Category: 267monologues

i mean, if you think about it, friendship is way more important than a relationship. how long have i known my friends? ten years? some twenty years? and i’ve only been dating you for eight months. so when we get to a situation like this, should i hang out with my friends that i haven’t seen in months, friends that you don’t like to hang out with, mind you, or should i stay here and mollycoddle you, well, i kind of want to hang out with my friends. i’m happy to mollycoddle you once or twice a week. but it’s been almost every day now. no, listen, listen to me. i know you want to argue your point but right now just listen and absorb how i am feeling, okay? don’t deflect it away from you. a relationship doesn’t mean i get to carry your burdens, or vice versa. it doesn’t mean when you’re sad i have to be sad too. it’s one thing to help you through your depression, which i’m happy to do, versus be a party to your codependency, which is what i do every night. do you understand the position you’re putting me in? it’s a no-win situation. everything i do is not good enough, every step i take to protect your fragile ego is not good enough. and we’ve only been together for eight months!

i mean, shit. i’d rather just hang out with my friends. the only thing i’m missing from them is sex, and i think i’ll be alright without it. i … whew. i’m sorry i kind of went off there. i still love you, i just need you to lay off me for a bit, okay? let me hang out with my friends. i’ve known them longer than you and they help me deal with stuff like this. doesn’t mean i don’t love you, it just means i … need help. loving you.

… fuck.

i was having trouble with the doorknob. that’s when i knew something was wrong. i was walking fine and i, i grabbed the doorknob and tried to twist it but it wouldn’t budge, and i was frustrated and tried to say something, but all that came out was gibberish. next thing i knew, i was lying in a hospital bed. stroke. big one. this hand don’t turn doorknobs anymore. this hand is a constant reminder that life is a fickle son of a bitch, destined to fuck with you in ways you never knew possible. just when you think something fine, BAM, stroke, or BAM, brain aneurysm. then you’re a cold slab of meat on a stainless steel bed. or you’re like me, where half of your body wants to be a cold slab on a stainless steel bed, except it can’t because the other half is still kicking. now i get to spend the rest of my life wondering what i did to deserve this. bad diet? not enough exercise? who fucking knows. everyone tells me to look on the bright side. i’m not dead, they say. well go have a stroke and then tell me if it’s better being alive. i go to physical therapy every day and all the people there look miserable, even the physical therapists. they try so hard to not look completely devastated by their job but we all know it. we see it in the haggardness of their eyes, their slow, calm pacing around the room, or when they bolt for the exit for their smoke break. they all smell like cigarettes, even though their wash their hands after they smoke.

it’s miserable. you’re supposed to find hope in a moment like this. the only solace i have is that my husband still loves me, but he’s an old bag like me too and it’s not like we’re gonna get divorced at this point. we’re just gonna stay together until we croak. i guess that’s good.

i guess that’s good.

terry had this idea to put a cape on the cat. like a little superman cape. it was honestly the best time being on mushrooms i’ve ever had in my life. terry wasn’t even on them, he just drank a bunch of four lokos, and pete and i were staring at his big weird mural he painted on his garage wall a few months ago and terry had sparkles in his lap, babbling about how weird his parents were growing up, and suddenly he looks down at sparkles and is like, “sparkles should wear a cape.” pete and i both looked at each other and were like, “YESSSSSS” like this was the greatest idea in the history of mankind. we all bolted into the living room trying to find the appropriate fabric. terry insisted on silk. “superman’s cape is made out of silk,” he kept saying, and pete thought he said “silt” and we spent a good five minutes hashing that out in our advanced inebriated states. we also thought this couldn’t be the case, considering the quality of superman’s cape and how it never gets messed up. anyway we didn’t have silk, obviously, we’re three dudes in a shitty house in gresham, so instead we found a dish towel and cut a little hole in it for sparkles’ head to fit through. sparkles was surprisingly chill about the whole thing, except when the cape was actually on–then he started creeping around the house like the weight of the towel was too much or something. like a little cat ninja except with a cape. and he meowed a lot, broad mrowrs imploring us to take this stupid contraption off of him. but goddamn he was cute, and we were stoned out of our minds, which made the whole experience magical. to this day pete insists that sparkles jumped on the couch and then flew around the room briefly. terry says he was just jumping to catch a bug buzzing around. i guess we’ll never know the truth.

so i had this dream where i’m getting into a bathtub full of custard. and it’s not cold custard, it’s warm, a bath full of warm custard. it felt amazing. it felt like my entire body was a dick entering a gloriously warm pussy. it felt so good i sort of just melted into it, i became the custard, and i felt all of my muscles and organs just relax, everything relaxed so much, and i didn’t have to breathe. i was just submerged in warm custard.

when i woke up i was all tingly and felt like a couldn’t move. i also noticed that i had pissed the bed.

so … that’s why i pissed the bed. because i was enveloped in custard.

which opinion is this? come on you can tell me. fifth? sixth? i mean i can understand if i’m the second opinion, or even the third, but to come in here and ask for a fifth opinion, or a sixth opinion … i’m kind of hurt, chad. i’d like to be the doctor that reverses what the first doctor said. he’s like, “it’s cancer” and then i’m like, “no chad your blood tests came in and it is not cancer,” but now, i’m looking at these reports you brought me and … four out of five doctors say it’s not cancer, and the one who did isn’t even a doctor but a naturopath. why did you even come here, chad? why did you ruin my good day with this? my wife called me this morning, my son dieter just took his first steps, she put it up on youtube and i watched it while consulting with this old man with dementia… it was beautiful. but now this. why couldn’t i be the first, chad? you’re not the first person to do this to me. is it … am i so far down the ladder? look, i’ll admit it. i get half of my business being the third, fourth, fifth, opinion. how many opinions do people need, chad?! i went to medical school, twelve years i was in medical school, i did my residency at cedars-sinai for chrissakes, and now i’m just parroting what four other doctors have already said. “it’s not cancer.” it’s not cancer, chad. it’s not cancer. you want me to give you the names of twelve other doctors who will tell you it’s not cancer? it’s not. fucking. cancer.

now, do me a favor before you go, chad. next time you have what you think is a life-threatening illness, come to me second. that’s all i ask.

(she’s on her back on bed, legs in the air, with her lover seconds away from taking off her underwear.)

okay, before you go down on me, i just want to apologize for the state of my, my, pubic area. it’s not, i mean, it’s fine down there, like, sexually. all the parts are there, they function great, and i’m clean, the worst thing that’s ever happened down there was a bad yeast infection, which is NOT happening right now i assure you. i meant more in terms of immediacy. i haven’t been with anyone for a while and so i kind of … i mean … it’s pretty unkempt down there, you know what i mean? and i’ve, i watch porn like everyone else and all the women look like their pussies never had hair to begin with, so, i, i’m just letting you know. not because you look like a guy who watches porn all the time, or anything, not that that’s a bad thing, porn is great, when it’s, you know, not horrifically racist or sexist, which it kind of is most of the time–anyway, you’re not a bad person, it’s just hairier down there than the amazon jungle, and also we were just at the club so i’m probably sweaty too.

(as she gets up.)

i should wash up, in fact, or maybe, do you have a razor? (sighs) i probably shouldn’t be worrying about this. i call myself a feminist but am terrified to have a one night stand see my bush–okay, one night stand was a harsh term, i’m sorry, look, i’m just going to hop in your shower really quick, okay? maybe if you want you could, like, get ready, or whatever it is boys do. i’ll be right back.

did you see that guy over there? he was totally checking us out. what a creep. he was sitting there when we came in, eating chicken strips, and like dunking them in ranch sauce while staring at you, he would like, lift the strip up and eat it like putting his head underneath it and dropping the strip into his mouth, eugh, gross. i can’t believe you didn’t see him. he was wearing a trenchcoat, seriously, like a creeper, and his hair was all slicked back … he was right over there! in the back. he’s not there now, he just left, that’s why i’m talking about him. i can’t believe you didn’t see him. he had to have been like seven feet tall, you didn’t see him get up? it was like a grown man getting up from a kindergarten table. he walked right behind you! his trenchcoat was unbuttoned and i was afraid i would see his little penis flapping around. he went to throw away his food containers, the trash is right behind you i CAN’T BELIEVE you didn’t see him! he was gnarly, had weird teeth and a long nose. i think he took your purse, even! did you not see that happen? oh my god cindy you have got to stop looking at your snapchat all the time! he totally took your purse and i think he wrote you a weird letter which he read out loud to you in front of everyone, about how great your hair probably smells. then he smelled your hair and was like, “i was right.” oh my god, cindy, this is so totally a thing that would happen to you. hold on let me snap your face right now.

it’s entirely possible that these are your beans, man, i’m not disputing that, all i’m saying is that i found them here and i ate them, so it’s a little too late to ask for them back. i can try puking them up for you if you’d like, but i’m not gonna do that because those beans were all that’s left in the ruck sack and one of us has to feel good enough to get this wagon back to town. i don’t think a full belly is selfish, especially when one does not take ownership of the food which made the belly full. besides, you and i both know i’m better at directions. according to the map we’re half a mile before we reach civilization, and you need me to be awake and alert, and the only way for me to be awake and alert is to have a full belly, which is why i ate those beans. didn’t know they were your beans, just ate them. can’t fault me for that. now if you’ll excuse me, since i’m the one driving the wagon in the first place, maybe you can get in and lay down for a spell while i get us to the next town. then i promise you i will buy you a big steak dinner, mashed potatoes, all the fixin’s. does that sound good to you?