ME: Well, I know you’re anti–organ donation, and so I told her I was afraid that you wouldn’t let the doctor take my organs if I died first, but she said if I list my mom as my next of kin on my donor card then they won’t even ask you for your permission.
VICTOR: If you want to throw away all your organs I won’t stop you. Just don’t come complaining to me when I see you in the afterlife and you’re all, “Oh my God, I just peed all over myself because someone else has my bladder.”
ME: Fine. And if you die first I’m totally donating your organs too.
VICTOR: Like hell you are. I may need them.
ME: Why would you need them? YOU’RE DEAD.
VICTOR: What if I become a zombie? Huh, smart-ass? I’d be a pretty shitty zombie if they took my eyes out. I’d be biting poles and cats and shit.
ME: So you’re making a decision to not save someone’s life on the off chance that it might be inconvenient if you turn into a less efficient zombie?
VICTOR: It sounds stupid when you say it.
ME: Fine. I’ll just donate the parts that a zombie doesn’t need. Like your skin. Or your brain tissue.
VICTOR: Zombies need brains.
ME: No, zombies eat brains. And then those victims become other zombies, even though their brains have been eaten by other zombies, so obviously you could donate your brain and still be a functional zombie.
VICTOR: Yeah, and then I’ve gotta spend eternity wandering the world as a mindless idiot.
ME: [snort]
VICTOR: Shut up.
ME: I didn’t say anything.
VICTOR: If zombie-me finds out I’ve got parts missing you will be the very first person I eat.
ME: What if you die in a car crash and Hailey is badly injured and the only way she can survive is if she can have your kidneys?
VICTOR: She’d be a pretty fucked-up-looking toddler with my gigantic man-size kidneys in her.
ME: Okay, what if she’s sixteen when it happens?
VICTOR: If she’s sixteen and I die then she can totally have my stuff. But just the nonessential stuff . . . like an arm or some fingers.
ME: I’m sure she’ll be the most popular girl in school with your hairy old man arm.
VICTOR: Ooh, and if a boy started getting fresh with her she could be all, “Don’t make me get my dad hand out!”
ME: I wonder if this is the weirdest fight we’ve ever had.
VICTOR: Not. Even. Close.
Making Friends with Girls
For the majority of my life I lived with a small, terrible secret: I’ve never really liked girls. I realize this is stereotypical and hypocritical, since I am one myself, but to be fair, I probably wouldn’t choose to hang out with myself if given the option.
It’s always been this way. I was too much of an anxious misfit to properly bond with girls when I was young, and I never really got the hang of it. I consoled myself by thinking of how much money I saved on Christmas gifts for friends that I never made, and reassured myself that not having bridesmaids or friends to give me a bachelorette party was perfectly normal. Whenever I hear of women who are still best friends with the girls they went to school with, I always make a mental note to avoid them, because I assume they’re compulsive liars.
Even as an adult I had mostly male friends, and I looked at most girls as judgy, cruel, fickle, and likely to borrow your Cabbage Patch doll and never give it back. Victor always pushed me to find girlfriends, but I’d convinced myself that girls are like small bears: cute to look at, but far too dangerous to have lunch with.
This all changed when I discovered blogging and found other people online who were misanthropic misfits like me, and I found myself proudly telling Victor of my new best friends whom I would almost certainly never meet.
“OHMYGOD, Raptor99 is going to have another baby!” I’d say excitedly, as Victor pointed out that he had no idea who that was. “You know,” I explained. “Raptor99 is that person who survived cancer last year, and is considering coming out of the closet? Remember all the time I spent on the computer last month, convincing someone that they needed to get help for their bulimia? That was Raptor99.”
“Huh. Is Raptor99 a boy or a girl?” Victor asked.