Objection.

My TV Production teacher in High School told me one day, "Corrence, in life, you'll have one job that needs to be made into a sitcom." He then went on to tell me about his experience at a restaurant in California where he, a staunch conservative republican, worked with dramatic, gay men who would describe their sexual experiences to him. In detail.

I work as an intern/assistant at my aunt's office near Boston. She's a criminal defense lawyer and practices in a high-crime area in Boston. I expressed my interest in working in the law, and she asked if I wanted to work with her one summer. One thing lead to another... and I've been going back there every school vacation (and sometimes during the school year).

The cast of characters is... different, to say the least.

There's one attorney who constantly yells at me, tells me to kill myself, and often insults my mother for no reason. Then there's the "One-Date Wonder," who's a really nice guy when you look past his awkward social tendencies. My favorite, though, is the quirky private investigator who just adopted a black baby from Utah because she "can't find a man" and "pushing a baby out would hurt too much."

One of my first days at this job, I was walking through the lock-up in the District Court with aunt Nancy, on the way to talk to a client who was debating whether or not to take a plea deal offered by the DA. If there's anything I've learned, it's that if the District Attorney finds your fingerprints on bullets found in a dead man... take the deal.

Anyway, we were approaching the cell where our client was situated, when I heard a mumbling coming from a cell I was passing. I started to listen closer as I passed the prisoners inside. One remarked to the other, "Mmm mmm, look at this chubby little nigga in his suit."
Startled, I moved closer to Nancy in an effort to avoid the gazes of the sex-starved prisoners. Apparently they were so desperate they were going to resort to prison raping an intern. Good times.

I love the District Court in the inner-city. It's so different from the environment in which I grew up. Instead of vast parking lots and automatic doors, there's street parking and a homeless man who holds open the doors to the Court for cigarettes!

The whole situation reminds me of every sitcom on TV. Only this one is about lawyers and it isn't a drama starring William Shatner or Dylan McDermott. We have a hangout, a restaurant down the street from the court. During the day, there's a waiter who works there. He's young, he's gay, he's cute, and he's an aspiring actor. Nancy is convinced that he wants me, due to a particularly awkward incident involving the 2 minute purchase of a $50 gift certificate to the restaurant which ended up as a 30-minute conversation about the Boston Gay Men's Chorus and how ghetto our respective hometowns are. Fuck my life.

One summer day, the temperatures in the city started to drop due to a strong sea breeze. 70 degrees became 55, and I decided it was too cold to go to lunch in a short-sleeve polo shirt and shorts. So I wore a suit coat to lunch and was berated the whole drive to the restaurant by Nancy and Sue, one of the other lawyers. We were sat by the hostess who left us to our own devices (her first mistake), and eventually Dana, the aforementioned P.I., joined us at the table. She carried with her a Stop and Shop bag, but I couldn't see what was inside of it.

"Corey, I made you a birthday present!" she announced, knowing my birthday was a week away.

Let me just explain for a second that the "professionals" I work with have warped senses of humor. A running joke started one day that I ride the "short bus" to the office every day. But the lawyers worried that I would hurt my head while licking the windows, so they joked that they would buy me a pink helmet (to protect my head) with a bell on it (so I don't get lost in a crowd).

Dana pulled a pink helmet out of her bag. It had a pink bicycle horn super glued to the side (because a bell was too much trouble to weld to the helmet), and 3 squeaky toys attached to the top (so if I ever got bored, I'd have someone to talk to).

Nancy and Sue almost fell out of their chairs because they were laughing so hard. The waitress returned, looked horrified, and walked right out of the dining room. Usually, I don't need help making a scene. But it seems that when I'm assisted by others, the situation is made that much worse. Proudly, I wore the helmet until the meal was served. That's when I took a bite out of my burger and the meat juice spilled out on my suit coat. The adults all started laughing at me again, when the waitress came over with napkins.

Between cackles, Nancy reassured the waitress that next time, they would leave me at home.

"Please do," the waitress responded.

I'm such a mess, that I almost got banned from a 2 star restaurant. New low? Definitely.

'Ello, Gov'na'!

"How do you get into these situations?" my co-worker asked me the other day.

I was stumped. Lately, I've been asking everyone I know if they've been asked to sign release forms, because I'm convinced that I'm Jim Carrey on the Truman Show... My life's a reality show and I don't know it. It makes sense... I wouldn't be surprised if there were producers pulling the strings and telling people to start shit with me. It makes for great TV!

Let's rewind.

I made a new friend recently. If you haven't noticed from my stories, I only hang out with girls. Ever. So I was stoked to start hanging out with an actual gay guy. Someone who can relate to me, someone who'll talk about cute boys with me and it's not weird 'cause he's not a straight girl. I slept over at his dorm a couple months ago when this happened...

"Wanna go to a dance party?" he asked me a few days before we were to see each other. "My friend really wants us to go."

I was psyched. We had a movie marathon planned, but I have a short attention span. Obviously other activities were necessary so he didn't discover my tendency to fidget like a five-year old when forced to sit for long periods of time so close to the beginning of our friendship. He also trusted me enough to survive in a social situation with his friends. This, along with the party we went to a few weeks prior, was a "friends-test." And God damn it, I was gonna pass with flying colors.

The night of the party, I found myself in the living room with Ben and his roommate, Jenny. We were watching "Little Miss Sunshine" while eating hot dogs wrapped in dough. I was expecting the food to be craptastic... I've never enjoyed a hot dog more in my life.

But I digress. Slowly, the friends started to trickle in. Ben's friend Rich brought his roommate Zach with him. Zach speaks with a British accent, but is not from England.

...Okay.

Then Shaina, Ben's friend from high school, and her semi-boyfriend Matt showed up. We did introductions, as I was the odd one out, and eventually we were off to the party. I was surprised to see Zach want to go, because he passed on the last party, citing a big history test to study for. On a Saturday night.

...Okay.

Eventually, 5 of us piled into my car. Ben sat up front with me, and Jenny, Rich and Zach seated themselves in the cramped backseat of my Mustang Convertible. Stylish (except for the gold color and white top), but not ideal for transporting large groups of people. My iPod played Rob Thomas's "Lonely No More," a personal favorite. Ben and I sang along, not paying attention to what was going on in the backseat.

"It's rathah crahmped in heah," remarked Zach, getting out of the Fagmobile. "Jenny, I've become rathah well acquainted with the right side of you."

I kept my mouth shut. Ben knows that I have a bad habit of judging people to their faces, but I opted to keep it under control. I was in unfamiliar territory and had to play this just right.

We entered the party house, and kids I had met at the last party remembered my name! It sounds trivial, but it made me feel really welcome. From there, we made our rounds and ended up in the room with the black light. I chatted with Jenny while Ben danced in the middle of the floor, the life of the party.

Next thing I know, some skank who no one at the party knew except the host waltzed into the room, clad in nothing but red heels, a pearl necklace, and a red dress which barely covered her ass. And everyone else was wearing a casual shirt and jeans. Awkward.

Some people fall in love at first sight. I judge at first sight. And this girl was TOE. UP. We didn't get to the party until 11, and she had obviously arrived much sooner... and taken one too many swigs from the jug in the kitchen labeled "DEATH PUNCH!"

Super Skank then proceeded to start grinding on the boy who brought me to the party. The rational side of me said, "Corey, don't worry about it. He's gay and obviously won't leave with her tonight." But the jealous bitch in me started screaming, "STEP OFF, WHORE."

Ben looked at me with terror in his eyes. "Help me," he mouthed. I usually can't read lips, but the message was loud and clear: Girlfriend was trying to get laid and didn't care who did her. Before I could get over there, she got down on her knees. My friend, the homo, later recalled, "I could feel her teeth on my belt."

I approached the scene of the crime and Ben started to dance with me. Skanky McWhore took the hint and went to the other end of the room where the party's host was standing. She threw him up against the wall with as much force as possible and stuck her tongue down his throat.

With that crisis averted, the dancing continued and I let go of all of the stress and drama I left behind in Framingham. That's when Ben decided he would perform his rendition of the "Single Ladies" dance. As a shameless attention whore, I admire other shameless attention whores. And this display of attention whoring was the best I've seen in a while.

We then retired to the kitchen, where Ben was cornered by 3 girls he went to high school with. That's when a lonely, fat girl, who was sitting in the corner by herself, introduced herself to me... "HI! I'm Zoe! Do you go to URI too!"

"No."

"Oh, okay!"

I looked her up and down. Her white t-shirt, navy jeans, brown cowboy boots and ugly, pink scarf just didn't work for her. I tried to be nice. "I... like your scarf. Where did you get it?"

"I don't know!"

Zoe didn't bother to continue making conversation with me, so I turned around to face Ben. I heard, "HI! I'm Zoe!" three separate times after my encounter with her. Having grown tired with these antics, it was time to set up in the living room, where the real fun started.

I sat down next to the boy, my arm around his shoulder. We sat with his friend Michaela and a boy she brought. Rich sat to my side and we were casually talking... when Zach found his way to the living room.

"WHEN HAVING SEX, YOU MUST ALWAYS USE A PROPHYLACTIC," he drunkenly announced. Alcohol + College Student who doesn't ever drink = Hot Mess.

I pulled out my Blackberry and texted Maria: "Kid at party is preaching about proper condom use. Want to die."

The tirade continued. "YOU KNOW," Zach started, "I HAVE NEVAH GOTTEN ASS EVAH."

My eye began to twitch.

"Benjamin, how do you get the boys?" he asked, looking at us. I may or may not have found myself getting more and more possessive with my arm around Ben as the conversation went on. "When you're dahncing, what is it you do? How do you do it?"

Ben looked at me with a smile on his face. Earlier in the afternoon, we had been practicing our dance moves in the dorm room. He held me and we swung our hips around, dancing like fools. I looked at him and asked, "Are you having a 'Wedding Singer' moment?" The Adam Sandler movie was all that came to mind in that moment where we were doing that ridiculous dance.

He turned to look at me. "What?"

"You know, there's the part where the old man is dancing and he goes, 'It's all in the hips... It's all in the hips...'"

So Ben looked at Zach and told him, "It's in the hips."

"IT'S IN THE 'IPS?! BLOODY 'ELL!" he exclaimed. "What is it, then?"

I chimed in, "'It' is just what's in the hips."

Zach nodded knowingly, totally buying the bullshit we were feeding him. The topic didn't last long, however. He looked to the other end of the couch and said, "'Ello, Miss! I don't know you! I'm Zach!"

"...I'm Michaela."

"MICHAELA, IT'S LOVELY TO MEET YOU. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF ART?"

At this point, it was 1 a.m., I was sober because I had to drive home, I had a caffeine headache, and I just couldn't take the awkward moments anymore. Ben got our fleeces from downstairs and we, along with Rich and Zach, piled into the car to go home.

I didn't turn the music on. I started the car, grabbed Ben's hand and drove back to school. The two in the backseat were going on and on about only God knows what. I tuned it out until we got back to campus and we saw a group of kids headed back to the dorms.

"You know," Zach said, "I bet they had their faces in other people's faces tonight! I told a boy tonight that he was cute... But he was with his girlfriend."

Ben squeezed my hand. I almost thought it was cute, until I realized it was a "Please don't tear him a new, less socially awkward asshole" squeeze. All I got out was a groan when Zach patted me on the shoulder.

"DON'T WORRY, JAMES! I THINK YOU'RE CUTE TOO!"

Not only was this kid delusional, he didn't know my name. Luckily, the dynamic duo lived in a different building and we were able to drop them off and have some alone time back at the dorms. We opened up the fridge and looked at its contents.

"Do you want a drink?" Ben asked me.

"After that? I need one."

This blog is called "Hot Mess" because the concept sums up my life. This story is no exception.

No. Wire. Hangers.

They say children are impressionable. And I didn't believe that I was anything like my parents until a few days ago.

I should preface this with some backstory. I had a really bad hook-up this summer. His pecs were very moobish, leading me to call him "Grandma Tits" behind his back. His breath was terrible too. When we kissed, it was insanely warm and sweet, like eating a lifesaver that was left under a radiator.

I discussed this incident with a friend of mine who takes delight in my "caustic sense of humor" as my Journalism professor put it. "Corey, it couldn't have been that bad. You're being kinda mean,"' he laughed.

"Hey, I could've told him to buy a bra and a package of breath mints, but I didn't!" I responded.

So, this past weekend, I was off from work. I justified it as a mental health vacation.

My mom called me while I was out Christmas shopping. My shiny, new Blackberry started blaring "TiK ToK" by Ke$ha, causing tweens all around me to dance and adults to groan. I answered the phone, "Hello," as people pushed past me, trying to knock my $300 worth of merchandise out of my arms.

"Coah, what are you doin'?" Lois asked.

"I'm Christmas shopping, what are you doing?"

"I'm at the BAAAAH." Translation: "BAAAAH" is Boston for "bar." "You should come down!"

"Will there be free food?"

"Yeah, Coah! Just come and visit!"

So I went down to the Chinese restaurant/bar and joined my mother and two aunts for a nice dinner. While waiting to be served General Gau's Chicken and "Orangey So-da," my mother noticed a fashion faux pas walk past our table.

Picture this: An older woman, in her 50s, severely overweight, wearing an athletic suit the average Phys. Ed. teacher wears. It did NOT flatter her figure.

Mommie Dearest chose that moment to announce, "Ohhh, no one loves her..."

"Mom!" I snapped. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the fat woman's friend at their table open her mouth and gasp in horror.

"What, Coah? If someone loved her, they wouldn't let her go out of the house like that."

"Lois, you need to keep your voice down," my aunt Ginny chimed in.

"I could've pointed at her, but I didn't!" Lois justified herself.

My jaw dropped, much like the fat lady's frumpy-looking friend. Apparently our behaviors, as people, are innate. Is there a therapy program for being overly judgmental?