fueled by caffeine

Kelsey.24.Canada. I write stuff.

[thecaffeinatedsunflower]

Spaghetti Regretti

Yeah...so this one is a bit...out there, to say the least haha. But hopefully anyone who stumbles across it enjoys it. I had fun writing it :)

The bell atop the door of the café jingled as Tony stumbled inside. He scanned the crowded bistro, looking for something specific. At last, he saw it; a long-stemmed red rose rested on a table. He sighed with relief, and made his way over to it.  

An elegant woman sat in the booth with the flower.  She looked bitchy and unapproachable, and under normal circumstances Tony never would have even attempted to talk to a woman who looked like her...unless he’d had a couple drinks perhaps. He wished ruefully that they’d chosen a bar to meet at instead of this coffee shop. Nevertheless, there was business to be done, and this was the lady with which he was to conduct said business. He knew this because of the rose on the table, just as they’d discussed in their correspondence. Tony approached the booth cautiously. She was looking out the window and hadn’t noticed him yet. He cleared his throat but she didn’t hear him; the café was quite busy and rife with happy chatter and the clinking of china and silverware.  

He tried again louder this time and spoke to her, “Excuse me, Miss X?”  

The woman turned to face him and gave him a small, curt smile. “You must be Tony.”

He nodded eagerly and took a seat across from her. Looking around nervously, he leaned toward her with his hand cupped around his mouth, as if they were sharing a secret. “My names not really Tony though. I just picked it because I thought it seemed fitting. You get it right? Tony? As in...Rigatoni?”  

“How clever.” The tone of her voice suggested that Miss X found nothing witty or amusing about his choice of pseudonym. She reached for her purse and pulled a leather agenda from it. “Let’s just get right down to business, shall we?” She flipped through her calendar and clucked her tongue. The pages were littered with pen marks and highlighter. She had quite the busy schedule, Tony noted curiously.  

Miss X finally found a blank space and she spoke. “I can do Thursday two weeks from today, 8:30 to midnight. How does that sound?”  

“Yes, that will work”

“And I'll be coming to your house?”  

“Ah-no. I’m going to rent a suite at the Radisson. I think that’s probably best.”  

She nodded in agreement, and made a note in the book. “Now moving on to the subject of payment; I trust that you’ve brought it in full, and in cash, as was my request?”  

Tony zipped down his jacket and slid a manila envelope out from an inside pocket. The envelope was thick and one could almost see the outline of a fat stack of cash. Miss X’s green eyes glimmered at the sight of it.  

But Tony hesitated, putting the envelope on the table and placing his hand over it. “Before I make this transaction, I do have a few questions.”  

“Go on.” She tried not to sound impatient, though she was.  

“Since we’re on the topic of money, your asking price is quite steep.”  Tony raised his eyebrows and put another hand possessively over the money. “I was looking at the Primavera Urges website and their rates are a great deal cheaper---”  

“Primavera Urges?” Miss X looked like she’d just tasted something vile. “Frankly, I’m appalled that you would even bring that name up in my presence. Primavera Urges is a cheap knockoff of my company. They only use generic pasta, and store-bought ingredients. Here at Fetish-ine Alfreda however, you only get the finest of everything. Homemade sauce from tomatoes that have been imported from Sicily! Spaghetti made from scratch! We even have gluten free and vegan options...for a reasonable added fee of course.”  

Tony was beginning to wish he’d never brought the rival company up.

“Fetish-ine Alfreda is the number one agency for all of your pasta related fetishes and desires. Our prices might be higher than the ones at that garbage business, but that’s simply because you’re getting first class service with us.” She put up her hands in fake protest “But hey, if you want to slum it with Primavera...be my guest.”  

“No! No, your services will do perfectly, my apologies. So ah, can you give me a rundown of how this thing is supposed to go?” He ran a hand nervously through his thinning hair. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”  

“I will arrive at your hotel room at the allotted time. I will provide the cooking equipment as well as the pasta and other sustenance, so you needn’t worry about that. Some of my clients like when I wear special costumes or lingerie, but if that’s something that you’re interested in, it will cost extra.”

“And should I just wait in the bath tub for you?”  

“If you’d like. Just leave your door unlocked for when I arrive. I don’t mind if we converse while I’m cooking. It does take some time to cook enough spaghetti to fill an entire tub.”  

Tony’s eye twitched at the thought of it, and he tapped his fingers on the table in anticipation.

“So. Do we have a deal then?” She eyed the envelope intently.  

He slid the money towards her. “You must think I’m pretty twisted.”  

“No judgment here.” His kink was her paycheck, after all.  

“WELL, I THINK YOU’RE TWISTED!” A voice suddenly boomed from the other side of the booth where Tony sat. He and Miss X looked around in confusion.

A fat woman in a trench coat jumped out from her hiding place behind Tony. She pointed at him, enraged.  “You PIG! So, this is why you always insisted on having dinner at the Spaghetti Factory when we first started going out. I don’t turn you on...THE PASTA DOES.”

Tony’s eyes widened in horror. “Honey! I can explain!”  

His wife wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Don’t bother!” She turned and made her way for the exit.  

Tony got up to chase after her, but just before doing so, he glanced at Miss X. “So, I’ll see you on Thursday?”  

Miss X tapped her nose in silent concordance.  

[thecaffeinatedsunflower]

Goddess Therapy

The Greek myth about Persephone revisioned. I took a lot of liberties with the original story to suit my narrative. This assignment could only be 400 words so I had to cut a looooot out. Nevertheless I’m pleased with how it turned out. enjoy :) 

Doctor Moira sits facing the two goddesses, a mother on one side, the daughter on the other. She looks encouragingly at them both.  “Let’s talk about the issues that you two are having in your relationship, and how we might resolve them.”  

“The issue is that Phoney is throwing her life away to be with a man who is hopelessly wrong for her!” Demeter barks, on the verge of hysterics.  

Persephone rolls her eyes. “Oh mom. If you actually took the time to get to know Hades you would see that he’s a wonderful guy with the biggest heart.”  

“HE IS THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD AND HE SPENDS ALL DAY HANGING OUT WITH DEAD PEOPLE!”  

Persephone looks at her mom with contempt. “Well, I'm crazy about him, and he’s crazy about me. You are just going to have to deal with it.”  

Demeter’s eyes fill with tears. “After all I have done for you...I loved you with all my heart and this is how you repay me. By leaving me to live in the underworld...with...him.” She spits the last word out with disgust and promptly begins to sob.

Persephone sighs and shakes her head. “I knew this was going to be pointless.”  

Dr. Moira hands some Kleenex to Demeter. “I understand that your feelings on this matter are interfering with your ability to perform your godly duties.”  

Demeter honks her nose in the tissue. “That’s right. I’ve just been so despondent since Persephone left. I’m too depressed to tend to the harvest.” She sniffs.  

Dr. Moira nods sympathetically. “Having a child leave the nest can be difficult to adjust to. But Demeter, you cannot neglect your work--”

“--Yeah, the earth is withering up and dying for chrissake!” Persephone butts in.  

Dr Moira clears her throat. “What I believe your daughter is trying to ascertain, is that she is an adult now and can independently decide who she wants to be with. This is something that you will have to accept.”  

Demeter shrugs dejectedly. “I suppose.” She turns to look at her daughter. “But if you think I’m ever visiting you in that dank and dirty underworld you are seriously delusional.”  

Persephone smiles smugly. “It’s not so bad. Hades is letting me make renovations.”  

Dr. Moira smiles placidly. “Excellent. And one more thing Demeter, please do consider returning to your work. It’s getting quite chilly out.”  

[thecaffeinatedsunflower]

Retail Purgatory

Canuck Auto is a staple of Canadian culture, right up there with Tim Hortons and maple syrup. It is the prime spot for all your vehicular, home and hardware needs—at least that’s what the advertisements will tell you. Every Canuck Auto location looks about the same; it is your standard big box department store organized by the different sections so that “the valued customer always knows what to expect!” If you are an employee at Canuck Auto, you can expect it to be arid and extremely cold in the store. If you are an employee, long sleeves and a decent hand moisturizer are essential investments. The store is illuminated by innumerable rows of aluminum lighting, and it permanently smells like rubber and dust (add ibuprofen to the list of employee necessities). There are no windows in the building, save for the glass of the entrance and the exit, so when it is morning it could very well be night and vice versa. Sometimes smug housewives gleefully comment on how beautiful of a day it is outside, but it doesn’t really matter what time of day it is or what the weather is like. All of that is interchangeable when you spend most of your waking life within the confines of the store. Days, weeks, months...years, they all ooze and blend together like fruit in a Ninja blender (Housewares, Aisle 17).  

The store opens at 8 and the first shoppers stumble inside. It doesn’t get busy until after lunchtime, and resisting the urge to watch the clock becomes an acute test of strength. Most customers are nice enough, though most only want to purchase their things and get the hell out. Some do not even acknowledge the existence of the cashier, and it’s easy to feel insignificant. Afterall, who really remembers the lowly cashier that served them for but a few moments in their otherwise busy life? Not many.  

As lunchtime arrives and it gets busier, a line begins to accumulate at the checkout, and it's very reminiscent of an assembly line at a factory. Everyone gets fed the same spiel, every interaction is more or less the same. Debit or credit? Do you have a rewards card? Would you like a bag?  

A lot of the store’s clientele are carpenters and handymen. Some make cheeky comments. It could all be in good jest, but it’s more likely that there is a sleazy undertone to their flirty remarks. Years spent at Canuck Auto and similar stores have a tendency to make one jaded and cynical. As a retail worker you saw the best and worst of humanity, emphasis on the worst.  

A rotund, middle aged woman with glasses waddles up to the counter. Her face is already crimson with disdain, and she is very displeased at being made to wait a staggering five minutes. There has been a price discrepancy with an item she recently purchased and she rudely demands to see the manager. During the wait for him to arrive, she complains about how much of a hurry she is in, how the store policy is nonsensical, and how rudimental making a return should be. “It’s really not that hard.” She sneers. When the manager finally arrives, he pretends to be friendly but is clearly apathetic and impatient. He adjusts the price accordingly because the easiest thing to do is give the angry woman what she wants. God forbid she leave a bad google review about the store. She smiles triumphantly for a second, but then her eyes narrow at the wicked cashier, who greatly inconvenienced her by needing to call for management. “You should really think about having a better attitude, hon. As a retail worker you should be spreading a message of positivity and cheer.”  She shuffles toward the exit.  

When 5:00 pm finally rolls around, the wave of energy that passes between the employees is now ebullient. It is home time at last. Everyone punches out with a smile on their face, and they wave their goodbyes. Temporarily and willfully forgetting that they will be here tomorrow at 8:00 am, to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.  

[thecaffeinatedsunflower]

killing monica-candace bushnell

I picked up this book for several reasons. Firstly, I’ve always been a fan of Candace Bushnell’s work. I don’t know very many people (women at least) who can’t relate to at least a tiny bit of the four women’s life and relationship woes on SATC. When me and my sister were in the 5th grade we would watch SATC on tbs when we should have been sleeping. We didn’t really even totally grasp the concept of sex then and I still liked the show, and as I got older and relationships and sex became relevant, I still liked it. Maybe that was problem #1.

 I think a lot of people do what I did and assume that if they love SATC, they will love Miss Bushnell’s books. But the reality is, the characters might have been created by Candace, but the show was ultimately crafted by Darren Star. How much influence Bushnell had on the writing of the show or the characters in the show, I don’t know. But it brings up a fair point; that people that check out Candace’s books expecting Darren Star’s Sex and The City are going to be a little disappointed.

Regardless,  I think I first read Bushnell’s Sex and the City  around 16 or 17. It’s pretty different from the series, naturally, but it was still wonderfully cynical and satirical. Of course being a high roller in Upper class manhattan is not something I or many people know too much about, but the book was still really enjoyable. The level of snobbiness between the pages was tolerable. I read Lipstick Jungle next and absolutely devoured it. It was (at the time, might have to read it again) the perfect novel for reading in a hot bubble bath or lounging on a towel at the beach. It had the same deliciously biting and satirical tone as Sex and The City. After that I checked out all the Bushnell books that were available at the library. Unfortunately, the next novels I read did not have the same effect on me as the latter two. I don’t remember a thing about Trading Up so I’ll go out on a limb here and say it wasn’t very good, and I hated One Fifth Avenue. It just didn’t have the same charm and wit as SATC or Lipstick Jungle, rather it seemed to be dripping with pretentiousness. All the characters fight over living in this coveted building....and all I could think was WHO CARES. It was dull and dumb. After that, I shelved my Candace Bushnell obsession for several years. 

Then Killing Monica came out. The story seemed very promising. I was really interested in the concept of a a writer made famous by one amazing character but then growing tired and frustrated with their creation and yearning to write about something, anything different, but being rejected by the public, who only want to read about that one character. A problem Bushnell can obviously relate too, since she will forever be linked to Carrie Bradshaw. The idea seemed similar to Steven King’s Misery, another book I like and habitually read every few years or so. I checked this book out with high hopes and was greatly disappointed. 

I only made it a chapter in before getting annoyed. First there are the character’s ridiculous names. Our main girl’s full name is Pandemonia, but hse goes by Pandy....... are you fucking kidding me? Pandemonia? is that even a real name?? It’s bad enough when the main character already has an aspect to them that the reader will find obnoxious, but it doesn’t get any better with any of the other character’s names. Her best friend is named SondraBeth Schnowzer. Her sister is Helleoise. Her industrial foe goes by “LaLa”. The last time I checked, that was a teletubby and not a supposedly coveted movie star. It just doesn’t work, and that’s not even all of the weird as fuck names. I have to assume that giving every body ridiculous names was done on purpose, as part of the “joke.” Unfortunately for Bushnell, no one is laughing. 

Then there’s the fact that the character’s never just speak. They are always shrieking or screaming. Why? That irked me. The idea of a forty-something jumping up and down on the couch and screaming and seemed childish and the fact that Pandy is constantly screaming and shrieking is just ANNOYING. And I found myself annoyed by the “Pandy” many times over in this novel. She is just not a likeable character and she has no redeeming qualities. I heard somewhere that this book was supposed to be satire, so maybe, Pandy is supposed to be some blown up version of Carrie Bradshaw. She’s whiny and so self absorbed. One can say that about Carrie Bradshaw but we still like her and find her relatable (at least I do) on some levels. Maybe it’s with the help of Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte that she is more likeable. Without the help of the fabulous foursome, Pandy suffers. 

Another thing wrong with this novel is the titular character Monica? Who is she and just why is she so amazing? what does she do to have such an adoring incessant fan-base? Unfortunately, the reader never finds out because it is never explained. All we know is that she puts food on the table for Pandy and Pandy wants to get rid of her. 

I’ll admit, the occasional annoying antidotes aside, the first few chapters were not half bad. There were remnants of Bushnell’s old writing style, and Killing Monica felt like a good beach read or a light chick lit you could read in the bath or on a plane, which is exactly what I was hoping for. I also wondered how much of this novel was auto-biographical. I’m pretty sure it’s no secret Candace based Carrie after herself. Just like Pandy bases Monica after herself, though Monica is supposedly the amazingly perfect version of herself that Pandy wishes she could be. Maybe it was the same for Bushnell? Again, we have a writer who tires of writing the same well-loved character, longing to write about something else. Then there’s the fact that Pandy just got divorced, as did Bushnell, not so long ago. Pandy also mentioned her and her ex-husbands apartment being featured in a home style magazine.......the same thing happening to Candace Bushnell in real life with her then husband. Coincidence??? I think not. Finally there is Pandy’s BFF Sondrabeth Schnowzer....which seems a little similar to hmmm, I don’t know, Sarah Jessica Parker perhaps?  It was fun to read Killing Monica and find these tidbits and try to decide if they were reflections of Bushnell’s own personal life. I suppose it’s up to the reader to decide.

Positive comments aside, The ending of this book was just TERRIBLE. and the fact that it was so terrible trumped any and all positive aspects of this book. It seemed hurried, the writing was not very good, and the over the top plot was fucking ridiculous.Plain and simple, it was stupid. I HATED the ending. I don’t want to give it away for anybody who might still want to read this, but it is so disappointing and I almost felt bad for Candace. I wanted to put my hand on her shoulder and say “come on girl, you can do better than this. However, due to the fact that this novel seems to have been written with more than hint of contempt for Carrie Bradshaw fans and fans of Bushnell’s work, perhaps I take the sentiment back. Save the trouble and watch an episode of SATC instead. It won’t leave a bad taste in your mouth the way this book did.