Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight and its characters; however I do have a straight twenty-one year old brother that knows all the words to My Humps.
So yeah, decided that I needed a little humor in my life and this is what I came up with (while standing in the rain smoking a cigarette, oh the irony) if you like it tell me, if not ask me politely to quit wasting my time, and I say politely because mean people tweak me out.
Prologue
'What the fuck brought to this point in my life?' I thought as I stood in the rain, alone, well after midnight, outside of my shithole apartment smoking what presumably was my last cigarette for at least the next nine months.
I knew I was wallowing, I wasn't stupid, but sometimes a person just needs to wallow, just needs to feel the pain.
'Pain, is that what this is, or is it something else entirely?'
"Fuck my life," I said to no one in particular as I began to shiver in the chill autumn air.
When you're young everything seems like a race. As a child you yearn to be a teen, when you're a teen you crave to be able to drive, when you can drive, that little taste of freedom leaves you desiring more and your just waiting until you're legal. Along the way smaller more incidental events occur; first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first fuck, but once you cross that threshold into adulthood you smile because you've made it, you survived.
Then you go to college, or get a job, or whatever, and then new goals pop up and you once again begin the race. Graduations, careers, promotions, engagements, marriages, children, and before you know it you can finally breath because you have achieved the perfect American Dream, thankfully everything happened just before you die, and you can live with the cruel knowledge that you passed down your watercolor fantasy to younger unsuspecting generations who in turn race through life.
The problem with the watercolor fantasy is that the paint bleeds, smearing the dream, making what should have been vibrant hues into muddy browns that reflect poor free-willed decisions.
One day you'll wake up to a text message a week before you're supposed to walk down the aisle and marry "the one" that reads, 'I'm sorry, but I can't do this, please forgive me.' Sure you might be upset, but you're strong, you learn, and you move on. Then not even a month later, the perfect job you've been clawing your way at since graduation decides that the economy requires them to downsize leaving you unemployed. Fine, you say. You continue to be optimistic because you're following the path. You get another job, not something you want, not even something you feel is worth your time, but you persevere.
Your friends begin to worry about you, and at first you enjoy their company, but eventually it grates on your nerves feeling like you're on suicide watch. They nag you relentlessly to go out, meet new people, cut loose, and though it's against your better judgment you go to appease them and you find yourself in an overcrowded lust filled establishment. You're uncomfortable, it may not be your scene, but you drown you discomfort in liquid courage in the form of Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan. Eventually an attractive person from your past wonders up to you sitting alone at the table, because you're friends have moved to gyrate amongst the masses on a multi-colored dance floor. You make small talk, nothing of consequence, but with the talking comes more drinking and more drinking leads to waking up in someone else's bed while a marching band uses your skull as its percussion section. You chalk it up to a lesson learned as you quietly gather your clothes from various locations around the room and sneak ever-so-ungracefully from the attractive person's expansive home and walk three blocks away before calling someone to pick you up.
Weeks later, the event is nearly forgotten, you're still alone and hate your job, but at least you have managed to find a silver lining in the ever present rain. That is, until you find yourself puking at odd hours of the day, and begrudgingly you trot to the corner Arab ran convenience shop and peruse the selection of pregnancy tests, because food poisoning doesn't last two weeks. Oh it's a fluke, you'll think, but when that devil's wand turns pink before you're even done peeing, you'll find yourself pregnant with your bitch half-sister's, ex-boyfriend's spawn. Instinctually you'll want to call your best friends, one of who by the way claims ownership to your aforementioned first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, and first fuck, but you can't, because said best friend happens to be engaged to your bitch half-sister, while the other is the sister to your future baby's daddy. So there you are alone, standing in the rain, after midnight, smoking a cigarette, because what else are you going to do.
I fumbled with my cell, savoring my final drag slowly, and punched in the number to the only person in the world who I could share my horror story with and as the voice directed "enjoyed the music" while I waited.
Just as Bob Marley began to repeat that he indeed shot the sheriff, but not the deputy, the familiar voice chimed in. "Jasper's house of pornography and prostitution, this is Jasper speaking how may I direct your call?"
"Is that anyway to greet your sister?"
Jasper snorted into the phone, "My real sister? Fuck no. My half-sister? Obviously."
Instantly I found myself wishing I would have just bit the bullet and called Alice, future baby's aunt or not. "Right, well this has been a good chat. I'll call you later."
"Whoa their chief, simmer down now, I was just playing, you know how I do. Let me rephrase," he paused to clear his throat, "to what do I owe the pleasure my loving, caring sister?"
Rolling my eyes, "I was just wondering what you were up to, seeing if you wanted to hang out or something."
"You want to hang out?" His voice was skeptical, "It's like almost one B, aren't you a pumpkin or something by now?"
"No, I'm not, but fuck you anyways. Do you want to come over or not, I don't have all night."
"Wow, and here all these years I was under the impression that you were the nice sister," it was my turn to snort, "Yeah, yeah I'm on my way. I'm just going to stop and pick up some brewskies on the way. Any preferences…Guinness, Bass, Honey Brown?"
"O'doul's" I replied flatly.
"Non-alcoholic, B when did you get on the wagon?"
"Just get your ass here okay?" I didn't wait for him to respond before ending the call. Instead I closed my phone and lit another smoke, because what the hell, I'll quit in the morning.