Disturbing...but wow!

I'd never read any Japanese fiction before, until I picked up Out by Natsuo Kirino. Obviously translated because, my Japanese is, well, nonexistent.

Winner of Japan's Grand Prix for Crime Fiction and an Edgar Award finalist, this book is beyond intense. And really not for the squeamish. Also, make sure you've taken your Prozac, because it's also depressing as hell.

The book is about a japanese woman who works a menial-type, night-shift job in a bento box factory. In addition to having a crap job, she has a pretty crap life. Her son has quit speaking. Her husband is abusive. She leads a life of quiet desperation -- until she kills her husband. That's when Masako comes to life. Scary life. She enlists three female coworkers -- whose lives are equally depressing, but in different ways -- to help her dispose of the body. In a really gross way.

Then Masako discovers she's not half bad at the whole murder and dismemberment thing, and enlists her coworkers in several more crimes. But they are not the pliant subjects they seem and everything starts to spiral into violence, fear and suspense.

Sometimes translations aren't much fun to read. But this seems to be a top-notch one. The storytelling is taut and compelling. The dark, dark comedy comes through while remaining a harrowing read.

There are lots of levels to talk about with this book -- so if you're in a book club, it might be worth a selection. But for our purposes here, I'm just going to give it two thumbs up. And not because men are the targets of violence. Like I said -- men are just fine in my book...

Yeah. He said it.

Ok...this one isn't about a worst first date. It's about a worst fourth date. Date one was acceptable. Plus, I was bored, I figured "hey, how bad can the second one be?" Turns out pretty bad. He decided that finding out how quickly he could make me cry would be a fun time. Date three (yeah, I know...bad decision making) we hung out at his apartment. He ordered in ribs -- which he knew I hated. Then we watched Blazing Saddles.

Now, I know people love Blazing Saddles. I am not one of these people. He, on the other hand, was. And was deeply offended that I wasn't laughing at the parts he thought were outrageously funny. Not only was he deeply offended -- he proceeded to yell at me because clearly since I didn't think farting was about the funniest thing ever, that I was a stuck up bitch.

Ok. Whatever.

So why, you ask, did I take date #4? Because I'm a masochist. And I couldn't believe that anyone could be such a massive asshole. Guess what -- they can be. And they can get even worse.

We went to dinner -- a nice spot -- where he proceeded to tell me that no one would ever love me like he did. Uh...yeah. The things that he was saying sounded straight out of an after-school movie about bad boyfriends. I didn't think anyone actually said stuff like that. Apparently they do. But then it took a turn for the worse. (Yes, there's worse).

He asked if sometime he could watch me have sex with my dog.

Yeah. He said it.

First things first -- I do NOT have sex with my dog, no matter how much I love him. Second, oh hell no. As Whitney puts it -- Hell to the NO.

I called him sick (and also some things not as nice). I stood up, turned on my heel, and marched right out the door.

Guess what? Yeah, he called me the next day to see if I wanted to hang out. I made it clear there would be no more hanging out and he should get some psychological support. And hung up.

He called me constantly for the next few days, and each time I was increasingly forceful. And then came the e-mail.

I wish I still had it. It was the best e-mail I've ever received. It was a scathing indictment of my personality, a treatise on my complete inability to ever have a successful relationship with anyone (huh...I wonder if that includes my dog...). And since he was a grad student, there were lots of long words telling me how awful I am. And it was like 1000 words long. I am a bad, bad person with many deficiencies.

But not as many deficiencies as someone who things I should hook up with my beloved lab.

The Worst Ones of All

We've all had bad dates -- with people with bad manners, people who are cheap, liars, cheats, boring people (really the worst!). But I am going to argue tonight that the worst dates of all are the ones that you thought went really well -- and you never hear from the guy (or gal) again. These dates don't end in crazy stories. You can't talk bad about the guy to your friends. There's a good chance the problem is you. Nothing good comes out of these good/bad dates.

Before I dive into this topic, I will admit to being the gal someone never hears from again. It's rude, and I'm not proud of my track record there. Ok...full disclosure accomplished.

I recently had a date that I thought went really well. It wasn't a "thunderbolt" date, but I thought there was a pretty solid connection, we had a great conversation, read a lot of the same books, seemed to have a lot in common in general. We spent two hours having a lively conversation. We parted ways with the understanding that we'd see each other again.

He left a message. I called back and left a message. Then the phone lines went dead. Stone cold. Nothing. Crickets.

And that's when the date took on epic proportions. Don't pretend you haven't done this at least once -- I picked the date apart minute by minute, word by word. I listed every conceivable mistake, faux pas and potentially offensive thing. I stared at myself in the mirror wondering if my strong Scandinavian features made me look like a man (broad cheekbones CAN suck...trust me). Did I sound stupid? Could he tell that I never finished "The World is Flat" even though I pretended to? Is there the smallest chance I cringed when he said he had kids from a previous marriage? Was I -- gasp! -- boring??

It's when the residue of the date begins to erode your tenuous self-esteem that makes it really bad. There are so many questions that make you doubt yourself after one of these trick dates: how could I have misread the date? Am I a bad date? Am I ugly? Was he really not a good guy -- and why couldn't I tell that? Why did I say that one thing that I knew I shouldn't have? Could he tell I needed a fresh pedicure? Did I talk about myself too much (probably...)?

These are the dates that make me the craziest -- even though when they're happening, I'm having as much fun as you can have on a first date. Is it a good date? A bad date? An evil trick by the fates? You tell me.

Obsessed

As many of my friends and family know, I am obsessed with the meth. Not with taking it. I am not sure I'd even know how. Not with procuring it -- because I KNOW I don't know how to do that. I mean, how much does meth cost? Do you just ask someone for it? Or are there special words you need to know? Lots of times, drugs have special words. I saw it on COPS.

I watch every meth documentary. I watch and re-watch Intervention on A&E. When I'm at Wal-Mart, I try to spot people on meth trying to buy Sudafed. I'm kind of like a one-person DEA. But without any authority to bust people. And without any bravery to bust people. Because -- as you know if you watch COPS -- folks on the meth are stronger than normal people. And I'm a baby.

So, with this background, is it any wonder that I saw a book called "Crank" -- with what looked like lines of meth spelling out the words -- and bought it without reading the blurbs or checking out the contents. Imagine my surprise when I settled into a nice bubble bath (my regular reading roost) and found a 500 page POEM. And not only was it a POEM. It was a "young adult" book poem about meth.

I don't like poems. I didn't see how the meth could make the poem worth reading -- no matter how obsessed I am. Was I really going to read it?

Three hours later (yes, I did get out of the tub during that time), I'd read the whole darn thing. And I liked it. And, dear reader, I'm going to recommend it to you.

First of all, readers of a certain age, this is no corny Go Ask Alice (a formative book of my youth). This was actually kind of intense. It's written from the point of view of a 16 year old girl who goes to visit her deadbeat dad and meets the wrong boy. Of course, the wrong boy leads to meth. (That's a bad date for you!)

The girl goes home to her suburban home, mom doesn't know what's going on -- the story is familiar. What isn't familiar is how it's written. It's a poem, and at first it's kind of irritating to read -- kind of like the first 25 pages of A Million Little Pieces -- but then you get used to it, and then you start noticing the nuances of language and typesetting. It's a deceptive book -- and one that you should take a look at. It's not just a horizontal read -- it's a vertical read, too.

Anyway, every so often, I venture into young adult fiction. This time I was rewarded with a fresh way to tell the same old "boy gives girl drugs, girl's life spirals out of control" story. One twist is that it is loosely based on author Ellen Hopkins' experience with her own daughter. Essentially a clueless (at first) mom writing about what she didn't see and learned about her daughter's secret life the hard way.

And seriously, it only took three hours to read. Most sucky dates last longer. Especially if dinner is involved.

The Mothership Should've Warned Me About This One

So, what do you wear when it's about 95 degrees and tropically humid? Apparently the man I was meeting for drinks hadn't heard about summer. I knew it was going to suck when he came over to me wearing black wool pants and a black wool sweater on one of the hottest days of the year. In all fairness, it was clear that he wasn't completely thrilled with what he saw either, since I swear to god that he sneered at me.

For some reason, we didn't just end it there. I decided to overlook the sweated-out underarms of his wool sweater. He apparently decided to overlook my general distastefulness. We ordered glasses of wine and sat down on a couch in the lounge.

He immediately started telling me how super awesome he is. He's a Civil War re-enactor. On the Confederate Side. Fine, but when you're African-American, why is that your hobby? Also, he is an avid fencer. As in "en garde!" And he's very, very smart because he reads about physics.

As I listen to him drone on and on about nothing I want to know, I start to rub behind my ear. It's just a little tick I have -- it's unconscious and seems to relax me. I'm thinking about graceful exit strategies. Anything to get out of there. But I'm a nice girl, I don't want to do the "I'm going to the bathroom" thing and then leave.

He stops and asks me if I'm ok. I realize he's saying this because I'm rubbing my head like I have a migraine. This, my friends, is suddenly my exit strategy. But do I go with the whole "migraine" thing? No. Instead I say: "Oh....yeah, there's a ringing in my head. It happens ever since I got this implant."

He looks at me and asks, "What?" And not in a kind, understanding tone.

I'm in kind of deep now. It's all or nothing. I look him straight in the eye and tell him "The aliens put it in me. When I was abducted about a year ago. Sometimes when it's humid like this, it buzzes." And miraculously with this, I keep a totally straight face and lean into him. I say "Here, want to feel. You can feel the little bump where the implant is."

He declines -- which I suppose is good since I really don't have an alien implant behind my ear, so there wouldn't be anything to feel. Instead he suddenly remembers a really important meeting on the other side of town. On a Sunday afternoon. He puts down a $20 and walks out.

Good riddance. I get in my car, drive past him in his car -- talking on his cell phone, no doubt telling his friends about the freak he just met -- and head back to the refuge of my apartment.

Another man down. Only about a million more out there.

My Hot New Relationship

I'm sleeping with a new man. Because my parents might read this, let me be a little more specific -- I'm sleeping with his books. My hot new relationship is with the books written by Greg Iles. We -- the books and I -- take baths together, curl up on the couch during thunderstorms, we've even traveled together. Clearly this means we get along pretty well.

For those who like fast-moving thriller/mysteries, these are can't-put-downable books. The ones I've read all basically take place in Natchez, Mississippi. As an avowed Yankee, the deep South has always been a curiosity to me. And these books seem to really paint a picture of the region and the people and issues that occupy it.

So far, I've burned through Dead Sleep, Turning Angel, The Quiet Game and Sleep No More. They all have twists and turns -- but stay totally believable. I'm going to say my favorite so far -- the one I recommend most quickly -- was Turning Angel. It was the first one I read and the one that got me hooked on Mr. Iles.

In the book, a popular high school student named Kate is found dead near the Mississippi River. Penn Cage, an attorney-turned-author, gets a call from an old friend with some pretty big secrets -- and it's off to the races. Every so often in his books, Iles touches on a taboo -- not in a sensational way, but in a way where you can understand how something not-so-right might happen. In this one, it is about high school girls and much older men. It gets a little steamy, but not tawdry.

All in all -- it'll get you through more than one crappy date.

They Made Me Do It...

I'm 37. I've been dating for almost 20 years. Over those 20 years, I've had more than my fair share of crappy dates -- the upside is that many of them end up being good stories. So good, in fact, that after these dates my friends say "Oh God...you have to write a book." I settled on a blog, instead.

And to make it look like I do something besides go on bad dates, I figured I'd share a little of what keeps me sane -- good books. Consider my mini-reviews a little direction on licking your wounds after yet another few hours of your life you'll never get back.

To be perfectly clear, I don't hate men. I like a lot of them -- and as a whole, I think they are pretty good to have around. That is why I have dedicated so many years to finding one to keep around for a little while. And that's why I do sometimes put down the book, put on the high heels, and go give another man another chance...

I hope you enjoy reading this -- here's to a good read and finding a good man!