Tag: July Scavenger Hunt

Bored at work? Might as well write.

Bored at work? Might as well write.

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 9 Comments

This is it.

This is really happening.

Just breathe in and go.

You work and you work and you work some more at this whole show business thing, right?

You go out there and you audition and you make YouTube videos and you stalk the people you think might be able to help you get your foot in the door.

You work shitty, soul sucking jobs in customer service, or worse, retail or even worse—food service, just to make enough money to pay your bills, maybe eat, and pay for the headshots you took all while keeping you two cents away from poverty.

Every day you hear the stories of people who made it big who used to be in the same position as you and you think, “If they can do it, I can too.”

But with every rejection you get you get a little sadder. Every time you perform and you don’t hear any laughs you start thinking about how you can work your way up the corporate ladder at your nine to five job. Every time you see someone get famous off a sex tape you start thinking it might not be a bad idea, except you would need to hire someone to be in it with you since you don’t even have a boyfriend and that just makes you even more depressed.

And then comes the day when someone who knows someone, who knows someone, who knows someone else, happened to see you perform at a tiny hole in the wall in Andersonville and they thought you were hilarious.

They told that someone to tell that someone else to tell that other person that you were “hilarious. A modern Lucille Ball, but without trying to be.” They say, “find this girl before someone else does.”

And you get the call.

They heard about you, they found your YouTube videos. That guy was right, you’re funny. They have a role you might be good for. It’s a starring role on a sitcom. They’re looking for “fresh faces”. Could you come in and audition?

You freak out.

Don’t freak out! You keep telling yourself. They tell you to have a piece prepared.

You choose Patsy from Little Murders. It’s your best piece to date.

Can you be in L.A. on Monday, they ask.

Yes! You say immediately.

You freak out again.

You have three days to find a ticket and find a place to stay and you only have $14.78 in your bank account and you don’t have any more days off from work.

But it doesn’t matter. You don’t care if you have to turn tricks by Midway, you’re going.

You don’t end up turning tricks, but you do use the credit card with the high interest rate you’ve been trying to pay off since your freshman year of college and you buy a one-way ticket on faith. Faith that you’ll need to stay a few days as they tell you about your new life in L.A.

You don’t book a hotel, because you don’t have that much faith and you don’t have any more credit on that card anyway.

You step out of LAX and you see palm trees and you think, I could live here. I can move here and wear sunglasses all the time and dodge paparazzi and maybe date George Clooney at some point, because everyone does, don’t they? Or at least you want to catch him before he gets too old to be a ruggedly handsome older man and becomes an older man who was once ruggedly handsome.

You walk into the offices where they’ve scheduled the auditions and a secretary shows you to a little waiting area.

A door opens. They call your name.

You start to sweat and pray they can’t tell that your armpits are wet and you feel like you’re going to puke.

An hour later you walk out of the room.

They asked you how long you were staying in L.A.

You asked how long they needed you to stay.

They said they’d call you in an hour.

You have no money and you have nothing to do. You find a coffee shop with outdoor seating across the street and wait.

They call you 20 minutes later. “We like you. You’ve got something special. We’re offering you the part. Production starts in one month.”

Is it too soon to say you’ve made it?

 

5. Inspired by the following quote: “Imitation is suicide” Ralph Waldo Emerson

5a. inspired by my boo, Phylli

Sexual Cannibalism

Sexual Cannibalism

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 40 Comments

“Females of cannibalistic species are generally hostile and unwilling to mate; thus many males of these species have developed adaptive behaviors to counteract female aggression.”- Good ole Wikipedia

I can never remember if it’s during or after sex that a praying mantis eats her mate.

And I can never remember if it was before or after Brian, my last man friend,  that I wish I could’ve bitten the heads off of every stupid man I’d ever slept with and be done with them

Mel sat on the couch and started peeling tangerines as we watched TV. “Here eat this one, I’ve already peeled it for you.” She flings it at me and I catch it before it lands on the floor.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I know how lazy you are about your fruit.” She moves the peels to the table and pops a slice in her mouth. “Isn’t it funny,” she says while chewing, “how every time we try to watch the Lord of the Rings marathon we always catch it at the end of The Two Towers?”

“I don’t care, it’s the best part anyway, the first half is really boring.” I pull out my phone and start looking through my messages.

“You’re not selling these movies to me. I don’t even want to watch them, but you keep forcing me because you love them so much.”

I open my most recent message from a boy named Al I’d met on an online dating site. “I do. I love them all, I guess I’ve just seen them too many times.” I bite into my tangerine.

“That’s weird dude.” She says.

“What’s weird?” I look up at her staring at me. On the screen Gandalf the White is riding into battle on Shadowfax, the king of horses. “It’s Shadowfax!” I point at the screen.

“It’s not an apple, you’re supposed to peel the slices apart.”

“Stop being a fruit nazi, you’re missing the most epic horse.”

“Wrong, Silver is the most epic horse.”

“Mel, Silver is not a horse king.”

“Kiki, you don’t know that. He could be like some sort of horse chief. He does belong to The Lone Ranger.”

I shake my head and bite into the tangerine again. “Look, that guy Al texted me again.” I showed her my phone.

“Well I would hope so. Didn’t you send him a boob pic?” She pulls up the satellite menu on the TV and starts scrolling through the channels.

“Aw don’t change it. The battle is the best part. And yes I sent him a boob pic, but you don’t have to mention it.”

“You’re making me watch the end of a movie I haven’t even watched the beginning of.”

“Oh you know what the first half is about.”

“How would I know that?”

“From the books.”

“I never read them.”

“Who’s never read the books?” I yell.

“Don’t yell at me! I can’t be the only person who’s never read the books. And why can’t I bring up your boob pic? You showed it to me and asked me if your boobs looked nice. They did. You have pretty nipples.”

“Aw, you think so?”

“Dude, of course.”

I look at the screen. Aragorn is slashing at orcs left and right. “I dunno, it’s just embarrassing to be one of those people that sends titty pics to guys.” I spit a couple of seeds into my hand and toss them on the peels.

“Well you keep doing it, so clearly it’s not embarrassing enough to make you stop.”

I sigh. “Whatever. So Al asked me if I wanted to go to coffee with him. What do you think? Should I meet him in person?”

“Is he nice?’

“He seems nice.”

“Is he cute?”

I shrug. “He’s not bad.”

She chews on another slice. “Hmmm… he’s not the dude that drives that hideous, white Saturn right?”

“No. That was Bert.”

“Does he drive?”

“I don’t think so. He lives in one of those yuppie neighborhoods where people don’t have cars.”

“Wicker Park?”

“No.”

“Bucktown?”

“No.”

“Lincoln Park?”

“No.”

“Downtown?”

“Stop guessing.”

“Roscoe Village.”

“Oh damn, I think that’s it.” I look at his text. “‘Mmm, sexy pic. What do you say we finally meet up? How about saturday? I know a good place for coffee.‘”

“Ooh he said you were sexy.”

I laugh and throw my phone next to me. “Well damn, if he didn’t think I was sexy with my boobs out I would’ve cried.”

She laughs and turns off the TV. “No more dead creepy things.”

“Orcs. The creepy things are called orcs. And fine we don’t have to watch. I’m going to bring you the books so you can read them first and then we can try the movies again. Besides it seems to go against the natural order of things to start at the end of the second movie in a trilogy without having at least read the books for some sort of reference.”

“God you’re such a nerd.”

“Shut up.”

I met Al, at a coffee shop on Lincoln Avenue at 11:00 am. He was sitting by himself at a table near the window, reading comics and eating a biscotti. I watched him for 15 minutes before walking over to his table.

“Hi.” I said.

“I was wondering when you were going to come over. You’ve been staring at me for 20 minutes I was about to get up and leave.” He looked up and smiled. I saw his eyes wander down to my chest briefly before looking at me in the eyes again.

“It was only 15.” I sit down and pick up one of his comics. “You brought reading material? Were you expecting me to be boring?”

“No, I stopped at the shop before coming here. And it’s a good thing I did. You stared at me like a creep for half an hour.” He stacked the comics together and threw them in his bag.

“I did not! I’m not a creep either.”

“You’re right. Girls can’t be creeps.”

“Well… I don’t think that’s true.”

“No. Because boobs. Want a coffee?” He gets up and heads to the counter.

“Yes, a latte would be great.”

I watch him while he makes our coffee order. He’s got a pretty nice ass. The girl behind the counter hands him our drinks and  he comes back with a smug look on his face.

“It’s nice right?” He asks.

“What?”

“My ass. You totally checked me out.”

“I did. It’s okay.”

“You’re a liar.”

I laughed. “Okay, I think I like you.”

He chuckles. “Really? That quick? Damn, I’m good.”

“You’re not bad. But here’s the thing, I can’t promise I’ll sleep with you yet. I know I showed you my tits, but that’s mostly because I’m vain and wanted you to like me.”

“Um. Okay.”

“But, I can promise that there will be kissing.”

“Kissing? Kissing is nice.”

“With tongues.”

He laughs. I take a sip of my latte. It’s unsweetened and I make a face.

“Not good?” He asks.

“Not sweet.” I say.

“Oh. Just dip your finger in it.”

I look at him for a moment before I groan and roll my eyes.

“Delayed reaction?” He asks.

“Maybe.” I look around for sugar.

“So I can look forward to kissing with tongues, eh?”

“Yes. Lots.”

“I can deal with that.”

“Good.” I say as I get up to find some sugar.

30. Incorporates: praying mantis, nectarines, Saturn, natural order, tongues, towers. *note, I wrote this, the whole time picturing a tangerine in my head and not a nectarine, which is not peeled and has no slices. So I didn’t actually incorporate nectarine.

Control

Control

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 7 Comments

I cannot think of a conversation between us that does not involve sex. 

Nothing ever comes up that doesn’t at some point lead us there, to that moment where you enter me and I sigh, fully content to be so close to you again.

Everything about you is lust and passion and intensity and I am never my best self when I’m with you.

For you, I do anything in the name of pleasure. Even the things I said I wouldn’t. Even the things other men have shyly asked for– embarrassed by their own perversion– that I’d denied because good girls cannot like those things.

But you’re not shy. You know what you like and you know what you want and you don’t ask for these things, you suggest them, you sell the idea of them to me in the most provocative of ways where I end up begging and pleading for you to do it all to me.

And I cannot understand how we got to this point. I don’t know how I became this version of myself so consumed by you I’ve forgotten where the line between pain and pleasure, shame and confidence, love and lust, lies.

It’s a line that just gets blurrier every time I offer myself to you, to use however you’d like.