Over the weekend, I posted the beginning (and until now, entirety) of my 2009 NaNoWriMo story. Today, I had an urge to add a bit more to the story. There may be more bits and pieces of the story coming out of me in the coming days; there may not. I’ll go with the flow. I probably could’ve wrote more tonight, but my hands are starting to hurt from banging on the keyboard all day. One of these days, I swear I’m going to get diagnosed with a repetitive stress injury…
Anyway. As with the first part, if you like it, or laughed, or whatever, please add some comments at the bottom. Maybe your comments will give me the spark to add to the story?
Untitled NaNoWriMo Story, Part Two
“Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right? I’m getting Punk’d, aren’t I?” Remember when it used to be Candid Camera? Fuck you, Ashton Kutcher. Fuck you and your trucker hat. Yes, I’m officially in a shitty mood, so I’m going to take it out on B-List actors. Beware the wrath of a man who is being dumped over his breakfast cereal.
“No, I’m serious. It’s over. I’m going to be getting together, officially, with Roger now.”
“Roger, my roommate Roger?” I would kick his ass right this second if not for the fact that he’s much bigger than me. And in better shape. And was a wrestler in college. Plus, my back is sore from that nap I took on the couch yesterday afternoon. But if not for all that, I would totally kick his ass right this second.
“Yes, Jake, your roommate Roger. What other Roger is there?”
“Well, there’s Roger Greenwood from the seventh floor at work, and Roger Dittmeyer from high school, and Roger Clemens, cause you’re such a Yankees fan….” How is it that I was about to ask this woman to marry me, when she’s a Yankees fan? What was I thinking? I can’t marry a Yankees fan. I’m a diehard Red Sox fan. And everyone knows Roger Clemens is a lying cheater, I could totally believe that he’s stealing my girlfriend from me. He stole all that money from the Red Sox, and then went to Toronto, which is nowhere near Texas, after he said the only place he’d go other than Boston would be back home to Texas.
“Earth to Jake!” Chloe was snapping her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. I have a tendency to let my mind drift off into odd tangents, and sometimes I lose sight of the conversation in mid-stream. On the one hand, it’s a great way to escape those boring meetings that I have to suffer through at work. On the other hand, though, sometimes it pisses off the other person when it’s a one-on-one conversation. Chloe hates it when I do it. She’s always telling me that I stop paying attention to her, and my eyes lose focus and get this far-off gazing thing going. I wonder if Roger Greenwood from the seventh floor ever finished that project he was so jazzed up about last month? He was always droning on and on and on about it, and whenever he did, I’d start thinking about something else, like how much of an asshole Roger Clemens is for stealing my girlfriend.
Whoops. I did it again. I shook my head, snapping out of it, and looking Chloe in the eye, mumbling a quiet, “Sorry…” Now she had my attention again.
“It’s over, Jake. You and me, we’re over. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t know if I ever really did, or if you were just a rebound from my last boyfriend. But Roger… Roger’s the guy for me. I know that now, and it’s not fair to you to keep sleeping with him behind your back.”
“You’re sleeping with him? How long has this been going on, Chloe?” Tramp. Dirty tramp. Whore. Filthy whore. Slut. Evil slut.
She was quiet for a moment, wrapping her fingers tighter around that stupid fucking Hello Kitty coffee mug, her whorish eyes unable to hold my gaze and dropping to look into that stupid fucking Hello Kitty coffee mug, “Remember that business trip you took to Chicago last month?”