January me (standard:other, 6099 words)
Author: Violet	Added: May 22 2003	Views/Reads: 3019/2179	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The tale of a caffine adicted sarcastic british chick living in san Francisco... who says that an insane mother, dates with idiots and the fact that nearly all your peers are already married can stop you from having a good time?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


“Okay, so the boss wanted to talk to me.  So I went into her office, and
she told me I didn't get the promotion.  Because Daniel Thomas got it 
instead.  So I asked her why, and she goes ‘well, because I'm having 
his baby,' and I'm like really?  And then she goes ‘I don't know, 
maybe.'  Isn't that horrible?”  I don't see what's horrible. Except, of 
course, her boss's sense of humor.  I don't think Steve does either.  
“Because he fu...” 

“Oh,”  I interrupt. 

“So that would make him the sexist ass hole pig?”  Steve contemplates,
seeming to forget about Gary's proposal entirely once faced with 
Monica's feminist issues.  Of course, maybe she's just pissed because 
Dan dumped her for another woman last month. 

“Yes!  He is a sexist ass hole pig.  Cheers.”  She holds up the donut
Steve has grabbed for her and clinks it against my coffee cup.  Then 
she takes a huge bite of it.  Cream squirts onto the marble counter.  
“Oops.  Sorry, Steve.” 

“Wait a second,”  I say, still pondering over the sexist as hole pig
situation.  “Do you think Daniel dumped you for her?”  Monica's eyes 
widen as she bites into the now-empty-of-cream donut. 

“Yes!  Oh my God, Piper, you're right.  What an ass!  I can't believe he
dumped me to steal a promotion.  Jesus fucking Christ.”  I knock my 
head against the counter.  I can't believe I inspired another hour of 
Monica's rambling.  I hope Steve mentions the Gary thing, just to shut 
her up.  He doesn't.  “I mean, who does he think he is?  Sleeping with 
Joanna.  I mean...he...I... “  Monica stops for a moment.  “Do you 
think they have those five minute dating services on the west coast?” 

They did.  The next week I was preparing Monica for her 5-minute date
with destiny (yes that was actually the name of said west coast five 
minute dating service) in her North beach apartment.  She was arguing 
with herself over whether to wear the new Betsy Johnson dress or some 
piece of crap she found at a flea market when my cel phone rang.    
“Piper Delores.” 

It was mum.  “Don't worry, honey-bunny.  It's not really true.  You
know, about Taylor and Maddy?”  I feel like chucking the stupid phone 
out the window.  But I don't, because I am not that kind of person. 

“Oh, really?”  I ask in a tone anyone with the exception of mum would
see as sarcastic. 

“Well, yes.  I mean, half those scripts are made up anyway.  I hope you
aren't as shocked as Marguerite was.”  Marguerite is one of mum's 
infamous upper-crust friends who I doubt really exist.  I started to 
suspect something when mum was invited to a charity fundraiser for the 
Queen by one called Rosalyn. 

“Oh, really.  Hope she didn't spew tea on the queen?” 

“Spew on the... oh, don't be silly, dear.  She plum forgot I'd had you
in the middle, that's all.” 

“Oh, well, must dash.  Bye.”  I hang up and place the phone gingerly
inside of Monica's fridge (which, luckily, only contains a six-pack of 
slim fast and a bowl of grated cheese). 

Monica is still choosing a dress when I get off the phone.  “I need your
honest opinion,”  she says. 

“Wear that one,”  I say, pointing to the beige Betsy Johnson dress on
the table.  “The other one looks like circus fare.”  She lets out a 
small giggle, picks up the dress and walks into the bathroom to change, 
leaving me alone in her to big, wooden-floored, nicely wallpapered 
kitchen feeling jealous.  No wonder.  There is a pile of ‘Martha 
Stewart living' magazines stacked neatly in the corner. Oh, shit.  Her 
fridge is ringing. 

By the end of the night, Monica, me, and some 40 year old balding man we
both met at 5-minute-date with destiny and both like, if only because 
he was more pathetic than us, were at a restaurant in China town buying 
pig by-products that actually looked like what they were (Monica had 
been particularly interested in purchasing a pig snout and putting it 
in Daniel's desk along with a sexist ass hole pig note).  The guy 
seemed pleased to be outdoors.  Apparently he lived with his mother, 
Janine, and only saw daylight while walking a block to work every 
morning with his mother chasing him, yelling “George!  You've forgotten 
something!”  and prodding him with old woman pull-up panties.  Black 
ones. 

“Wow, your life kind of sucks, huh?”  Monica asked.  She probably
wouldn't have asked if she had not drank something that smelled 
suspiciously like nail polish remover in the last store we had been to. 


“Yeah, I guess,”  he replied baldly.  “But, I guess I should be
flattered.”  Monica laughed at the non-joke.  I really hope it's 
because she is drunk.  “So, flipper...” 

“Um...Piper.”  I have really started to hate this guy, and I think maybe
it serves him right that his mum follows him about all day with  
underwear.  Maybe. 

“Pipper.”  Close enough.  “what kind of name is that?  What are you,
Austrian or something?'   Ha ha, Monica laughs again.  She leans on his 
shoulder, looking faintly sick from the nail polish remover. 

“Uh... sure.  Why not.”  He takes a swig of Monica's drink.  I bet their
heads are spinning.  Ah, to be nearly middle aged and in a state of 
severe nausea.  Monica leans over to throw up. 

The next day, I wake up to the phone ringing obnoxiously.  It's Monica,
complaining of a headache.  “Piper, did you get George's number?”  She 
questions with a yawn. 

“No... did you?”  I reply in a sarcastically hopeful tone. 

“No.  But, it'll be okay.  We're going there again tonight.  Oh, yeah,
and you left your phone in my fridge.  At first I thought it was mine 
but then your mom called.”  Oh.  This fact has disturbed the feeling of 
inner peace I get whenever Monica is too tired to be peppy (although, 
this is the first time, mind you).  “She was talking about...you know, 
I don't really remember.  Um... okay, maybe you should come pick up 
your phone later.” 

“Sure.”  I really doubt it is going to happen, though, so after I hang
up I head for Starbucks. 

“Monica dropped this off.  She said it already rung like 3 times,” 
Steve says, handing over the familiar phone.  She's gotten to know me 
too well.  Really.  “I heard about the date,”  he totters, sliding a 
coffee across the counter to a pregnant woman.  I furrow my eyebrows.  
“That bad, huh?” 

“A hundred times worse.  Did Monica tell you about his mother?”  Steve
looked rather shocked at the thought of discussion of one's mother on 
the first date.  Then again, we'd gone to China town looking for 
revenge in the form of pigs feet, and the evening probably couldn't get 
any more strange if it tried. 

“No, but tell me more,”  he said, suddenly interested.  “Does it belong
on Jerry Springer?” 

“She follows him round the city with black underoos.”  Steve erupts in
laughter.  I am still having a hard time believing the story, though.  
Monica is coming in the doorway. 

“Piper, I've been looking everywhere.  Where were you?” 

“Home.  Then here.”  I think it's pretty obvious, but Monica looks
vaguely confused.  She's squinting at Steve. 

“Oh.  Well, want to go back later?”  She does not even have to say
where.  I know that she means five-minute-date with destiny again 
because that's the only place that we ever go.  Besides Starbucks, of 
course. 

“Um...I guess.”  I do not want to go back there.  Ever.  “If Steve
comes.”  Steve could go and sit on the girls side, right next to me.  
It'd be fun.  I look at him expectantly, though his face doesn't read 
an enthusiastic thumbs up.  “Please, Steve?” 

“Okay, fine, I guess.”  Steve scratches his buzz-cut sulkily. 

At 5 o'clock, Steve and I are in the Toyota outside Monica's house,
beeping the horn insistently.  She comes out the door in something that 
looks kind of like she stole it from Cher.  Or Wal-Mart.   “Hi, Cher,”  
Steve says, reading my mind again. 

“Hi,”  Monica has gone back to her peppy self and doesn't even seem to
notice the Cher comment.  “Do you think I look good?”  She's asking 
Steve. 

“Yeah, great.”  He mutters.  He is lying.  She does not look great. 
Plus I know Steve is lying.  Steve never lies unless it is to spare 
someone's feelings. 

At five-minute-date with destiny, Monica, Steve and I sit next to each
other.  Monica looks outrageously unsure about the leather, studded 
skirt she is wearing.  A bell rings and some guys sit down at our 
tables.  The guy at the table next to me is looking at Steve weirdly.  
“Is this some kind of Joke or something?”  He asks. 

No, you are a joke, you ass hole, I think, staring off into space behind
my incredibly talkative five-minute-date.  He is not destiny.  His name 
is Albert.  “That's enough about me,”  Albert says, stopping 
mid-ramble.  “How about you?” 

“I'm Piper.”  That's really all I have to say to this guy.  I bet he
goes shopping with his mother sometimes. 

“That's a lovely name.  You know I once knew a dog named..” ding.  Has
it really been five minutes already?  I glance over at Steve, who is 
looking tortured.  On my other side, Monica is giggling like a manic 
cheerleader. 

“Hi, I'm Thomas.”  He is the kind of guy I'd expect to have just gotten
divorced. He's wearing a food-stained tank top and is starting to bald. 
“I work for the bank of America.” 

Seven dings later, we are all piled in the Toyota with Earnest, who
Monica decided to take to a restaurant and later force to pay for all 
of our dinners.  Poor Steve is looking really depressed.  I think it 
was a bad idea to bring him.  I actually realized this as soon as 
Thomas sat down at his table and started screaming unholy words all 
over the place. 

“I work at a seven-eleven,”  Earnest was saying to an entranced Monica. 
“It's not exactly thrilling, but somebody's gotta do it, right babe?”  
I imagine him as the kind of person who would scare away people at a 
seminar.  I have met many of those people in my lifetime and needless 
to say I hated them. 

“So, have you ever cleaned one of those squishy machines?  Must be
gross,”  Monica mused.  She twirled her hair in sheer glee to finally 
be on a normal date.  I felt as annoyed at her peppiness as Steve 
looked.  He was seething in the corner of the Camry, squished in next 
to the ever-talkative-seven-eleven-worker, Earnest.  Lucky me, I was 
driving. 

“No, that's Mark's job. He's this pimply kid who does all the dirty
work.  I manage the store.”  Oh.  Okay. 

“Wow. You know, it's always been a girlhood dream of mine to love a man
named Earnest,”  Monica bubbled from the back seat.  I laughed silently 
at the confused look on Earnest's face, which was soon followed by a 
‘really? Cool.'  I had to admit George and his crazy mother were a 
little more entertaining.  But Steve seemed to be slightly happier at 
notice of Earnest's stupidity. 

“What light through yonder window breaks,”  he quoted randomly,
apparently trying to gauge Earnest's knowledge of literature. 

“Um... ‘tis the east!  And Jane is the sun.”  Monica cocked a
confused-yet-peppy eyebrow.  “Wait, that is your name, right?”  I tried 
desperately to stifle my laughter until we were safely out of the car, 
but with no such luck.  Sorry, Monica.   I'm also sorry that this is 
making Steve happy, and not something that isn't an insult to you or 
your five-minute-date.  But he's not destiny, he's the manager of a 
seven-eleven. 

By this time, we are at the restaurant.  I pull up to the valet and get
out of the car, handing over the shiny keys.  “Thanks,”  I mutter to 
the speed-happy teenager as he drives my car insanely toward the 
parking lot.  The restaurant is Japanese and expensive, but I guess you 
can afford it if you are in an ever so successful career as managing a 
seven eleven, right?  I pray silently that he won't leave us with the 
bill. 

As soon as we are seated, Monica pulls me off to the restroom.  “Do you
hate him as much as I do?”  She asks once we are out of ear-shot.” 

“Yes.”  I hate him a hundred times worse than you do.  “I'm sure Steve
would heartily agree.”  I glance over to notice Steve quizzing Earnest 
on algebraic equations.  “He is a sure fire idiot.  You should ditch 
him.” 

“I know.  I would but he's paying for dinner.” 

“So?  We both hate Japanese food, and Steve will live, right?”  She
shrugs reluctantly. 

“I miss all the interesting guys.  How come we got bridled with the
stupid one?”  Because you wanted him to buy you dinner, I think. “I 
need to be more picky in who buys me dinner.”    People keep reading my 
mind lately. 

Discussion half done, we walk back to our table, where a woman has
approached Steve.  “Here's a drink, on the house.  Can I sit with you?” 
Steve looks at her and smiles. 

“Nope, sorry.  I'm gay.”  Her face falls. 

“Are you two...”  Steve practically gags. 

“Oh, no.  Um...his date is in the lady's... oh, hey Monica.  Piper.” 
Steve looks relieved.  So much so that he is rather hyperventilating.  
Earnest has pulled out a pen and is trying to solve for ‘x' on his 
cocktail napkin.  Monica nudges me. 

“Oh, crap.  Piper look,”  I glance over to where she is pointing, where
I see a guy I vaguely recognize as Daniel Thomas.  The woman he's 
sitting with must be the infamous Joanna, Mon's boss.  Dan glances over 
quickly, giving Monica enough time to squeeze Earnest into the corner 
of the booth with a draping hug.  Jesus.  He pays no mind to the 
awkward almost-love triangle going on and instead turns to Steve, 
confused. 

“Dude, who do you do this thing?”  He gestures jerkily toward the
napkin.    Steve calmly explains the algebra problem, laughing inside.  
I hope he does geometric proofs next.  “Oh... wait, Steve, man your 
gay?  That's why you were sitting on the chick's side.”  Run, Monica.  
Run. 

“Yup.  I'm not a complex guy.”  Steve is practically gagging on his
happiness when my phone rings.  I know it is mum.  Dear God, what did I 
do to disserve this? 

“Piper!  Hey, sweetie.  I...er... okay I'll just come out and say it. 
Did you know about Inga?”  No.  Shut up, I think.  I don't even care if 
she is Taylor's mysterious ‘other half' or something. 

“No, but I sure would love to,”  is what I say.  I do wish that woman
understood the concept of sarcasm.  I can tell right now she is going 
all grave and serious and what not. 

“Ooh... I don't know, dear.  She's your fathers...er...” 

“Significant other?” 

“Er...I was going for crack whore, but okay.”  Funny. Mum said crack
whore.  Oh, wait, the world is ending.  Head for the hills. 

“Um...sure, mum.  I...er... go on.”  The end of the world and I am still
lost for words. 

“Well, I caught them...”  Oops.  Pop goes the cel phone,  right into
Joanna's mane of strawberry hair.  Giggles are emanating from Monica's 
side of the table.  I hear her whisper ‘kiss my ass' into her white 
cloth napkin, though Joanna has yet to notice the cel phone-related 
domestic disturbance.  Instead she is downing a sake shot.  She's going 
to need it, being at mum's mercy like that.  Revenge in the form of 
annoying mother is more interesting than pigs feet, and Monica seems to 
agree. 

“Nice shot, Piper.”  Steve says as Earnest stares into empty space. 

“Dude.  What was that?”  He finally questions, wiping the drool from his
mouth. 

“Electrical shock.  I...uh, yeah.”  Earnest seems convinced, and no one
else is paying attention. 

“Man, those things can be a bitch.  I mean one time, I had this cel,
right? And it kept ringing and ringing and wouldn't stop so I told the 
kid who worked for me to do something about it, and he picks it up... 
and it turns out to be my long lost twin and he totally hangs up!  
Isn't that funny?”  They better not bring sharp objects with our food. 

“Piper?”  Daniel is heading towards our table with the devil phone in
his hand.  Damn it.  “I...uh... think this is yours.  Some chick's 
screaming about shagging wankers or something.  I... oh, hey, Monica.”  
Monica's stare states ‘I still love you, but you're an asshole'.  Dan's 
is ‘please, don't hurt me'.  Ah, the language of love.  Joanna seems to 
be looking at Earnest, too.  Mmm...soap opera digest. 

Nine hours after the tortured encounter, I wake up, not remembering much
except for some idiot and Monica drinking excessively.  It is eight 
o'clock in the morning and I have not yet had my coffee.  Now, don't 
get me, wrong, I don' usually awaken this late.  And now the phone is 
ringing.  It is my manic boss, Lester Giddings.  “Piper!  Where.  The.  
Fuck.  Are you?  I called an hour ago and got your message machine.  
You are so stupid!  Lazy! Fuck! Get down here!  There will be no 
getting of the coffee!  No applying of the makeup!  Be here in fifteen 
minutes  or your so fucking fired!”  He hangs up then, not letting me 
speak.  Oh, for the love of God.  I go to change, but not before 
finding a bit of paper with Dan's number on it that says ‘call me some 
time, love.'  Hmm. 

Fifteen manic minutes later, I arrive at work, scouring the area for a
breakfast table.  Unfortunately, we at this prestigious corporation are 
‘early people' and we usually eat at around five AM.  And have our 
coffee. Bloody hell.  “Hello, Piper!  Glad to see you, chipper as a 
chipmunk, ya little bitch!”  Lester says, dashing by to get into a 
meeting.  I resist the urge to kick him.  Never kick the insane.  Never 
kick the insane and superior.  If you have the urge to, go see Steve. 

When I arrive at the Starbucks, Monica is there too.  “Why are you not
at work?”  I ask, barging in though the double doors. 

“I was sent away because they thought I was ill.  Or mad.  Or possibly
both... and you?” 

“I don't know,”  I say.  “I'm delirious without my coffee.” 

“Get in line,”  Monica points over to where Steve is serving a mile a
minute to what looks like thousands to me and other coffee-deprived 
souls. 

“Do you remember what happened last night, Mon?” 

“Er... no.  I'm sorry, I awoke with a splitting headache holding a slice
of cheese.”  Oh.  Okay then. 

“I am the brother of the queen of England!”  Someone shouts from across
the Starbucks.  This whole thing is getting on my severely uncaffinated 
nerves.  “Yet I get no respect from the London populace!”  The crazy 
guy is pacing the front of the store scratching at his brown wool 
sweater.  “Hell, hell, hell.”  He then stomps out, leaving me dazzled, 
though for no reason in particular. 

“What?  Did you recognize him?” 

“No... um...”  I realize I am drooling.  “Oh, shit.  Sorry Monica. 
I'm... needing caffeine.  A lot.”  I lean my head on an annoyed 
Monica's bony shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”   I honestly do not know.  Sleeping?  Slowly dying
from caffeine headache? 

“No, I mean, did Dan...um... I found his number and...”  Ring. 

“Piper, your ass is ringing.”  The phone has ended up in the back pocket
of my khakis.  It's a wonder this is the first time it's rung today. 

“Piper.  Hey, sweets.  Guess what?”  It is not mum.  It is my sister
Taylor, who even in normal circumstances is a screaming banshee and is 
known to use the word ‘meep' to express her feelings. 

“Hmm... I have a splitting caffeine headache, can we do this another..” 

“I'm getting married!” She squeals.  Am I supposed to girlish giggle now
or something? 

“SQUEEEE!”  I try my humble best at pleasing Taylor whilst not cracking
my own caffeine-deprived brain in two. 

“Oh, I know.  I can't wait to show you the rock.  It's glorious!  And
girl, let me tell you that...” 

“No, Taylor, it's...er... fine.  I've gotta... leave.  Yeah, so, good 
luck with that..”  I hang up the phone, hating. 

“What was the ‘Squeeee'  for, pray tell?”   Monica questions bleakly. 

“Not only is she younger than me and getting married, but I don't even
have a boyfriend!  And I haven't had one for years, so you can imagine 
how long it's been since...”  Everyone is staring at me. “Never mind,  
I need caffeine before I can properly bitch about my little sister's 
wedding in front of strangers.”  I leave them to their coffees, burying 
my head in my hands. 

“Piper,”  it is marathon man Steve, “I'm not supposed to do this, but
here.  It's free.”  The object in question is a grande latte. 

“I love you baby.”  I say to both Steve and the cardboard cup. 

“Hehe.  Good job finally landing a boyfriend.” 

“Thanks.  Wait,  what?”  I take a long chug of the latte, postponing all
curiosities until I am fully caffinated. 

“Daniel.”  Huh?  “He.  Asked.  You. Out?” 

“Oh.  Right...uh, when exactly?' 

“For Tuesday.. seven at Barney's, you know...  you don't know, do you?” 

“Oh, no.  I just found his... number.  Oh.”  I sip the coffee, trying to
unclog my befuddled brain.  “Before I forget, I am so sorry about all 
of yesterday.  Dragging you along and, ya know, publicly humiliating 
you.” 

“It's okay, really.  I kind of have to get back...” 

“Yeah, I should probably get to work too.  See you, Mon.”  She sits down
on a stool at the counter, looking faintly depressed as she watches me 
leave, skipping (yes, skipping.  Because of the Daniel issue.  I am 
jubilant despite myself.) 

“Jesse, guess what?”  I ask a jaded co-worker, still skipping as I enter
work. 

“What?  Did you see the Virgen Mary in your latte cup or something?” 

“No... that would be kind of cool though.” 

“What happened?”  He asks, though less than enthusiastic. 

“I'm Dating again!”  He raises an annoyed and cynical eyebrow. 

“How nice for you, Piper.  I know some other cheerleaders who will be
like totally jazzed that you've finally found your soul mate.  Go 
away.”  And away he walks, desperately un-caffinated.  I feel oh so 
fucking fabulous.  Thanks, Jesse.  My phone is ringing. 

“Hello?  This is Piper.  I have a date on Tuesday,”  I answer, though I
know what it will be met with. 

“Does he have a whore?”  Yes, it is mum!  And she doesn't seem to care
that her daughter is getting married, either.  Well then. 

“Actually, Mum, ‘he' is a she.  I realized I was a lesbian as soon as I
met Dora.  I go to a group meeting and everything...”  Though I know 
now that she doesn't understand the concept of sarcastic bitchiness, 
her answer disturbs me. 

“Oh, God, why me?  Why me?” 

“Mum, it was a joke...” 

“You keep on believing that until you go over the edge!  The bible says
not to...” 

“Speaking of... anything but lesbianism... are you proud of Taylor?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, c'mon.  The wedding?” 

“What wedding?  I...” 

“Oh, you know.  Taylor and... oh, shit.  You don't know, do you?” 

“Shit is right!  Taylor's engaged?  Oh, my God!  My baby! She'll come
home one day and.. boom!  There he is, shagging that stupid Swedish 
Housekeeper she hired.”  She is tearing now.  “She'll say ‘I thought 
Inga could be trusted!  I thought that Richard could be trusted!  But 
no!” She breaks into sobs.  “Okay, I'm calling her.” 

“Mum, wait... when she asks how you found out... say Maddy told you.” 

“Oh, whatever, you lesbian.”  She hangs up homophobically.  Taylor's
going to snap my neck. 

It is at this time that Lester chooses to skip on up to me.  “Oh.  My
god!  You, like are going out Tuesday night?  And, like, ya know 
something really, like amazing? GET TO FUCKING WORK!”  He then ambles 
away screeching “OY!  Lesbians!” 

Oh, fuck a pig.  I wander off into the cubicle jungle, hating, and sit
down at the appropriate plastic cell.  There is such a thing as too 
much caffeine, I realize, beginning to fantasize about someone 
introducing Piper's six merry co-workers in their rendition of ‘the 
cubicle block tango'.  In a caffeine-induced mental state, I decide to 
write a list of things I hate about my life.  It is as follows: 

1. Taylor's getting married before me. 2. Homophobic mother (and I'm not
even gay) 3. Tuesday will be my first real date since...um... 4. Monica 
and five minute dates with destiny sound appealing 5. Cynical 
co-workers 6. Manic, evil boss 7. Caffeine addiction 8. Hopelessly 
bored 9. Not doing my job 10. Now ‘The Cell Block Tango' is stuck in my 
head, too. 

“I heard that you have a date on Tuesday.”  I look up to see Lola, who
did a brief stint working at the Starbucks a few years ago before being 
fired for abusing her employee discount.  I don't really talk to her 
much, but she seems like my kind of person. 

“I do indeed.  How'd ya know?  Hear Lester screaming?” 

“No.  Jesse was rambling again.  It's so weird what he talks about at
work.  My cubicle is right next to his.” 

“What?  Would it be deemed inappropriate conduct or something?  Wait,
it's not always about me, is it?” 

“No.   He usually talks about his mother.” 

“And underoos?”  I question, remembering George.  Possibly cynical
coworker by day and possessor of panties by night?  Hmm... 

“No...not that.  But she is quite strange, though, I mean, apparently
sometimes at Christmas...”   Just ten Lester clomps up.  Sorry, Lola, I 
think as he goes off. 

“This one time?  At Christmas? LOLA GOT THE FUCK BACK TO WORK!  STOP
FRATERNIZING WITH CAFFINATED LESBIANS, YOU FUCK HEAD!”  Lola looks 
puzzled, but meanders off none the less, leaving certain rumored 
lesbians (namely me) wondering what happens at Christmas with Jesse and 
his mother. 

Leaving work, I'm still wondering about said Christmas incident, so I
ask Jesse about it.  Unfortunately, his response is “who told you?  Was 
it Lola?  Gah.”  He then leaves post haste as I make my way over to 
Starbucks. 

Lola is there, talking to Steve.  “Hey, Piper.” 

“Hey.  Jesse's mad at you.  I don't know why, but he expressed genuine
emotion, so it must be serious.” People like Jesse usually only express 
emotion whilst demeaning others.  It's their way of life. 

“Oh, gracious me, I care,”  she mutters sarcastically,  slurping up her
latte.  I take a seat at the counter. 

“So, has Taylor called lately to tell you how young and engaged she is
and how you aren't?” 

“That blows,”  Lola says between gulps.  I can see where she might get
fired at the rate she's going on that latte. 

“Uno grande latte,”  I say in poor Spanish. 

“si.”  He makes the latte and hand it over as Lola slurps hers
contently.  I just remembered the stupid thing I did this morning. 

“Taylor's going to kill me,” 

“Why?” 

“Because mum didn't know about Taylor's new found happiness and I told
her.” 

“Big deal.” 

“I should also mention how mum and dad are getting a divorce because he
was cheating on her.” 

“Can't she still be happy for Taylor?  Second one to get married, I
mean, that's...” 

“Just shut up. Stop eluding to the fact that I'm single.  She can't be
happy for Taylor.  She used the words crack whore.  I accidentally set 
a mad woman on Taylor.   I just know I'm gonna come back from the dead 
as...like... a toilet brush or something!  This is horrible!” 

“It wasn't your fault.  It was her fault!  She dragged it out of you,
aye?” 

“Yeah, I guess, but...” 

After pondering for a minute, Lola says “But toilet brushes aren't
alive.” 

“Steve, stop giving her caffeine.”  I warn.  That must be it.  Lola
can't be this annoying without it... can she? 

“Hey, shut up.  I'm fine.  I don't need to stop drinking coffee!” 
Captain over-reaction to the rescue? 

Monica arrives soon.  There was a flash storm after I left work, and she
comes in from the cold wet and bitter, not unlike a turnip.  “Hi, 
guys,”  She says, her perkiness drained by the weather.  “They found a 
dead body in my building.  On the bright side, I finally know where 
that smell was coming from,”  She says blandly.  Sitting down next to 
me.  Monica is lucky enough to work in the most un-exclusive party 
planning office in the entire city.  It's sandwiched between a rat 
infested restaurant and a bar that was closed for sanitation reasons 
(it didn't have a bathroom.  You do the math).  I wonder how Monica 
stays so perky all the time.  I also wonder how they stay in business.  
It's times like these I love being a tech-type-person. 

“Who's that chugging a latte?” 

“Lola.  Remember Lola?”  Then I remember that Monica moved here after
Lola was fired from Starbucks.  “Never mind, you wouldn't.”  Our 
‘group' used to consist of me, Steve and two others: Larry and Quinn.  
Who later married and moved to Wisconsin to start a farm.  Don't Even 
ask.  Quinn was kind of hippyish, and Larry was a complete doormat.  I 
still think it's craziness.  And another example of how many of my 
peers are married/engaged/dating/in demand. 

“Hi, Lola.” 

“Hi, person.” 

“Monica.” 

“No,  I named you person.  I'll call you that forever.”  With that I
grab the coffee (or what's left of it)  away from Lola and dump it in 
the trash. 

“Don't even think about giving her more caffeine.  Ever.” 

“Shut up, you junkie redneck!  Don't listen to Mr. Cunningham, I can
take it.  Bring on the lattes, Stevey baby!” 

“Oh, my god!  Giving her caffeine is one thing, but spiking her
coffee...” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“I don't know, but doesn't she sound drunk?” 

“Yeah, she does.  Who wants to drive her home?” 

“Not me.  I don't want her to throw up in the car.” 

“Well, I have to work, so...” 

“Okay, I'm not drunk, okay?!” 

“The first step is admitting.” 

“Gah! No!  Not drunk, high, stoned, under the influence, etcetera!”  Mid
discussion, my cel phone rings once again.  Surprise-a-palooza... it's 
Taylor.  I pray, so maybe I'll go to heaven or some such. 

“Piper.  Hi, sweetie.  You'll never ever believe what Maddy did today. 
I mean, really.  She told mum about the wedding.” 

“Oh my god!”  Thanks, mum, I love you, no matter how homophobic you are.
“Why?” 

“I don't know.  But mum called and tried to talk me out of marrying
Glenn.  Of all the asinine things to do, Maddy.  I swear, when I see 
her at the wedding, I'm gonna fuckin' bitch slap her so hard...” 

“Have a heart.  Maybe it was an accident.” 

“Yeah, right.  She is so jealous of me and Glenn.  Ever since she and
Robert separated we've known they were getting divorced.  Temporary 
separation.  Bull shit.  She told me that they're going to Scotland for 
some kind of retreat... a couple thing.  Bull fuckin' shit!  Their 
marriage is dead and buried, okay?!” 

“Wait a sec... her marriage is failing too?” 

“Oui... who else?” 

“Mum and dad!  Didn't you even know?” 

“Mum and... so that stuff about... oh. My. God!  Does this mean they
fired Inga?  She was so nice and...” 

“What, did she warn you of crack whores and Swedish maids as well?” 

“Yes!  It all makes sense now... Piper, you and me, we're lucky,, you
know?  I'm getting married,”  she stops for a quick ‘Squeeee' before 
finishing “And you probably have a date every night.  Our poor family.  
Gah.”  If only you knew about George, earnest and the underoos 
controversy, you would pity me more than nice, reliable Maddy. 

But, you know what?  I guess maybe I am lucky, I mean...  Maddy and her
marriage, mum and the Swedish maid... at least I'm not Monica, who 
would even flatter someone like George to keep a guy in her life. For 
the first time in about ten years, I dial mum's home phone.  I get the 
machine.  “We're not home right now.  Please leave your name, message 
and where we can reach you after the beep.” 

Beep.  “Hi, mum.  It's me, Piper.  Just calling to say... thanks.” 


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