Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries) by Allison Burnett Read Free Book Online Page B

Mark said. “We have no way of knowing the victim’s gender. Although it wasn’t a minor or else the charge would indicate that.”
    “You have to quit your job right now,” my mom said, walking over with the phone.
    “What do I say?” I asked.
    Mark laid a hairy-knuckled hand on my shoulder. “Just tell him your mom’s boyfriend got you a job in his law office. Which by the way is the truth. There’s an opening in the copy room. It doesn’t pay twelve bucks an hour but—”
    “No, thanks.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m way too original to copy.”
    They both laughed which was what I wanted because it gave me a chance to escape.
    “I’ll call Glenn from my room,” I said.
    Glenn is such an outstanding human being that it took me a half hour of sitting on my bed squirming and biting myfingernails before I could get myself to pick up the phone and call. When he answered I did the best acting I could, telling him about my wonderful new job in the copy room of Mark’s law firm of high integrity and how impressive this would look on my resume if I decided to become a lawyer. Remember when I said the worst thing in the world would be a boss who can tell when you’re lying? Cancel that. It’s a rapist boss who can tell! I was pretty sure Glenn knew I was bullshitting but what could I do? If I told him what I had found out about him, he might lose his shit, come over and criminally sexually assault me.
    I’ll never know whether he knew I was lying or not because all he said was how sorry he was to lose me and what a wonderful, special girl I am and how much he’d miss me. I said I’d miss him too. He made me swear to drop by next time I was in the area. You bet I will, buddy. Cross my heart and hope to get raped. Ha!
    I wish I could have an honest conversation with Glenn A. Warburg about his crime. I am dying to know what he did and why he did it and who the victim was. I am positive it was a young girl, I don’t know why. I crave every single detail. I love crime shows. I remember once a long time ago I was driving my mom crazy with questions about something, and she said “Oh god, I’ve given birth to a journalist!” And her boyfriend at the time said “No, a cop.” How funny is that? Me, a cop!
    •    •    •
     
    Since I no longer have a job, I didn’t know what to do today, so I spent the entire day doing nothing.
    Phone ringing. Stand by. Someone loves me.
    Jade. She feels so bad about me losing my job she wants to take me out drinking tonight. I said yes. It’s unhealthy to spend an entire day indoors.

Friday, November 30, 2007
     
    Many of you wrote to me furious that I didn’t blog once this week. Well, here’s why: I hate blogs about nothing. I don’t care about how messy your sister’s room is or how much you paid for your new figure skates or what that bitch C.C. said to you at the bar mitzvah that hurt your feelings. I assume you feel the same way. Isn’t life boring enough without me adding to it?
    What if instead of taking the week off, I had told you the truth about my life? How I was so depressed about losing my job that I slept all day and watched as much bad TV as possible? How I lived on rice cakes, beer and little boxes of raisins, and pretended my pillow was Dan’s chest? How I only went out looking for work once and after an hour I had to pee so I gave up.
    Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about my nights! MondayI drank with Jade, Tuesday I smoked with Rory, Wednesday I drank with Jade again, and last night I drank and smoked with Rory. I have the worst bags under my eyes. Oh, yeah, and Tuesday night I had sex with Rory on the floor of my room. He came even faster than usual because it had been a while. Afterwards we went out to
Beaowolf—
a highly unimpressive film. We shared a large buttered popcorn. Is this really the sort of meaningless crap you want me to blog about? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
    I have been chaining all week. So bad that at night when I am