So, I and my fellow rat-racers are in the westward rolling bus, when it stops and lets on a gaggle of high school girls. They’re loud and obnoxious, eager to monopolize the attention of strangers and eclipse all other noise with their cackling and yelling. It makes me smile. I remember how fun it was to be a 16-year-old total asshole with my asshole friends. We didn’t demand attention through screaming or crowing, though; we just did weird shit, like dancing at inappropriate moments, performing skits with produce in the grocery store, and making puppets out of inanimate objects. Ah, the freedom of being a total loser in high school.

Anyway, the girls get more and more rambunctious, and I hear the phrase “Get outta my FACE,” repeated several times, at steadily increasing volume, until suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, two of the girls are beating the shit out of each other in the middle of the bus aisle. They’re kicking and swatting each other, yanking fistfuls of hair, shoving each other’s faces into the windows and metal handles of the bus, as the rest of the girl scream incomprehensively and compete for the best view of the fight. I, meanwhile, am in my seat, thanking God that I’m not in their line of thrash, and ducking behind my newspaper in attempt to conceal my hysterical laughter.

The bus driver stops the bus, runs outside, and flags down a couple of cops who then run onto the bus, break up the (still raging) fight, and drag the little girls away in handcuffs. (Man, they really put up a fight. I’m glad they didn’t see me smirking. They could have kicked my ass.)

All of us passengers have to get off and board another bus as the bus driver (and her bus) stay behind to file a police report. The rest of the bus ride, which was quite sardiney due to our being forced onto an already-full bus, is riddled with choruses of “She did what?” and “Aw, no, she DI-int!” as the girls recount the whys and hows of the fisticuffs.

“That girl called Jennifer a BITCH!”

“Aw, no, that is ONE word you do NOT call JENnifer!”

It was AWESOMELY funny.

I have a friend who, for purposes of anonymity, I’ll call Pablo Sweetness. Pablo and I both worked at the same theatre during the summer of 2001, and became very close friends. The two of us plus our friend “Anita” were an inseparable triumverate of Summerstock closeness, until Pablo, who had been sleeping with Anita, hurt her terribly by fucking another woman, the bubbly “Cheryl.” That caused a huge rift between him and Anita, but I remained close with them both, separately.

Got that?

Good.

Pablo Sweetness is a Winston-smokin’ punkass redneck lunatic transient. He checked himself into rehab when he was 14 years old, but now says he has things “under control.” Sure.

For whatever reason, Pablo’s banned from New Hampshire. That’s right, the dude is banned from a state in which gun racks are regularly mounted on car dashboards, and thus he had to spend a good chunk of a New England road trip hunkered down in the back of Anita’s white Volkswagon bug.

He had one bowl too many jello-shots at a party, and ended up passing out in the haunted 3rd-floor bathroom, before reviving himself, tackling me on my bed, getting up, sliding down all 3 flights of stairs on his ass, and running outside to sleep under the big sugar maple in the front yard.

At my request, he stole a "Kelly Rd." road sign for me, from the middle of town.

He’s a total slut, who has been seriously hurt in the past, and now eschews all notions of monogamy or true love. Sad, that, as he’s incredibly passionate and sweet, and has an amazing capacity for love. I don’t really know what he’s so scared of. He’d be a hard person to be with, due to his RAGING INSANITY, but I think he’d be absolutely ferocious in his devotion, and I don’t just mean sexually.

Last I spoke to Pablo, he was living in Las Vegas with a bunch of fellow-transient friends, and his girlfriend, “Chrysanthemum.” He was finding it difficult to find work, and seemed down. The cost of living was low, he said, but he was planning on moving again soon. Shortly thereafter, Pablo dropped off of the face of the earth.

(OK, now, the following section is shamelessly self-indulgent, but I swear, you’ll find these emails entertaining, even though you don’t know Pablo. Actually, I think everyone has a Pablo in his/her life. I miss mine.)

In mid-December, I received a lovely surprise in my inbox:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: pablo sweetness

Message:

"kelly?

im not sure if this is still you but i figure its worth a shot

im living in ft lauderdale fl now
so if this gets to you
get me back

lates

pab”

You must understand, Pablo’s not an idiot. If you’re a grammar snob, you may find that his spelling and syntax indicate otherwise, but Pablo’s very intelligent and creative. He just happens to be severely dyslexic, and never learned how to work around that, or work with it, as the case may be. He substitutes complete line-breaks for punctuation, and his spelling can best be described as “experimental.” As a result, his emails always look like spastic beat poems.

Anyway, I replied …

From: Kelly
Subject: re: pablo sweetness

“hell yeah, pablo fucking sweetness!

i think of you often, baby. in fact, i was just thinking of you yesterday. what the hell are you doing in florida? you still with chrysanthemum? will you be home at all during the holidays?

i'm still in chicago. things are pretty good. i'm acting, working in an office, have my own apartment, blablabla.

i'm flying back to massachusetts for the holidays, and will be home from the 18th through the 28th. i'm hoping to visit anita in vermont when she's home from school, but we'll see.

no, but how was las vegas? what are you up to?

love
kelly”

After that, I received from him a completely blank message. Pablo’s a technological retard. Or, maybe he endured a drunken tremor while his cursor was over the “send” button, resulting in premature launch of non-existent message in to online oblivion. (AKA, my inbox.)

I’m a shit.

Anyway, I then get the following reply:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: re: pablo sweetness

“cool

things in florida are great
we live in a big house on a lake, me and my room mates
no more chrysanthemum...we left her in vegas it got very ugly
hence the reason i should not have a girl friend
working in resturants and clubs around south florida
been here sence february
and i love it here so much more than vegas
i belong on the east coast
the west was just too uptight for my anticks

cant aford to come home for the hollidays
so im just gunna chill here
couldent handle the snow anyway
im trying to get in touch with anita too
i had a dream lastnight and she was in it so i figured i better try to get ahold of my sexy ladies from vermont
im glad the city is working out for you
this summer i may come for a visit if thats ok
its lame in florida in the summer so i wana do some travelin
and i'v been thinkin of you guys alot lately
well lets try to keep in touch
i know i bounce around alot but i know i can always get in touch with you
so get me back baby

yours
pablo

ps {954}-pab-love”

[That’s not his real number.]

[Duh.]

I’m still waiting to be filled in on what actually happened with Chrysanthemum. As it is, I’m picturing Pablo and his roommates pushing her out of the back of a truck on a dusty Nevada road, throwing her a knapsack, and laughing at her forlorn and scowling figure as it shrinks into the horizon from which they flee.

I never heard of the west as being too uptight for anyone’s “anticks.” I thought it had a reputation for being balls-out liberal, and always think of Florida as being inhabited by vote-stashing Republican bluehairs. Well, all that aside, Mr. Sweetness decided his anticks were too much for the goddamn city of sin. Impressive. I think he was thrown out by Lucifer, himself.

He did try to contact Anita, so she tells me. He’s apparently failed to notice that she’s not talking to him anymore. Maybe it’s all the acid he’s done.

I replied, asking him to tell me more about his situation, what happened with the girlfriend. I welcomed him to visit me this summer, to escape “lame” Fort Lauderdale (?), and I gave him my phone number.

Soon after that:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: i saw the scariest manicin today

“i was driving down the beach andone of the shops had the most fucked up maniken out in front
so obviously i thought of you
its been cold as hell in florida the last fiew days
i havent felt cold in almost 2 years its fucked up
im currently unemployed so its my job to be the house drunk
i plan to start working again after the new year untill about june
then to travel around the country a bit
i hope your still in chicago
so im curieous if you still talk to cheryl? did she actualy get married?
and how is anita? whats she up to now? its been about a year sence i'v talked with yall
so give me all the dirt on all of you and anyone else you can think of

rock hard with your cock out!!!

pablo”

(One of Pablo’s favorite mantras is “rock hard with your cock out.” I, and many others, have actually seen Pablo rocking hard with his cock out.)

I told him that Anita was doing wonderfully, and after a brief stint in California and then back home to Vermont, she had finally been able to go to school in New York and was loving it. I also told him that I lost touch with Cheryl, but that the last I heard, she was going to be married and that I had been told her wedding dress looked like a quilted sofa. (Cheryl proved herself to be an annoying, high-maintenance backstabber, and I don’t miss her at all.) It was pretty funny to learn of her engagement. The summer I knew her, she made a point of sleeping with as many men as she could and bragging about it. I’m all about people getting their rocks off, but she acted like there was some kind of competition involved. If that was the case, she was the only contestant.

Anyway ... I told Pablo that he was a pussy, that he was a disgrace to his New England roots for thinking the 50 degree Florida weather was “cold.” I also told him to kiss my ass.

Oh, as for the mannequin/manicin/maniken, I have an abnormal aversion to mannequins. They freak me the hell out, and I will normally go out of my way to avoid them. It became a running joke for Anita and Pablo to threaten to sneak into my room and shove a mannequin in my bed. I learned to sleep with one eye open.

Anyway, the following replied ensued:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: go banana

“KELLY YOU WOULD SHIT YOURSELF IF YOU KNEW HOW MANY TIMES I'V TRYED TO STEAL A MANICIN FOR YOU.

seriously all acrost the country i see manicins and think of how funny it would be to send one to you in a box.

its so strange the way life works
after i wrote you this afternoon i sat down to watch the simpsons
and wouldent you know it, it was the ‘go banana’ episode
then i watched that 70's show and the mom kitty reminds me of you soooo much”

I get that a lot, actually.

”i will put you on my list of people to come and see this summer and you can show me the town. and you are always welcome here i live in a big house on a lake about 5 miles from the beach i work mostly in resturants and clubs so where ever i go i get cheap drinks and theres all kinds of crazys all over the place to keep it interesting i'v done some work in theatres down here but its mostly musicals that make me want to kill myself

its about 60 degrees here witch is cold as hell for me so bite me and go buery your head in the snow

im so glad anita is well she needed to get the fuck out of that little bull shit vermont town and im doubly glad shes not in LA the west coast sucks a big fat dick

as for cheryl i feel bad for her dude

so bone up on your drinkin while your im mass

cuz being the house drunk is one of the most important jobs in the world...even more important than the president

miss you baby

talk to ya soon

Pablo”

As for “go banana,” it’s a Ralph Wiggum-ism from The Simpsons. Pablo and I, during the rare occasion when we were short on conversation, would quote Ralph Wiggum to one another … or, rather, I would say “Go, banana,” and he would dissolve into helpless pothead laughter.

Being the house drunk is more important than the President. Pablo’s got issues.

I think “witch is cold as hell” is one of my favorite phrases of all time. "Musicals that make me want to kill myself" is another.

By that time, I was visiting my parents for the holidays, and told Pablo that being the House Drunk wasn’t much of an option. (We all remember how that resolve crumbled, don’t we?)

Right. Not long after that:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: its about 70 degrees today

”well today is nice anyway
and theres always time to have one tomany cocktails
stying with your parents is no excuse
sally
i was a skier but now i live in a tropical paridice...tit for tat
palm trees and margaritas or snow and cold
its just no comparison
i would love to see you down in florida
you wont wana leave

yours
pablo”

I’d love to visit Pablo in Florida! I’m not sure if I’d survive, though. Actually, I’m a little worried, about him.

Check it out:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: FUCK CANADA

”im fuckin wased right now

too drunk to type

der dee der der dooo bo bobo be bo der

pablo”

Now, the specification of his state of mind indicates that Pablo was not fuckin wased while composing the rest of his emails, which is at once relieving and surprising. And, “fuck Canada?” Wha?

I replied with some wise-ass comment, like, “Fuck Canada? All of it? That’s a lot of people, a lot of cold, and a lot of traveling. I don’t know if I’m up to it.” Hahaha funny blue humor I’m so clever ha.

About a minute later, he replies:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: fuck canada AGAIN

“YES!!! ALL OF CANADA!!!! WHAT KIND OF SLACKER DO YOU THINK I AM?

WHEN IT COMES TO FUCKIN I DONT FUCK AROUND

I DONT FEEL COLD AND THERES NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH WHEN IT COMES TO FUCKIN

SO FUCK CANADA...ALL OF CONADA...WITH A BIG WOODEN MALET

IV GOT ENOUGH VIAGRA TO GO TILL I HAVE A HEART ATACK

’GO BANANA’

PABLO”

Look out, Canada, and Conada, too. Here comes Pablo Sweetness with a big wooden mallet, rocking hard with his cock out. All work and no play makes Pablo a dull boy.

Possible band name: Pablo Sweetness and the Big Wooden Mallets

Next email, with an equally inscrutable subject title:

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: there once was a man from nantuckit …

”hey baby

i just got up and was sitting on my unemployed ass
and i thought of you
so i figured i better drop your sexy ass a line
over the next week we'v got at least 8 people comming into town for the new year
its going to be crowded here
but its about 80 degrees here today
so fuck it how can i complain about anything
i just got offered a job in a resturant but it doesent open till next week
and i turnd down a job to do some set building
but the tech director reminded me of [our tech director from Vermont … he and Pablo hated each other]

so fuck that shit

well marry christmass

happy fuckin new year

pablo”

I love “christmass.” It needs to be pronounced as it’s written:

Christ

Mass

And he wants me to marry it.

That night, I had the fateful conversation with my mother which made me feel like a doomed, frigid spinster. I wrote Pablo, asking him about his holiday plans, and again about Chrysanthemum. I also told him about the conversation with my mother, because I was upset, Pablo’s my friend, and he’s amazingly talented at cheering me up. Hot damn, that was a good idea.

BEHOLD:

From: Pablo Sweetness

Subject: Re: there once was a man from nantuckit …

”hey sweety

iv got two room mates here
the rest are home for the hollidays
but im not a very big fan of christmass anyway
ill call you and tell you about what happened with chrysanthemum and i maby tomarow
send your number again incase i cant find it
and whatever your mom says is bull shit
you are a hottie and a cool cool girl
i may be a man whore but i would be with you in a second
cuz your one of those girls that is to awasum for words
and only dirty hot sex can express how very cool you are
if that makes any sence

yours

pablo

pablo fuckin sweetness”

Yay! The man-whore thinks I’m “one of those girls that is to awasum for words!” Makes sence to me. Christ, I love that kid.

In my next email, I included my phone number AGAIN, with the message, “don’t lose it, you pothead.” I didn’t hear for him for a while after that. Then, on New Years Eve …

From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: pablo fuckin sweetness

”hey sexy bitch

happy fuckin new year
i got totaly fucked
by about 4 in the morning i was on the roof of my house throwing explosives into the lake...or so im told
we threw a great party though
3 people passed out on my front lawn
im still kind of in recovery

so how was your new year?
did you get laid?

go banana!

sorry

i was looking for your number so i can call you but i lost it
so could you send it again please

yours
pablo”

I can only imagine.

I think another one of my favorite new phrases is “Did you get laid? Go, banana!”

I emailed him my phone number AGAIN, and haven’t heard from him since. I should probably call him, make sure he’s not heading north with a croquet mallet in one arm and a set of fireworks in the other.

According to my stats, yesterday resulted in the worlds greatest Google hits.

Luvabeans is called up by the following searches:

“billie idol and girlfriend” … It’s meant to be! What a nice day for a white wedding.

“sid vicious girlfriend” … Ooh, I’d love to see a deathmatch between Billie and Sid, all for the glory of love. Billie Idol is the man who will fight for my honor, Sid Vicious is the hero I’m dreaming of.

“love and the passive aggressive man” … The mealy-mouthed sequel to “Love in the Time of Cholera,” written after Gabriel Garcia Marquez had been put through the ringer by various Human Resources departments. (What?)

“i-socked-him-in-the-stomach” … I’m so fucking badass, yo.

And, I think the following is my absolute favorite:

“shawn and i lived together we have a son and shawn started seeing my so called friend nikki they have a baby now”

That’s right. Luvabeans will soon be changing its domain name to SAILTWHASASSSMSCFNTHABN.com. I say it’s about time, what with the incredible demand for information about SAILTWHASASSSMSCFNTHABN these days.

Rock hard with your cock out. Get fuckin wased in paradice, sexy bitches and man-whores.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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