“Who do I have to blow to get a white hot chocolate that is actually white?” I asked the woman. She apologized and made me another cup. Once again my “white chocolate” hot chocolate looked and tasted just like the “milk chocolate” hot chocolate I had gotten the day before.
Whatever. I went and found a place to sit.
I hated the yuppies that came in the coffee shop and asked for drinks not by name as they are posted on the board, but by specific characteristics. “Soy mocha latte, skim, no whip,” wasn’t something real coffee connoisseurs said, only the posers said those things. I just wanted a simple fucking drink from the goddamn menu posted on their earth toned wall. Is it really that hard?
I was at the coffee shop to write. It was too hard to do it at home, too distracting.
Someone had told me to write about what I knew best. I probably shouldn’t have written about the people I know in my life but for once I was taking someone else’s advice and the writing was coming along well. Little did I know, the one time I followed someone’s advice, it would be my downfall.
My parents named me Kristen after someone famous they knew that was way before my time. I was to attend Middle State College in Michigan, where I was born. Not that I had much of a choice. My mom really wanted me to go there because she went there. She even wrote the essay for me, filled out the application and everything. All I had to do was sign the form. I wanted to be an art major but my parents said I would never make any money and chose business for me instead. Some of the classes I had to take my first semester sounded pretty gay. So I stocked up on enough Adderall to make myself care, just in case.
Other than that my life was pretty good. My boyfriend and I had broken up before graduation in the spring which at first was kind of shitty but it meant I got to hangout/ fuck any one I wanted at all the parties over the summer which was pretty awesome. There was no guy I liked in particular, which was convenient since most of them would be going to schools across the state, or even across the country, so I probably wouldn’t see them much. I hoped there would be decent, (read: not pussy-whipped) guys at Middle state. Preferably, guys that did not belong to a frat, and had some semblance of hygiene.
I left the coffee shop because I had dinner with my parents and I needed to shower the smell of burnt coffee, and sugary flavor syrups out of my hair. As I was walking out I ran into a friend of mine from high school, Eliza. Eliza was very petite up top, with small boobs, narrow shoulders, and a round face, all of which would have been beautifully complimented had they not been paired with her giant ass. It wasn’t just her ass that was big, it was pretty much everything from the waist down. It was a shame because earlier in our high school years we were friends, and then her bottom half exploded, at which point I we drifted apart. As freakish as she looked I agreed to go to the bar with her after I had dinner with my parents that night, hoping that her startlingly disproportionate body would make me look that much hotter from the male perspective.
Dinner with my parents followed the same routine. They both worked a lot and I rarely saw them, but everyone knew who they were. They ran a successful medical equipment business and I was the heir to their perfectly sterile throne. It would be an understatement to say I wasn’t thrilled about it. However my parents needed to feel respected as long as I wanted their money.
They asked me a series of arbitrary questions about my excitement for college, my class schedule, what I was doing over the weekend. Same shit, different dinner. I replied with my usual responses which were formulated to be exactly what they wanted to hear. They both nodded their heads with enthusiasm while I fed them these baseless lies. Their faces glowed with pride as we finished our meal.
In exchange for such a performance, and because I was attending the college of their choice I found it was only fitting for them to purchase me a car. I asked, and without needing to cite any reasons for why the car they bought me two years ago wasn’t adequate, they obliged. Just like that.
I excused myself from the presence of my parents after the main course partly because the random questions were giving me a headache, and partly because I’d rather drink my dessert. I met Eliza at a bar called Austin’s where we flashed our fake ID’s and immediately downed several shots named after various body parts. I didn’t particularly like Eliza, mostly because she talked almost non- stop (even more after she’d had a few drinks), but I did like her as my wing woman. That is, until she projectile vomited across the bar, spraying at least three people with her vomit, including the bartender, who kicked us out.
Eliza had gone over the line of normal drunkenness and had decided to lift up her skirt and urinate on the sidewalk as we exited the bar. I allowed her to do so in hopes that she wouldn’t leave any fluids in the cab on our ride home. For a moment I actually felt bad for her as she fell walking up to her front door, but that moment passed, and when I was done laughing at Eliza I was grateful that I wouldn’t be seeing her, or anyone from high school, until next spring.
Awesome.
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