I've Had Enough!

Lindsay moaned in displeasure at the sound of her alarm clock buzzing loudly beside her.  She reached over and turned the alarm off, knowing she had pressed snooze one too many times.  Mornings were not Lindsay's favorite thing...

She sat up in bed, disgruntled by the gloomy rain which was pouring out of black and gray skies outside her window, in the real world.  Time for some music, she thought.

Music was almost a necessity in order to motivate Lindsay to continue making any effort toward leaving her house and going to the dreaded J.O.B.  She selected the shuffle option on her MP3 player, which was connected to her stereo so she could hear well while in the shower and getting ready.  "The Hand That Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails radiated from the speakers as she brushed her teeth, convincing herself to get into a decent mood.

It wasn't until the next random track played that Lindsay perked up.  The intro to "Just Can't Get Enough" by Depeche Mode began, and she instantly smiled, knowing from memory how fun the song was.  She started dancing with her bare feet on the bathroom tile floor, holding her toothbrush in her hand as if it was a microphone.

She sang along with the words.  "When I'm with you baby, I go out of my head.  I just can't get enough!  I just can't get enough!"  She was really getting into the dance moves.  "All the things you do to me and everything you said.  I just can't get enough!  I just can't get enough!"  She put her toothbrush away and got in the shower, continuing to sing and dance with a playful grin positioned on her face.

The rest of the time she spent getting ready for work she was in a chipper mood, ready to face the day.  When she walked from the parking lot at her work to the office building, "Just Can't Get Enough" was playing in her head and she imagined herself dancing along the pavement, and all of the crazy looks she would get from co-workers.

Lindsay laughed to herself as she walked through the hallway toward her office, feeling happier than most of her passersby appeared.  Her day really started out well.

But as time passed, her day grew more and more annoying.  And it was annoying because the same song was still stuck in her head three, four, six, nine hours later.  Whether she was responding to an e-mail, heading to a meeting, or getting something to drink, that beat would not escape the stereo of her mind.

It got to the point where she felt as if someone else was controlling her thoughts.  Somehow, someone was planting this song in her brain on repeat to torture her subliminally.  From the afternoon on, Lindsay began feeling neurotic and unable to concentrate on anything but the rather catchy Depeche Mode tune.

***

It was as if she awoke from a blackout when she found herself isolated in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.  She looked around, unable to figure out where she was.  Panicked, she reached into her pockets in search of her cell phone, only to find them empty.  She wandered around until she found a door, which was locked.

Glancing around for some sort of tool to help her break open the door, she heard a faint, grinding metal sound.  Suddenly, she noticed a sad would-be knock-off version of the SAW ventriloquist doll pedaling into the room on a child's Big Wheel tricycle.  "What... the... fuck..." she uttered as she squinted to make sure she was not imagining what was in front of her.

And when she didn't think it could get worse, it did.  The ventriloquist doll turned its head to face her directly just in time for the intro to "Just Can't Get Enough" to begin spewing out of an out-of-site record player.  Lindsay rolled her eyes in disgust.  Never before had she grown to hate a song so much by a band she liked.

The ventriloquist doll was still staring at her with its fixed creepy smile, and its mouth moved open and shut along with the lyrics.  "When I'm with you baby, I go out of my head..."

The record player continued playing the song, sometimes skipping and repeating the same five seconds of the song over and over, until it began to wind down and play very slowly, exaggerating every sound with the deep, breathy vocals.

Lindsay screamed so loudly that she woke herself in her otherwise quiet bedroom.  Confused, she closed her mouth and looked around, recalling the warehouse and strange doll from just moments ago.  It was a dream! she realized.  A smile of relief grew on her lips and she briefly closed her eyes as she sighed deeply.  "What drugs found their way in my coffee this morning?" she wondered aloud.

It was almost in spite of her what happened next.  Her alarm clock buzzed, but instead of continually ringing in what Lindsay used to think was the most annoying sound ever, the clock/radio started playing, "Just Can't Get Enough."

She turned her head toward the clock slowly, as if to give it a threatening glance which would suggest that it not try her patience any more, or else.  But since the song continued playing, she reached over and yanked the electrical cord out of the wall in a fury, and proceeded to carry it to her bedroom window where she held it in one hand while opening the window with the other.  She tossed the clock out onto the lawn from her second story bedroom with such velocity that she heard it shatter into pieces as it landed on the patio below.

With that having been accomplished, Lindsay nonchalantly walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs, deciding that this stupid scenario had finally ended. She stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, when she became distracted by a noise she heard nearby.  Hesitantly, she turned her head to glance toward the kitchen table, where she noticed none other than Dave Gahan himself sitting in one of her chairs, eating scrambled eggs off of one of her plates.

She rolled her eyes.  "Well by all means, help yourself!" she said sarcastically.

Dave smiled and looked at the near empty plate.  "I've had enough!" he assured her.

Green Shoes

David.  That's what they call me.  Because I like it that way.  The parents named me Richard Francis.  What the hell is that?  The minute I was old enough to recognize stupidity I demanded to be called David.  Not Dave.  Not Davy.  David.

Around the time I found my true name, I found my identity.  There's not a lot to me, except I have a thing for green shoes.  Any kind of shoes as long as they're unarguably green.  No reason, I just like them.

I once saw this girl, 18 or 19 maybe, walking in a park with green headphones over her head of crazy green hair.  She had on a green tank top, jeans with green seams around the pockets and ankles, and she was wearing green eye make-up.  I don't think she liked the color green.  What made me extra irritated was the fact that she looked that weird and she wasn't even wearing green shoes!  So after watching her mindlessly stroll along the walking path, I approached her.

"Do you ever think about wearing green shoes?" I shot.

Of course she didn't hear me because of her green headphones, so she yanked them off, half-annoyed, and I repeated my question.

She seemed appalled.  I couldn't understand why.  Obviously she was trying to sport as much green as possible. I was close enough now to notice that her eyes were also green.  (Contacts I bet.)  She looked like a fucking alien.  She could have at least worn green shoes.  They are actually found in stores, and easier to come across than green hair dye.

Before I could ask if she was listening to Green Day, she threw on her headphones and dashed away from me.  Bitch.

The Perfect Haircut

"Ready for me to cut your hair?"

"Yeah, Mom, whatever.  Just make sure to get it all even this time.  I don't want everyone making fun of me again."

"Oh Mason, you know I try my best to cut your hair the way you want it.  I've only been doing this for twenty-three years.  I used to cut your brother's hair too, you know, and he never complained.  Now, sit still!"

"Mom!  Would you stop comparing me to Mike?"

"I'm not comparing you.  But it wouldn't be a bad thing, you know, for you to take after him.  Michael has grown into a very successful man."

"Yeah, yeah.  Whatever."

"Aren't you proud that he was prom  king in high school and he just graduated from Harvard?  ...And how he's starting his own business and becoming so responsible?"

Careful with those scissors, Mom!  I want it cut evenly!"

"And what bout that girlfriend of his?  Isn't she gorgeous?  I'm so glad he is going to marry that one.  When you get married, I hope you pick out a pleasant girl like her."

"Mo-om!"

"Come on, Mason, any other boy your age would be jealous if his older brother was getting married to a girl that pretty!"

"Maybe I'm not gonna get married."

"Why would you say a thing like that?  Your don't have to plan it now, you're only 16 for crying out loud, but..."

"Give me those scissors!"

"I can cut and talk at the same time, just hold still!"

"Well, I want to do it  myself.  You're not even styling it the way I want."

"Just calm down, Mason!  You've never had problems with the way I cut your hair before."

"Well I am now!"

"Well you're gonna deal with it!"

"Stop cutting my hair, Mom!"

"Hold still!"

"You're messing it up!"

"It'll take two minutes!"

"Just stop, Mom!"

"Mason--"

"Mom, I'm gay."

"Hold sti-- What?!"

"Ahhhh, my ear!  Mom, look what you did to my hair!"