#36 dream a little dream.

“If you want to be a rapper, we cannot continue dating”

I said that to the mechanic, the beauty school boy, and I’m sure–according to the caliber of boys I’m interested in–it certainly won’t be the last time I say that.

What I’ve found early on is that if I have to roll my eyes, secretly wish myself out of where I am, or laugh when the boy I’m dating tells me what his aspirations are–I probably should save myself the embarrassment of night farting (reference to “follow your f(h)art”) and someone accidentally publicly shitting (“beauty school droppings”, “if you give a boy a bathroom”) and just… fucking… leave.

Along with the mechanic’s dream of becoming a rapper, he wanted to be a millionaire.  “I just know if I keep, like, doin’ what I do–I’ll make it.”  At this time, he was recently laid off from his laid-back Midas job because the owner’s of the store weren’t paying the rent (surprise) and with his track record littered with felonies, it didn’t help that he wasn’t really qualified for anything (surprise #2).

Pause.  Ok.  I know what you’re thinking.

“Chelsea, WTF are you doing with this tool?”

It’s not super complicated.  I am an asshole when it comes to anything involving moving vehicles, my brakes were done for, and he dropped my $500 charge down to $200.  I still needed four new tires, another set of brake pads… I think you see where I’m going with this.

The mechanic wanted to go back to school, study architecture and “make buildings and shit”.  Not sure if he was literate, I told him how much math and, well, reading was involved in studying… anything, especially architecture… “And that’s where YOU can help me…”

Once upon a time, when I fell in love with a boy who was in love with himself…

One day out of the many shitty days we spent together, we adventured to a Guitar Center.  He said for one, I should be so lucky because he was using the last of his gas to take me (queue loud sigh)–to a place I really had no desire to go to.  After he had found out that I knew how to play the guitar, a long time ago and not very well, he was on the prowl to get a guitar into my hands.

Don’t be fooled to believe that he was actually interested in anything involving me… the only reason we were going to this Guitar Center is because of his entrancing trip to a Christian church earlier that week.

To feed his ‘holier-than-thou’ facade, he would make his way to church at least once a month and to all major Catholic holidays.  One night on invitation, he went to this flashy Christian church in the valley where he subsequently fell in love.

“THE MUSIC–WAS AWESOME!  There was, like, this guy…jumping up and down!  I’m a Christian now.”

Not only did this church have over-produced musicians making loud praise music, they were also offering a position to any tom-dick-and-harry who could play an instrument–Hey do YOU play an instrument?? You have the chance to play with the church’s band for one whole weekend!  and of course, the chance to show off in front of 500 impressionable patrons was a boner in itself for him.

“I’m going to get a guitar and just, like, work on one song till I get good.  Then I’m going to do this talent show.”

“Can you even play guitar?”

“UH, YEAH, CHELSEA.”

So now I was at a Guitar Center, sitting on the bench, fender stratocaster in my hand, “I really don’t want to do this.”

“Just play.”

I sat there for about twenty minutes muting my strings playing some old Green Day songs.  A cute worker came over and asked me questions until the beauty school boy interceded and flexed the worker away.  He then berated me with his piercing eyes.  I sighed and went back to my unsuccessful attempts to look cool.

“Are you going to play?  I really don’t want to do this.”

“No.”

“Can you play?”

“YES, CHELSEA. I USED TO HAVE A STUDIO.”

“That doesn’t mean you can play.”

“YES, I HAD A GUITAR AND A DRUM SET AND WE WERE RECORDING….(this is where I tune out)…..AND I BOUGHT A MICROPHONE WITH (a list of characteristics that may or may not be important for the operation of a successful microphone)…AND RAPPING IS…”

“Wait.  You don’t… rap, do you?” (Santa Claus belly laugh)

Pause.

“Well… I can.”

(Obligatory eye-roll)

“No…”

“What?  I can and it’s something I plan on pursuing later in life.”

(Is about the time I wish I wasn’t here…)

“I hope you know that if you want to be a rapper, we cannot continue to date.”

Momentary silence.

“Why not?”

March 27, 2010. Uncategorized.