Piledrivers On Concrete

Essays

Sep 4

It’s possible to be happy and wayward at the same time. Adrift in the world, but content. I am raising my hand. Busy, yet watched so many different shows today on one of my last days out of the office. I don’t know what I am seeking. I’m not sure I am seeking anything other than serenity. Maybe that sounds Pollyanna. When they asked her what she wished for, she said, “World peace.”

I used to write letters to girls when I liked them when I was younger. The letters never worked because, if I was writing the letter, the chemistry had not developed. I was shooting my shot in the dark, and there was no glow-in-the-dark basket to score on. They were nice letters, and doubtfully cringe, but I think I was trying to make it easier on myself without sending a note that says, “Do you like me? Check one below. Yes. No.” I wouldn’t be able to answer that question because my brain works differently. The first thing I would think is, " Describe, like.”

I ate a bag of Jelly Belly’s today, but my local CVS was out of the regular flavors. They are always out of a lot of stuff, drinks too. It’s like Harriet got in a fight with the Lipton Pure Leaf delivery guy, and now it’s stark in the fridge. It’s weird to have an unstocked candy aisle. It was like that two weeks ago. Are these sugar pellets not orderable? I think not.

I’m pretty sure I once DM’d Jennifer Garner to try to become best friends with her. Thank goodness I haven’t really drunk alcohol at all in the social media era. Drunk dialing was a thing in my youth. I would have made drunk texting look like Raygun. But if I had social media when I used to go out, I am ashamed of a different version of myself who would have DM’d celebrities, really thinking I might hear back. Sonic youth.

When I started working as a prosecutor in County Court in Broward County, Florida, in 1997, I realized there was a crime called “Petit Theft.” It wasn’t petty; it was petit. This boggled my mind. It sounded like a cute kind of theft, like lifting lipsticks or stealing a DVD player while wearing a slick outfit. Not petite; petit. A tiny theft; one with class and style.

I grew up watching wrestling and reading wrestling magazines. I thought it was real. I learned Santa Claus was a myth before wrestling. Even when I knew it was staged, it was still real to me until I sat in the front row at the L.A. Sports Arena. I could hear them talking to each other. We were that close. It punched me from the inside. We ended up getting kicked out because my friend, Keebs, spat on Billy Jack Haynes back when he was out of the ring. I didn’t care. The curtain was raised, and I was standing there looking at a blank screen.