Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries)

by Allison Burnett

  As I was leaving, he gave me his email address and said in a warm voice that he’d had a crush on me since freshman year and he’d love it if we could hang out before he went back to school. That was very sweet. I instantly forgave him for his cynical rudeness.

  Jade emailed me while I was out. Of course I was right. She is in love. His name is J.D. and he works as a DJ. How funny is that? I wonder if he’s slysdexic. Ha! She says next time we hang out she’ll tell me all about him. I won’t hold my breath. There’s no excuse for what a failure she’s been as a friend.

  Friday, December 21, 2007

  I have tried all week not to sink into a giant depression, but it’s really hard not to when you are all alone in the world and there are Christmas lights everywhere. The nights are so cold and black. This is why I haven’t blogged. Too sad.

  • • •

  I have always had a boyfriend. My first was Jake Barsumian when I was 11. He put his hand up my shirt to rub my nonexistent boobies and I was so embarrassed I stayed home from school for three straight days. Since then I have pretty much had a boyfriend nonstop. There’s always a guy somewhere waiting for me to get single. One of my exes said to me “You treat guys like cigarettes. You chain them.”

  I know I should be relieved that it’s over with Rory. Now we are both free to find something better. But I still miss having someone to talk to every day. I can’t help it. If I told this to Dan he would laugh and say “You miss him because you can’t stand being alone with yourself. You miss his worship.” He would be right.

  Everyone is back for Christmas break but no one calls me.

  Before I left today Paul asked if I wanted to work their annual Christmas Day party from 3:00 until 8:00. I would take care of Cole when he wasn’t sleeping or nursing and the rest of the time I would just be a guest. The pay is time and a half, plus all the eggnog I can drink. Yum! I usually spend Christmas with my dad but this year he’s out of town, so this is sort of perfect.

  You should see the tree Margaret picked out. It’s a noble pine which is more expensive than the other kinds but it leaves more room for ornaments. She looked so tired, I offered to stay late and help her decorate it but she said she has a very specific way of doing things that would drive me insane.

  Paul paid me today—$624 because I worked overtime. I want to buy the Spooners a Christmas present but they already have everything.

  Saturday, December 22, 2007

  Please don’t write to me if it’s just to correct my grammar and spelling or to judge my actions. I am doing the best I can. By the way, I know how to use the word “whom.” I just think that most of the time it sounds snobby and stupid.

  Today I stopped thinking about myself long enough to buy Christmas presents. I bought my mom five books and two CDs off her Amazon wish list. I bought Mark Aubichon a fancy Scrabble set because ours is missing crucial letters. I bought the Spooners a gorgeous baby album to record every moment of Cole’s blossoming life. And even though Jade is a barbarian bitch I bought her a dual outlet cigarette lighter for her car. Nothing for Rory or Dan. It’s lonely not shopping for a guy.

  • • •

  Joel Seidler called me again to “grab a bite.” In case you don’t remember, he’s my old geometry tutor. Big nose and wide hips. I never called him back because I didn’t want to get Rory jealous. Now that Rory’s history, I can call him. I need a friend. Especially a great listener like Joel.

  Sunday, December 23, 2007

  I actually laughed today. Really laughed. My dad called to remind me not to come over Christmas morning because he’ll be out of town. I told him that I would have to be a world-class cretin to forget such an important thing and that I had already committed to working Christmas Day.

  “For the rapist?”

  “Yes, Daddy, I am going to let him bang me under the mistletoe.”

  “Well, then, you’re what Santa would call a ho ho ho.”

  Not funny at all but he sure is fast.

  I reminded him that I have a new job nannying. He pretended that he remembered.

  “You’re so lucky,” I said. “What could be more fun than spending Christmas with an old Hindu lady?”

  I just said this to get him going. My dad hates India more than any place on earth. I’ve heard him rant against it a million times but it still makes me howl with laughter. He hates their music, food, clothes, government, movies, accents, many-armed gods and that they are starving to death but refuse to eat all those perfectly delicious cows. He says everything stinks in India. “Like Affie’s cooking times a billion.” The whole country’s nothing but a “curried mosh pit” with open sewers that run right through cities like rivers, only instead of carrying ships and tugboats, they carry “peanuts, chickpeas, and corn.” He says India’s the most “awful, backward, corrupt and beknighted nation on earth.” He thinks their cast system is cruel and he hopes that Pakistan nukes India into a pile of smelly dust. What makes this whole thing even more hilarious is that my dad has never been to India! He’s hardly been anywhere!

  When Affie got home, he had to hang up fast. But it wasn’t because he didn’t want her to overhear his racism. She is never offended by anything he does or says. It was because she just got back from the vet who put down her cat Tapu because of its leukemia. Not even my dad is insensitive enough to continue to insult a person’s country while they’re crying their asses off. Especially when it’s the person who pays his bills and hands him his beers. I wish I could have been there to see him comfort her. That would have been funny. How do you comfort a person when your cirrhosis-belly is so big you can’t even hug them? Come to think of it, how do you drive three hours downstate in that condition? I hope he doesn’t die at a rest stop. That would be tragic.

  A born-again reader asked me how come I love Christmas so much when it’s so obvious I am the worst Christian in the world due to my sinful behavior and my “complete lack of remorse about it.” Here are my opinions and feelings about religion. I think religion helps people get through life. When you think of how hard life is and how much harder it used to be, it makes perfect sense that people invented God. I’m not just talking about when we were in the caves being eaten by saber-tooth tigers but also not that long ago when babies died during childbirth and very often the mothers did too. If you did not believe in God back then I think you would go crazy with fear and sadness.

  In my own pampered life I have found that I don’t need religion so far. But that could change. There is so much about religion I sincerely love. Number one is Christmas, of course. I love everything about it, especially the myth of Jesus Christ’s birth. Some people think that because it never really happened that makes it meaningless but I totally disagree. I think the fact that it’s a myth makes it even more sacred and inspiring. How amazing that human beings would make up a manger, three kings, the shepherds, a virgin mother, a carpenter father. The humbleness and beauty of it!

  Each day since Dan broke my heart, I am less and less angry. I mostly remember the good times now. His smell, his chest, his hands. It’s starting to snow out. The wind off the lake is shaking my windows. I would give anything to be crawling into bed with him tonight. Or else outside, walking together in a winter wonderland.

  Monday, December 24, 2007

  My mother obeys the Catholic custom of cooking seafood on Christmas Eve. Tonight she served my favorite, linguini with lobster. Plus a big yummy salad with feta cheese, pine nuts and hearts of palms. Then we all sat around our fake Christmas tree sipping fancy apple liqueur and opening presents. My mom said that my gifts were thoughtful and terrific but that my real gift to her, as far as she was concerned, was how well I pretended our evening together was making me happy when it was obvious I was still heartbroken over the boy who had dumped me for his ex-girlfriend. Mark nodded with neckless sympathy and proposed a toast to the wonderful boy I was going to meet next who would treat me like royalty. Sweet, right? He means so well.

  My mom gave me a bunch of presents b
ut I won’t bore you with what they were. The only good one was a three at a time movie subscription to Netflix. I will need this to continue my film education. Finally, I will get to see more than just the first 11 minutes of movies!

  Very soon it will be Christmas. I should probably stop writing now or else I’ll become one of those blogger-chicks Anton Tuttle hates, the lonely kind who whines because they can’t find their soul mates.

  Maybe I will call Anton and have sex with him before he goes back to college. Boy, would that make him happy.

  When I was little my mom used to force me to listen to an opera called Amahl and the Night Visitors. It tells the story of the night before Jesus was born. I would scream and fight and beg her not to make me listen. I would never tell her this but tonight when she played it before dinner, it gave me goosebumps and I came an inch away from sobbing. I will never be a little girl again and, man, is that sad.

  Oh, yeah, it’s “benighted,” not “beknighted.” Thanks for writing, Carmelo, and telling me what a benighted person I am. Merry Christmas to you too, douche bag.

  11:59 and not a creature is stirring except my computer mouse.

  Santa better not come down the chimney tonight because I’m so lonely I might blow him. Admit it, I am your favorite ho ho ho.

  Have yourself a merry little, okay?

  Tuesday, Christmas, 2007

  Whenever peple ask me what my goal in life I always say tp figure out what my goal 8n life is. Now finally I know. To be Margret Sponer. I justgot back from the Spoonerss party (I am tooo drunk to type!!!) and I swear it was the most gorgeus ever. The house was amaz8ng decorated. The tree looked perfecwith antique ornaments and l8ttle lights. Could been a deparment store. Candles glistered everywhere. And the food looked more amazing to eat. uh-oh. What does that mean? Drunk! How Marg does 8t with no sleep blows my mind. Just to give you an idea there were little red bowls on all the en tables filled with chocolat coins-wraped in gold foil. Well guess what? In the foil was printed “From the Spoooners!!!” Margaret printed it herself with some sort of litte mahc8ne. Now you know what I’m talkin’ ’bout yo. The woman’s a godddesss!

  Now I shal hurl me down to sleep. I can’t believe Paul let me drive hom this drunk. Unless maybe it d8dn’t show. At the door Paul gave me week’s payin cash for my Chrismas bonus.” I am rich.

  Wednesday, December 26, 2007

  Garlic1235 wrote to tell me that a chick in her hometown stabbed her boyfriend in the neck with a kitchen knife because he opened one of his Christmas presents early. Garlic found this funny but I don’t. I am worried that the dude who got stabbed might be Dan because the chick with the knife sure sounds a whole lot like Martine before her bleeding time. Ha!

  LordJCgrl wrote to tell me to stop using OMG in my blog because it offends her as a Christian. I felt really bad. Then I searched and discovered that I had never used OMG once in my whole entire blog! So this chick was calling me out for no reason. OMG, what a righteous, crazy bitch.

  Yes, lovelessinAL, I am aware that I type like shit when I am drunk. Are you aware that the reason you are loveless is that you state the obvious like it is insightful?

  I am soooooo hungover.

  Let me tell you more about the Spooners’ party. Workwise I had almost nothing to do because Cole fell asleep pretty soon after I got there. As long as I had the intercom in my hand I was free to do whatever I wanted. Cole only woke up once. I reswaddled him, sang him a few carols and he fell back asleep.

  I must have looked extra cute because I got a ton of attention. It didn’t hurt that I was the only female there older than 10 and younger than 35 and by far the cutest. I wore my new black velvet dress, my patent leather flats and my new fancy underwear so I felt extra confident. Even Paul told me I looked adorable and he never compliments me on my looks.

  I replied “Boy, I sure don’t feel it. I hardly slept last night.”

  “Excitement over Santa’s arrival? Or boy trouble?”

  It would have been easy to joke and say Santa but I didn’t. I said boy trouble.

  “Well forget him. You’re young and beautiful. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Trust me whoever this punk is, you can do better.”

  I cannot tell you how happy this made me.

  When the party really got started for me was when I got the flamingly gay bartender to fill my half-empty nog glass with pure rum. I got louder and happier and pretty soon all the men started flirting with me. I don’t think they expected me to be smart at all, so when I cracked jokes right back at them they loved it. The younger guys were dressed in conservative suits and ties. They all had perky annoying wives except for one who had a tacky implanted girlfriend with big hair and fat lips like she got punched. (I’m sure she deserved it. Ha!) The senior partners kicked it old school in red turtle-necks and double-breasted blazers with sailor buttons. Their ancient wives wore too much makeup on their face-lifts.

  The men were gentlemen at first, giving me college advice and laughing loudly at their own jokes but as soon as their wives turned around, a dirty twinkle came into their eyes and they would touch my shoulder for too long and make inappropriate comments. I could practically hear the boners sprouting in their gray flannels. Ha, I say. Ha! It didn’t gross me out though. I love being a celebrity.

  There was one weird moment I must tell you about even though I’m not sure if it was really weird or I just imagined that it was. Paul entered the kitchen as I was filling the ice bucket. He reached into the freezer to get his special vodka out. Our hands touched. We looked at each other. It was like that famous moment in that French movie Dan showed me where the two fated lovers finally meet. I forget which one. Who’s that director? Louch something? Oh, who cares? Fuck Dan. No more Dan. Anyway Paul said something I totally didn’t expect.

  He said “We have to stop meeting like this. Maggie’s getting suspicious.”

  I didn’t know how to take it. I mean I knew it was just a flirty joke but was he trying to tell me something? I didn’t know what to say so I decided to pretend that I thought he was totally serious.

  I whispered all scared “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  This freaked him out. He turned sort of red, filled up his glass and quickly left. I know what you’re thinking. He was just drunk. He made a stupid lame joke and he was embarrassed that I took it seriously. But I know when somebody’s joking. He was half joking. Something’s going on with him, I can tell. Do I want to know what? No. I just hope he loses Margaret with all his heart. Oh shit. Freudian slip. I meant “loves.” But I really mean it. It would be awful if he didn’t love her.

  Thursday, December 27, 2007

  Saturday I’m going to my dad’s to celebrate Christmas. I shopped for his present today. I decided to buy him long underwear and heavy socks because his arms and legs get so cold when he goes outside. This is due to the fact that they are concentration-camp skinny with no circulation. While I was at the department store looking, I heard a little girl say “Daddy, isn’t this pretty?” I turned around and saw this sweet little black girl holding up a red plaid scarf. Her dad was handsome with a bright smile. He replied “It sure is. In fact it just might be the prettiest scarf I’ve ever seen.”

  I know it sounds corny but I got all choked up. It reminded me of when I was little and my dad and I used to do things together. I hid my face in some ski jackets and sort of coughed until I could stop crying. I must have looked like such a freak! Later I walked over and saw the dad standing at the cash register. The little girl was in a big leather chair reading a book. I don’t know why but I just had to talk to him. I tapped him on the shoulder and said “Someday when she’s all grown-up, she’s going to remember when you did things together like this, and she won’t be able to stop crying. Nothing’s more important to a little girl than time alone with her daddy.”

  He smiled that big smile and said “The feeling’s mutual.” I started crying again. The dude must have thought I was having a nervous breakdown. Hey,
maybe I am! Did that ever occur to you, Katherine?

  Driving home I called my father to welcome him back from his trip and confirm our plans. Even though I knew it was the last thing he wanted to hear, I told him the story about the man and the little girl in the department store. I just wanted him to know that even though we really aren’t friends anymore, deep down I still love him and wish he wasn’t dying.

  When the story was over, he said “Wait, wait, let me get this straight. You talked to a negro?”

  I was so shocked I just sort of stuttered.

  He said “Honey, relax, for Christ’s sake. It was a joke.”

  He hurt my feelings and he knew it. I think he felt guilty. He got quiet and said “Yeah when you were little, boy, was I ever your hero. When I got home from work you’d run to the front door. Daaadddy! You’d take me by the hand and lead me to your room. I was the only one you wanted to play with. I was your hero, all right. Then your mom kicked me out. Right before Christmas. You grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go.” He laughed and coughed.

  “Are you serious?”

  “About what?”

  “I grabbed your leg?”

  “Oh, yeah. You latched on like a pit bull. I dragged you halfway across the lawn. There was a foot of snow too. I was afraid the neighbors were going to call the cops.”