Read Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake for Free Online Page B

what I ask myself. Then attempting to clear my mind, I count to ten and fixate on a Latin-looking janitor mowing a patch of tall, spidery grass. Buzzing back and forth, he seems content with the simple, strategic duty of steering his sweet grass-chopping ride.
    Why can’t mom be like that? Why can’t she be happy with an average job that doesn’t force her to travel? Granted, lawn-maintenance may not be the most cutting-edge profession, but at least it’s more admirable than being a clown. Seriously. Kids don’t even like clowns anymore. Blame it on Hollywood; these days, clowns have become no more than psychotic killers, chopping up more people than they entertain. Seriously, why is mom on the bottom rung of the Big-Top hierarchy? Why can’t she be the sexy girl on the flying trapeze or the snake lady? “Because mom prefers to make kids smile,” dad always reminds me. But where does that leave me? I’m not smiling; I’m just stuck with a bad case of coulrophobia. And dad, he’s faked happiness for the last ten years.
    Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.
    Where are my happy thoughts?
    Ah, here they are....
    In my head I shake off the negativity and dream of adoring fans, autographing the lands, and Billy. Will he notice me now that I have a part? Will he think of me as an equal?
    From a distance, I spy Billy, along with another suave male actor, trekking toward the green room for his audition. Should I wish him good luck? Why not? The more we talk, the more comfortable he’ll be with the fact that we’re dating.
    “Hey Billy, can we chat?” I ask. He tries to play it smooth by double-checking the time on his watch before shaking his head no. “Come on, it’ll be quick. I need to talk. It’s about us.”
    Forcing a smile, Billy bids adieu to his friend and reluctantly heads my way. “I don’t have much time. What is it?” he asks. His bright blond bangs, blinding in nature, fall like a magnificent mane over his eyes.
    “Do you remember my name?”
    “Tyler, right?”
    He remembers! He remembers! I secretly scream inside. Then I think of sad, scary things to contain my excitement, like Sergeant Dogshit sunbathing in tight American Flag Speedos, and the time Jenny called in the middle of the night to tell me she had just seen the ghost of a pale Victorian woman playing “Candle in The Wind” on a grand piano in her living room. “The ghost, that’s not the scary part,” Jenny whispered over the phone. “The scary part is we don’t own a piano.”
    “You know, you never got back to me,” I tell Billy.
    “Got back to you?”
    “About McDonald’s. The meal deals.” Wet with sweat, Billy’s black tee sticks to his broad chest, revealing just how defined he is below the surface. I imagine that I’d cut myself running my fingers over his razor-sharp abs. The bastard probably doesn’t even work out. “So?” I continue. His face tells me he’s threatened, like maybe the heat isn’t why he’s sweating. Like maybe it’s my fault.
    “So what?”
    Damn, do I have to spell it out for you?
    “So when are we going?” I ask.
    “Going where?”
    “To dinner.”
    “Uh...I haven’t thought about it.”
    Great, I’ve invested all this time and energy into deciding where you can take me on a romantic date, and you haven’t thought about it. Aren’t you a regular Casanova? “Well, let me know when you decide.”
    “O...k.”
    Gliding into the parking lot, dad rolls up beside us in his rusty man-truck and honks the horn. I tell you, dad has awful timing.
    “You about ready?” dad calls. I signal for him to give me a moment, and granting me my wish, he finger drums on the steering wheel while listening to his favorite radio station, WFART: music for those too old to know better.
    Great, I think. With dad blasting the oldies, he won’t be able to hear my conversation. I could say anything. Well, maybe not anything.
    “So I got a part in the film,” I tell Billy.
    “You auditioned?” He acts