My dinner with J

Ow. My ass hurts.

Hey everybody?

I say "everybody?" because I'm not so sure there's anybody out there. Where are you guys? I'd say I miss you, but I don't even know you. Because you don't comment on my bloggety blog blog!

(...and after i bloggety blog blogged all over her knee caps, she asked me for my number and i was all like, "girl, i ain't even given you my name. what makes you think you'll blog a number out of me?") LOL

J's such a slut.

Speaking of J, I hung out with him yesterday. It was pretty on point. Although I'm a little worried about J. I think he may be depressed or something. I don't know. I'll get to that.

Anyway, we went on a picnic. Daaaaaamn...I hadn't been on one of those in years. He called me up yesterday morning and says, "What UUUUUUUUUUUP, Scotty McHottie! Pack some shit! You and I are going on a picnic."

And I was like, "Daaaaaaamn...I haven't been on one of those in years."

So I packed up a basket with some drinks, chips, a blanket, a thermos full of some awesome left-over hobo stew from the night before (my mom makes the best hobo stew. i don't know how she gets the hobos so tender, but they're perfect) and some of my grandmama's famous fudge (that shit is on point). I finished getting ready just as J pulled into the driveway (J only has his learners permit still, but that doesn't stop him. he's so fucking cool). I hopped into his dad's Landcruiser and we made like a fetus and headed out.

On the way we listened to the '96 Broadway revival cast recording of Chicago. When We Both Reached For The Gun started playing, J turned it up and said, "Scotty, you gotta belt this shit out of the park. You're on point when you sing this." And I did. And when it got to the end, where James Naughton does the big 16 measure hold on the last note with the slide, I fucking nailed it.

We went to City Park. The park is still pretty messed up from Katrina, but they're making good strides on getting it back on point. The fun park is running again and there are some spots that don't totally look like Kthulu wiped his butt with it. What's kinda cool is that because so much of the park is still being rebuilt, people don't really care about it. Not many people know where the good, secluded spots are. J does. J knows all of them. He found this really good spot off the foot path that was surrounded by trees and bushes and has really good grass. He's so on point.

I laid out the blanket and we started to set out food. It was a really nice day and when the food was all set we fucking... grubbed... out. We didn't talk at all while we ate. We just chowed. By the time we were done, the sun started getting pretty hot (for November at least), so J said, "Fuck this, man! I'm hotter'n two rats fucking in a wool sock! Are you hot?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty hot."

"Yeah. You look it. Let's take off our shirts."

So we did. It's hard not to get a little self conscious with your shirt off around J. He's got a pretty good body. He's on the swim team and is in varsity lacrosse and shit, so he's pretty ripped. Me, I'm in jazz choir and a zombie. I need to start doing push ups.

Then J took a tube of sunscreen from his bag, threw it at me and said, "Put some of this on my back."

So I did.

While I was applying the cream, J just sorta sat there, really quiet. It was fine and all, but something seemed like it was missing. I kept expecting J to blab on about some date he had the night before with one of his "duty-free who-weres" as he calls them, because "there's no tax and you can catch 'em when you're comin' or goin'". But he didn't say anything. He just sat there. Then he said, "So, here's something I've always wanted to ask you, man."

I stopped rubbing him for a sec. He was just staring off into the sky. "Sure, man. What's up?"

Still watching the clouds, J asked, "Have you ever...you know...turned someone?"

"Turned someone? What do you mean?"

"You know. Into... like you."

"Oh." I continued rubbing in the cream. "No. Never. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know." He said, dropping his gaze and picking bits of grass out of the ground. "I just feel sometimes like I don't know anything about you. What's it like being... like you?"

"I don't know. Pretty cool I guess. I don't have to worry about wearing seat belts and that impersonation I do of Christopher Reeve falling off his horse always gets laughs at parties."

J laughed, "Heh. Yeah. That shit's on point. But it's pretty creepy how your neck does that sideways thing." J paused for a full minute. I kept rubbing. "So... you just can't die? At all?"

"Well, yeah I can die. Everyone dies. It's just... I'm already dead, so I can't die like you." I started wondering what J was getting at. He didn't seem like himself at all. I finished rubbing him. "What's going on, J? You alright?"

"Yeah! I'm just wondering about what it's like to be a... like you."

"A zombie, J. You can say it." I reached around and squeezed his cheeks together so he made fish lips. "Zaaaaaaahm-beeeeeeeeee."

He slapped my hand away, "Get off me man! I'm serious! I just-" J stopped there and turned to me. I saw in his face... I don't know how to describe it. Confusion is the closest word I can think to approximate it, but even that isn't quite right. "You ever... you ever feel like you don't know who you are? Like you're just living a lie and that you need to do or be someone else?"

I looked into J's chocolate brown eyes and tried to read him. He didn't look like J. He looked... innocent. Pure. The expression on his face looked as if it was an expression his face had never made before, and it was painful for him to wear it. Like a mask with spikes and really pissed-off piranhas glued on the inside. I didn't know what to say. I was struck dumb.

"No," I finally belched impotently. I was all too aware of the onion on my breath from my mom's hobo (made with real hobos!) stew "I've never felt that way."

J's expression changed. He looked disappointed. Beaten. Completely alone. While it sucked to see my dear friend look as if I just told him that not only is there no Santa Claus, but that the real St. Nicholas was a dirty Turk, it was a lot better than looking at the painful countenance he wore a second earlier.

"Never mind, then," he moaned. "Forget it." And he turned around and continued picking at the grass.

I didn't know what to do. I was stuck. In my family, food and a good speech always helps. I had no idea what I would say, but I did remember that I still had fudge. I stood up and walked to my basket, hoping beyond hope that I would know what to say by the time I walked back to J.

I didn't. No idea. So I sat next to him, put my arm around his shoulder and just started talking.

"Listen, man. I may not know what it's like to be where you are right now. All I know is that I can be me for you... right now. And what I can do as me is sit here and tell you that you... are... the shit. Look at you! You are good looking, bang bitches, the only sophomore on the varsity lacrosse team and you drive your dad's car without a license! It's like you don't give a fuck and everyone loves you for it. You're what every guy in school wants to be and who every girl in school wants to do! No! I don't know what you're going through at the moment, but I do know that I wouldn't really mind going through it because... honestly? I kinda wish I was more like you."

Afterward, J remained quiet for what seemed like forever. Then he looked over at me. "You really think I'm good looking?"

"Dude! Look at you! Shut up!"

"Can I ask you one other thing?" he bleated meekly.

"Anything, bro."

"If ever you do want to... you know... change someone into... someone like you, could you make it me?"

I turned to him. He was looking at me again with that inexpressible expression. The one that hurt to look at. Once again, I didn't know what to say. I just talked.

"Tell you what. If it ever comes down to it, you'll be first on my list."

J went back to looking a little defeated but not as bad as before. "Alright. Fair enough."

Another pause from J, broken by, "You want... you want me to put some cream on you. You're gonna burn."

"Naw, man. I'm a zombie, 'member? We may be pasty but we don't burn."

"Alright," J sighed.

Then I remembered the fudge. Fudge'll cheer him up. "Hey! I forgot! I brought my grandmama's fudge!" and I held it up.

He looked at the fudge. "You packed fudge?"

"Yeah!"

"Heh," he chuckled. "Fudge packer."

"Fuck you!" and I smashed the fudge in his face.

Then we laughed and wrestled and rolled around on the grass. And, I tell you what, J knows how to fucking wrestle. He mostly pinned me into submission, but I blame it on the fact that his body was greasy from all the cream I rubbed on him. At one point, when he had my shoulders pressed firmly to the ground, he looked me in the eye very seriously. I could feel his breath on my face and it made me conscious, once more, of my mom's hobo (one whole hobo in every batch!) stew. I held my breath.

He asked tenderly, "We on point, right?"

"Yeah, man," I squeaked out, trying not to breathe roasted garlic and expired transient on him. "We on point."

And then I somehow kicked free, catapulting my body up in the air. I almost gained my footing but then slipped and fell backward against J, who caught me in his arms and broke my fall. We both came out unscathed, although I think I fell on his phone or something because when I fell backwards on him, I bruised my tail bone on something hard.

And that's why... ow!... yeah, my ass hurts.

Alright, everyone? (where you at?!?!) Until next time.

merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn ghh plllbtthtbt...