So there's this scenario...

So for one assignment, we had to write the "ending" to a scenario where Diane is an attractive introvert who is introduced to Roger by her sister Leah.  They hit it off.  6 months later, they're engaged. Diane finds out at her engagement party that Leah and Roger had an affair. So I came up with 2 different endings. One is after watching too much "48HRS" and "Dateline" with my dad and the other one came after I wanted to write a piece that had a mega happy ending. We were also supposed to use a POINT OF VIEW, but I hadn't mastered that yet with the happy one. 

#1 (The 48HRS/Dateline version) Miss Diane’s Got a Brand New Bag

                  Diane shifted in an increasingly restrictive black dress at Leah’s funeral. Her little sister had taken a horse’s dose of sleep medication and hung herself two weeks earlier. Diane’s fiancé, Roger, sat next to her, texting furiously, oblivious to her grief. She reached into her purse for what seemed like an endless ream of tissues and briefly brushed her fingers on her bottle of diet pills. She recoiled.

                  “No one wants to be the fat girl’s boyfriend,” Roger would often chide.
                  In the fog new love, Diane would smile, pop a pill and skip dessert. She had thought she should lose 15 lbs. anyway. Roger was an accountant and charmed her parents with jokes about auditing Santa Claus. She pictured herself in a soccer mom-2.5 kids-white-picket future with him, provided she stayed below a certain Body Mass Index. Leah was the one who had set them up.

                  “You both like watching ‘Game of Thrones!’” Leah didn’t have a great track record of being a yenta, but this time, she hit a bull’s-eye. Unlike her normally quiet self, Diane was drunk with happiness as she baked cookies for the office, showed off her engagement ring, and cooed at little babies on the street.

Six months later, Leah was tearfully confessing to Diane that she had a brief affair with Roger. She didn’t know that Diane already heard about the affair during their engagement party the previous weekend. Numb with shock and tightening a vise-like grip on her fantasy, Diane hadn’t thought about confronting either Leah or Roger. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do at all. And now it seemed the ball in her court was rolling itself down a steep hill.

                  “Di, you can’t marry him.”

Desperate and trying to prepare for her divorce, Leah explained that she had asked Roger for assistance in getting her finances straightened out. At the time, she didn’t want her family to know she had screwed up again. Instead of advice, Roger gave her money.

                  “After all, we’re going to be family,” Roger smiled.

                  A week later, Roger showed up drunk on Leah’s doorstep. He threatened to tell Diane about the money unless she slept with him.

                  “You don’t want her going to Mommy and Daddy, do you?” Roger sneered.

Their parents and Diane had spent a lifetime bailing Leah out of countless financial shenanigans. Flush with misbegotten pride, Leah had wanted to prove to herself that she could take care of this on her own. So she submitted to Roger’s feral appetite until he started pursuing another associate in their office.

“Di, you deserve better.” Leah wiped her tears on her sleeves as she walked out the door.

                  Diane sat quietly as she processed more information she didn’t know what to do with. Her stomach swirled with rage, grief, shame and vengeance, but she remained as poised as a ballerina. She never saw Leah again until the police called a week later.

Roger was so charming that Diane couldn’t remember when she started walking on eggshells at home. She realized she hadn’t been to her beloved book group in months. Her old friends had stopped calling. Roger sucked up all of Diane’s time, carting her off like a show pony to countless unhappy happy hours. In return for her efforts, his affection for her became increasingly conditional. Now she realized he wasn’t even being faithful to the women he had affairs with.

                  Roger put his phone in his pocket, looked up, appeared to remember he was at a funeral and put an arm around Diane. She felt a tsunami of anger overtake her sorrow. In spite of all her perfectionism, Diane could not protect her sister from her conniving fiancé.

                  Go fuck yourself, honey.

                  After burying her sister, Diane and Roger went back to their place. Roger plunked down in his recliner and put the game on as if he had spent the afternoon at a neighborhood potluck.

                  “Hey babe? Fix me a drink?” His eyes were fixed on the television.

At this point, Diane’s body was humming with a dangerous energy. She found herself caressing the small shovel stand next to the fireplace and pictured bashing Roger’s head in.

On second thought- no, Diane bit her lower lip. It would have been unjust that she should go to jail for doing humanity a favor.

                  She made her way into the garage while humming a tune that emanated from the recesses of her childhood. Roger wouldn’t taste the ethylene glycol in the cocktail and Diane could make the death as slow as she wanted. She poured the whiskey and Coke over the shot of antifreeze in the cocktail glass and felt the most giddy she had felt in years.

Just a little dab’ll do ya, honey.

“Here ya go,” She smiled and handed him the first of many special cocktails.

“Thanks, babe.” He stared ahead, oblivious.

This is the #2 version- the one I brought to class so that people didn't think I watched too much "Dateline"  

Helen Beane’s Last Shenanigan

                  Diane wolfed down her daily breakfast of coffee, an antidepressant and a fistful of chocolate M&Ms before meeting her sister, Leah, at the Kiwi Kafe for what she anticipated was going to be an awkward conversation. Staring out at the grey world outside her window, Diane couldn’t remember a day in the past month where she went to bed calm or woke up feeling refreshed. Everyone at work furtively glanced at her, wondering why she wasn’t acting like a happy bride-to-be.

                  All she could fixate on was the moment at her engagement party when the inappropriately cheerful Helen Beane remarked that she was happy for Diane despite the fact that Leah and Diane’s fiancé, Roger, had an affair. She wasn’t even sure how Helen got an invitation to the party; Her mother must have invited her under the delusion they were still six years old and best friends. Helen had been Diane’s nemesis since that time she flipped Diane’s skirt up while singing in choir. Diane’s nickname was “Tuesday” for the rest of high school, owing to the day of the week underpants she had on. She had since switched to sexier lingerie, but never shook off that sense of constant embarrassment.

Her sister, Leah, had been the matchmaker and introduced Roger to Diane. He was Diane’s idea of a dreamboat: Clean, gainfully employed and liked “Dr. Who”. She was sucker-punched when she heard about Leah and Roger’s betrayal. Helen was a gossip, but Diane didn’t know her to be a liar.

She recalled the icy feeling through her chest as Leah stifled a laugh during their last conversation about Roger. Diane sighed as one would sigh in line at the post office when thinking about going back to the dating pool. She recoiled at the thought of fielding offers from guys with screen names like “Currylingus” and “Panty_napper_04”. However, she couldn’t stop picturing Roger filling Leah like a cannoli. Diane’s stomach churned at the thought. Eating M&Ms before confronting her sister was a poor choice of breakfasts.

                  Diane brushed her teeth, the mint giving her the tingles that she was sure Leah had given Roger. Leah wasn’t the type to have a set of stockings and garters. She was the type to have them in all colors of the rainbow to match her bras if she happened to be wearing one. Leah had left a long list of jobs that allowed access to rich married men and to severance packages that were thinly veiled “Thanks for the pussy” messages. Diane was often regarded as “a bangable nerd”, but Leah was a veritable dick-magnet.

                  Leah brushed her thick hair, with a progressively ominous feeling. She wasn’t sure what Diane wanted to talk about. The last time they talked, Leah had listened to her sister’s moaning about Roger’s lack of libido and tried not to burst out laughing. She remembered at her old job, Roger had been rumored to be a porn addict. The staff used to dare each other to shake his hand after he walked out of his office. In reality, he watched more “Dr. Who” than porn and the IT staff didn’t find anything when they hacked into his computer. Straightening her blouse to the maximum allotted cleavage, Leah dismissed any thought of ominous conversation. Diane probably needed her to cat sit again. She grabbed her keys and walked out the door.

                  “Leah. Over here.” Diane called from the front of the café.

                  “Oh hey, Di. God it’s so humid.” Leah fiddled with her phone.

                  “Um, so… when were you going to tell me about Roger?”

                  “What about Roger?” Leah stopped fiddling with her phone. That he really doesn’t watch porn?

                  “The AFFAIR, Leah! The affair you had with my fiancé!”

A few café patrons turned to stare at the lovely pair of women with faces of magpies.

                  Leah’s jaw dropped. She was sick of being accused of having affairs- especially because this time, it was actually untrue.

“Are you kidding me? Even if you weren’t my sister, I wouldn’t waste my vagina on Roger.” Leah’s eyes rolled.

                  Diane stared at her hands, white-knuckling her cup of coffee. A tear fell on her wrist.

                  “Di, who told you we had an affair?” Leah put her hands over Diane’s wrists and cocked her head as if she were the older sister.

                  “Helen told me at the engagement party. I had to go and puke in the toilet when I heard.” Diane’s gut involuted at the memory.

                  “Seriously? I believe her like I believe the World Weekly News. Do you also believe Martians have violated half of New Mexico?” Leah arched her brow.

                  “Why would she lie?” Diane gripped her mug tighter.
                  “Sheez, Diane! She’s been jealous of you since high school. A few weeks ago, she even told Roger you had herpes, but I told him she was full of it. She’s hated you since her ex boyfriend took you to prom, like 20 flipping years ago.” Leah let out a sigh.

                  Diane relaxed her grip on the coffee. Helen hadn’t changed from high school. “Tuesday” was tricked again and this time, also accused of having herpes. Relieved that she had a loyal sister and a faithful fiancé, Diane felt peace for the first time in weeks. She allowed herself to look forward to watching many more “Dr. Who” marathons with her beloved Roger. But first, she was going to write a letter to Helen Beane’s mother about an arrest, a dead hooker and a chronic problem with alcohol.

 These are pieces I am thinking about bringing to writing class.  We were supposed to write a dialogue. Problem is I wrote two pieces and I want to workshop the weaker of the two- although I have to say as a beginner, I'm sure both are pretty weak. Any suggestions welcome. 

#1 Going In For The Gentle Landing

            Ted sat with Angela in his car in front of her apartment building. The rain pelted down on the tiny sedan, which idled on the street, double-parked.

            Angela leaned over. “Thanks for dinner and the ride home.”

            Ted shrugged. “What was I going to do? Pay for your dinner and leave you at the restaurant?”

            “Ha ha. I was just thanking you.”

            “You’re welcome. Have a good night, Angie.”

            Angela stared at Ted. “Aren’t you gonna to walk me to the door?”

            “It’s raining.”

            “And I don’t have an umbrella.” Angela adjusted her dress. “I’m just glad it didn’t rain before we got to Benihana’s.”

            “Well, at least you can take a shower when you get in the door.”

            “Wait. I’m sorry. So you’re not walking me to my door?”
            “Well, if I walk you to the door, then I’m going to get wet getting back into my car and then I’ll have to sit in my wet clothes for my 20 minute drive home.”

            “You could always stay here.”

            “I really need to go home.”

            “Why don’t you come in and wait for the rain to stop?”
            “Um, it’s late.” Ted looked at his right wrist. He wasn’t wearing a watch. “And I have to go to work tomorrow.”

            “So do I.” Angela leaned over further. “We can drive there together.”

            “I have an early meeting.”
            “I don’t mind getting to work a little early.”
            “What I mean is- I really have to get there early.”

            “So you don’t want to come in?” Angela leaned away from Ted.
            “No. I mean, yes. I have to go home.”

            “But I just wanted you to walk me to my door.”

            “It’s just rain. It’s not a big deal to get a little bit wet.”

            “It’s a big enough deal that you won’t walk me to the door with-” Angela’s eyes widened “-your umbrella.”

            “Look, I don’t think it’s fair that you get to walk in, take a shower and I have to sit here in wet pants while I drive on the highway.” Ted waved his hand in front of him as if to indicate an arduous journey. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is for a guy to drive in wet pants?”

            “No,” Angela folded her arms across her chest. “I had no idea wet pants were such a big deal.”

            “Yeah, well. It is.” Ted adjusted his seatbelt. “See you tomorrow, OK?”

            “Whatever.” Angela stepped out into the torrential downpour and ran across the sidewalk into the apartment building.

            Ted gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, watched her enter the elevator and exhaled.

And here is the other dialogue I wrote. It's not entirely autobiographical, but I'll tell ya, I did once have to get a backup dress for a dance because the one I wanted to wear was a LEEETLE bit tight. Just a smidge. The pictures came out beautifully anyway. 

#2 The Backup Dress

            Mary and her mother trudged into the last empty stall of the prom-crazed dressing room at Lohman’s. Amid the excited humming of her peers, Mary held a few undergarments meant to smooth out the curves of women twice her age. Her mother glided in behind her with her arms full of puffy dresses.

            “Mei mei, you try pink one first. Full skirt good for hiding thighs.”

            “Mom, why can’t I just wear my old blue dress? It doesn’t look that bad.”

“The blue dress look too tight. If you lose weight, you wear the blue dress.”

“It’s supposed to be a little tight. You should see what Ellen’s wearing.”

“Oh, I remember! Agnes fit into her wedding chi-pao, just eating three hard-boiled egg a day for two week. She lose lots of weight.”

            “Mom, I probably couldn’t remember MY NAME on three eggs a day.” Mary folded her arms. “I have a calculus test next week. Are you crazy?”

            “Mei mei, I only help you.” The mother sifted through the dresses. “The blue dress look tight and then you have to take prom picture. You look back when you 40 and you know Mommy was right.”

            “So what if the blue one is a little tight?”

            “You try. Don’t slouch.”

            “I hate this pink one. I look like a bottle of Pepto Bismol.”

            “Take the dress off then. We try another one.”

            “This makes me look like a shamrock. Could it BE more green?”

            The mother made a face. “We try purple one.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should take some barfing tips from Auntie Isobel.”

            “Eh! Auntie Isobel only throwing up when she eat too much at fancy buffet.”

            “So starving yourself is better?”
            “Agnes look so good in her wedding picture! Everybody say!”

            “Look, I’m only going to try on one more dress.” Mary snatched a black lace dress off the hook. “Well, I can wear this dress to funerals too, so we’ll get our money’s worth.”

            “Just try eating one meal? The rest of the day, eat two egg with some salt.”

            “Mom!” Mary turned to her mother. “You try solving quadratic equations on two fucking eggs!”

            “Eh!” The mother frowned. “Only cheap girl use that word. Not ladylike.”

“Well,” Mary threw up her hands. “I guess I’m cheap and not ladylike.”

            The mother sighed. “The black dress look nice.”

            She patted Mary’s stomach.

            “Mom!” Mary stomped her foot. “Stop!”

            “Just try. You look so much better in prom picture.”

            “Mom,” Mary said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

            She gathered up the undergarments, the black lace dress and walked with her mother out of the dressing room.

Comfort Zones

So I just wanted to create a page where I can post things that I write. Some of it is true. Some of it is pure insane drivel coming from a very sane looking woman. I'm pretty plain. I wear glasses. My hair is in a ponytail. I have a nice rack. It all evens out somehow.  Here's a piece I wrote for my first creative writing class on January 18, 2014: (In all fairness to the man in this story, he is actually really nice, but I think he would agree this kind of illustrates why we wouldn't make it as a couple.)

Comfort Zones

“So, explain to me what a fajita is.”

Jennifer looked incredulously at Ilan and wasn’t sure if he was testing her descriptive skills or playing a joke on her.  Surely, a man who grew up in New York had come across a Mexican restaurant or two in his 36 years of life. Jennifer’s parents were from Hong Kong and Taipei and even they had eaten their share of fajitas.

Because of his real or perceived “food sensory issues,” Ilan had made it clear he was coming to The Coyote Grill as a courtesy to Jennifer. He was happiest when eating white rice with plain grilled chicken and drank only milk, juice and water. On a few occasions, he would eat 3 slices of plain cheese pizza at Merone's. Eating at unfamiliar restaurants was out of his comfort zone and this particular outing took Herculean effort.

Jennifer took a deep breath, smiled like a stewardess from the 1960’s and began, “Well, it’s like a thin, soft, flour pancake that you can fill with anything you want. Steak, chicken, or shrimp, and vegetables like onions and peppers and- ”

“Yeah. No, I don’t eat vegetables. Go on.”  He leaned back in his seat and looked at Jennifer with a benign "just pretend I'm not being difficult" look.

“Well, you have the meat and the tortilla, right? And then you can also add cheese, sour cream and salsa, which you probably won’t want, and guacamole. Ah- nevermind. You wouldn’t want that either because of your food issues. ” She exhaled, relieved that she was able to explain a fajita to his satisfaction. Yet, she couldn’t help thinking, For God’s sake, I’ve tasted kidneys on toast and kangaroo and I’m dating a guy who just asked me to explain what a fajita is.

Ilan straightened up in his chair and then dropped his palms down on the menu and furrowed his brow.

“Hmm. OK, I just want meat, cheese, sour cream. What is the side dish? Beans and rice? I don’t eat beans. I just want rice.” His eyes darted up and down the menu, as if that would prevent a legume from ambushing his pristine order of rice.

Jennifer hated being perceived as a picky eater and here she was, in the company of Ilan, a champion chooser. She recalled him saying last week, “Tasting something bad can ruin my entire day.”

Just then, the waitress came by to take their order. Oh God, here we go, Jennifer sighed.

Ilan’s voice was firm, but even: “ I would like the steak fajitas. But make sure there are NO VEGETABLES. I don’t want to see anything green on my plate. Just the steak. And I want the sour cream and cheese on the side. Just plain cheddar cheese. And I don’t want the beans.  I just want extra rice, but nothin’ on it. No beans. No vegetables.”

Jennifer smiled nervously at the waitress as if she were trying to apologize for how picky her boyfriend was. The couple was an intriguing combination. Jennifer was the youngest daughter in a Chinese family and was raised not to cause a fuss, while Ilan was a first-born son in a Jewish family where he was bred to be the chief fuss-maker. This restaurant experience was also out of Jennifer’s comfort zone, but not because of the food.

“Do you want the guacamole and pico de gallo? It comes with the fajita,” the waitress asked.

“No, I don’t want anything else. Just the meat. Tortilla. Sour cream. Cheddar cheese. And plain rice. That’s it.” As he enunciated every element of his meal, he made hand motions gently onto the table as if to partition his food.

Ilan smiled at the waitress. Fortunately, he possessed enough charm to ensure that the wait staff didn’t spit into his food.

Then it was Jennifer’s turn to order. She came to the realization that she had put on too much makeup and the mascara was making her lashes stick together. It felt unnatural to be wearing makeup and a tight dress to a casual restaurant just to please Ilan and now it was uncomfortable to watch him order a fucking fajita.

“Oh, I’ll just have the vegetarian quesadilla. Thank you.”

The waitress quickly absconded with their order. Ilan turned to Jennifer and smiled with the ease of a man who got what he wanted. Jennifer felt her lips stick to her teeth as she smiled in return.