#5 Never Have I Ever: Written in wet cement.
Foreplay: I'm a good girl. Sure, I curse like a fuckin' sailor and I have a bad habit of pushing people's buttons, but generally I'm an upstanding citizen -- even the type of girl some poor sucker can bring home to mom.
But as I meandered home from the gym this afternoon and spotted a wet patch of cement on the sidewalk, I was drawn like a delinquent moth to the flame.
The Down and Dirty: Initially, I thought nothing of it and continued on my merry way. Apparently, there had been some minor construction on my street that morning. The 3x4 block was surrounded by dissuasive orange cones and cautionary yellow tape so the good girl in me advised to pay no mind. But as I kept walking, the wet cement continued to invade my thoughts. It was like a little devil was squealing into my ear: But wait! How often do you stumble over newly established sidewalk? When are you ever going to get a chance like this again? Duuuude, c'mon!!
By this time I was back home. I hemmed and hawed for a good hour before finally convincing myself that it was now or never. I grabbed my camera and my keys and made my way down the street. Now, my street is an offbeat path of a much busier drag in Hollywood. While there isn't a constant flux of cars in my specific neighborhood, traffic is literally a stone's throw away. Plus, cops use it as a DUI bust on weekends.
Being the oh so inconspicuous criminal that I am, I slinked around the scant construction site for a few minutes waiting for traffic to die down. When I realized that rush hour was quickly approaching, I squatted next to the cones and started clicking away on my camera in hopes that passing drivers would just think I was an artsy-fartsy chick who was appreciating the beauty of the John Deere excavator.
I had planned to write something full of hippie adulation like ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE but upon closer inspection the wet cement was far from set and badly formed. It looked like gray frosting rather than future sidewalk. In my nervous haste, I also forgot to bring a writing utensil so I chose the least important key on my lanyard for the task (Yeah, I keep my keys on a lanyard. What of it? Thought so...).
After glancing over my shoulder for the millionth time and building up a severe nervous sweat on my brow, I hastily scratched a heart into the cement. Oh, hmm... that wasn't very heart-like at all. Looks more like an unbalanced liver. Perhaps if I retraced that side... oh, no. No, now it looks like it has cirrhosis.
I panicked at the sudden crescendo of approaching cars and scrambled posthaste back to my apartment, leaving the sad little liver behind for eternity.
The Afterglow: Dude, that was SO STRESSFUL! And it wasn't even pretty or inspiring! Never again. During my panicked scurry back to my apartment, I smeared tons of wet cement all over my keychain. My rape whistle is now half sealed with cement. I don't want to think about what karma is trying to tell me with that one, but damn. Lesson learned.