Has Anyone Seen My Pants? (10 page)

I put him on his favorite blanket in his favorite spot (right next to the refrigerator), and the vet gave him the sedative. He looked at all of us, inquisitive, tired—but he seemed relaxed. He also seemed to know it was time to go—maybe that sounds crazy, but whatever, my cat died, so give me a fucking break.

When she knew he was fully sedated, she gently told me it was time. I started sobbing, harder than I even knew that I could—uncontrollable, childlike sobbing—Barry White in full effect. My friends were crying, too; it was a mess. I nodded to the vet, letting her know to go ahead, and she did. I stared at Mischief the whole time, looking in his eyes, telling him I loved him and that I was so sorry I couldn’t do anything else to make him feel better. I waited for his eyes to close but they never did, then the vet explained to me that they wouldn’t, which was pretty fucking creepy. And I
swear to God
I saw a tear fall out of the corner of his eye. I
swear
.
Later I figured out that it was most likely one of my own tears that landed on his face because, you know, cats can’t cry.

After a few minutes, she listened to his heartbeat, looked up at me, and said, “I’m so sorry.” Uncontrollable sobbing again. That was it; my little buddy was gone.

I slept with his collar on my wrist for a couple of nights. It made me feel better, except when I’d turn in my sleep and it
would jingle and wake me up, which probably sounds annoying but it wasn’t too terrible for someone who once had to sleep in an electronic home monitoring bracelet.

To this day, I still feel sad; I come home and he’s not at the door waiting for me like he was for sixteen years. I go into my kitchen and he doesn’t follow me, screaming at me, letting me know he wants some fucking turkey. I’ve even put on weight since he’s been gone—not because I miss him but because I’m finally able to finish all of my meals myself now. It sucks. Living alone is one thing when you have a pet to care for, but when you lose that pet, there’s an emptiness that makes you question your decision to be alone. That said, if you talk about that in public, you just sound like a crazy cat lady. But I won’t let it stop me; Mischief deserves more respect than that.

I wanted to tell that story and I guess I wanted to give him a shout-out. I really felt like he earned his own chapter in this book. I did a lot of joking around about him, but obviously, I loved him. You can’t really have something for sixteen years and not love it. Except maybe herpes.

The No-Sunshine State

O
ne weekend I was performing in Fort Lauderdale for the first time, and I was looking forward to some serious sunshine and poolside time during the day. It was March and it was Florida . . . hello, sun!

It rained the entire time.

The comedy club there is part of a complex set way off by itself. There are restaurants and a casino, but once you’re there, you’re there. And if it’s raining, you’re fucked.

Due to the rain, “pool” time quickly turned into “sit in my room” time. It easily could’ve turned into “play blackjack in the casino” time, but gambling during the day makes me feel like a degenerate. Unless of course I’m in Vegas, in which case all bets are off (or on).

The shows were pretty rowdy; in fact, one night a girl in the audience was so obnoxious she ended up getting kicked out. In the process, she also punched the bouncer in the face. Fucking
Florida. Mind you, this all occurred while I was onstage trying to be hilarious—my job is fun, but it isn’t always easy.

On the second night, I ended up flirting, from the stage, with a very hot guy in the audience. I do that from time to time, but it’s not meant to be taken all that seriously. However, in this case, hot guy took me pretty seriously and waited for me during my book signing after the show. I spotted him in line and started to get kind of nervous; he seemed pretty locked in on me and now that he was up close, I was noticing that he was really ripped—he was basically just a giant pair of biceps.

He kept letting people go around him in line, which was making me more nervous.
Why is he waiting to talk to me?
I wondered. Also, he appeared to be alone, which made me nervous on a different level.

Once the line started to wind down, Hot Ripped Guy came up and handed me a piece of paper.

“That’s my number if you wanna get a drink when you’re done here, girl.” He smiled.

Girl?
I cringed a little. “So you aren’t waiting in line because you want to make a skin suit out of me?” I asked, only half joking.

“I was wondering why you were looking at me so skeptically,” he laughed. “I swear you started to sweat as I got closer, but I was hoping that was out of attraction rather than fear.”

“It’s rude to tell a girl she’s sweaty,” I declared.

“But you are sweaty.”

“Solid point,” I laughed as I self-consciously took the number out of his hand, careful not to raise my arm up much in case my armpit sweat was visible. Not only do I sweat when I talk to guys I’m attracted to, which I’m sure is a huge turn-on, but I sweat when I perform. Like, a lot. It’s terrible and embarrassing but there’s nothing I can do about it, except always wear dark colors or tank tops when I do stand-up . . . or talk to guys . . . or move.

“So are you going to text me when you’re done so I can buy you a drink or was that all an act?”

“Oh, it was definitely an act.” I smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t let you buy me a drink.”

“Good,” he laughed. “I’ll expect to hear from you soon.”

When Hot Ripped Guy walked away, I noticed that he also had a hot ripped ass.

When I got back to my room later, I stared at Hot Ripped Guy’s number for a while. I had never hooked up with a guy from the audience before, and I had never planned to. I may do a lot of dumb things, but work is work, and also, I know what can happen when a woman traveling alone on business invites a strapping young man up to her room. I told you—I watch Lifetime; I don’t want to end up in a freezer.

He seemed pretty harmless . . . and ripped,
I thought.
And there’s always a first time for everything, right?

I sat on the bed in my hotel room for about an hour contemplating texting Hot Ripped Guy. I couldn’t decide if it was a good idea or a bad idea, but I was definitely overthink
ing it. I hadn’t had sex for several months at this point and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it now with a stranger at a casino in Florida.

But all he said was he wanted to buy you a drink; what if he just wants to buy you a drink? That might be nice . . .

Four hours later I woke up, still in my clothes and still clutching Hot Ripped Guy’s phone number. Now it was three o’clock in the morning and I definitely wasn’t texting anyone.

The next day I woke up to more rain. Realizing my pool plans were ruined, I picked up Hot Ripped Guy’s number. I figured,
Why not see what he
’s up to since I have nothing to do until my show at eight p.m.? He can still buy me a drink, just in the daylight instead.

“It’s Sarah . . . you still want to buy me a drink?” I texted.

“Wow, your book signing just ended? That’s crazy . . .”

“Yeah, my book-signing poster accidentally got switched out with a
Twilight
poster so people thought they were waiting in line for tickets. There were some pretty unhappy campers,” I joked. Okay, not my best, I know.

H
ot Ripped Guy met me at the pool bar and we sat under the awning in the rain and had a drink. We had a decent conversation, nothing groundbreaking, but I was able to determine that he was mildly intelligent and somewhat funny. I also knew not to expect too much from a hot ripped guy; I’ve made that mistake before.

After he informed me that his name was “Jayson with a Y,” we ran out of things to talk about, so we decided to go gamble. We played a couple hands of blackjack in the crowded casino, where it seemed everyone had gone in order to escape the rain. So I suggested we go get something to eat.

“Let’s go to your room and order room service,” Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y suggested, smiling.

Clearly he wanted me to have penis for lunch.

I decided that since I hadn’t seen a penis in a while, there were worse ideas. So I agreed and we headed up to my room.

I hadn’t decided for sure if I was going to have sex with him
and
I really was hungry, so when we got to my room I picked up the phone to order room service. Within seconds, I felt a hand take the phone out of mine and hang it up; next thing I knew Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y had me pressed up against the hotel room door. I didn’t even know how he had moved me so quickly; I’m pretty sure I was airborne part of the way but I couldn’t really keep track of the details.

“I really need to eat something . . . ,” I began to protest, but I didn’t mean it. I just felt as though acting like I needed to think about what was about to transpire was the proper thing to do.

“I kind of want to eat something, too,” Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y responded in what I think was his attempt at a sexy voice.

I laughed, which he didn’t seem to appreciate. But
come on
, who talks like that?

He muffled my giggles with his mouth and suddenly I was pressed up against the hotel window and I was no longer wearing pants.
Is this guy a Ninja?
My room was really high up and it overlooked the pool, but still, my ass was on full display. I peeked over my shoulder and, wait . . . there were a bunch of people down by the pool now.
The sun finally decides to come out, now that I’
ve clearly committed to having intercourse with this guy? Just my luck.

I tried to wriggle off the window, quietly suggesting we go over to the bed where other people couldn’t see us.

“I doubt anyone can see us all the way up here, but if they can it’s pretty fucking sexy,” Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y responded.

“I don’t know if it’s all that sexy,” I replied as I pictured what my ass must look like smashed against glass by a man three times my size.

“Oh, it’s hot, girl, it’s hot, girl . . .”

This guy is super talkative,
I thought.
And I really wish he’d stop calling me “girl
.
”
The sex against the window, the dirty talk, it was all a little much for me considering we’d just met. That stuff usually starts happening once you’re comfortable with someone, not after one drink and a couple rounds of blackjack. I once again started to laugh.

“You think this dick is funny, girl?” he asked me as he put my hand right on it.

“What? No! What?” I said, totally embarrassed for both of us that he was talking this way.

“You keep laughing; you think this dick is funny?”

“No, your dick isn’t funny. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’m not used to all this talking, that’s all. Maybe less of that and more of the other stuff ?” I suggested in what I hoped was a sexy but stern voice.

The more clothes he took off, the hotter I realized his body was, and I really wanted to be able to go through with the sex part of this, but in order to do so I really needed him to shut the fuck up.

Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y spun me around and now it was his bare ass on display for the lovely folks of Fort Lauderdale. I moved my head to the side, which he took as a hint to kiss my neck, but really I was just trying to assess the pool situation.
If we wrap this up quickly, I can still get in some suntanning time,
I thought. Then I noticed that a woman who was probably in her seventies was staring directly up at us.

“Oh my God, I think an old lady just saw us,” I yelled.

“Yeah, that’s hot . . .”

“It isn’t hot, get me away from this window; I can’t take it,” I demanded.

Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y obeyed and took me over to the bed to have sex like normal people. I relaxed a little now that I was out of these strangers’ sight lines and started to enjoy myself. I mean, here was this really hot guy who was into me and now we were going to have sex—I’ve definitely had worse weekends.

Things proceeded to the stage of intercourse and now I was really starting to enjoy myself.

Then Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y whispered softly into my ear, “Get that dick.”

I thought I was getting it, but apparently not.

I ignored him and kept on with what we were doing.

“Get that dick,” he whispered again.

“Okay,” I whispered back, hoping that would stop him from repeating it.

“Get that dick,” he said, louder.

“All right,” I replied, also louder.

“Get that dick,” he yelled.

I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything I could to keep from laughing. I thought about the old lady who just saw us having sex. I thought about the girl who punched the bouncer in the face. I thought about my dead cat. I tried everything, but I felt myself starting to break.

“Get that dick!” he screamed.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “I got it!” I yelled. “Jesus, I got it. Seriously, what the fuck?”

Apparently that did it for him because suddenly it was all over. We separated and I started to laugh, then looked up to see that he was not laughing.
Oh, he’s still serious
,
I thought.

I got up and got dressed, but within seconds he was pulling at my clothes again.

“What are you doing?” I asked, seriously unsure what he was doing.

“I’m going for round two,” he said in his weird sex voice.

“No, I’m still tired from round one,” I said as I wriggled away. I really wanted to get to the pool.

“Come on, girl . . .”

“You have to stop calling me ‘girl,’ I feel like I’m talking to the lead singer of a boy band.”

“Ouch,” he laughed.

Then it sank in. “Wait, how old are you?” I asked him. That detail hadn’t come up before (hey, at least I got his name this time).

“Twenty-seven.” He smiled proudly.

“Yeah, that makes more sense now,” I mumbled. Good Lord, he was ten years younger than me. I guess some people would have been proud of this fact but it just made me feel dirty(er).

“Look, Jay-son; I like sex a whole bunch, and that was . . . sex . . . ,” I said gently, searching for an adjective but coming up with nothing. “But I’m really hungry and I have a show to do tonight, so I think let’s just call it a day.”

Hot Ripped Jayson with a Y looked dejected. For a second I felt bad but then I remembered that I’d just had sex with him and that if I heard him say, “Get that dick,” one more time my head would explode.

“Okay, girl,” he said as he kissed me on the forehead and headed for the door.

He really doesn’t listen,
I thought as I waved to him, which I now realize was a totally weird thing to do.

He had told me earlier that he didn’t live far from the hotel, which meant he wasn’t staying at the hotel, which meant I
could now safely go to the pool, order lunch, and get some sun. Alone, just how I like it.
Uno.

As I settled into a lounge chair, I spotted the older woman who got an eyeful of Jayson with a Y’s ass and pulled my sun hat down over my eyes. There was no way she would know I was the girl on the other side of that ass, but regardless I had to cover my face, if only so
I
didn’t have to look at
her
, knowing what I had done.

I was texting my friend Jackie telling her all about Jayson with a Y and “Get that dick,” when Jayson with a Y texted me.

“You let me know if you want to see this again, girl,” the text said, along with a photo of him shirtless, wearing headphones, and clearly in the locker room at a gym.

I can’t believe he’s working out, I’m exhausted,
I thought as I forwarded the picture to Jackie.

“Wow,” Jackie wrote back. “Congratulations on getting that dick.”

“Right?! He is hot,” I wrote back.

“Are you going to get that dick again tonight?” she asked.

“No way. I can’t go through that again.”

“You should! You might as well—you’re always complaining that you aren’t having sex.”

“I know, but I can’t have sex with him again. It wouldn’t be right. Somewhere out there is a twenty-five-year-old girl who would appreciate all of his bad lovemaking lingo. I can’t rob her of that joy tonight.”

I texted his photo to three of my other girlfriends, polished
off my hamburger, and headed back to my room to get ready for my shows.

A
fter my second show that night I went straight back to my room. It was around midnight and I was exhausted. I also didn’t want to risk running into Jayson with a Y in the casino. I had no idea if he would be there, but I wasn’t taking any chances.