I’m going to start posting three times a week. As I strive to get my essay collection published, I want to rebuild my audience and platform so I can sell enough books to buy a party yacht. And it looks like I can get a superyacht for $275 million. On average, an author makes about $1.25 per book in royalties. I only need 220 million new readers, which is nearly as many books Stephen King has sold across his 58 published novels. So I guess I might have to look into chunks of rotting driftwood I can float on in the Inner Harbor.
But look, I’m just saying, this THREE TIMES THE PIZZA schedule is going to rule. As I know many of you are writers, artists, and creative people, I’m hoping I can provide an entertaining roadmap for you to watch me achieve my dreams of getting severe skin ulcers from the water in the Chesapeake Bay as I bobble along on my driftwood.
#ThriftStoreMonday will feature a new weekly thrift store adventure, as I explore the aesthetic, beauty, and personal connection of whatever crap I procure in my weekly dig.
#EssayWednesday is where I will post my long reads and deep dives into whatever subject I wander into that week.
#TheFridayList will feature a new form I’ve gotten into, where I post a list of something. It’s a very “Internet” form of writing, and I want to bring my unique take and style on it.
And now, the feature presentation:
People to Take On Dates to Applebee’s for Dollaritas
Krysten with a y, who genuinely enjoys the syrupy concoctions. She also enjoys washing her hair with Suave shampoo, being angry at people named Mike, and listening to Godsmack. She keeps their CDs in her car in a visor case. Once, you took her to karaoke in a dive bar, where she sang What’s Up by Four Non Blondes, and you had never seen such vulnerability in another human being until that very moment.
Bill, whose only personality trait is deep cut John Candy references. Which is fun, at first. Until he gets to a Rescuers Down Under reference, the one where Candy did the voice of Wilbur, and it rips through your body like bullet. He also has a binge drinking problem, but you won’t find out until he detours into Long Island Iced Teas after two Dollaritas.
Sara, who says “Holla Dollaritas” ironically, but also unironically. She says everything like this. It’s her gift. She comes with a comprehensive working knowledge of Perfect Strangers and ALF episodes, almost like a baby doll that comes with accessories. The tiny hair brush, the Balki accent. She suggests you order the mozzarella sticks, and that makes you love her, except for the “hollaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” that drones on forever, even after she’s gone.
Rob, the lovable jolly sidekick friend who is always wearing a pre-faded, pre-shrunk Goonies t-shirt from Target. His gut cacades over his belt gently, more of a lazy log flume ride than waterfall. He likes horror movies, wrestling, and making increasingly darker references on Twitter about wanting to guzzle bleach, which might be a cry for help. But hell, you’re basically guzzling bleach right now at Applebee’s, and everything seems fine.
Bree, who wears choker necklaces and raccoon eyes mascara like it’s 1996. She looks like Fairuza Balk, except on crack. Sometimes you say Fairuza Balk out loud to no one in particular. God knows why. Maybe it’s an existential longing. You’ve always been strange and empty like this. The Dollaritas do little to fill it in.
Alan, who creeps you the fuck out with his dead-eyed stare like he’s a 1960s Jesus painting. He’s always kind of dressed up, in a collared shirt or cardigan, even at Applebee’s. He sips from the Dollarita like he’s a goldfish drinking in tiny gulps from his own fish bowl. He makes uncomfortable humming noises that might mean pleasure.
Erin, who vapes tropical flavored CBD oil from a pink pen plastered with gemstones. She calls it “bling,” and it looks like she did it herself with a BeDazzler Kit from Hobby Lobby. She may or may not have vajazzle. And isn’t that why we’re on this date, to find out?
A bag full of garbage, green contractor size, from the dumpster behind the pizza/sub takeout joint that also does a great curry. It sits in the booth across from you contentedly, fragrant and filled with gyro grease and spicy tomato masala sauce. It’s so full and blubbery, filled with liquids and meat guts. It reminds you of a warm body, and that’s good enough.