Mole Memoirs? Gasp!
...Of either horror or happiness?
Hey guys. I’m probably only talking to about two people, the lovely imxplosion and the awesome simsinthecity. It’s been a really long time since I’ve actually even opened up Word to write a story. Half a year, maybe longer? This is only a draft; I actually don’t have enough custom content to make the desired pictures. When this becomes the finished product, pictures and all, I will try to rewrite the Mole Memoirs on a regular basis. imxplosion, you’ve probably never read this, but I hope you like it. simsinthecity, I’ve actually made a couple changes to the Mole Memoirs. It will now be written with the title, Mole, because the Mole Memoirs wasn’t really a memoir so much as a plotless piece of crap. I’ll also be completely starting over because of that same reason. Desiderata Valley is Desiderata City. Natasha is more exotic etc. etc. I’m writing this midnight of June 26, 2010, a day before summer school, which I’ll probably be snoozing through, and football practice, which I’ll probably faint in. You might not even get this anywhere near that date, because I want to make sure I have a solid story. I know it might be annoying, but I’m actually going to try to put some flavor text and probably a personal note at the beginning, because it really helps get me in the writing mood. Knowing and speaking to your audience is really important in writing, and I figure that a personal note would help me since I have a problem in that area. I’ll also try to post more regularly. If anyone knows a good bachelor pad, similar to the one Barney owns in How I Met Your Mother for John, and a huge that would be awesome.
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M O L E
Chapter 1
‘Love is my Drug’
Natasha: “Something I always found really interesting is love. I’ve never been stupid enough to fall into it, but it’s really interesting to observe, kind of like a fiery bitchfight or a vat of radioactive poison, the latter being actually an incredibly good metaphor if you think about it. It makes the sluttiest women stronger, the strongest men weaker, and some psychos actually get paid to understand it.
So when strong John Mole arrives at my doorstep after a particularly bad break-up with slutty Sharon Wirth I wasn’t surprised. Nor was I getting paid for that matter.”
Ten minutes until his date is over, she’s grilling grilled cheeses. She told Stanton she’d make them herself.
Eight minutes until his date is over, she flips the sandwiches over. Perfect golden hue. She knows the other side won’t be as pretty.
Six minutes until his date is over, she’s arranging the sandwiches, pretty side up, onto a plate. Blue Corelle ones. Blue’s a calming color.
Four minutes until his date is over, she’s coordinating the napkins and glasses with the plates. She decides blue also makes the grilled cheeses appear oranger -- more appetizing. Good choice.
Two minutes until his date is over, she checks her make-up.
The date is over. She slumps next to the door.
Ten minutes after his date is over, the doorbell rings. The butler walks briskly over.
“Stanton, I’ll get it.”
Natasha pulls open the French door giving John the "I-told-you-that-bitch-was-a-no-good-two-cent-whore-and-didn’t-deserve-another-date" look.
John retorts with the "I-can-smell-the-goddam-grilled-cheeses-just-let-me-in-already" look. “It’s hilarious how the only people who can do this are schoolgirls and us.”
Rolling her eyes, she yanks him in and slams the door shut. She couldn’t help but think back to high school yanking him behind the bushes, he the football captain, her his secret best friend and the dork who still got dropped off by her mom when she went to dances in which Jon never complimented her dress until their secret hang-outs. Suddenly, she remembered the smell of acrylic paint and paint binder and all those stupid valentines she had made him that she never sent. No, no, it must be that freshly painted house smell, it has to be. No, she long since grown up by then. She isn’t the legwarmer toting geek Nora Ushkowitz. She's Natasha Una. She sings. She writes. She draws. She cooks. She's a renaissance woman, and more importantly, an independent woman. She's busy with her art and designing, but as her freshman art teacher had put it "budding in more areas than a magnolia tree". She's a renaissance woman, and more importantly, an independent woman. She's past her old life. She's Natasha, she tried to convince herself, and all he is is some 9-5 security guard who kept making her chairs creak. All he is is her friend.
She set her mind at ease running her fingers on the gold inlaid mahogany stairwell. The house always set her mind at ease. It was beautiful. It had first been made to be more beautiful than practical. It was made as a set for a home design show, remodeled as an art set, then funding had run out and Natasha managed to get the house at a very reasonable price.
Her double daydream was interrupted when John pulled off his sneakers, tracking a bit of mud on the plush floor runner. Natasha sighed. “You wore those to a date?”
“What? Dress shoes suck okay? I’m fine with the whole formal ensemble except for the shoes.”
“Whatever. Can I ask what happened?”
“I dunno. Can you?”
“I can and I did.”
“She broke up with me.”
“Go on.”
“What else is there to say?”
“I’m just wondering what reason that bimbo gave you for breaking up with you the night after you have sex.”
“Something about my financial situation.”
“Bitch.”
John shrugged. He went into the kitchen, and started toward the grilled cheese. Natasha knew he was crushed, and decided not to push it.
And 20 minutes after the date is over she’s eating grilled cheese with him, she thought.
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Comments and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism - that includes typos, but message me them, I’m trying to keep the comments above that.
I think the “Rolling her eyes yada yada” part is too long but I worked to hard on it...
EDIT: Sorry to Jenna Ushkowitz glee singer, whom which I used her last name in association with dorkiness.
EDIT: I really should be doing this before posting, but I toned down Natasha's Mary Sue-ness. She's currently just a Visionary.