Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everything Must Belong Somewhere
Sometimes when I'm on my breaks at work, I watch the girls that hang around smoking and wonder out of all of them how many are on birth control. I've seen the commercials. Smoking while taking birth control greatly increases the risk of blood clots. Why would anyone knowingly want to do that to themselves? I mean, I don't think it's a conspiracy theory. I don't think the government is behind this one. I think the warning labels on the back of the box are clearly well-intentioned. There are serious health risks involved with this. Always choose blood cot over baby, I suppose. At least you can't emotionally fuck up the former. Though I suppose it could emotionally fuck you up. In that case, I suppose people who smoke while on birth control are totally selfless. They are totally risking themselves for the greater good of the next generation. That's that. I feel better about these people. Hell, the world needs more of them. God bless.
Zak is supposed to meet me for lunch. I keep referring back to my phone to see how early he is inevitably going to be for this date. If I don't check it every few minutes then I won't know how long I should make fun of him for always being disturbingly early to everything. He's not just early to dates, either. He is almost annoyingly on time for everything.
I took my eyes off of my phone just in time to see Zak crossing the street. He just pushed the button. He's seriously going to use the crosswalk. Jesus, there isn't even any traffic. I look back at the digital clock on my phone. Eleven minutes early. And he's going to spend it all tracing ninety degree angled sidewalks that lead to me. Perhaps I should begin walking to him.
Nine minutes later, we meet in the middle to exchange hello's and hugs.
"What are you doing?" He asks as I dig around my large bag for my phone.
"Christ, you're still two minutes early!" I shouldn't be amazed at this, but I honestly am. He puts his hands on either side of my head and pulls me into him to place a kiss on my forehead.
"How's work?" He asks politely.
"Great. Some bitch came in earlier and told me how she wanted her hair cut. Who the fuck does she think she is? I mean, does the paint tell the artist what colors he would like to be mixed with? Or which brush he would prefer to be spread on?" I paused to block the wind so that I could light my cigarette.
"Charley, paint is an inadament object. It can't speak." Zak often liked to be the voice of reason.
"Right, because he knows that the artist is the artist for a reason and he trusts that. It's about knowing your place in life" This wind was seriously killer. It obviously had serious problems with my smoking habits.
"Charley, lover, because paint is in inadamant object, it also has no gender." Zak stepped in front of me to help block the wind.
" So I told that asshole that I was going to cut her hair so that I knew it looked good and so that she wouldn't regret it, and if she had a problem with that then she could go across the street to Great Clips or whatever the fuck it's called. What the hell is up with this wind?!"
"There's no Great Clips across the street, baby." He spoke as he removed the lighter from my now burning fingers and cupped it between his own hands.
"Well, good thing she didn't call my bluff." I sighed with content as I finally got my cigarette lit.
Zak and I often had conversations that involved me complaining about my clients. I worked in what magazines referred to as a "hella trendy" salon in downtown Seattle named "Vain." I was a Paul Mitchell certified cosmetologist and I was sometimes wrongly appalled that people wanted hair cuts that didn't involve my professional opinion. Luckily, I worked in a salon that let me express my problem with this fact on a daily basis. I adore places that allow me to be my ridiculously negative self without many repercussions.
We got to the restaurant four minutes early much to my surprise and confusion. I was walking extremely slow on purpose to avoid that. I've come to the conclusions that Zak was very good in a previous life and that enabled him to have amazing karma and when whoever or whatever is in control of this universe said, "Hey Zak, you're been extremely good in your life, but it's about to end. However, I am going to reward you for being such a great sport. What would you like in your next life?" Zak then said, "I appreciate you noticing. I would really like to be habitually early to everything I choose to attend." and that's pretty much the explanation for Zak's constant early-ness.
The waitress asked the usual routine question and Zak chose smoking. He always chose smoking even though he didn't smoke. I'm prone to think he chooses it because of me. I totally smoke.
The waitress led us to our table and before I even had the chance to order a water with lemon, I felt it. His eyes on me. I looked up and there he was. Him, with his jet black asymmetrically cut hair (what can I say, I notice these things) and his size four girl jeans ( I notice these things too). Pete was unsafely located at the table across from us and it was then that I couldn't help but wonder how awful I had been in my previous life to deserve such bad karma. I hadn't seen Pete in a year and a half and somehow I've seen him twice in the past month.
In slow motion, Pete took the napkin out of his lap, placed it on the table, and began walking towards Zak and I. I took the cigarette from between my lips and carefully studied it.
"Do you think I should start taking birth control?"
Zak is supposed to meet me for lunch. I keep referring back to my phone to see how early he is inevitably going to be for this date. If I don't check it every few minutes then I won't know how long I should make fun of him for always being disturbingly early to everything. He's not just early to dates, either. He is almost annoyingly on time for everything.
I took my eyes off of my phone just in time to see Zak crossing the street. He just pushed the button. He's seriously going to use the crosswalk. Jesus, there isn't even any traffic. I look back at the digital clock on my phone. Eleven minutes early. And he's going to spend it all tracing ninety degree angled sidewalks that lead to me. Perhaps I should begin walking to him.
Nine minutes later, we meet in the middle to exchange hello's and hugs.
"What are you doing?" He asks as I dig around my large bag for my phone.
"Christ, you're still two minutes early!" I shouldn't be amazed at this, but I honestly am. He puts his hands on either side of my head and pulls me into him to place a kiss on my forehead.
"How's work?" He asks politely.
"Great. Some bitch came in earlier and told me how she wanted her hair cut. Who the fuck does she think she is? I mean, does the paint tell the artist what colors he would like to be mixed with? Or which brush he would prefer to be spread on?" I paused to block the wind so that I could light my cigarette.
"Charley, paint is an inadament object. It can't speak." Zak often liked to be the voice of reason.
"Right, because he knows that the artist is the artist for a reason and he trusts that. It's about knowing your place in life" This wind was seriously killer. It obviously had serious problems with my smoking habits.
"Charley, lover, because paint is in inadamant object, it also has no gender." Zak stepped in front of me to help block the wind.
" So I told that asshole that I was going to cut her hair so that I knew it looked good and so that she wouldn't regret it, and if she had a problem with that then she could go across the street to Great Clips or whatever the fuck it's called. What the hell is up with this wind?!"
"There's no Great Clips across the street, baby." He spoke as he removed the lighter from my now burning fingers and cupped it between his own hands.
"Well, good thing she didn't call my bluff." I sighed with content as I finally got my cigarette lit.
Zak and I often had conversations that involved me complaining about my clients. I worked in what magazines referred to as a "hella trendy" salon in downtown Seattle named "Vain." I was a Paul Mitchell certified cosmetologist and I was sometimes wrongly appalled that people wanted hair cuts that didn't involve my professional opinion. Luckily, I worked in a salon that let me express my problem with this fact on a daily basis. I adore places that allow me to be my ridiculously negative self without many repercussions.
We got to the restaurant four minutes early much to my surprise and confusion. I was walking extremely slow on purpose to avoid that. I've come to the conclusions that Zak was very good in a previous life and that enabled him to have amazing karma and when whoever or whatever is in control of this universe said, "Hey Zak, you're been extremely good in your life, but it's about to end. However, I am going to reward you for being such a great sport. What would you like in your next life?" Zak then said, "I appreciate you noticing. I would really like to be habitually early to everything I choose to attend." and that's pretty much the explanation for Zak's constant early-ness.
The waitress asked the usual routine question and Zak chose smoking. He always chose smoking even though he didn't smoke. I'm prone to think he chooses it because of me. I totally smoke.
The waitress led us to our table and before I even had the chance to order a water with lemon, I felt it. His eyes on me. I looked up and there he was. Him, with his jet black asymmetrically cut hair (what can I say, I notice these things) and his size four girl jeans ( I notice these things too). Pete was unsafely located at the table across from us and it was then that I couldn't help but wonder how awful I had been in my previous life to deserve such bad karma. I hadn't seen Pete in a year and a half and somehow I've seen him twice in the past month.
In slow motion, Pete took the napkin out of his lap, placed it on the table, and began walking towards Zak and I. I took the cigarette from between my lips and carefully studied it.
"Do you think I should start taking birth control?"
Sign up to rate and review this story