I called up the Hot Mess last night in hopes of hanging out. For the past couple of weeks now, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.

“I’m still at work right now, but you should come by. We can go eat after,” she said.

After we hung up, I got dressed, and made the long trek to the lazy surf town of Haleiwa. The Hot Mess worked at this tiny women’s clothing store near the shopping center out there, spending most of her shifts watching music videos on television while tourists stopped in and then soon left in search of  more “authentic” Hawaii clothes.

“Hey there, little guy,” she said when I stepped through the door. She was folding a stack of t-shirts at the register counter, leaning forward to accentuate her long, slender legs.

I turned to see the Pussycat Dolls playing on the television. “Is this what you do all day?”

“Pretty much.” She turned up the volume and bopped her head to the beat. “Fun, I know.”

“What’s with all the cameras?” I asked, pointing at tiny television with split screens of the store.

“The owner put video cameras all over the store,” she explained. “The store never gets really crowded, so  I think the cameras are to watch the employees.” She came around from the counter and kissed me on the cheek. “Follow me.” She grabbed my hand and lead me between two clothing racks of women’s bikinis. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

“Uh, this is awkward,” I laughed. “I don’t want a bikini. Trust me.”

“Just stay there!” she called out, running back towards the register. I lost her between the bloated racks, full with women’s blouses and skirts.

I was staring at a hideous floral bikini top when the Hot Mess reappeared, weaving between the row of racks near me. “So now what?” I asked.

She rushed toward me and kissed me with such intensity that I had to steady myself against the top of the clothing rack. “Well, nice to see you too. Now why am I standing here?”

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me again, this time longer. “This is one of the only places in the store that you can’t see on camera.”

*     *     *

After the Hot Mess finished work, she suggested we eat at this Mexican restaurant a few blocks from her working place. I had already eaten, so I told her I’d just get a drink and keep her company.

Rosie’s Cantina was practically empty when we stepped through the door and it was freezing. The host sat us at a table against the window so we could watch the sunset, but it was still cold. I could see the Hot Mess’ bony shoulders shaking as she huddled into herself for warmth.

I took off my jacket and handed it to her across the table. “Here. I’m okay.”

She looked shocked and a little confused at first. “What?”

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” She took my jacket and draped it over her shoulders, confirming how tiny she really was.

“Wow, I didn’t even know people like you existed,” she said, surprised. She pushed her nose into the chest and then smiled to herself. “It smells like you, like your cologne.”

We both ordered drinks and when the waitress returned, she only looked at the Hot Mess.

“Hey guys,” the waitress interrupted. I don’t know why she even bothered with the plural since she didn’t even acknowledge me. “Ready to order?”

“Not yet,” the Hot Mess answered, trying to quickly go through the items on the menu. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, you’re really pretty,” the waitress sputtered out. “I’ll just come back in a bit.”

The Hot Mess smiled graciously, with no hint of embarrassment or surprise at the woman’s compliment. “Aww, why thank you.”

I stirred my drink and thought about tearing up my napkin into tiny pieces, tossing them across the table, and then pouring salt all over it.   The Hot Mess shot me a look.  I put the salt shaker away. “What?”

“That face–why are you making the face?” she pointed. She took a long sip of her drink and I watched the swirl of alcohol and juice dance together in her glass.

“I’m not making a face,” I answered. “Silly.”

She stood up, then leaned over and squeezed my hand. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the restroom.”

When the Hot Mess returned, she was smirking. “You’d never believe what just happened.”

“What?”

“So when I came out of the bathroom, our waitress stopped me and told me to come by sometime. Then she said to stop by some other bar because she works there and wants to see me.” The Hot Mess looked secretly (or rather, not so secretly) pleased or flattered.  She furrowed her brow. “You’re making that face again.”

“What face?”

“That face.  I know what it is,” she exlcaimed, jumping from her seat to point at me. “You’re jealous!”

My cheeks started to feel hot. “What?”

“You’re jealous! Jealous of that stupid waitress.” She shook her head and then smiled tenderly at me. “What are you getting all jealous about? I’m sitting here, eating with you.” She reached across the table to touch my hand. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad!” I declared. “It’s just–how rude of her!”

“Well, yeah. But whatever, she’s tacky. It’s not a big deal. This happens to me a lot,” she shrugged. There was something slightly off-putting about her answer, but the waitress returned before I could ask her to clarify.

The vulture waitress again only looked at the Hot Mess. I mean, I couldn’t blame her, the Hot Mess looked exactly like how her nickname implied, but it was still rude. I could tell the Hot Mess just loved the attention. Whenever the waitress flirted with her (sometimes extremely inappropriately), she was still polite and gave the air that things were still open between them. It was a strange thing to watch. I went between feeling proud and then suddenly uncomfortable and insecure in a matter of sentences.

I was glad to get out of there after our meal. I held open the door for the Hot Mess and when I felt the cool night air on my skin, I felt like I could breathe again.

“That waitress was inappropriate.” I said as soon as we got outside.  “I should have poured salt on our table before we left.”

The Hot Mess laughed and then linked arms with me. She kissed my cheek. “It’s fine, at least she gave us a discount!”

“Because she was running on the assumption that you might visit her at the bar later,” I added. “She had such a smug look on her face.”

“She did, and that’s why I don’t  feel bad about the discount. I mean, who thinks it’s appropriate to hit on someone while they’re already on a date with someone else.”

I didn’t know how to process her reasoning, so I just smiled at the fact that she said we were on a date together. “A date, huh? Is that what this is?”

“I’d say so,” she answered. “We went to dinner, you offered me your jacket, and I’m hoping for a good night kiss. Seems like a date to me.”

It was getting late and I had to work the next day, so I told her it’d probably be best if I took her home. While driving back to her house, our conversation reached a comfortable silence and one of my favorite songs filled the car.

“Your lips come as some surprise,
That they would want to come and meet mine,
They never taste like the last time,
Your lips come as some surprise.”

I parked the car in the guest space and offered to walk her to her door.

“We have to go the back way,” she explained, checking the floor to make sure she didn’t drop anything. “My parents are super nosy and they don’t like the fact that I’m gay.”

“I don’t have to walk you to the door,” I said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“We’ll just go the back way. My bedroom is on the first floor, so I actually have a sliding patio door I can go through. Come on, let’s go.”

It was getting late and most of the residential area she lived in was already asleep. The condos hummed quietly as we made our way through the parking lot to her house. When we reached the end of the lot, she grabbed my hand and led me up an uneven flight of stairs and  then around a tall bush, between a small space between an adjacent bush.  She brought her finger to her mouth to quiet me and we tip-toed through her tiny yard to the patio deck.

She checked to see if the door was unlocked and left it cracked open. “Thank you for tonight,” she whispered. She wrapped her slender arms around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. Something felt different about this kiss. It felt new. Or maybe I felt new. Who knows.

Comments Posted: October 17th 2009
Filed under: The Good
Tagged In: inappropriate flirting, some surprise, the cake sale, the goodnight kiss, the hot mess

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve been seeing ghosts.

The other day I was at Borders and from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw theEx walking through the fiction section. It’s not that I wanted to see her or anything, I just thought I did.  But when I peeked over from where I was standing, I realized it wasn’t her. This has happened to me more than once in the past few weeks and every time I’m wrong, I feel a little like I’ve seen a ghost.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, still on my side of the bed, and I’m suddenly aware of how big this apartment feels when I’m alone.

I know this sounds a little morbid and maybe melodramatic, but it feels a little like she’s died. The other day while cleaning my apartment, I found a box of her checks under a pile of mail. I thought about calling her to let her know, but remembered that I couldn’t (we’re not on speaking terms). I didn’t have the heart to shred and toss her checks, so I put the box on an end table in the living room.

The thing is, I don’t want to get back with her. I know that breaking up was for the best, it just feels as if she’s been suddenly lifted out of my life, only leaving behind a box of checks, an old sleep shirt, and her handwriting on the tab of a folder to keep my car records. It’s a strange and unfamiliar feeling, and when I think about her now, her face is slowly starting to blur.

The only one who seems unphased by these changes is my cat. Perhaps because she’s always been my partner in crime, she never looks behind me for someone else when I come home from work. She sleeps on theEx’s side of the bed as if it were always her side and after I’ve come home, she never waits by the front door for someone else.

I’m grateful for this.

Comments Posted: October 14th 2009
Filed under: Random Thoughts
Tagged In: ghosts, i've been walking with a ghost, moving on, theEx

The Hot Mess called me this morning before my alarm woke me up. I answered the phone with that gross-just-woke-up voice I have and when I realized it was her, I immediately sat up.

“What are you up to today?” she asked.

“Nothing. Probably some writing. Why? What’s up?”

“I’m stuck at home today. I thought we could hang out. I live at the condos in Turtle Bay, so I thought I’d ask if you wanted to go to the beach?”

No, not really. I hate the beach. And the sun. “Yeah, definitely. Although, I should probably warn you now that I’m not a beach person and I will burn and it will be ugly.” Also, I have to mention that Turtle Bay is really far. It’s on the opposite end of the island and takes over an hour to get there without traffic. Nothing in Hawaii should take longer than 20 minutes to get to–it’s an island!

“I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

It’s hard to say no to that, so we got off the phone and I tore through my dresser looking for some swim clothes.

The drive to Turtle Bay was as long as I had imagined, but I had forgotten how nice it is.  When I pulled into Turtle Bay, I gave the Hot Mess a call and she came running out in a bikini top and shorts.

When she came into the car, she rested her towel on her lap and gave me a quick kiss on my cheek. “Hey. I didn’t think you would actually come. I’m really surprised.”

“Why not?”

“Because I live out in the boonies,” she laughed. “Nobody wants to make the drive down here. See the parking lot up ahead? You can park there.”

“It was pretty far,” I answered. “But I saw some sheep and a horse on the way, so I think I’ll feel pretty countryish for at least the next week or so. I can brag to my friends about it. It works out great.”

I parked the car and we found a spot on the beach away from most of the tourists. At one point, a rock got caught between my foot and slipper and I was embarrassed when I realized how damn white my legs were. I pulled my swim shorts down a bit. Seriously, I’m not made for the beach.

The highlight of that afternoon came when we went into the water. We waded in the shallow area, talking about our lives while letting the tiny waves pull us back and forth from the shore.

While watching the next set of approaching waves in the distance, I felt her fingers reach for mine under the water. She held on to my pinky and let the rest of my fingers float on top of her hand. It took me by surprise and when I turned to look at her, she just smiled.

It had been so long since someone held my hand that I had almost forgotten how intimate it feels. TheEx was never big on holding hands and when we did, she made sure to tightly weave her fingers between mine. Holding hands with her always made me feel as if she were trying to bind us together, forever keeping us only an arm’s length apart. I would always feel a little claustrophobic whenever she reached for me.

Holding hands with the Hot mess, however, felt casual and yet intimate. I didn’t want to marry her or cook a romantic dinner for her, but I did want to kiss her right then, so I did.

Comments Posted: October 11th 2009
Filed under: The Good
Tagged In: i wanna hold your hand, i'm not meant to go outside, the hot mess, the long drive to turtle bay, theEx

I’ve been going back and forth on whether I wanted to discuss my job here, but ultimately I’ve decided that I should talk about it, mainly because it has an effect on my love life.

I got the job quite randomly. I was doing freelance photography for a local newspaper here and looking for a more stable gig and some benefits. I had a business meeting with a friend of mine and over lunch, her girlfriend asked me casually if I was looking for job.

“Are you good with photoshop?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m pretty decent,” I told her.

“Well, I work for a porn company.”

I nearly spit out my water.

She paused for effect. “A tranny porn company.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. I thought she was kidding. But after wiping the tears from my eyes, I realized she was being serious. She told me they were looking for someone to touch up photos and asked me to forward her my resume. I remember going home and thinking, “how do I tweak my resume to get a job re-touching porn?” I mean, really, what skills could I emphasize that would make me seem fitting for the industry? After sending in a cover letter and my resume, I was sent back a set of photos to re-touch. It was, er, difficult. A couple of weeks later, I had an interview with my boss, who I will name the Brit, and we talked casually about why he started his business and my own interests. He found out that I actually had a passion for writing and he decided to change my job description from photo re-toucher to marketing/blogging (thank god).  I was officially hired a few days later.

Most people find my job hilarious. I bring them those cheesy pens where first the “woman” is clothed and then you turn it upside down and you can see she has an extra…part.

Girls, on the other hand, either love my job or slowly creep away while judging me. The other week I was having a conversation with a cute cashier at Borders and when I mentioned my job, I could almost see the words falling from my mouth and staining our conversation. It was impossible to make a smooth recovery after that point, so I bought three of those truffles they sell at the register and jetted out of there as fast as possible.

Well, at least I’ve shared the truth here. Hopefully I haven’t scared too many people away.

Comments Posted: October 8th 2009
Filed under: My Life is Strange
Tagged In: are you serious, my life is so strange, pr0n, the truth is so much funnier

I’ve been M.I.A. for the past few days, but with good reason–I just turned 26! To celebrate, my friends planned a small karaoke party for me. What’s funny is that I’m the only one who will sing sober (although I sound awful), so most of the party was me singing out-of-tune Journey songs until everyone else was drunk enough to join me.

During our second drunk rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”, someone suggested we head to the strip club next.  Some people went home after we paid the tab, but a few of my friends decided to stick around so we piled into my car and headed to the nearest strip club.

Remember how I’ve mentioned the idea of the Hot Mess in previous entries? Well, strippers are the epitome of the Hot Mess, and for me, they’re hard to resist.  We pulled up seats near the side stage and my guy friend, nicknamed Otter (’cause he kind of looks like a cartoon otter), had his wad of bills out and ready. “I’m going to get you a lapdance tonight,” he said, folding a dollar bill and dropping it on the stage right in front of me. My other two girl friends sat on the other side of him and immediately ordered drinks.

The dancer was in the middle of the set, swinging around her pole wildly to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and scooping up money from the surrounding patrons. She had dirty blonde hair and liked kicking her legs in the air when she danced. When she made her way to Otter, he was squirming enthusiastically in his seat. “Today is my friend’s birthday!” he cheered, pointing at me. “Be nice to her!”

I waved awkwardly and Blondie crawled in front of me. “It’s your birthday, huh?”  She pulled me by the collar of my shirt toward her. “You’re cute.” she paused. “Am I making you nervous?”

I tried to pull away politely, but Otter kept stuffing dollar bills in my shirt pocket. “Uh. I’m fine.”

After her set, she collected the rest of her money and then made her way around the room to see who wanted a lapdance.  She pulled up an empty seat next to me and smacked her cheery glossed lips. “Having a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I answered.  “Although, my friend is having a great time. And you?”

She tossed her hair. “It’s going okay. It’s a slow night. So it’s your birthday, huh?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. How come they don’t serve alcohol here?”

“It’s a dry club,” she explained. “Why? Want a drink?” She sprung up from her seat. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

She returned holding one of those plastic red cups you get at a dorm party. “Try it,” she said. “We call it the Lexi, after one of the girls here.”

I took a sip. “Wow. Tastes good. Strong.” It tasted a little like listerine and it burned going down.

“It helps me get through my sets,” she said, more to herself than to me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be–you’re good company.” She rested her head on my shoulder and I was intoxicated by the smell of sweet perfume and sweat. I know all strippers have to be like this. They’re amazing at inflating your ego and making you part with most of your paycheck. I know all of these things, but I was flattered when she decided to spend the next few sets by my side instead of asking others if they wanted a lapdance.

My two girl friends were busy comparing breast sizes (most likely) with the dancers while Otter nursed a beer while folded dollar bills in front of him. When the song finished, he came running up to me grinning. “Hi! Having a good time?”

“Yeah, just hanging out,” I told him.

He looked at Blondie leaning against me and took it as an opportunity.  “Are you giving out lapdances?” he asked her.

She sat up and fixed her hair. “For you, baby? Of course.” It was like the word lapdance had flipped a switch in her and now she was ‘working’ again.

Otter’s head was so full of compliments by now that he was about to tip over. He was drunk with happiness. “Not me. For the birthday girl!”

I waved. “No no, I’m fine.”

“Ahh come on!” he said. He stuffed a few bills into my shirt pocket. “She’s being modest, don’t listen to her. She really wants a lapdance.”

Blondie stood up and was fixing her tiny bikini, practically falling out of her top. “Well, then I’ll be sure to show her a good time.” She winked at Otter.

“Come with me,” she cooed into my ear. I stood up and she grabbed my hand and led me through the seedy club. I imagined that we were actually making our escape out of here, pushing through the crowd. She took me to a back room, with two rows of smaller booths with curtain doors. She pulled back the curtain from the last booth and nodded her head for me to go inside.

It was tiny and honestly I was afraid of touching everything. “Why is there a kleenex box here?”

She laughed. “Well, you know…”

“Ahh. Nevermind. I get it. Would like to get that image out of my head now.” It was basically a tiny room with a bench attached to one wall. It was barely big enough for one person, so I tried not to imagine how they made two people fit in there all the time.

She touched my face, so I would look right into her eyes. They weren’t vacant like the other dancers I saw that night.  They were blue and swirly, dangerous and self-destructive, much like the Hot Mess’ eyes. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. We can just sit here and talk. That’s okay with me,” I explained to her. I handed her Otter’s money. “I’ll still give you my friend’s money. It’ll make him feel like he did something nice for me. I won’t tell him that all we did was talk.”

“You’re really sweet.”  She tapped me to scoot over on the tiny bench and sat down beside me, sticking out her legs so her high heels touched the other wall. I did the same and we compared shoe sizes.

She grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me into her, kissing me with all her might. I know it seems strange, but I almost felt like I was watching everything from outside my body. It didn’t really felt like it was happening to me.

The song ended and she stopped abruptly. “Sorry, it’s supposed to be no- touching, so don’t tell anyone. Come on, let’s go back in the front before I get in trouble.”

I pulled out Otter’s money, flustered. “Here. Take this, please.”

“Keep your money, silly,” she said. “I just wanted to know what it’d be like to kiss you.”

We left the club in a daze and when I checked my phone on the way home, I noticed a text message from the Hot Mess.

It read, “Facebook told me today’s your birthday, so happy birthday. Hope you’re having a good time wherever you are.  If you’re nice, maybe you’ll get a birthday kiss.”

Comments Posted: October 4th 2009
Filed under: The Crazy, The Good
Tagged In: 26 is okay i suppose, don't stop believing, happy birthday, quarter life crisis, strip club, the epitome of the hot mess