Why Girls Are Weird

by Pamela Ribon

  People seem to not understand why I would do something like this, but I think the answer is simple: You are always there for me.

  I’ve met great people through this page. Remember when I wrote about Taylor’s kitty litter problem? At least sixty of you wrote to suggest a different kind of litter that wouldn’t stick to his ass when he was done pooping. You people care about me, my cat, and my cat’s ass. That’s more than most of my friends care.

  I love that when something happens to me, it can become bigger because of this page here. I can share it with the world and we can all laugh when I’m an idiot. We can all cry when I’m sad, and I never feel all that lonely. I like that I get feedback so soon after I post. You guys can feel like family. You make me feel important, and that makes me feel happy about myself and the choices that I’ve made.

  Like this play I’m in right now. I haven’t talked much about it because I’ve been so busy and we’ve had some sporadic rehearsals, but in this play my character has been writing letters to a man she’s never met before. She answers a chain letter, and one of the chain letter recipients sends her some money, and inside is a letter asking her to be his pen pal. Ten years pass and they share each other’s lives together through these stories.

  Ten years of their loves, their losses, their successes. They share each other’s pain. My character has this monologue where she decides to go and see him. After all of this time, she has no choice but to meet him because he stopped writing to her suddenly and she needs to see if he’s okay. It’s the first time he hasn’t written and she’s scared that something bad has happened.

  Turns out he was fine. He had just fallen in love. He was getting married and was about to send her a wedding invitation. His fiancée had found all of their letters and felt threatened by their relationship, so he had to break things off. He’s sad, but grateful he’s saying good-bye to her in person.

  My character then sings a song about how when you lose the piece of your heart that’s been beating for you, you cannot live your life the same way ever again.

  She dies on his doorstep.

  I’ve been thinking about the power of words and how our relationship—yours and mine—is based on a series of words strung together to tell parts of a story. You get the parts I share with you, and I get the even rarer parts of your own stories that you fill in for me when you feel you want to.

  So when they ask me today why I do this, I think I’ll explain to them that if I didn’t write to you, if you didn’t write to me, if all of this suddenly ended, I think I might just die inside.

  But that sounds way too dramatic, doesn’t it? I always get dramatic when I’m away from home.

  Please send earmuffs.

  Love until later,

  Anna K

  000054.

  Last night I dreamed that I met Kurt. It was raining, and I held a newspaper over my head as I walked through the streets. I looked up at the giant buildings over my head and I couldn’t read any of the names. Everything was written in a different language. I kept walking, turning down streets, running from giant dogs, hiding behind trash cans as bad men ran past me, hurrying around in a city I didn’t know, searching for a building I couldn’t find.

  And then suddenly I was standing right there, at the building where I was supposed to meet him. I didn’t have time to check and see if I looked okay. A bolt of lightning slammed behind me. I screamed and ran inside the building.

  It was dark. I squinted to find teenaged kids sitting at my feet. Their clothes were old and dirty. They huddled together like they needed the warmth, bowing forward and speaking quietly. The place looked like it used to be a restaurant some months ago but was now abandoned. There were cobwebs and the lighting was very poor. I heard a fan churning somewhere.

  I squatted to ask one of the homeless teenagers if he knew where Kurt was. I didn’t get a chance to speak. He pointed at the shadow of a man sitting at one of the tables. He was the only person not sitting on the floor. I handed the teenager my newspaper as a thank-you, and I walked over. All I could hear was the rain hitting the roof. Everyone inside the room was silent.

  I couldn’t see his face at first, but I knew he was looking at me. I pulled back my chair. The legs made a horrible screeching noise across the floor. Everyone shushed me and I sat down quickly.

  It was Kurt. He was in front of me.

  Water was still dripping down from my hair into my eyes. He put his hand to my face and wiped some of the water away. I grabbed his wrist and held on to it. He pulled his arm back until his warm hand slipped into mine.

  We stared at each other. We had finally met, and there were no words that we needed to say. We sat there watching each other. Kurt’s face broke out into a smile.

  When I woke up a few seconds later, I couldn’t remember what he looked like anymore.

  000055.

  Inside Anna K:

  I’ve Been Probed

  13 DECEMBER

  So, I’m still alive. I know you were worried about me. The conference is over and I can breathe now. I’ve been nervous all morning. Now that it’s over, I know a bit more about myself and a little more about my friends.

  I wore these shoes that I know look good, but they smell. I fill them with baby powder before I put my feet in them, but they still stink once I pull my feet out. The problem is they’re clogs, so sometimes I absent-mindedly pull my feet out to play with the shoes and then suddenly I’ll smell my feet.

  I’ve taken them off before in mixed company and people shout, “Good Lord, what is that smell?” I have to put them on in the morning and never take them off until I’m home, and then I run into the bathroom and wash my feet because even I can’t stand it. My feet usually don’t smell. I’ve never had this problem before. And two days ago the shoes received another strike against them: The right one makes a small squeak with every step. Some sort of air seems to be escaping from the sole when I step down. I sound like the little housecleaner from Poltergeist.

  So, I’m a musical stinkfest walking down the hallway at this convention, but I won’t get rid of these shoes. I had to search forever to find a pair of clogs that kept my feet protected, looked good, and had a three-inch heel.

  Because of this, I was already on guard as I sat down at this conference and my friend started talking about web journals and visitors and hits or whatever. Then I got nervous. What were all of these people going to say to me? What did they want to know? What made me so special suddenly that I was behind a table facing a crowd of people while someone else discussed me? Would my life be different now that I was not hiding behind my webpage anymore? Now that they could see my face. Now that I was meeting people who used to be strangers.

  To keep myself from running out of the room, I had no choice but to imagine having sex with them. The short bald guy on the end—I teased him a little. I wiggled on his lap and watched him get excited for me. But I was already on to the woman sitting next to him. I straddled her waist and let my hair cascade over her shoulders. She was holding dollar bills in the air and whooping it up. The guy behind her kept smacking her on the back, congratulating her for getting a chair so close to the front. The guy sitting next to her was writing about me in his Palm Pilot and I got so hot with the technology that I attacked him. He smelled like Brut and his neck was raw from shaving recently, but I didn’t care and I went to town on him. Everyone got excited and started ripping off their clothes, grabbing at me, wanting to touch a tiny inch of my perfect flesh, which smelled like plums, and everyone was moaning and sweating and licking each other, and that’s when someone asked the first question.

  I had to have them repeat it. They asked when I decided to start a website. I said it happened when I decided to teach myself HTML so I could get a better paycheck. I made a joke about the dot-com bust and everyone laughed long enough for me to mentally dress them all again.

  The hot blonde who just moments before had been asking if she could suck the inside of my knee asked me if I minded havi
ng people know the intimate parts of my life. I couldn’t very well answer that I’d already tasted her right nipple and ask her how that felt, so I told her that I didn’t feel like I revealed anything I wouldn’t tell a friend. I consider myself to be a rather open person. I trust people. I like people.

  The guy with the nine-inch dick then raised his hand. I smirked. He asked, “What makes you think you’re so special?”

  Suddenly I didn’t see his giant dick anymore. None of my orgy partners was looking all that fly. Everybody was dressed again and staring at me all full of judgment and spite. BigDick continued and said, “I mean, why do you think anyone would care about what you have to say? It’s your diary. Why do I want to read your diary? Who cares what you think? Who cares what happens to you every single day?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so luckily my friend said it for me: “Thousands of people every day care what she has to say.”

  “Yeah, but are they lonely people with nothing to do? What do you want out of this? Money? Fame? Attention? Are you the lonely one? Are journalers just a bunch of lonely women trapped in rooms filled with cats looking for someone else to talk to?”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, we’re all just hopeful singles who can’t keep a relationship going or we’re in an emotionally abusive one because of our daddy issues. We surround ourselves with pets and strange friends and project a hectic, fulfilling life when we actually can’t stand the sight of ourselves in the mirror every single morning.”

  The room was quiet, staring at me. “In other words,” I continued, “We’re just like you. We’re human beings searching for validation.”

  I hate it when I fuck someone who turns out to be an asshole.

  I know that it’s strange to put my life out there like this. I’m risking something of myself for all of you. And I don’t imagine that we’re all losers. Sure, I sometimes say I’m hideous and dorky, but I assume we’re all operating under the same notion that in real life we’re basically interesting, attractive people. Online we can be honest and tell each other that we’re scared of looking like idiots.

  After the question-and-answer period, a group of people from the same company wanted to know more. They approached the table and asked questions about my personal life—about where I live and what I’d be willing to do if I was paid. I didn’t want to answer any more questions. Turns out they worked for those Webcam sites where girls play with themselves online for money. I felt cornered and didn’t want to hear these people proposition me. I didn’t want them to show me how easily my webpage could become a money-making porn venture.

  I had only one way out. I slid my feet out of my clogs.

  You can pretty much count to thirty-six. That’s when the smell will hit them. But because I had been nervous and uncomfortable, you only had to count to eighteen this time. The two men and one woman stood up sharply and stared at each other. They sniffed a couple of times.

  “What’s that smell?” BigDick moaned. “Is that feet?”

  My friend grabbed me by the hand and pulled me up. She said, “Don’t follow us or we’ll call security.”

  We started giggling the second we hit the door and didn’t stop until we were on our third beer at the hotel bar.

  Don’t call me a whore. I’ll assault you with my stank-feet before you know what hit you.

  Love until later,

  Anna K

  000056.

  Walking back to my hotel room, I was anxious to get ready to see Kurt. He was picking me up in about an hour and I still needed to try on the three different outfits I had brought to see which one I’d end up wearing.

  Tess was still on my heels, still giggling from the conference panel. We had a couple of beers in the hotel bar afterward, and she found it amazing that so many people wanted me to turn my site into porn.

  “Are you going to write about this?” she asked me.

  “I guess so. I pretty much have to, don’t I?”

  “I’m sorry they ended up being assholes. I wanted you to be the rock star here.” She pulled on a piece of my hair as I ran the key card into my door. “Let me make it up to you tonight,” she said. “My treat.”

  “I can’t tonight, Tess.” I knew this was coming, and I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. “I’ve got plans.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking confused.

  “An old friend who lives here. I called her before I left town and we’re getting together to catch up. I haven’t seen her since high school.” It seemed physically impossible to stop lying to her.

  Tess pulled her hair back with one hand. “I understand,” she said, nodding. “That’s fine.” She started walking away, toward her room. “I’ll just see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Tess.”

  “For what?”

  I didn’t know. It just seemed like the thing to say. I was thanking her for not making me tell her the truth. “Thanks for inviting me on the trip.”

  “Have a good night, Anna,” she said, and walked into her room.

  The message light on my phone was blinking red when I entered my room. There was only one voice-mail message. It was Kurt.

  “You’re gonna hate me,” the message played in my ear. “I can’t come tonight, Anna.”

  I dropped my purse on the bed and sank to the floor, the smell filling the room as my feet slipped out of my shoes. I felt nothing as I listened to Kurt talk.

  “I’m not ready. I’m scared that this is going to fuck everything up.”

  I twirled the phone cord around my ring finger until the end of it was stuck. I saw the tip of my finger turning purple. With my other arm I threw a pillow off the bed from behind me. I untangled my finger and lit a cigarette as he went on.

  “I’m afraid of what will happen if we meet. I’m afraid you’ve blown into my town long enough for me to fall in love with you and then you’re going to blow back out and leave me here all alone and miserable. I don’t want to put myself through any more heartache. I’m not ready for you to mess up my entire world. It’s like you’ve already moved in and you’re asking if we can knock down a wall to make more room for all your shit. And I want to knock down walls and give you more room around here. That’s the problem. I want you to take everything. But the fact remains I can’t let you. And I’m not strong enough to pretend that doesn’t bother me. I’m hanging up now. Then I’m going to drink. Heavily. Tomorrow I hope that I will feel like less of an ass. Then we can meet up. I’ll take you out to lunch. I’ll plan shit for tomorrow. You wanted a friend and I’ve given you drama. I’m sorry. Tomorrow. We’ll fix all this shit tomorrow. Maybe daylight will be less romantic. Maybe in the daylight things will be calmer and clearer and I won’t be such a jag-off.”

  The message ended. I hung up and stared at myself in the mirror. I thought about how strained his voice was, how he’d pause to breathe and I’d hear him gulp between words. I wasn’t worth all of this. I wasn’t even sure if Anna K was worth all of this. Meeting me tomorrow would surely be a disappointment for him. There was no way I was going to live up to his expectations.

  I couldn’t sit in my room waiting for tomorrow. I had to keep my head busy. I had to stop myself from finding where Kurt lived, walking over to his place, taking off my clothes, and letting him have me for as long as he wanted. I had to stop myself from thinking that he and I were a possibility, especially when I was surely going to be a letdown. I had to have a night that had nothing to do with a man.

  I called up Tess’s room. “My friend bailed,” I said as a hello.

  “We’re going dancing,” she said immediately.

  An hour later I found myself at an eighties nightclub that was busy and full of people wearing clothes I’d never wear. Tiny little shirts and tight pants were grinding against other tiny clothes that held tiny girls. It was freezing outside. They had to have gotten dressed inside the club, as I couldn’t understand how else they got there without losing body parts from frostbite.

&
nbsp; I had a brief fantasy about jumping the bouncer and having him fuck me in the VIP room. I was worried about how dirty my head had gotten lately. I had inappropriate thoughts about the desk clerk, my bellman, the guy who made my latte in the morning, the guy who hailed my cab, the guy who drove my cab, and now the guy checking my ID. I didn’t know why my head was so active and why my body was so craving physical attention. Maybe dancing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Tess was one of those dancers who went away when she was on the dance floor. She stared straight out, breaking it only to glance at her feet from time to time, and her body grooved to the music. Every once in a while her gaze would catch mine and she’d smile, but mostly she kept to herself.

  I’m more of a social dancer, and luckily there were a few other social dancers around me. We moved and swayed together, grabbing each other’s hips and singing along to the music. Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” found me face to face with a skinny boy with a good chest who pulled me in and pushed me out and turned me in the right ways. The song was silly, but the sweat was good. It was nice to be touched, to be held in the small of my back, to feel sweat running down the back of my neck.

  The eighties music only lasted for about half an hour and then the vibe changed to a pulsing house beat. The room was dark and there were laser lights flashing around us. A fog machine was in the corner, which I thought was completely unnecessary. The fun group of dancers next to me left to get something to drink and was replaced by wiggly boys dancing to the trance music. Everyone was on his or her own now, spinning and jumping, twisting erratically, falling into separate worlds.

  Once it was no longer fun for me, I walked away through the fog. The club had become so dark I couldn’t see Tess. I walked to the bar for a bottle of water before I walked outside the club to cool off.