Tag: sam jarvis

Heartbreak: A Vampire and a Mosquito

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By Sam Jarvis

The vampire stood in front of the mosquito, trying to keep his eyes on her as she hovered.

“Please, Leonard,” the mosquito begged. “Don’t do this.”

“You’re great, but I just think we’re moving in different directions.”

“But we have so much in common! Drinking blood? That’s a big one.” The mosquito looked helpless. She tried to flutter her eyes, be sexy, but the vampire shook his head.

“I’m dead and you’re a very small bug. I just don’t think it’s going to work.”

“But we BOTH drink blood! That is like, super bonding,” she argued, flying slightly closer.

“Yeah, I get it, we both drink blood. But that isn’t enough to sustain a relationship.” Now the mosquito was getting annoyed. She sighed with gusto.

“What about all of our plans? Our travel dreams?”

“I don’t remember making any specific plans,” he started, now kicking the dirt at his graying, crusty feet. “I thought this was more casual.”

“Casual? You thought this was CASUAL?” Her little arms were now crossed. The vampire sighed.

“Look I like you, but you’re coming off as clingy.”

“I thought we were in love.” Her eyes darted around, tears streamed from her tiny face.

“I’m sorry, but I’m done. You gave my sister four bites and she was itching so badly she needed to go to the dermatologist to get prescription cortisone cream.”

“I thought she was some floosy trying to date my man!”

“I’m not your man, Veronica. And if you don’t leave me alone I’ll have to buy bug spray.”

The mosquito shook her head in disgust.

“You are not the vampire I thought you were, Leonard Van Hausen. Not that vampire at all.”

Read more of my short humor pieces here.

Life of a Haasler

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By Sam Jarvis

It’s weird being one of the hottest foods of 2015. It’s been a real transition for us over the past few years. Everybody talks about the “guacamole days” and how depressing they were, but slowly we’ve made an epic return (thanks Obama!). My friend Dave was put on a turkey burger. Eleanor was laid over an omelette. Those would both be good ways to go, I suppose. We’ve lost good men sitting on kitchen counters for a day too long, the brilliant green of their insides turning brown and gray. To be mushy and thrown away is every avocado’s nightmare. Even thinking about it gives me a pit in my stomach, although it’s probably just the actual pit in my stomach.

Going out with glory is important to me. To all of us. That’s why the second you get put in a grocery store you need to pray for a good home. A 20-year-old, new to living on their own, could come and scoop you up and the next thing you know you’re in the garbage can. Young people don’t have the patience or knowledge to appropriately deal with ripening. They get distracted and by the time they remember they even have an avocado, it’s too late.

I want more for my short life, you know? It’s easy to be complacent and end up in a cobb salad. Which is fine, it’s just not for me. I want to be special. Go out with a bang! So every night as I drift to sleep, snuggling with the rest of the gang in produce, the hum of the freezer section droning on, I picture it. The best way to go.

I can see her now. A woman, 30 or 35, in a t-shirt and jeans (yoga pants would be fine also), picks me up. As she squeezes me gently I hold my breath. She is the perfect person to appreciate what I am and more importantly who I am. I make it into her basket, meeting new friends Greek yogurt and flax seed bread. I’m liking this crowd already. We don’t get into a car, we walk home. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the breeze on the face I don’t have.

Her kitchen is lovely. Simple, but homey. She is in the prime of her life and career, having yet to settle into children and everything that comes with them. She’s independent. Alive. I spend a day in a large bowl on the counter and I have to say, it’s really nice. Calm.

The next morning I watch her make coffee, effortless in her work blouse. She puts a piece of the flax seed bread into the toaster and I am moments away from everything I’ve always wanted. Please be for me, I think to myself. The toaster dings and she takes me into her arms. I am so happy I could die. I am dying, really. As she slices me, adds pepper and a hint of sriracha salt, I have somehow made it to the nirvana of my kind, the highest honor bestowed on an individual Haas. I have become avocado toast.

When I open my eyes I’m still in Trader Joe’s, sad to be ripped away from my dreams once more. But then, there she is. The woman I’ve always pictured, sipping on a green juice. She walks over, feels some of us. This is it. Hold your breath.

Read more of my short stories here.

Things That Are Not Like Riding A Bike (And Why)

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By Sam Jarvis

  1. Paying taxes. Basically one is the physical act of powering a pedal-driven vehicle that utilizes two tires and a chain, while the other is the collecting and filing of paperwork to make sure you’ve given the government the correct amount of money. So they’re really nothing alike at all.
  1. Getting your tarot cards read. Again when riding a bike, you are trying to get from point A to point B, whereas with getting your tarot cards read you’re sitting at a table in some kind of mystic and odd smelling room while someone tells you what is in your future by randomly pulling cards.
  1. Going to the dermatologist. Both have some kind of travel involved, but going to the dermatologist is not like riding a bike because at the dermatologist there are doctors and bad lighting and people checking you for moles. Also they try to get you to do weird chemical peels and stuff and it’s like guys stop, I’m 27, I don’t need one of those yet.
  1. Microwaving a veggie burger. This one’s harder to see the difference because both are so fun. But with a bike you are feeling the wind on your face. You’re free. With microwaving a veggie burger, you’re clearly trapped in your house. Otherwise you would certainly eat something other than a frozen non-meat thing. If you were free with the wind on your face, you would definitely eat mozzarella sticks or a hot dog. So yeah, they’re not the same.
  1. Making a YouTube video showing all the stuff you just bought at the mall. They’re called haul videos I think. But yeah again this is another classic example of the fact that riding a bike is a fun fitness activity but also a means of transportation, and at a certain level a competitive sport, while making a YouTube video showing all the stuff you just bought at the mall is just a haul video.

 

 

My Date With Gary Busey

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By Sam Jarvis

WHAT. TO WEAR. It’s hard because you know, you want to look mature. The man is seventy years old so your chunky heels and topknot bun are not going to impress him. If I do the math correctly, which 4 times out of 5 (85%) doesn’t happen, he was in his 20s in the 60s. Is that right? Oh my God, numbers are so confusing. Basically I need to look like Twiggy. She was hot back then.

I am now standing over my bathroom sink cutting my hair with kitchen scissors. Twiggy it is, ladies and gents! I am going to rock this date. How do I make my bottom lashes look like Bambi eyes? We’ll deal with that later.

The hair is not looking very Twiggy-ish. It’s looking, well, kind of bad. I can’t see the back of it. But I MUST PRESS ON. What scent do you think he would like? Sometimes I feel like he’d be a Chanel No. 5 man, but at the same time I can see him getting all googly over Bath and Body Works Pearberry. I think I have some of that somewhere. The cap might be dried shut.

I am back in front of my closet, naked and staring. What in this mess of fabric could possibly be good enough for an evening to remember with THE William Gary Busey? I can’t even believe I’m saying that. LA really is the place of dreams. You always picture meeting a celebrity, hitting it off, but it’s really HAPPENING.

I just caught another look at my hair in the mirror. I’ll have to gel it down or something. Still no idea what to wear. Where do you think we’ll go? I feel like he’s going to want Italian. I can just picture him looking me straight in the eyes and saying, “Would you like to split a caprese?” If he does that, I will die.

When he asked me out he told me that my hair was long “like the tail of a mermaid.” PANIC. I have cut off my beautiful mermaid tail hair. Why would Twiggy do this to me? Oh my God, she was jealous of me this whole time! Wow. I can’t believe she did that.

You know what though? Gary is going to love me for me. He’s that kind of person. What’s more important is that I have PICKED. AN OUTFIT. Do you think he’s into sweaters? I feel like I’m in too many layers.

I can’t wait for us to get married. Small ceremony, probably in Hawaii, definitely without shoes. He likes my feet. I really can’t believe he’s my husband. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

On Sundays we go to the farmer’s market where I buy vegetables and he sits and eats grapes. Also we have FOUR Amazon fire TVs and they were all FREE. Gary talks to them just like he does in the commercials and I am star struck every time.

When he’s out on auditions (still going strong!!) I sit on the floor and scrapbook. I’m working on our trip to Fort Myers, which was a complete success despite the fact that Gary kept getting sand all over him while I tried to rub in his sunblock. Cancer’s real, guys! Get informed! We use SPF 50 and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We are not going to have kids because they would take away from our time together. Are you seriously asking if I’d rather drive a child to school, or make the LOVE of my LIFE his daily bowl of nonfat Greek yogurt with a berry medley? Ha. You’re funny.

He’s now 90 and I’m 35 (that’s a lie, I’m 46) and we are still so happy. Over mashed potatoes last night he told me how to make love to an inner tube and I was mesmerized by it. Our Chihuahua mixes sat nearby eating some kind of very fancy kibble and it was just SO. US.

Oh my God I never did the Bambi lashes!! Wow, thankfully it all worked out.

I am a comedy writer. Sadly, this is a complete work of fiction. You can read more of my short humor pieces here.