollar whore.
It was my first ever speeding ticket, and it was for going 98 miles per house in a 65 miles per hour zone. $275 fine, plus a whopping five points off my license.
“If I were you, I'd take that to court,” the trooper, Officer Peck, told me with a compassionate tone. “It's only your first offense, maybe they’ll go easy. I know I wouldn't want five points off my license if I were in your shoes.”
I suppose I should have been grateful for the ticket. For one of the few times during that six or so month period, I actually wasn’t thinking about how miserable and doomed everything was. I was thinking about how miserable, doomed, and utterly terrified I was now.
Oh god oh god oh god, they’re gonna revoke my license and I’m gonna be broke and I’m so screwed and oh god I love her so much and ooh hey ‘Justice League’ is on, cool, but I am so screwed and why isn’t she calling me oh god oh god wahhh!
And my friends were all there trying to calm me down. Most of them weren’t the overly cautious color-within-the-lines type that I was, and some had gotten a couple tickets in their days. They told me to just dress well and plead the judge for mercy. They said to basically look as pathetic as possible. You’re an actor, John, and besides, I think you can be pathetic if you reeeeally set your mind to it.
My friends were also more advanced in the ways of heartbreak, for which I had always counted myself lucky. Sure, I was lonely and dateless all throughout high school and didn’t even kiss a girl until freshman year of college (she was a friend who used me to get back at her asshole boyfriend, and I was more than happy to oblige), but the one way I justified it all? I dedicated every moment I could to observing them. I wanted to study the carnival of humanity, all the social and animal contradictions (“When she asks if this dress makes her look fat, you cannot give her an honest respectful opinion or you’ll be disrespecting her. Oh-kay.”). I was determined to learn from their mistakes, to let them do all the fucking up for me, so when my time came, I would be prepared. I’d have a battle plan, ready to go.
What I realized is that when that time eventually did come, I wouldn’t be screwed any less. I would just have the luxury of already knowing just how utterly fucking screwed I was. I saw Tammy and said, “Wow, bad idea, avoid! But ooh, she’s shiny and has boobies! Ow, this hurts, I knew it would hurt, oh god, I knew I would have no one to blame but myself. But hey, boobies.”
See, I thought that I had vicariously witnessed screwed-up relationships and heartbreak that I was already experienced in such matters. Hell, other people did too. Even casual acquaintances in high school would often come to me for romantic advice. Because what I was very good with was common sense. What I wasn’t too good with was the power of temptation. If horniness is the mantle and desperation is the core (and if it ain’t, I don’t think I wanna know what is), then temptation is the crispy, flaky crust, to mix geological and baking metaphors.
Still, I thank god I didn’t go through that anytime before college. I mean, how many kids end up killing themselves over even less than what I was going through? Obviously the younger you are, the more narrow your scope is, and I’d seen enough to go, “Ok, I know what screwed is, and I’m really not all that bad off. I’ll be fine. It’ll feel like my skin’s being peeled off and then going for a swim in the ocean, but I’ll be fine.”
Regardless, now one of the cold hard truths about life was finally catching up to me first-hand, and I was woefully unprepared thanks to a sheltered youth of inexperience. I needed to get it off my chest somehow, but just whining to friends felt like a waste of time for everyone. I mean, you bet I whined to anyone who would listen. Even to some people who wouldn’t too. But when it comes down to it, I’m a man, and men are hard-wired to smash things. We don’t want to sit and talk, talking is a waste of time. Just tell us what we need to smash so that it may be smoten and, therefore, problem solved. I needed a way to deal with this shit.
I found it on Turkeymas ’03, when the Hefner Monologues were born.
I could tell things were changing when I was flagged down by a few students in the cafeteria one day. These were casual acquaintances from my drama class, people with whom I hadn’t exchanged more than five words. These kids pulled me up to their table and said, “John! Tell us a story!”
What had started with me trying to vent my frustrations out in the most entertaining way possible had turned me into the traveling bard of Washington College. I told everyone the “wedding story,” each time throwing in another detail here, elaborating something else there, taking just a little more time with some of the pauses to see how they’d react. The better I got at it, the more they hung on my every word, and the greater it was to see their reaction when I’d get to “… that I had the hugest fucking erection…”
When people started asking for more, I had to think up other stories, and I came up with an ever better one about my Grandfather’s dying words. This one would prove to be, perhaps, my greatest ever, maybe never to be topped. My lunchtimes turned into opportunities to workshop my Hefner Monologues, and I discovered that each time I would tell the story, that each time people laughed and were moved and wanted to hear more, I found myself feeling not quite so bad anymore. For a little while. It was how I would deal with the events of the coming months. Y’see, people were starting to listen to me and I wanted nothing more than to perform for them, but I was running out of material. So goody gumdrops lucky me, the end of the month meant curtains up for Richard III.
I had been watching Tammy’s scene with Richard III himself, the scene which many consider the single most difficult in all of Shakespeare. Tammy, character, Anne, was fresh in the mourning of her husband, but my the end of the scene she had to be believably seduced by her husband’s murderer, Richard the sleazy evil hunchback. What really started to concern me was when Tammy would come off-stage in real tears and run back to cry alone someplace until she composed herself. A sliver of hope came to me when it seemed like an answer had emerged. Was it the role? Was that why she’s been so distant? Oh god, maybe… maybe it’s not just me! Maybe it’s how she’s being to everyone! Maybe she really does still love me! Calm down, Heffie, relax.
She had seemed to warm up to me just a little bit, just enough that we were able to hang out backstage for brief periods at a time. Little by little, she would laugh with me more, scotch slightly closer to me, even hug me when I’d say something particularly delightful. Eventually, we were sitting with one another while we waited for the play to start. I was murdered in the very first scene and could chill until curtain call, so I had it easy. One scene, some shouting, stab stab stab, and Tammy comes out in mourning for her scene while I get to dick off for the rest of the show. But I couldn’t quite relax. I needed to talk to her.
“I’m worried about you,” I said.
“Why?”
“The way you prep for this role. I think it’s wearing you down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Look, I know what it’s like. Sometimes I get so into the characters that I can’t turn it off, even when I get off stage. All those feelings that you build up, you can’t always let them go.”
“It’s not that. Really.”
“You’ve just seemed so… distant, lately.”
“I’m just… Heffie, I’m just tired, is all.”
I let it rest there for a moment, and I ask, “What do you think about?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you prepare for the scene. I’ve watched you. You drive yourself to the brink night after night, then you come back here and break down. What do you do to yourself to get yourself to that point? What do you think about?”
She didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything for a long, long moment.
“I think about you,” she said quietly. “I think about you actually being killed out there.”
“Oh god,” I said, stunned. “God.”
I put my arms around her and held her. We stayed like that in silence until the curtain. Time for my big scene. But this time, just before I went out to die, I leaned into her and kissed her. I kissed her like the prisoner Prince kissing his wife for the last time. With us, it always felt like it might have been the last time.
She did her scene, then came back stage and right back into my arms. We held each other, and concealed in the darkness we kissed. She said, “I didn’t want to go back to this.”
And out on the stage, Richard gloated: “Was ever woman in this humor woo’d?”
“I wanted this to be over…” she said.
He asked, “Was ever woman in this humor won?”
And she said, “I wish to God I didn’t love you.”
“I’ll have her,” Richard said from on-stage. “But I will not keep her long.”
With Richard III over, it was time for me to go back to college, but I knew I couldn’t leave it at that. I decided to make one last attempt to reach out to her by asking Tammy if she wanted to be my date for the Birthday Ball. I was fully prepared for her to turn down an offer to spend the night with me at my college, since she wanted to be done with me, but I asked anyway. She said yes.
The Ball is the biggest annual WAC event short of graduation, held in celebration of George Washington’s birthday. This is probably as good a time as any to inform you that Washington College is the oldest college in the United States ever since they were officially the United States. George Washington himself was at the opening of this college dedicated in his name. The Birthday Ball was basically WAC’s prom, except it happened in the middle of the second semester and there was an open bar. I had never gone for the same reasons I never went to clubs- too loud, to dark, too boozy, not enough schmoozing. But this year, I didn’t just have an excuse. I had an opportunity. I was determined to sweep Tammy off her feet. I had a second chance now, if not to win her over then at least to make this the greatest moment of our affair. But how? How the hell was I gonna do that?
So I came up with an idea. One that I hoped would be romantic as hell, at least on a college student budget. I plotted out everything I needed, making certain what I could snag at the local dollar store. When I couldn’t get here, I called my mother up for help, and she was extremely helpful and supportive.
“You’re doing what for whom?!”
“It’s a surprise for Tammy,” I said innocently.
“You’re nuts!”
“I just think it’d be awesome if I could pull this off…”
“You’re nuts, nuts, a thousand times nuts!”
“Is the idea that crazy?”
“Not the idea, bubbie. It’s the fact that you’re doing anything at all for this girl! It’s a bad idea.”
“So… you’re saying you won’t help me out here?”
“Sigh… I’ll go to the fabric store tomorrow and send them to you by Thursday.”
“Yay! Thanks, Mom!”
“I’ll be here when she screws you over again.”
“I knew I could count on you!”
With the ideas set in motion, I decided to run the big plan by a few of my friends. One of these was Dave Carlton, a freshman who had become my best friend in the few months we had known one another. I’ll go more into Dave when the time is right as he would time and again play a crucial role in my life and development. For now, I’ll just sum up Dave by saying that he was a big fat loud-mouthed red-headed chain-smoking angry snarling misogynistic geek punk rocker poet whose idols included Chuck Bukowski, Tom Waits, and the Joker. Oh, and he’s also a hopeless romantic. I ran the idea by him in all their imaginary details.
“Holy shit,” Dave said. It was one of those rare occasions where I had actually managed to suck the in-your-face bluster out of his manner.
“You think it’s good?”
Dave fell to his knees, his eyes wide. I was so flattered by how much he was overreacting, I really was.
“That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard. Holy shit. You’ve just totally upped the ante for me.”
“You think she’ll like it?”
“Like it? Dude, she will be all over you! You won’t be getting any sleep!”
“Well… I’m not going to actually sleep with her.”
He blinked, as if I had just said that the sky was made of green pudding.
“You what?”
“I’m not going to have sex with her.”
“WHY NOT?!”
“It’s not right, dude.”
“Hef, you listen to me. You know I don’t place any stock in people losing their virginity. It’s no big deal, do it, get it over with. It’s not some big event and shit. But dude, what you’re planning on doing? And how you feel about this girl? You keep saying you’re waiting for the right moment? Let me fucking tell you, it’s never gonna get more right than this, man.”
I thought about what he said over the next week while I planned out the surprise. Honestly, I hadn’t really been all that tempted fuck Tammy. I had been perfectly content with the “everything else but…” stuff we had been doing. But I knew she hadn’t been, and I thought about how romantic it would be, how it would utterly affect her, if we actually did do it that night after everything. I asked myself if that was what I really wanted, and the answer was “no.” But then as the week rolled on, and all the bits and pieces started coming together, I starting thinking, “well, maybe…” “No, don’t!” until I finally decided to not plan for anything at all. We would just see where the evening took us.
I set everything up save for the candles, a task I would give to Dave later on during the ball. He was all-too-happy to help me lose my virginity; let him believe that’s what was gonna happen if he wanted. I picked Tammy up. She was wearing a simple but elegant black dress, while I was in a tux so white that she had to avert her gaze from me when she first saw me.
I treated her to dinner at La Routa and then afterwards we headed to the Ball. All the while, she seemed a little off. She was no longer distant or defensive like she was before, no, that wasn’t it. She just seemed worn down, tired somehow. I wondered if work truly had been wearing down on her like she had been saying. But it was no problem, she seemed to be having a good time and everything was coming together. Everything except Dave’s part, and where the hell is he?
I finally caught up to Dave on the dance floor, his eyes squinting and a huge grin on his face.
“Hey Dave, this is Tammy. Tammy, Dave.”
“Hello,” Tammy said.
“I’M ON PLANET SCOTCH!” Dave yelled.
Feeling a tad concerned at the prospect of my carefully-planned scheme now in the hands of Astro-Dave, I asked, “How’re you feeling, man?”
“Better than I was when I was sober,” he yelled, as usual louder than was strictly necessary. “This day’s been utter shit.”
Sympathetically, I yelled, “Curse you, Richards!”
Since probably about three of you know exactly what the hell I meant by that, allow me to explain. I’m going to talk comics here; don’t skim, this is for your own education in geek psychology. Reed Richards is the real name of the superhero Mister Fantastic, leader of the Marvel Comics team the Fantastic Four. The FF’s arch-nemesis is Doctor Doom, the armor-plated dictator of the small European nation of Latveria. Doom blames Richards for everything that went wrong in his life, and his hatred runs so deeply that he is utterly obsessed with destroying the FF.
Dave and I realized that it was very convenient to blame everything that went wrong in our lives on Reed Richards. Stub your toe? Curse Richards for putting that in my foot’s way! Rainy day? That accursed Richards must have used his sub-par intelligence to fashion a weather machine to spite me! No grilled cheese sandwiches in the cafeteria? Oh, now you’re just being petty, Richards.
“Yes!” Dave yelled back, enthusiastically. “Curse you, Richards!”
Somewhat relieved (maybe my plans aren’t totally ruined after all), I handed him a key and said, “Dave, here’s the key to my room. The comic you’re looking for is on my bed.”
“Thanks, Hef!” he said. “I’ll let you know when I get it.”
The fate of my whole romantic endeavor now in the hands of Boozy McLoudmouth the Punk Rock Leprechaun, I did my best to keep Tammy entertained on the dance floor. No flailing arms this time, just nice, low-key, and unimaginatively romantic. And as the evening wore on, I could tell she was fading, getting more uncomfortable in this huge auditorium and surrounded by strangers. It was 10:00, finally time for us to head back to my dorm. And Dave was nowhere to be seen.
He was supposed to call me to let me know it was all set up, but the minutes were passing by, 10:05, 10:10, 10:20, and no phone call. Did he forget? What if he was passed out on the campus green or something? Is he even still here? I told Tammy that I needed to go to the bathroom, then proceeded to loop around the entire ball three times before I finally found Dave. I could tell by the permanent grin and squint that he was no longer even in our solar system.
“SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY!” he yelled.
“What?”
“THE CAT IS IN THE FURNACE!”
“Huh?”
“THE BALLERINA DOES THE CAN-CAN IN HER UNDERPANTS TO HAIL BRITANNIA AND MY HOVERCRAFT IS FULL OF EELS!”
“…”
“IT’S SET UP, YOU IDIOT!”
“Oh.” I say. And then, “Oh!” Great, the candles are lit and we’re ready to go. Wait. The candles are lit. And he’s here. The candles are lit. And he’s here. Well… if he’s here… then who’s keeping an eye on the… “OH, SH-!”
I frantically push and shove my way back through the crowds back to Tammy, going “oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit” and then instantly revert to cool and calm the second I’m in her sight. Sweat pouring down my forehead, I casually inquire, “So, uh, wanna head back to my room?”
Now looking more tired than ever, she mumbled, “Yeah, ok,” and we started toward my dorm. Now at this point, I’m torn between not wanting to spoil the surprise and hoping my dorm’s not burning down, so I’m suppressing my every desire to sprint just so I can keep pace with her. And she’s moving so damn slowly, just strolling along, while I’m looking to the sky for billows of smoke.
We make it back to the dorm, and it’s only then that I realize with horror that Dave, damn you, Dave, you never gave me back my room key. I pray for Richards to be merciful as I reach for the door and discover that it’s unlocked. Before I can even thank God, I race toward the lounge area ahead of Tammy. I have only a quarter of a second to see if everything is ready or not before she does. I spun around to hit the play button on the stereo and Danny Elfman’s theme from Edward Scissorhands began to play.
“Hey Tammy,” I cried out as she came down the hall to the lounge. “What do you think, does this top the rose?”
“What, Heffie?” she asked, coming down the hallway. “Does what top the…?”
And that was all she was able to get out.
It was just a normal frat lounge, but now the walls and all the sofas were covered in satin drapes of red, purple, blue, and gold. The only light came from two dozen candles set up on the center table. And there I was, standing there, surrounded by the scattered petals of two dozen roses over the floor. Tammy dropped her handbag.
“You… did this for me?”
I shrugged, helplessly.
“I love you.” It was the only explanation to give.
She stumbled into my arms and we began to dance. The stereo played a mix of her very favorite songs, specially made for a private dance for just the two of us. Elfman gives way to “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” The petals softly crunch under our feet and we kiss. I expect the kissing to escalate, for the passion to build and build until we’re on the floor, rolling in the rose petals, but it does not. The shock had deeply affected her, yes, I had done it, I could tell from the tears in her eyes. But it also seemed to just take that much more out of her. That was fine. It solved that question for me. I was relived, and tried not to feel disappointment. This was the right thing to do, after all. It was what I wanted. Right?
I wrapped her in blue satin and carried her into my room. We lay together in the blue, listening to the last of the tracks on the mix, and held each other.
“You know,” I said, “I was seriously considering giving myself to you tonight.”
And immediately, her voice choked back with pent-up exasperation, she said, “I know you were! I’m on my period!”
Yes, apparently between her Tammy-sense and the fact that I’m pretty blatantly obvious about most things I’m feeling, she was certain that this would be the night when it would finally happen. So when she woke up that morning and went to the bathroom, she started cursing and crying. The moment she had been waiting for had finally come, but it appeared that Richards had other plans. In retrospect, I really wouldn’t have cared; bodily fluid is bodily fluid, right? But at the time, it didn’t matter. I accomplished what I set out to accomplish. She said that no one had ever done anything like that for her before, ever. She told me to save the rose petals so she could remember it forever.
It was the best, last good moment we would ever have together.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 12:18 am (UTC)this is really good. this chapter came out beautifully. know that.
and i dont toss out compliments for nothing.
the funny thing is that i've started to realize that i and any of your friends who read these are biased. we know you. we know the people in the stories. and that affects how we respond to it all. you arent going to get a totally pure reaction from any of this.
but for the record.. with this one i started to be able to put that fact aside as i read it. its not something conscious, it just did.
good job.
feel the love.
Date: 2006-02-14 12:19 am (UTC)favorably.
;)
Re: feel the love.
Date: 2006-02-14 01:06 am (UTC)Re: feel the love.
Date: 2006-02-16 03:01 pm (UTC)dont forget the story about that time when we were in the 'Nam and Charlie ambushed us. how you carried me out from behind enemy lines after that grenade blew my legs off.
that was a good story.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 12:33 am (UTC)"I think about you being actually killed out there."
She drove herself over a cliff, night after night, for a scene done right.
Damn.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 03:20 am (UTC)I think it should be "than a two-dollar whore". (Without the emphasis.)
"Tammy, character, Anne, was fresh in the mourning of her husband, but my the end of the scene she had to be believably seduced by her husband’s murderer, Richard the sleazy evil hunchback."
The bit with Tammy, character, Anne," doesn't quite make sense to me, and you've perpetrated one of my trademark typos, too. ;) I'm sure it should be "by the end", not "my".
"scotch slightly closer to me,"
"scootch" or "scoot" instead?
"Honestly, I hadn’t really been all that tempted fuck Tammy."
"tempted to fuck"
(Also, you are very, very brave to eat dinner in a white tuxedo. I wore white to my HS prom and the first bite splashed red sweet'n'sour sauce down my frint. Dammit, anyway.)
no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 04:09 am (UTC)c/tried/tired/
In pointing this out I feel a bit like the cold heartless English teacher in "Up the Down Staircase" who returned a love letter written by one of his students, corrected in red pen. She attempted suicide. I trust you will do no such thing, and I notice I am not the only one pointing out typos, so I'm going for it.
Probably can't read the res of this tonight, will have to come back to it. But Dude, you clearly have balls. The only other Heffner monologue I've read is Grandfather's Last Words, which was indeed very good. Now I have to find the others.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-14 04:10 am (UTC)