Yesterday. I arrive at my temp job early. I turn on my computer, check my work email account, and finish up a report that I have to submit to my supervisor, Bobbie [not real name], before 11:00am. Once the report is printed, I grab it from the printer, staple the warm papers together, and head to Bobbie’s office to deliver it. When I arrive in Bobbie’s office, I notice that the door is slightly ajar and the lights are off. “Hmmm, that’s odd,” I think to myself. “Maybe Bobbie isn’t here yet.” I figure I’ll just place the report on Bobbie’s desk and leave. I enter, put the report down on the desk, and spin around in the dark to head toward the door. But, something is wrong. Dead wrong. Even though there aren’t any lights on in Bobbie’s office, out of the corner of my eye, I quickly catch a glimpse of an unknown figure crouched down, hiding behind the door.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. THAT. MAN. DOING. BACK. THERE?!?!?! I’m scared. My mind races. I can’t think of anything to say or do. So, I freeze. I close my eyes, and I scream. Loudly. I want other people in the office to hear me. When I open my eyes again, to my surprise, I notice that the unknown man hasn’t moved. At all. Actually, he’s standing exactly where he was when I first saw him—hiding behind the door. Oddly enough, this calms me because (at the very least) it means that he’s not moving toward me. I take a closer at look him.

It’s Derek Jeter. The inside of Bobbie’s office has a life-size cardboard cutout of Derek Jeter propped up behind the door. So, needless to say, now I feel like an idiot because my coworkers are running toward the office to “save” me. They heard me scream, and they’re concerned. “What’s wrong?!?! Is everything okay?!!? Did you see something?!?!” I hang my head in embarrassment. Believe me, it’s not easy to explain exactly how and why one manages to mistake a big hunk of cardboard for a random workplace-psycho-killer-who-likes-to-hide-behind-doors.

At MamaChristy’s request, I’ve decided to write an entire post about my adventures at a live s-x show in Amsterdam. But, fret not — this post is completely safe for work. How? It’s easy. All you have to do is remember a few things: (1) people who prance around and remove their clothes are called “dancers”, (2) men have “snakes”, and (3) women have “caves”. Got it? Okay. Ready? Here we go … Rewind a few years … Back to when I was living in Amsterdam. But, before we get started, the first thing to know is that Amsterdam is an absolutely beautiful city that tells two stories. One story is for the Dutch. The other is for the tourists. The Dutch story is about impressive architecture, yummy cheeses, great painters (Van Gogh, Vermeer, and Rembrandt are all Dutch), pretty tulips, and open social policies. The other story, the tourist story, is about whores, drugs, and the Red Light District. So, when friends from the US come visit me, they usually want to experience one story or the other. For example, when Bro visits, she wants the Dutch story. When Maria visits, she wants the tourist story. For now, let’s talk about Maria’s visit because that’s the one with the dancers, snakes, and caves.

It’s a weekday evening. Maria and I are walking along one of the streets of the Red Light District, and she sees a sign that says “Live S-x Show!!!!!” (Yes, it’s written in English. Remember, this is the tourist story. The people who own the clubs know this; so, they don’t even bother to write their signs in Dutch.) So, we approach the man at the door and he tells us, in English, how much it costs to see the show. I tell him, in Dutch, that I think that’s a ridiculous price. He cuts our price in half. We pay and go in.

The place is really dark. Up front and center is a stage, and no one is on it yet. We grab two seats on the bench near the back. Well, they aren’t really “benches”. They’re more like wooden church pews with really really high backs. When seated, you can barely see over the pew—the seats are too high to see into the laps of the people sitting in front of you or in back of you; and, it’s too dark to see into the laps of the people sitting next to you. So, the show starts. Lights on the stage (but nowhere else).

In walks this cheerleader. She’s a dancer. She’s really pretty. She does her dance for a while and then she leaves. Next, queue the racist p-rn show with a grotesquely fat black dancer. At the end of her ridiculous “thing”, she does the banana trick. What’s the banana trick, you might ask? Well, she peels a banana and sticks it deep into her cave. Next, she invites guys from the audience to come and eat it. The guys say things to her in English with American, German and British accents. Again, this is the tourist story. I don’t think there are any Dutch people here. Anyway, so, now, the dancing is done and it’s show time!

In walks an Asian woman who isn’t wearing a shirt. She’s being following by a white guy dressed in a$$-less chaps. The woman is cute enough; but, the guy isn’t attractive. Nope. Not at all. “If I just paid money to see *THAT* man’s snake,” I think to myself, “I’m gonna be pissed!” Call me naïve but I thought, you know, if you’re gonna charge people money to see a live s-x show, the guy should look as hot as Paul Walker and the woman should look as hot as Halle Berry. Otherwise, why am I paying money? Hell, if I wanna see two ugly people getting it on, I can just spy on the neighbors for free. But, back to the couple on stage … Most of the people here are guys and they’re here to see the woman. And, see the woman they do because, although the guy’s snake enters her cave a few times, that part doesn’t last very long. His snake is too, um, “squashy”. So, to fill the time, he does acrobatics with the woman. He spins her around upside down so that everyone in the audience can see a close-up view of her cave. When it’s done, the couple exits. Music plays, but the lights don’t come on.

Was the experience worth it? Yes and no. No, because the guy was ugly and he couldn’t keep his snake “at attention”. Yes, because it’s one of those experiences that just doesn’t happen everyday; and, I think you have to do things like that every once and a while so that you know you’re still living—even I it involves watching an ugly man stick his snake in a dancer’s cave in Amsterdam.

None of the 8 million residents of New York City know this news yet — I want you guys to be the first to hear it. Mark your calendars, my sweet little darlings! It looks like yours truly is gonna be included in the lineup of the “Pink Slips, You’re Fired!” show at 8:00pm on Wednesday, September 20, at The Bowery Poetry Club. You’re invited! (It’s more than a month away so mark your calendars now to save the date.) The event is part of the WYSIWYG Talent Show. If you don’t live in New York, you’re probably wondering: what the hell is the WYSIWYG Talent Show? Well, the people who organize WYSIWYG call it “a monthly showcase for the oft-overlooked genius of bloggers living in or visiting New York City.” And, basically, this is what happens at these events: people buy drinks, they listen to bloggers read really funny stories from their blogs, they laugh, they buy more drinks, and then they go home. Past participants / performers include American Idol snubee Amnesia Sparkles, Guy Brighton, Odd Todd, Project Runway’s Diana Eng, The Assimilated Negro and others.

If you live in (or will be visiting) New York, I wanna see you on September 20! This will be my “artistic debut” of sorts; I’ve never really done any kind of public performance art whatsoever. Okay, wait a minute … that’s a lie … Technically, my artistic debut happened when I was 11-years-old and I got picked to sing the solo of “My Lord What a Morning” in my Mississippi grade school choir. But, still, this is my first “gig” since then. Oh … wait … okay, so, that’s a lie too because I kinda sorta did a one-time fluke thing on a MTV game show with Jenny McCarthy but that was ages ago … oh … wait a minute … there was also that Price is Right gig … okay, okay, fuck it, I admit it — I’m a total attention whore who eats up every opportunity available to appear before an audience. So, yeah, hope to see you there!

I’m a freak magnet. A bunch of months ago, pre-Sven, I give this guy my telephone number. He calls me twice the next morning, but I don’t take the call because I don’t recognize the number. He calls me again a few hours later and leaves a voice message. But, I don’t return his call because I’m starting to think he might be a crazyman. So, about an hour or so later, he sends a text message to ask me if I want to join him at an event that evening. I don’t respond. So then — when the event is over (and, yep, this is still the same day) — he sends another text message to see if I’d like to join him for drinks. Still no response from me because, well, now I know he is crazyman. Three calls and two texts in the same day. So, what does the guy do next? He sends a final text message that simply says: Fuck You.

Freaks. Somehow, I seem to attract the scores of oddballs that happen to be roaming the earth. I mean, honestly, once I even had a random stranger grab my hand and use it to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. So, I don’t know why I’m surprised that I received the following voicemail from my friend Kay: “Stolie? Hey girl, it’s me Kay. I was just calling you because my radio station is talking about people who are freak magnets and, automatically, I thought of you. So, um, I didn’t know if you wanted to call in and share your stories but, now that I think about it, I’m sure by the time that you get this message they won’t be talking about that anymore. Anyway, I just figured I’d give you a call and say … you know … there are other people out there who are also freak magnets who get … you know … um … hunted down by the drunk and the criminally insane. So, you’re not alone. Anyway … talk to you soon.”

Okay, two things disturb me about this message. One, she “automatically” thinks of me when she hears the term freak magnet. And, two, she goes a step further to say that I not only attract the freaks among us, I attract “the drunk and the criminally insane” as well. Weirdoes? Yes. Drunk and criminally insane? Well, that may be a little harsh. Anyway, how about you, dear reader? Are you drunk or criminally insane? What? I’m kidding. The real question is: Are you a freak magnet? What’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you? Who’s the freakiest stranger who has ever approached you? Please share your stories; I can’t wait to hear them.

I used to live in London. Rewind a few years. I’m graduating from university in three weeks. I know my future. I’m going to grad school. I haven’t set up a back up plan because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and people like me. I *AM* going to grad school. Then, one day when checking my mailbox, I notice a very thin letter from the graduate program to which I’ve applied. They want to let me know that they rejected my application. I didn’t get in. I’m devastated. I call Bro and I tell her that my plans fell through and I have no future. She tells me that I’m actually in an exciting place in my life. “If you say that you have no future and you have nothing to lose,” she says, “this is the best time to try something that you’ve always wanted to do because … you know … what have you got to lose?” That same day, I book a 1-way ticket to England.

Living abroad is something that I’ve always wanted to do, but never had the courage. And, now that I’m going, I don’t really have a “plan.” So, while in England, I study a little. I travel A LOT. I eventually get a job. Then I get a better job. And, I always … and I mean always … kiss a lot of charming European boys. It’s great! And, believe it or not, my employer in London eventually offers to complete the visa paperwork to allow me to stay on in England working for them. I am thrilled! Still, I decide to leave for two reasons: (1) I ’m running up debt and I feel like it is time to be “an adult” and go back to the US to pursue a more “serious” career [I’m working in the fashion industry] and (2) I’m scared.

I don’t have any regrets about my decision to leave; at the same time — knowing what I now know about life in general — if I could do it again, I probably would have chosen to stay. Why am I telling you this story? Well, one of the comments left yesterday really struck me. “Struggles are life lessons,” the reader writes. “Because of what you are going through now you will react or act differently to some situation that you will encounter in the future (near or far) and that moment will change your life for the better.” Truth be told, it’s because of my experiences in London that I’ve decided to stick it out in New York—even though I’m running up a lot of debt and it might not be the “adult” thing to do and even though I’m scared. I think “New York” is my new “London”. I don’t know what will happen to me here. The future looks a little bleak because of the job situation. Nevertheless, this time, for now, I’m choosing to stay.

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Oh yeah … about the grad school story … here’s how that one ends … I re-applied a year later while I was still living in London. In my personal statements for my applications, I told the admissions committees about how I’d failed to get in the first try. I also told them what I’d learned about life during my time in England and I told them about not giving up. I was accepted to each program that applied. I graduated with the MA two years later. (I’m currently working on a second one on a part-time basis.)

Did you know that you can go to the “Snakes on a Plane” website and have Pulp Fiction’s very own Samuel L. Jackson call a friend and leave a voicemail message for free? Well, it’s not really him, per se, but it’s his voice. I got a call last night. My friend E sent it to me; it’s great! Man, the “internet craze” about this movie is out of control. Supposedly, the buzz has been so strong that they actually re-cut and re-shot a few scenes of the movie to include lines from various blogs — most notably, they added the line, “I want these motherfucking snakes off the motherfucking plane!” Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m excited about “Snakes on a Plane”. My friends and I are going to watch it on opening night and, yeah, sure, I even think the idea behind the movie is kind of genius. But, there’s one thing that kind of disturbs me: Snakes on a Blog.

Do you know the story behind Snakes on a Blog? Apparently, back in January, some random punk starts a blog to chronicle his “quest to attend the Hollywood premiere of Snakes on a Plane”. Guess what happens. Yep, you guessed it — after much hype, the folks over at New Line Cinema actually formally invite the kid to next Friday’s premiere at Mann’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, California. But, wait, there’s more: they also agree to cover his airfare and accommodations, too. Can you believe this?!?!

Question: Why am I so pissed off about this? Answer: I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first. Honestly, I mean, think about it … Paul Walker just had a movie — 8 Below — open recently right? Well, it’s a movie about a hottie (Paul Walker) and a bunch of dogs. I mean, hell, if I had been even ½ as clever as the Snakes on a Blog kid, I would have renamed the Funky Brown Chick “A Hottie and A Bunch of Fucking Dogs on a Blog”. And, quite honestly, I think I would have done it if I thought that it would score me an all-expenses paid trip to the premiere of 8 Below and/or 1 seat on Paul Walker’s lap. Man, damn that Snakes on a Blog kid. Damn him straight to hell for being smarter than I am!! Anyway … here are a few questions for you: Have you heard of the movie “Snakes on a Plane”? Are you going to see it? And, most importantly, did you have Samuel L. Jackson leave a voicemail message for anyone?

Yesterday. I’m at my temp job. And, I’m talking to my coworker & friend Asia about my upcoming date with Sven Johånn Låårssøn . (No, she’s not Asian but her name is indeed Asia.) Asia’s worried that I’ve been out on several dates with Sven and I haven’t asked certain key questions. “So, what’s this guys’ story?” she asks. But, I don’t know what she’s getting at, so I answer her question with another question: “What do you mean?” She seems surprised. “I meeeean,” she says for emphasis,” “Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? Kids? A job? … You know, what’s his story?”

Call me a Midwesterner, but I ignorantly assume that the guys that I date are not married. So, I’m kind of embarrassed when I tell Asia that I haven’t actually asked Sven if he’s married. “Girl,” she says, “you gotta ask them if they’re married. Otherwise, they can always say, ‘you never asked.’” One of my friends in Chicago vehemently subscribes to the same philosophy: assume they’re married unless they specifically tell you otherwise. But, she got burned once. And, it was bad. So, now she not only asks men if they’re married, she also asks, “Is there any woman anywhere who has any reason to believe that she is (or could possibly be) your wife?”

Hmmm … I guess there are certain questions that you should ask every date. But, it’s not like I’m husband-hunting or anything; so, I figure the first few dates are just supposed to be about having fun. Sure, we’ll eventually get down to business and talk about the heavier stuff like “what’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had” and “why do you think your last relationship failed”— but that comes later. And, now that I think about it, “later” is “now”; it’s probably time to start asking Sven the heavy questions. Hmmm … What about you? Do you have any specific questions that you’re always sure to ask a date before you decide to get more seriously / romantically involved?