Twelve Thirty Page #2

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Oh, my God!

I oouldn't eat for days.

Well, did you ever

ask him about them?

Oh, my God!

Well, I don't know.

Is just kind of...

Oedipal, thas all.

Is so soandalous.

Really?

Well, the way

you often aot is so...

well, vanilla.

You've got some skeletons

in your oloset after all.

Is good to know.

Thank you.

I was soared shitless

after that for weeks.

Your parents were striot?

Not partioularly.

But...

I knew id orush my Mom

if she knew I'd found them.

Don't be so sure.

What you did

wasn't wrong, was it?

Just an innooent disoovery.

Whas that?

My Mom asked me

to piok it up for her.

Party?

My Mom's a peaoh.

If she wants a drink,

I'm gonna get her a drink.

- Stop!

- What? Why?

Stop the oar!

Quiok! Stop the oar!

Are you siok?

Siok? Are you kidding?

Is an open house.

I never knew

this house was here.

I oould do something

with this house.

Is not bad.

For 300-thousand,

we oould buy two houses.

[Giggling]

Come on.

- Oh!

- Sorry.

You're indefensible!

I want to design muzeums.

Did you know that?

Gehry-like offioe buildings.

I want my name

on oornerstones.

But if I were

into building houses

I'd build a house like this.

You just love

anything with open doors,

don't you?

They're only asking $375,000.

What a steal.

All right, Donald Trump,

les buy it.

I used to want

to be a writer.

Okay... Write.

Her hair was

the oolor of marmalade.

Her hair was the

oolor of marmalade.

Is lovely.

But is not even

a short story.

No, but is pithy.

Is got 'pith'.

Do you ever feel underrated?

Like as a writer?

No, like low self-esteem.

No.

Liar.

What don't you like

about yourself?

Loneliness.

I was thinking more in terms

of your physioal being.

You oan do something

about loneliness.

I have varioooele.

What is varioooele?

I oan't tell you.

- Where is it?

- I oan't tell you.

- Is it oontagious?

- No.

What about you?

Mind your own business.

My mom sells furs,

loves them.

Loves what she does.

My sister hates her for it.

Animal oruelty sh*t.

It doesn't bother you?

She likes what she does.

Thas all that

should matter to anyone.

And your Dad?

He's got a green job.

And for the reoord,

I oall him my stepdad.

Drives him nuts.

He stutters and sputters

when I oall him that.

And normally

he's a very erudite,

you know, artioulate man...

Makes me laugh.

Not in a mean-spirited way,

but it does make me laugh.

Like the way I laugh

when I hurt myself,

stub my toe or bang my shin

against a pieoe of furniture.

Some kind of perverse

defense meohanism, I guess.

When I want

to make him laugh,

I oall him a lepreohaun.

He likes that better.

Lord only knows why.

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