My Life With Joanne Christiansen

"You'll walk in and he'll be bouncing on top of her, and she'll be screaming, 'oh, honey, you're so much more of a ma-yun than my husband'"

"Her Name will be Joanne Christiansen. You'll meet her while you're driving your Trans Am through New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or Idaho, someplace rural. She'll be the type of girl who'simpressed by a Trans Am. She'll walk over to you while you're stopped at a traffic light and she'll say, 'Hey, there, I like your car.' You'll try to strike a macho pose behind the steering wheel. Then she'll say, 'Yeah, it looks like a fast piece of equipment.' You'll say, 'I got some other equipment that's fast, too,' and she'll say, 'Oh, really?' But (continued on page 145)Joanne Christiansen(continued from page 100) none of your other equipment will ever impress her as much as your car did."

"Will she be good-looking?"

"Oh, yeah, in a cheap sort of way. She'll have a body to die for, but she'll have no taste in clothing at all. She'll be wearing denim and polyester when you meet her. She'll have one of those jean jackets with the fake-looking silver stars embroidered on them and a patch that says Hot Momma or I Like Bikers. She'll have blonde hair--dyed blonde, of course--and it'll either be all frizzed out or done up in the Farrah Fawcett cut, the one that went out of style ten years ago."

"But her body will be nice, right?"

"Oh, yeah, she'll have a body to die for, but by the time you meet her, she'll have done it with every guy who's driven through her town in a Trans Am since she was twelve years old. But with you, she'll act a little different. You'll brag to her about living in New York and working on Wall Street, and pretty soon, she'll realize that you're her ticket out of New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or Idaho or wherever the hell she's from. So after you've done it in the back seat of your Trans Am a few times, she'll ask you if she can live with you in New York. No, let me change that. She'll ask you the question right before you do it in the back seat of your car.She'll ask you the question just as you're about to stick your dick into her. And you'll be so crazy with horniness, you'll agree to take her to New York. But you'll regret it."

"Why will I regret it if she has a nice body?"

"Well, you'll regret it every minute that you're not fucking her. And you'll be fucking her a lot on the trip back to New York. You'll stop at every highway rest stop and tell her to lie down on the back seat again. And she'll go through the motions, because she knows that you're her ticket to New York. She'll moan, 'Oh, Mark,' as you climb on top of her. She'll moan, 'Oh, Mark, you're such a ma-yun. You're such a ma-yun, Mark, make me feel like a wo-uh-man, Mark. Come on, Mark, make me feel like a wo-uh-man. You're such a mayun.' But she won't feel anything at all."

"But at least I'll be enjoying it, right?"

"Oh, yeah, you'll get your horny little pleasure out of it, but after the first ten times, you'll want her to enjoy it, too, so you can feel like a ma-yun. And so you'll huff and you'll puff and you'll push and you'll pull and your Trans Am will be rocking up and down in the parking lot of the highway rest stop. The other drivers will get curious and peek through your car windows to see what's going on. But you won't notice them, you'll be so busy huffing and puffing and pushing and pulling. But finally, you won't be able to take it anymore and you'll let out a groan and collapse."

"You mean, I'll prematurely ejaculate?"

"Yeah, that's it, you'll prematurely ejaculate and Joanne won't be satisfied."

"Wow."

"Yeah, and she'll say, 'Oh, Mark, you didn't make me feel like a wo-uh-man, you didn't make me feel like a wo-uh-man. Maybe you're not such a ma-yun after all.' But then she'll remember that you're her ticket to New York, so she'll forgive you. You'll promise to do better the next time. Then she'll ask you for twenty dollars so she can buy cigarettes at the truck-stop diner. You'll follow her into the diner, because you're afraid to let Joanne out of your sight for even a second. All the truck drivers in the diner will stare at her as she walks through the door. You'll walk a couple of steps behind her, smiling and feeling real proud of yourself, because you think the truck drivers are jealous. But the real reason the truck drivers are staring at Joanne is because they saw her underneath you in the back seat of your Trans Am and she winked at them while you were huffing and puffing and pushing and pulling."

"But I won't be able to tell the difference, right?"

"No, you'll just think that they're jealous. And when you finally arrive in New York and you're dragging Joanne's suitcase into your apartment building, the doormen and the other people on the street will stare at Joanne, too, but not for the same reason that the truck drivers stared at her. They'll stare at her because they'll be horrified by her lack of taste. They'll whisper under their breath, 'God, what a slutty outfit!' and they'll stare at her. But you won't be able to tell the difference, and neither will Joanne. She'll see the people staring at her and she'll think that everyone in New York wants her just as much as the truck drivers wanted her."

"But we'll have a lot of sex while we're living together, right?"

"Oh, yeah, but sometimes you'll have to beg for it. And then, one night, she'll suddenly announce that she's going back to New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or Idaho unless you marry her. And you'll be so crazy with horniness, you'll agree to marry her."

"What will my parents say?"

"Well, they won't say anything bad about Joanne to your face. They'll just nod their heads every time you ask them what they think of her. Maybe, if you press them, they'll say, 'We like anyone you like, Mark.' Deep down, they'll despise Joanne, but they'll be too afraid to say anything about it. So your dad will go ahead and plan a big wedding. He'll have to pay for the whole thing, because Joanne's family doesn't have a cent. He'll even have to pay the airfare for Joanne's parents and cousins and bridesmaids. Your mom will take Joanne to Bloomingdale's to give her some taste in clothing, but it'll be a lost cause. Joanne will just return the Liz Claiborne outfits your mom buys for her and use the refund money to buy more jean jackets. The only person who will have enough courage to warn you not to marry Joanne will be me."

"You? You'll warn me?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll come to your apartment while Joanne is shopping with your mom. I'll say, 'Mark, you'd have to be an idiot to marry that woman. That woman is a complete bubblehead. She just wants you for your money. If you were smart, you'd put her on a bus and send her right back to New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or Idaho or wherever the hell she came from. I've been your friend since seventh grade, so you can trust me. She's a complete bubblehead.' But you'll get mad at me like you always do when I try to give you sensible advice. You'll say, 'What the hell do you know about Joanne? You don't know the first thing about her!' And I'll say, 'You don't have to know her very well to see that she's a bubblehead. Look at the clothes she wears. Just look at them.' And then you'll get stubborn and ridiculous about the whole thing. You'll say, 'There's nothing wrong with her clothes; she just likes to wear jeans, that's all.' And I'll get tired of arguing with you, so I'll say, 'Listen, you're making a big mistake. In a few years, you'll see that I was right.' You'll just glare at me when I say that. You'll glare at me and say, 'Yeah, we'll see.'"

"Will we be friends after the wedding?"

"Oh, yeah, we'll still be friends, though it won't be easy. Joanne will find out somehow that I told you not to marry her and she'll give me icy stares whenever I visit your apartment. She'll make sarcastic comments like 'Look who's here, it's little Peter!' and she'll be real proud of her wit. And whenever I come to visit, she'll act nice to you, excessively nice. She'll sit on your lap and kiss you on the cheek. She'll go out of her way to prove that your marriage is doing fine and that I was totally wrong about how it would turn out. But as soon as I leave, she'll start yelling at you again and asking you for money."

"But we'll be having lots of sex, right?"

"No, you'll be having less and less of it. After a while, she won't do anything at all unless you buy her flowers or promise to take her on a vacation. She'll want to go to Europe, but after spending so much money on jean jackets and Vidal Sassoon conditioning shampoo, you won't have enough cash to go to Europe. So, instead, you and Joanne and me and Alex will go to Disney World for a week."

"You'll be married to Alex by then?"

"Oh, yeah, Alex and I will have a very nice wedding and we'll be happily married. Out of pity for your situation, we'll agree to go to Disney World with you. We'll get adjoining rooms in the Polynesian Village Hotel and I'll make a schedule of things for us to do. But you and Joanne will never be able to stick to the schedule. We'll have breakfast scheduled for nine o'clock and I'll knock on your door at eight o'clock to make sure you're up, but, of course, it takes Joanne at least two hours to do her nails and her makeup and her hair. I'll have to knock on your door again at ten minutes to nine and say, 'Listen, are you coming or not? Alex and I can't wait all day, you know. I told you about our schedule when we started this trip. You should've woken up that bubblehead at seven if it takes her this long to get ready.' Then you'll try to make excuses for Joanne, but I'll say, 'Listen, there's no excuse. You should've woken her up earlier. Alex and I are going to breakfast. Meet us at the restaurant when you're ready.'"

"But we won't make it to breakfast, will we?"

"No, you won't. You'll miss breakfast and a whole morning's worth of rides and activities. You'll barely manage to meet us for lunch. Joanne won't even try to apologize, she'll just sit down at the table and say, 'Wouldn't you know it, I ran out of ruby-red nail polish this morning and the hotel gill shop didn't have anything even close to that color. We had to drive all over Orlando to find another bottle.' And instead of being angry at her for making you drive all over Orlando, you'll just sit there like an idiot, grinning your head off, because she actually agreed to have sex with you the night before. Then Joanne will try to draw Alex into a conversation about nail polishes, but Alex doesn't have to use nail polish, her nails are naturally beautiful. So Alex will just sit there and nod at everything Joanne says. After lunch, Alex will take me aside and say, 'God, I don't know how Mark can stand that woman.'"

"But we had sex the night before, right? We did have sex, right?"

"Oh, yeah, you had sex. Me and Alex had to listen to the whole thing through the walls of the hotel room, you huffing and puffing away and Joanne screaming. 'Oh, Mark, you're such a ma-yun, you're such a ma-yun, make me feel like a wo-uh-man, come on, Mark, make me feel like a wo-uh-man,' and you finally letting out a big groan...."

"Prematurely ejaculating, right?"

"Right, and then Joanne sobbing, 'Oh, Mark, you didn't make me feel like a wo-uh-man, you never make me feel like a wo-uh-man.' It'll be the low point of a disastrous vacation."

"But me and you will still be friends, right?"

"Oh, yeah, we'll still be friends, though I'll sometimes wonder if it's worth the trouble. I'll come over to your apartment one night and we'll agree to go out to dinner, just the two of us, but Joanne will overhear what we're saying and she'll insist on coming with us. She'll say, 'I want to go out, Mark, I just did my hai-yer!' And she'll flip her dyed-blonde hair behind her shoulders with the back of her hand, the same way Farrah Fawcett used to flip her hair in the shampoo commercials ten years ago. But for once in your life, you'll show some backbone. You'll say, 'No, Joanne, Peter and I agreed to have dinner alone tonight. You can't come with us.' Joanne will keep flipping her hair behind her shoulders and whining, 'But I just did my hai-yer!' but for once, she won't get her way. Then we'll go out to dinner and you'll confide in me. You'll tell me that you've started an affair with a woman at work because you're not getting enough sex at home. But you'll also tell me that you can't leave Joanne because you still love her, and on top of all that, you think she might be pregnant."

"How could she get pregnant if we're not having sex?"

"It must've been that night at Disney World. Anyway, after you finish your long sob story, I'll advise you to do the only sensible thing, which is to divorce Joanne and make sure she gets an abortion. But you'll start acting stubborn again. You'll say, 'No, Peter, Joanne is the girl of my dreams, I know we can work this thing out.' And I'll say, 'Listen, you're making a big mistake. In a few years, you'll see that I was right.' But it won't even take a few years. You'll see that I was right a couple of weeks later."

"Why? What'll happen?"

"Well, on the very same night that we go out to dinner together, Joanne will decide to go out by herself. She'll be mad at you for showing some backbone and she'll also want to show off her haiyer, so she'll go to a diner in Queens or Brooklyn, somewhere near a major highway. And while she's sitting at the counter by herself, a truck driver will come up to her and start talking to her. His name will be, uh, Travis, that's it, Travis the truck driver. He'll be a big, burly guy with tattoos on his forearms. He'll come up to Joanne and say, 'Hey, there, you've got nice hai-yer,' and, of course, she'll be very pleased to hear that. Then he'll say, 'Yeah, and I like your jean jacket, too.' Then the two of them will climb into the cab of Travis' truck and they'll do it then and there.

"Joanne will scream, 'Oh, Travis, you're such a ma-yun, you're much more of a ma-yun than my husband. You really make me feel like a wo-uh-man.' And he will, too. His dick will be a lot bigger than yours."

"Wow."

"Yeah, and Joanne will want to do it with him every day after that. She'll invite Travis to your apartment while you're at work and they'll do it on your bed and on your dining-room table and on all your other furniture. You'll start to wonder why your whole apartment smells like diesel fuel, but other than that, you won't suspect a thing. Then, one afternoon, you'll come home early from work and you'll walk right in on them. You'll walk into the bedroom and Travis will be bouncing on top of Joanne and Joanne will be screaming, 'Oh, Travis, you're making me feel like a wouh-man, you're making me feel like a wo-uh-man.'

"And they won't even notice you. You'll have to scream, 'What the hell's going on here?' to get their attention. Travis will look over his shoulder, but he won't stop bouncing on top of Joanne.

"Joanne will say, 'Oh, Mark, you never made me feel like a wo-uh-man. But Travis here, he's making me feel like a wo-uh-man right this very minute. He's such a ma-yun.'

"And then you'll turn all red and scream, 'Joanne, you little slut!'

"That'll make Travis stop bouncing up and down. He'll look over his shoulder at you again and say, 'What did I hear you call the little lady?'

"You'll be so red-faced and angry, you'll say, 'I called her a little slut, because that's what she is, a little slut. And who the hell are you, anyway? You have no right to be in this apartment. Joanne, tell this hairy Neanderthal to get out of our apartment!' That'll make Travis real mad. He'll get off of Joanne and before you can do anything, he'll slam you against the wall. He'll just slam you against the wall. He'll slam you against the wall so hard your body will make an imprint on the plaster. Then, while you're sliding to the floor like a wet rag, Travis will get back on top of Joanne and start bouncing up and down again. You'll just lie there on the floor, in a daze, watching them. Then something will snap inside you. You'll jump up in a blind fury and rush toward the bed. You'll stretch out your arms to put a choke hold on Travis, but you won't even get close to him. He'll swat you away like a fly. He'll hit you with the back of his hand and send you flying into the wall again. He won't even bother to look over his shoulder this time. He'll just keep bouncing up and down on top of Joanne. And then you'll realize that it's a lost cause. You'll get up from the floor and walk out of the apartment."

"Where will I go?"

"You'll come to me, of course. And you'll finally admit that I was right. You'll admit that I was right when I told you not to marry Joanne and that I was also right when I told you to divorce her. And in between sobs, you'll say, 'Oh, Peter, why didn't I listen to you?'

"And I'll say, 'Mark, that's a question you're gonna be asking yourself for a long time.'"

"So will Joanne and I get divorced?"

"Oh, yeah, you'll get divorced. Your dad will arrange all the legal work. He'll say, 'Don't worry, Mark, she won't get a penny.' Your mom and dad will finally tell you all their true feelings about Joanne, all the bad things that they stopped themselves from saying before. Your mom will go to your apartment to reclaim the Liz Claiborne outfits, but Joanne will be long gone. She'll have loaded all her jean jackets into the cab of Travis' truck. And she'll spend the next two years riding the interstates with Travis, stopping to fuck him at every highway rest stop. She'll do that for two years and then she'll leave Travis for another truck driver, with an even bigger dick. And she'll eventually wind up back in New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or Idaho or wherever the hell she came from."

"Will I at least keep in touch with her?"

"How could you keep in touch with her? She won't leave a forwarding address or anything. You'll have no idea where she disappeared to. You won't even know if she got an abortion or if she had your baby. And she's such a bubblehead she'll immediately forget your address. After a while, she won't even remember your name. But you'll keep thinking about her for the rest of your life. You'll go to bars and truck-stop diners, searching for another woman who looks like Joanne Christiansen or talks like Joanne Christiansen. But by that time, you'll be just another potbellied middle-aged man who hangs out at bars and truck-stop diners. All the women who look or talk like Joanne Christiansen won't even give you a second glance. You'll never have another relationship. You'll just rent a lot of porno movies and buy a blow-up doll with three vibrating orifices. And you'll have to be content with that until you die."

"God, what a depressing prospect."

"It's only what you deserve. You should've taken my advice."

"So I'll never see Joanne Christiansen again? Never again in my whole life?"

"Well, about twenty years after she leaves you, you'll see a woman who you think might be Joanne Christiansen. Out of pity for your situation, me and Alex and our two children will agree to go to Disney World with you. We'll stay at the Polynesian Village Hotel again, we'll be riding the monorail to the Magic Kingdom and when we stop at the main transfer station, a mother and daughter will get in the car and sit in the seats across from us. The mother will be wearing a denim jacket and denim jeans, and she'll have a ten-pound helmet of completely white hair on top of her head. Her daughter will be a cute little teenager with dyed-blonde hair. She'll have a red-white-and-blue sash across her chest that says Miss New Hampshire or Miss Pennsylvania or Miss Idaho. While we're riding toward the Magic Kingdom, the mother will spend the whole time nagging her daughter in a loud, obnoxious voice about how she looks and how she does her hair and how she'll never win the Junior Miss pageant if she doesn't use Vidal Sassoon conditioning shampoo. The daughter will just sit there and sulk. But as we're about to pull into the Magic Kingdom station, the daughter will suddenly say, 'Mom, why are you always pushing me into these contests?'

"And the mother will say, 'Because your father would've wanted it that way.'

"And then the daughter will say, 'But you've never told me anything about my father. I don't even know how he died.'

"Then the mother will put her arm around her daughter and say, 'Jennifer, I wanted to wait until you were old enough to understand. Your father was a great ma-yun. He helped President Bush bring peace with honor to Central America before they killed him. He was a great ma-yun.'"

"And then what'll happen? Will I get up and hug my daughter and be reunited with Joanne?"

"Oh, no. We'll get off the monorail when we pull into the Magic Kingdom station. You'll want to stay on the monorail, of course, to find out for sure if that woman really is Joanne Christiansen. But that would ruin our schedule, so I'll talk you out of it."

"But that woman really is Joanne Christiansen, isn't she?"

"Well, you'll never know for sure."

"But let's say she is Joanne Christiansen. If that's the case, then my future doesn't seem so bad after all. Joanne will remember me as a great man. My daughter will grow up thinking of me as a great man."

"No, you've got it all wrong. The truth is that Joanne won't remember you at all. She'll completely obliterate her memory of you and put this war-hero story in its place."

"Oh."

"So you should've taken my advice. You should always take my advice."

"But I won't, huh?"

"No, you won't. You're too stupid and stubborn."

"You said you'll have two children?"

"Oh, yeah, a boy and a girl. The boy will be captain of his high school football team and a Rhodes scholar. The girl will graduate summa cum laude from Harvard and become the first woman President."

"And you'll all live happily ever after, right?"

"Oh, yeah."