Ma Vie, Aujourd’hui!

Encounter with a Mountain Lion + Statutory Rape

October 5, 2008

Posted in: Marfa, TX

Salut, honey bunches of oats’s!

First off, let me clarify that my disappearance into the abyss of the unknown (i.e. lack of spastic communication) was the result of a visit to St. John’s College in Santa Fe.
My dear friend’s boyfriend has disappeared, wound his undies into an extremely tight bunch, it seems, and I have been advising her on how to both figuratively and literally coax his drawers out of their chastity bundle.  Tada! Voila! And presto! Also, shabang!!! I should be the next Aunt whatever-her-face is, the one that people write to for advice. Yes, indeed, I have found my calling. Sound the horns! Toot the trumpets!!! She has just acquired two fuzzy kittens, so I told her that in times of desperation, there is always bestiality to turn to. Hohoho, how not-funny am I?
Speaking of cats: there is a mountain lion in town. With cubs!!! And it lives in my arrondissement. I know!!!

Funny story: the other night I was at my friends’ house. I looked outside and noticed it was dark, and having been forbidden to walk around at night by Erika on account of the roaming beast, I brought up the subject of this overgrown feline. To prompt an offer for a ride home, I can only assume. A fifteen-minute long discourse on the perils of this predator produced the coveted offer. And then I turned it down. Honestly, what is wrong with me, I don’t know. But a prize to the first person who can figure it out. Anywho, there I was, minding my own beesewax, and I hadn’t even gotten a block and a half before I ran into the thing. At the new building on the highway that belongs to the Thunderbird.  It is the size of my couch (which is no diminutive sample of domestic furniture). Why am I alive, you may be wondering? See, here is what happened, my strumpet: (second colon of the story. Boy oh boy). Clearly, I had mountain lion on the brain. I was coming up to the highway from behind (the No Man’s Land behind Pueblo Market) and I saw it’s shadow. A gigantic cat shadow. Given my propensity for hysteria (well, not really, actually) I talked myself out of the conviction that I had indeed fumbled upon this monster. So I took a few more steps, at which time it proceeded to move. And then I knew. It was enormous, and it moved in a slinky fashion that eradicated the possibility that it was just on ordinary house cat whose shadow was being cast on the building wall (which I was assuming in light of how space-ially challenged I am). In theory, you are supposed to make yourself look as large as possible to trick them into thinking you’re a predator. But I was frozen in fear, and also debating what to do because I’d seen it from a block away, courtesy of it’s show, so perhaps it didn’t know I was there. And then I realized that it had to smell my fear and Tchae, for they LOVE to hunt dogs, so I doubly didn’t know what to do. I started to back away and it started to come towards me. But them, merciful god, a car drove down the alley and prevented it from coming out of the courtyard where it was. I was too afraid it would kill me if I made a scene to even try to hitch a ride. So I backed up (I had no idea where I was) and banged on somebody’s gate. They did not answer, of course. And then I burst into a random house for safety, which turned out to be the home of this guy I worked with last summer and his 30 plus girlfriend. He is very ashamed of his romance with her, and I walked in on their SHARED abode. Mais bien sur! My friend came and fished me out of that particular weirdness and drove me home. That is the lamest story I’ve ever told. My sincerest apologies. But it’s all true, I swear it!

And, on the subject of romantic woes, mine abound. I hate this.

Problem #1: I might have my sights on a 17 year old German boy.  I could be his babysitter, his chaperone. I could have birthed him, for Christ’s sake. Because of course I had a raging sex life at the age of two, not to mention all my reproductive organs were in order and well stocked. This is wrong in sooooo many ways, including the fact that being incarcerated for committing statutory rape never really made it onto my list of things to do in life. I suppose I could finagle it in there somehow, though. Flexibility. You see! On the fly alterations and amendments. The mark of true greatness. Or inherent molester tendencies. Take your pick. (Really, go ahead). I talked to him last night! I’ll be fleeing to Me-hi-co demain. Should be crossing the border at about 3 p.m. We may have to stay out of touch for a while whilst I escape the law, but such are the ways of convicts. You see, because I am in training at the restaurant, I currently replace him as bus boy, meaning that we never work together. We have been weird and oogley with each other, so it was nice to finally talk to him for reals, yo! Please still be my friends. Actually, he was on his way out the door, but was so enraptured by our conversation on college application that he stayed mucho tempo. His mom is a lovely but scary German broad. Great. I will have survived an encounter with Margo the Mountain lion only to be assassinated by a stout lady who is (rightfully) defending her son from lechery. That is of course precisely what my life was missing until now. It’s all coming together! The missing piece of he puzzle, the filling of the hole in my soul, that je ne sais quoi. Shall I go on? Actually, I’m not sure that I could. I can’t summon any more retarded ways to express that exact same point.

Problem # 2: I will forever be alone. I thought this was a fate consigned only to the obese lards and supreme weirdo’s of the world. But alas, although I am not covered in moles nor am I especially gordo, I will forever exist in this solitary state. Quelle tristess. And I’m not even just a career spinster, but a besotted one. Not the proud lady who flaunts her lack of sexual urges to the world, but the sad I’m-alone-but-not-by-choice kind. Drats. And double merde. I can’t even have the best kind of bad luck.  I am currently stocking up on yarn and needles and a varied assortment of teas so that I may begin my career celibacy. This is my term of choice, for it brilliantly conveys the permanent aloneness and tragic absence of sex and companionship while avoiding religion altogether. Pretty snazzy, eh?

Write me vite vite, darlings. Adieu and bonne nuit. Et Bon Soir!!! I’m trying to get into writing mode, so a rapid-fire correspondence should be of use to me. I’ll try to crank them out. Write me something juicy and please, for the love of god, help me figure out why my waylaid urges are directed at toddlers. Aidez-moi, je vous emprie!!!

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