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FRESH
YARN PRESENTS: Diamonds
By
Jill Soloway
 I
hate diamonds.
I hate them.
I work on a TV show and the prop chick was fooling around one day
and she let me try on this diamond ring that looked really real
and really big and I wore it around for a few days.
And every single woman, every single woman I went near, came up
to me and said, "OOOHHHHHHH MY GOOOOODDDDDDD," as if to
say "YOU FINALLY GOT ONE! AND SUCH A BIIIIG ONE!!!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!
JILL GOT ONE! SHE GOT ONE!!!!"
Me, I'm not that way so much, I see a big diamond on someone's finger
and I say (high-pitched, fake-happy) "Wow!" but I'm actually
thinking BLARGURGH or FLUGHVOMIT or some other sound that means
I want to choke on my own soul. It's the same sound my respiratory
system made when I saw that ad in the NY Times magazine section.
It had two diamond rings. Next to the smaller one: it said 'Thank
You Honey'. Next to the bigger one it said: 'Thank You God'.
It's the noise of my nervous system collapsing, like the way I felt
when a fellow comedy writer giggled and said, "Ladies love
gems. Don't know why but it's something I've learned. Ladies just
love gems." He said it all the time, just snortingly giggling
about the fact that when all was said and added up, yeah, sure we
won the right to vote and talk and some of us even get paid to use
our brains to write comedy like him and his fucking Harvard fucks,
but when it came down to it, all of us could be bought for a rock.
There's this woman I know. Besides her diamond engagement ring and
the diamond wedding band, each time she gave birth to one of her
two sons, her husband brought her a diamond necklace. In the hospital.
Good job, honey. Thanks for ripping your pussy open. Matthew Broderick
gave Sarah Jessica Parker a $50,000 diamond charm bracelet in the
hospital. Kobe gave his wife a four million dollar "I'm sorry
I raped someone" diamond. Ben gave JLO a billionty dollar pink
diamond. White diamonds aren't enough, now we need PINK DIAMONDS
to really be special. I saw chocolate diamonds on Extra just
last week. Brown diamonds, CHOCOLATE DIAMONDS. Can you tell I'm
screaming right now? If you're reading this to yourself, you should
be screaming anything in all caps in your mind.
WHO ARE THESE WOMEN AND WHAT ARE THEY DOING FOR THESE DIAMONDS?
Do they know something I don't know? Are they different than me
because their feet look right in a strappy sandal, their toes don't
look absurd when painted, like mine do, like donut holes with red
dots on them, they know exactly what to do when someone slides their
chair in for them? Me, I scoot, I'll make a loud scraping noise
with my chair, but these women who get diamonds, I bet they glide
into the table. They chew right and they sip right, which is something
I don't do.
I store my sip of coffee in my cheeks before I swallow it, like
a chipmunk with a spring's worth of nuts. This is something I know
I do but I can't stop doing because I don't notice I'm doing it
until after I've done it.
I just don't get it, I mean, who ARE these women and WHAT are they
doing for these diamonds? Do they withhold sex? Have constant sex?
Give great blowjobs? Refuse to give blowjobs? Give blowjobs where
at first you pretend to not really wanna be giving the blowjob but
then you start to get into it and next thing you know you're just
slobbering away like some diamond-deserving secret princess whore
of blowjobs?
Could somebody please tell me WHAT ARE THESE WOMEN DOING FOR THESE
DIAMONDS?
Are they mean? Are they nice? Do they scream? Do they think of themselves
as a special prize that deserves special gems? Are their pussies
cleaner than mine? Prettier than mine? Waxed? Unwaxed? Waxed with
floor wax? Do they have giant stanky messy hairy retro bushes that
don't give a shit at all, bushes that say fuck you - you're going
to stick your face in this mess AND you're going to give me diamonds,
WHAT IS THE FUCKING DEAL WITH THESE DIAMONDS?
Are they gifts of light for women who agree to be left in the dark?
Are they a gift for innocence? You've been faithful to me for three
more years, here's another diamond. You've been raising my children
for seven years, your market value has fallen, here's some more
diamonds. Your face is falling cuz you've been yelling at our children,
so you have that line between your eyebrows and I have no idea what
you'll get in the settlement when we split but I hope this rock
buys me a few more months of peace in this house, here's another
diamond. There's a hole in your soul because you gave up everything
for me, is this rock big enough for that hole? What the fuck are
these women doing for these diamonds?
Maybe I'm mad at diamonds because they're a prize for something
I'm not good at. I guarantee you if women got diamonds for manic
ranting or talking dirty or loud gum smacking, I wouldn't have a
problem with diamonds. Fuck the enslaved South African elves or
armless children who have to climb down these dirty mines, fuck
fashion fascism, de Beers and politics, maybe what bugs me about
diamonds is that I'm just not good at getting them.
Maybe you get diamonds for not being angry.
Some people say, hey. Jill. What's with all the anger?
And it's true, I do, I have rage, I have all kinds of rage about
all kinds of things, not just how no one cares about feminism anymore
but a what the fuck rage, this rage that's worse in the morning
coffee fueled serotonin rush, where I can be driving to work and
on the radio hear 2000 Factory Cash Back on Siena and I get mad.
For no reason. Okay, well, there's clearly a reason there- it should
be 2000 Factory cash back on A Siena or on THE Sienna but they just
say ON SIENA like we're all just supposed to just intuitively know
that car names don't need articles before them anymore.
Or sometimes just the word Toyotathon can enrage me.
And I know, I know that's no way for a lady to act. But hey, if
I didn't have my anger, I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't be typing
manically right now, and I wouldn't have a computer, I'd just be
sitting here in a chair, and I'd probably sit wrong, I would. I
sit like a guy which is another reason I don't get diamonds, I don't
sit like a lady.
So I'll be here, practicing, on the other side of this computer,
or somewhere far off beyond this page you are reading, trying to
act more like a lady,
trying to be secretive and coy and something to look at
I'll try to be pretty and italic
Instead of YELLING
And I'll let you know if it works
And if I ever get any
Of those god damned diamonds.
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