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to celebrate national novel writing month (or the unfortunately nicknamed "NaNoWriMo") this year i will spare myself the white-hair-inducing effects of writing 50,000 words in the month of November by writing a story a day.

these stories will be of any length and veer into any territory i wish. the idea is for me to write one a day for every day of november. these will be first drafts with minimal editing.

if you are into any of it. please comment below! perhaps you can help me figure out if there's ANYthing in these stories worth adapting or polishing into something awesome.

story 19.  young christian fruit. (by jenny yang. friday, november 22, 2013)

my only regret in life is i did not exploit the weaknesses of shallow young women. i spent too much time occupied with god. god. the ultimate cockblock.

i was a smart kid but i missed that old adage oh, what was it again? if you don’t start a band to get girls, then you’re dumb as shit?  granted, it was for god in the first place that my buddy rob and i started our band. i got out my rock n roll by night while i played king of the band nerds in orchestra by day.  the suburb of pasadena was not a hub of counter-culture so a christian band of an asian guy and some white dudes felt about right.  

our set lists included original masterpieces that praised the lord and some covers that were favorites with the church set. it was u2 and the police on our walkmans but they were not godly enough for public consumption. we didn’t have the right hair length or smoldering anger anyway.

my god, the attention we got after youth fellowship gigs was overwhelming.

every service was a concert and we always made an impression. imagine just finishing service and you’re putting away your instruments, but it took forever because of all the young girls interrupting you. this must’ve been how van halen felt.

the crowd of young girls surrounded us with their eager gaze and compliments about how they were so “touched” by our music and how they felt “closer to god” while praising Him with us as their praise leader.  for the uninitiated heathens, “closer to god” is code for “a stirring in my loins.”  as i discovered later, there is a fine line between horny for god and horny for you. it’s usually a thin veil separated by a shot of tequila and a one-on-one prayer session. i was naive enough to think that good christian girls knew how to stay “good.”

one of my biggest regrets is not deflowering laura. oh, laura.

laura was the hottest girl at the christian camp we played during a long summer weekend. every night we played the praise music for evening service. there were plenty of other girls trying to talk to me but it was laura who stood out.  she had delicate features and luminous skin, large hazel eyes and a thick cape of long blonde hair that reached the backs of her knees. your hair would be that long too if you were home-schooled and didn’t go out much.

every night we played, laura made a beeline for me. rob had noticed by the second night and even mentioned, “dude! are you talking to laura? is that gonna happen? LAURA?”

yeah. laura. i imagined myself doing ungodly things to her but would stop before my mind drifted into third base. everything about her was slim, curvy and pert, exactly what third base was made for.

by the time sunday night rolled around, i had to make a move, at least get her number.

“here’s my number! call me! i’ll be around all summer!” she beat me to the punch.

she wore an unbelieveably deep stack of friendship and charm bracelets that jingled when she handed me the scrap paper with her number on it. she got close enough for me to smell her.  she was like strawberries that i wanted to mush into yummy jammy juice. god, why am i still thinking about her?

because i took her out on two dates at two fancy restaurants and we didn’t even kiss, that’s why.

she’s was so naive she didn’t know how to pronounce “filet mignon.” she barely knew what “artichokes” were. but i did nothing about it. i spent too much energy trying to stay composed and not say something stupid to approach her for the kill. the game was on but i didn’t even know how to get to the playing field.

laura’s jammy juice is on my mind because i saw laura last weekend and she looked as beautiful as ever. a few years after our uneventful dates, i heard through the post-christian dude gossip network that laura had been deflowered many times over. she was less than christian by the time her twenties hit. and to think, i could’ve been the one to set her on her inevitable path toward hedonism and not needed to have felt an ounce of guilt about it. i guess hindsight is 20/20 but hindsight still hasn’t gotten me laid.

she works as a hairdresser just a few minutes from where i live now in pasadena. none of us strayed very far.  her hair is still blonde but much shorter.  it still smells like strawberries. she still had a crush on me. and i got to taste her jammy juice.

in the end. it wasn’t that great. jammy juice tastes much better in my mind than in real life. i’ll never have the chance to enjoy the freshly-picked fruit i had in front of me when i had no idea what to do with it. god’s a dick, sometimes.

the end.

 

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