How Do You Become a Desperate Housewife?

I am one of those silly people who buys a Christmas tree at the crack of December's dawn. I know it will be stiff and crispy by the 25th, but I can't be reasoned with. The tip of my nose tingles with cold tonight as fog rolls in. The moving misty blanket starts obscuring the trees and I feel a few pangs of panic. This is my only free night until the weekend and I simply can't wait that long if I don't find a tree, the tree, tonight.

A little girl's happy squeals erupt a few trees over. Curious to see which tree has found its family, I amble over. A young girl zipped and hooded inside a pink puffy jacket hops up and down holding her mother's hand. Her dad gives the tree a final once-over. The little girl hops faster. Her mother tells her gently to calm down. She stands still and pushes the hood off of her head:

Girl: Daddy! This is the prettiest tree here! Ours is the best tree. And we have to keep it safe.
Dad: What do you mean?
Girl: Today? At school? We learned you cannot ever leave its lights on all night and you can never ever put it by a heater because it will catch fire.
Dad: That's right. We won't do that.
The girl begins hopping again and her mom bends to hug her into stillness.
Girl: Mom, know what else I learned today?
Mom: What's that?
Girl: That if you're a boy you have to buy a lot of Christmas presents for your girlfriend.
Mom: Who said that?
Girl: Kelly. She heard her sister tell her boyfriend all the stuff he has to buy her for Christmas or else he's gonna be single and Kelly said being single is the worst thing you can be when you grow up because then you are a desperate housewife, like on TV.

Lady Luck Gets Hosed

I feel my ankles swell as I stand on the outdoor escalator gliding my friends and me into Bally's casino in Las Vegas, our home base for this trip. I am sure we have walked 10 miles today, having repeatedly fallen for the Strip's mirage that everything is so much closer than it really is. The air is heavy with dry heat and it muffles sounds in my ears, which feel like they're stuffed with cotton. We cross the hotel entryway and welcome the beautiful sight of glass doors. In Vegas, the other side of glass doors means air conditioning.

The coolness blasts my face and I am happy once again. The jingles and clinks of the casino instantly energize me and I decide to do a once around before heading upstairs to bed. The table games are fairly empty; only one craps table is open with a handful of subdued players. Most people sit mesmerized by the twirling reels of slots. Some players' eyes are nearly shut with sleep, others are wide with anticipation.

I come upon a very large video slot decorated like an Egyptian sphinx. A young couple is playing the $5 a pull machine. Their credit balance reads $27. A few others watch them and I join in, intrigued by the fancy animation and sounds of the big machine. The young man pushes the button while his girlfriend cheers him on. Three pulls in and the machine gives up nothing.

With $12 credit left, the young man tells his girlfriend to push the button. She hesitates, but with a kiss and a nudge from him, hits the spin button. The reels turn extra slowly, it seems. The couple leans forward, his arm around her shoulders. The first reel stops with a King Tut symbol on top. The second reel does the same. The third rests with another King Tut on the top line and the girlfriend gasps. The fourth and the fifth reel bring two more King Tuts to the first line and the machine explodes with sound. It plays the "Walk Like an Egyptian" song and all the King Tuts' mouths open and close with gold coins flying out. The win box says $2500.

The girlfriend jumps up and down and claps. Gasps and "Oooohs" come from the onlookers. The young man kisses his lady while holding her face in both hands, "I told you", he says to her. An attendant soon arrives, talking into a radio. He pushes buttons on the machine's panel and congratulates the couple:

Attendant: Who's the lucky winner?

Man: We both are! But she's lady luck on this one!

Girl: I was so scared to spin, but I'm happy I did!

Attendant: First trip to Vegas?

Man: Yeah, for both of us. Our first night here, too.

Attendant: Okay folks, that's great. May I see your IDs, please?

The young man quickly produces his wallet and while removing his ID, suddenly snaps his head to his girlfriend. She is frozen, biting her bottom lip, hands gripping the sides of her shorts:

Girl: Um, I don't have my ID with me.

Attendant: I cannot pay the jackpot to you without ID, miss. You spun the machine on this win, correct?

Girl: Um, yes, I spun it, but it's his money.

Attendant: Folks we can't prove whose money it is. Whoever activates the machine is the player. And we do have tape to verify that if it's unclear.

The girl's face reddens and her chin quivers as she looks at her boyfriend, who looks to the ceiling.

Attendant: Miss, I 'll leave the machine locked if you can retrieve your ID quickly.

Man: No. Forget it. She's 19. We're celebrating my 21st birthday here. I was spinning the whole time, doesn't that matter?

Attendant: Sir, I'm really very sorry. The young lady is under aged and I cannot pay the jackpot to her. The winnings are void if the player is not of age. It's the law.

The girl cries openly. Someone yells, "That's bullshit, man!" from the small crowd. The young man takes his girlfriend's hand and leads her away.

Last Night's Sex

I bought our tickets early in the morning, left work before 5 p.m. and drive up to a completely packed parking lot. After circling for 10 minutes, boom, a beautiful space near the front of the aisle. I'm way early and feeling good about taking my responsibility as seat scout seriously. As I wait in my car for 6:30 to roll around, throngs of young women pass by. Most walk briskly, some run toward the movie theater.

I'm here for the Sex and the City movie premiere. I convinced my two girlfriends it's absolutely necessary to see it on Southern California's opening night and thus, became the seat scout by default. No complaints, it's worth it to me. So, while we're enjoying a night of girl talk with our friends Charlotte, Carrie, Samantha (my favorite) and Miranda, our boyfriends will have just as much fun watching sports and bumping chests together. Life is good.

At 6:30, the line forms for our 7:15 show. I leave my car and happily take my place, fourth in line. It's a literal fashion parade. Girls in sundresses and little sweaters sashay by, every hair in place (the Charlottes). Ladies in edgy outfits with big flower pins or long dangling necklaces prance along the line (the Carries). Women with plunging necklines and tight mini skirts or white Capri pants going commando walk their boobs past me (the Samanthas). Chicks in jeans and fitted cotton tops with flat ironed locks march purposely to the end of the line (the Mirandas).

My friends arrive and we play a fun game of "fake or real". The ratio's about 3:1, fake. The two movie goers behind us in line laugh once they catch on to our game. They each wear a hot pink boa around their neck:

#1: Oh my god. Oh MY GOD! This is so much fun.

#2: Yes! I totally feel like one of the girls tonight.

#1: It's gonna be great. It's gonna be fabu.

#2: I just hope Carrie and Big finally just get married already.

#1: I mean, hello? After all he's put her through?

#2: Ugh, that Big boy....hahaha!

I take great delight in pushing my more conservative girlfriend's chin up to close her slightly open mouth. "Those boys are wearing pink boas," she whispers.

Ball Buster

I'm having a strawberry shake at Archie's Diner around dinner time. (Yes, I know, it sounds like a joint straight out of the Happy Days TV show). You can't beat the shakes here, or much else, for that matter. It's dusk and unusually warm for a spring evening in Southern California. There are eight tables arranged outside and I grab one of the last two empty ones.

Mostly couples surround me, enjoying their dinners. A small girl has found a beetle of sorts scurrying toward her on the ground. "Daddy!" she shrieks. Her father jumps up and squashes the bug under his big foot to her delight.

Pronounced shuffling drawing near catches my attention. A large white woman wearing a Sponge Bob t-shirt, white sweatpants and flip flops drags her feet. She holds a super-sized soda and claims the last empty table. Her nails are done red and her wedding ring finger sports a big rock. She sits down with a sigh.

Moments later a small white man with thinning brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses joins her. He carries two trays of food and I wonder how he managed to navigate the door to come outside. He gives her a burger and fries combo. She begins eating before he unloads the other tray. He sets a sandwich down for himself. He's about to sit down:

Sponge Bob: Where's my ranch?

Husband: Oh, uh, I thought I asked her for a side.

Sponge Bob: Guess not. Go get me some ranch. Get me two cups.

He goes back inside without taking a bite. She continues eating. She spoke loud enough for two other people to take second glances at her. She doesn't notice. Her husband returns with three cups of ranch.

They barely speak during dinner. Her chair screeches on cement no more than 10 minutes later. Her food is gone. Her husband is just finishing the first half of his sandwich:

Sponge Bob: Come on. Let's go. I'm tired.

Husband: Oh -

He wraps his sandwich in the paper and takes it with him. She has already reached the sidewalk. He skips a few steps to catch up with her, much like a squirrel hopping across the grass holding a little nut.

I look around and notice at least three men staring after them open-mouthed. One of the wives looks at her husband looking at them and laughs.

New Old Lovers

I'm having an early dinner by myself at a friendly coffee shop called Hoff's Hut. I'm always hopeful to eavesdrop something juicy when I'm dining alone; it's so much easier to listen and I go deep under cover with my nose in a book. I'm done with my meal and am nursing a hot tea. It seems I'm not going to hear much tonight. The waitress refills my hot water and I give it one more try, although the booths around me are empty.

I'm draining the last honey packet into my mug when the hostess walks by showing an elderly couple to the booth in front of me. She bids them a good meal and leaves while the man helps the woman sit down. She bends stiffly, slowly navigating the bench's right angle. She sits down with a sigh and says, "There we go". I hear a smile in her voice. She sits with her back to me. Her bright white hair is in a medium length ponytail tied with a black scrunchy. She pulls her ponytail into place with hands tipped with rose pink nails.

Her husband is bald with glasses and a light blue sweater vest. He holds a closed-mouth smile the entire time he browses the menu. They discuss various choices and both decide on the same thing, the meatloaf dinner. As I watch him over my reading glasses, he continuously leans forward when she speaks, nodding his head. His replies are punctuated with mild laughter. His eyes are blue and rarely leave her face. They talk about her new jewelry after they order:

Her: (Showing him her finger) Well, what do you think? I like how it turned out.

Him: (Takes his glasses off and pulls her hand closer) It's beautiful. Very nice. The greens and blues are just beautiful.

Her: Yes, I really love it. Just love it. Thank you, sweetheart.

Him: (He kisses her hand)

Her: She even commented on it, how unusual it is. She's a nice girl. She does beautiful work.

Him: Yes, she does. Can she make earrings? See if she can make you earrings to match.

Her: Oh no, it's enough.

Him: See if she can do it.

The waitress brings their beverages. The lady goes into her purse:

Her: Oh, honey, I guess we should give you this coupon now.

Waitress: Oh, it's your anniversary! Congratulations. How many years?

Him: Two years today. I never imagined I'd be twice blessed. I'm a lucky man.

Cougars at the Casino

A spontaneous trip to the Indian casino puts me at the Crazy 4 poker table between two chain smoking older men laughing too loudly at the dealer's jokes. After a hand worse than the first, I slide under the smoke cloud and off my stool, heading for the terrace with a panoramic view of the mountain vista. Fresh, cool air flushes my face as I open the glass door and step into the sunshine. This alone is worth the hour drive. About 20 others enjoy the view, sitting at little tables against the railing.

Some have cocktails and chat, others simply sit in silence gazing at the mountains. I find the perfect nook and settle into the corner chair, turning it to face the railing. Two women chatter on my left. Their conversation does not pause when I sit down. They are both blond with hair styled in the edgey cuts so fashionable these days. The one with her back to me wears a turquoise top and a thick gold chain around her neck. As she speaks she waves her left hand up and around, red nails swirling. Her right hand holds a glass of white wine.

Her friend is also heavily necklaced with gold chains that drop down an impressive cleavage revealing an orange tan underneath her tight white sweater. She sports large black sunglasses with the Channel logo on the side, which I see when she steals glances of the vista as her friend drones on.

The face I can see is tight, but both pairs of hands and little cracks in the voices suggest late 40s, early 50s. The one in white holds a drink in one hand and a cig in the other. She nods in agreement as her friend rants:

Turquoise: I mean, I just told him, I said, "Just tell me right now. Is this how it's gonna be? Grilling me every time I don't call back right away?".

White: Oh. Yeah. Right.

Turquoise: Right? Who needs that? I don't need that.

White: Who needs it?

Turquoise: I told him. I'm not your wife, hell I'm not your girlfriend -

White: Hahaha! Exactly. Oh these guys, these poor guys just don't know what to do with us.

Turquoise: TELL me. I mean, tell me about it. The insecurity, the checking up, the checking in. I don't need that.

White: No, no. Me neither.

Turquoise: He's acting like a little girl. Haha! He's acting like one of his little girlfriends he complains to me about!

White: Ha! Isn't that just precious. Well, here, girl (she holds her drink to toast). We've come full circle.

Turquoise: Cheers to that! Come on. Let's go find some young and dumbs at the bar.

The two pop compacts, relipstick and strut inside. I finish jotting down some notes of this conversation and look to the blue sky, about to commit the scenario to memory. A hawk circles high above, looking for prey.

Beaten by Girls

This afternoon I want something spicy for lunch so I go to a bright little joint called "Cha for Tea". They serve all kinds of exotic teas with "boba" or gelatin pearls, curried chicken and noodle dishes of every variety. I order and luckily find a seat in the green and yellow shop packed with students from CSU Long Beach across the street.

I scan the crowd and listen to my neighbors hoping to catch something interesting, but the restaurant plays music videos on a wall-mounted flat screen and it's hard to hear anything else. Loud guffaws draw my attention to three young Asian boys in a corner booth. All wear caps, two have positioned the bills to the side and the other sports his backwards. Two wear sports jerseys, the other a white t-shirt that hangs to his knees. All three wear long silver chains with links an inch or two wide and enormous medallions. They hold their chains out with two hands and slide their medallions back and forth. One has a design shaved into his short black hair, partially visible under the edge of the cap.

The boys are jumpy and now slap their hands on the table in tune to a cell phone or other device that plays a hip hop song on speaker. Slap.....slap, slap! Slap....slap, slap! A few patrons shoot over-the-shoulder glances at them. They laugh louder. Slap....slap, SLAP! The young couple in the booth next to them begins packing up laptops. One of the cashiers now looks tentatively at the boys and bites her thumb nail. They explode in exaggerated laughter again.

The bell on the door handle jingles faintly under the din. Four young Asian girls enter. Two wear short plaid skirts, long socks and tight sweaters. The others wear jeans and puffy jackets. One walks on black boots with stiletto heels. Their hair is long, shiny black. Black boots wears stylish red prescription glasses and carries a Mac laptop.

The couple next to the boys has packed up and exits their booth. The girls walk over to take it. They pass the three boys who bounce wildly to their music, swing their medallions and look the girls over. The girl in the boots stops in front of them just for a second. "Haha HA!" she says and nudges her friend in the back. The girls sit down and whisper together. They laugh conspiratorially and Boots looks at the boys again. She shakes her head and opens the laptop.

The boys fall silent. Their hands cease slapping. The medallions fall back to their chests. The cell phone is turned off. About 15 minutes later, they leave. As they pass through the door, one turns his sideways cap forward.

Bathroom Sneak

I am out amongst the after-holiday sale crowds at a local mall. People yawn as they trudge around clothes racks. Some scowl as I wait in line. Merchandise litters the floor in aisles near the cash registers. I finally reach check out and my stomach growls audibly. As I step out into the fresh air, a Soup Plantation restaurant beckons. I approach eagerly, under the spell of delicious soups, salads and breads served buffet style.

The restaurant is only scattered with diners. I'm relieved. I grab a tray and start down the assembly line of fresh food. A couple falls in behind me. The man sighs repeatedly as the woman talks about someone's family drama. She is a slender brunette in jeans and a black turtle neck. She selects lettuce and spinach, piling more fresh vegetables atop the mound. The man is heavy-set with broad shoulders and a shaved head. He wears black sweat pants and a plaid flannel shirt. He fills his plate with Caesar's salad and spoons pasta and potato salads onto it. The woman looks at her husband's plate repeatedly as she's talking. We approach the salad dressing bar and the man pours two ladles of blue cheese atop his plate. The woman chooses raspberry vinaigrette:

Woman: Honey, come on. That's too much dressing.

Man: Oh geez. Not today, huh? Let's just enjoy our lunch.

Woman: Well, you wanna lose weight. I'm just trying to support you.

Man: Do me a favor. Don't be so supportive.

Woman: Well. I'm just saying.

Man: Trust me. I know what you're saying.

We pay for our meals and part ways. After cleaning my plate, I head back to the buffet for some delicious fat noodle chicken soup. On my way I pass the bread island. The man is standing in front of a steaming tray of chocolate muffins. He leans forward, then hesitates. He glances around the island toward the dining area. He returns to the muffins, takes one in each hand and walks opposite of the dining room. My bowl of soup and I peak after him around the corner. He and his muffins enter the men's restroom.

Secret Weapons

I am at my salon for a color and trim. After my wash, I wait for my stylist to finish another client. Next to me sits an older lady getting her roots done. Foils cover her crown. She is white with blond hair on the shorter side. She wears pink lipstick and nail polish. A rather imposing diamond gleams on her left ring finger. A large Coach purse rests on the counter. She chats with her stylist, who continues painting her roots:

Client: Well, that Pavarotti's dead. Did you see that, honey?

Stylist: Who? Uh uh.

Client: Pavarotti, you know, the opera singer.

Stylist: Oh. Was he old?

Client: No he was not. Barely 70. But he had a young gal he left his wife for. Married 30 years and then poof! Off with a young one.

Stylist: No way! Was he handsome?

Client: No he was not. I'll tell you what, honey, a girl's gotta keep things up. Gotta keep our stuff in working order.

Stylist: Hahaha!

Client: I'm serious. These gals lettin' themselves go, carrying these giant butts around, no make-up, plain hair. Whoooo. You're playin' with fire right there.

Stylist: Well,

Client: Trust me, honey. I been married 54 years and ornery as my husband is, he's a happy little boy when a tight young waitress comes around. We're swimmin' with the sharks, honey. You get yourself a secret weapon.

Under the edge of a foil, she winks at her stylist in the mirror.

A Quarter Right

I am in my doctor's waiting room early this morning. I take a seat and look around. No one is talking much. I do notice an older couple canoodling a bit in seats across from me, near the office door. They are black, perhaps mid-70s. The man is bald, wears a white linen shirt, white slacks and brown sunglasses. The woman has peppery short hair and wears a denim shirt with beach balls on it over red capris.

The man rests his hand on her knee, gently moving his thumb back and forth on the fabric. Her arm is linked through his. I am caught staring. She looks over her red-rimmed glasses and smiles at me. It's a real one, not a tight, quick purse. I return the smile and look away, embarrassed.

The nurse calls a name. This couple rises. The woman steps forward and the man, who has placed his hand on her shoulder, sweeps a white cane before his first step. As they reach the office door, the woman says, "Quarter right" loudly but not annoyed. He turns toward her just enough so both pass through the doorway together seamlessly. She glances back and smiles again at me.

She is proud of him, I can see it. I am certain he feels it.

Vitamin Water

I am buying pork buns in Famima Super Convenience Mart tonight. A young white couple walks down the aisle, holding hands. Both wear all black; the boy is tall and lanky with black hair, bangs hanging over his eyes and sideburns down past his ears. The girl is pale, lips blackened, heavy dark eyeliner, black hair with purple streaks and a small peace sign tattooed on her forehead. They approach the refrigerated beverages and each take a can of "Rockstar" energy drink.

Girl: Ha, vitamin water. My mom wouldn't let me drink those.

Boy: She's a stupid bitch. Frickin' nag. Don't matter what she thinks now, right? Take one. Take two.

Girl: Geez, relax.

Boy: What?

Girl: No, I'm just saying.

Boy: Relax? Why didn't you tell her to relax?

Girl: Come on. She just said there's tons of sugar and -

Boy: Whatever.

Girl: Come on. Come on, baby.

The girl extends her hand. The boy doesn't take it.

Hello? Goodbye.

I am sitting close to an older lady at the pool today, maybe mid-50s, Caucasian. She is very tan, with an orange tint. In fact, she's head to toe hues of orange. Her hair is yellow-bronze-orange-red, curly and shoulder length. She wears red lipstick and nail polish on toes and fingers. She has a water bottle with a straw but I don't think it contains water. She wears a pink tankini with a belly chain. The whole look just cannot be denied. About an hour into my stay her cell rings, the ring tone is "Brick House".

"Hello?"

"Ah, yes. Hi Jerry."

"Not a lot. Enjoying the sun. You?"

"Really? Hmmm. Well, that's exciting."

"Hahaha. You're kidding. Isn't that a kick?"

"Pardon? Oh, no, no I really can't. I've got to be in early tomorrow."

"No, really. I'm sorry. You call me next time, alright Jer?"

"Okay now, well I've got to take a dip. It's hot today. Bye bye now."

The cell clicks shut. She sighs, rubs her face, shakes her hair out.

"I've got to change my number", she says to no one in particular.

Wanderer

I have a couple in my imagination inspired by Glen Campbell's song "Gentle on my Mind". I try to tell the woman to move on and she simply smiles at me. Drifters can be such alluring characters.

It's knowin' that your door is always open

And your path is free to walk

That makes me tend to leave my sleepin' bag

Rolled up and stashed behind your couch

And it's knowin' I'm not shackled

By forgotten words and bonds

And the ink stains that have dried upon some line

That keeps you in the back roads

By the rivers of my memory

That keeps you ever gentle on my mind

Watch music video

Body Spray

Two male officers are talking just outside my office, near the Xerox. I can't see them and I don't recognize their voices. One voice is deeper than average and peppers speech with 'you know what I'm sayin?". The other has some nervous laughter and sounds like he might surf on the weekends:

Deep: Hey, I got some of that Axe shit and my lady is loving it. It's almost like their commercials, man!

Surf: What's that? Axe?

Deep: You serious? Axe, the body spray. Bow chica wow wow, you know what I'm sayin?

Surf: Are you kidding me, dude? You use body spray? Like a chick?

Deep: Hell no. This is a man's body spray. Like I said, my girl sniffs IT UP! She loves it, man. You should try it.

Surf: Uhuh. No way. If I start wearing body spray my girlfriend's gonna think I'm going out on her. All I need is for her to start calling here when I'm working O.T. That would seriously cramp my game.
Deep: Hmm.

Midnight

I've had a character in my mind born out of this Yaz song for about 20 years now. I hear such desperation and regret in these lyrics, send shivers down my spine. I should just bring her to life, already.

And now it's midnight

it’s raining outside

And I’m soaking wet,

still looking for that man of mine

And I ain’t found him yet

Well all of this rain can wash away my tears

But nothing can replace all of those wasted years

In all of this I tell you I have learnt

Playing with fire gets you burnt

And I’m still burning

Listen to snippet

Surprise

I am at the pool today, with my giant sunglasses and "Who's your daddy?" visor. That can be a conversation starter, which I was up for today. But no one wanted to talk to me. I put my ear buds in and turn up the iPod. About an hour later, I turn it off.

Two girls claim chairs one down from mine. They are early 20s, white, talking loudly. A little buzzed, both hold cans of the Silver Bullet. One is very toned, tanned and quite striking with impressive boobs. She wears an emerald green string bikini, a belly ring with dangly charms and red fingernails. The other is heavier, paler, with burgundy and black hair in a short ponytail. She wears board shorts, a tank top and sports half sleeve tattoos on both arms. A Bettie Page portrait smiles on her shoulder:

Beauty: I am so glad we came out here. I just need to relax.

Bettie: Exactly. You're too stressed. You need to unpucker your asshole (wild laughter)!

Beauty: I might take Monday off, too. I told Mitchell I'm run down.

Bettie: That's good. You should. What did he say?

Beauty: Nothing. He just nodded. Then he asked me about ETCs (?) for Newport.

Bettie: What a jerk. What a jerk! You only work what, 60 hours a week? Fucker.

Beauty: Relax! I'll deal with it. Tuesday (more wild laughter)!

Bettie: Are you going to Mike's tonight?

Beauty: I guess. He says he misses me. He's just horny. What are you doing?

Bettie: I'd rather stay home and make out with you.