Not meaning that she likes to leave, because if it were up to her I don't think she ever would. She would stay forever making sure she was here when I woke up, got home from work etc.
What she does do is leave her stuff behind. Every damn time.
Once a couple of years ago I was helping my dad clean out his office at home. He was getting new furniture I believe or something like that. Anyway we cleaned out the whole room. Everything out. And after moving everything I found a pair of earrings on the floor. Jokingly I said, "I hope those are mom's". He laughed and said " I have a theory about that" What. "That no jewelery is ever left behind, on accident." I thought about that and realized that almost if not every woman who has left a watch or earrings behind, wanted a reason to come back. So know I am even more acutely aware of this.
The first time Indian Girl was here she didn't leave anything physical but did make my bed and sprayed my pillows with her cherry blossom body spray. Thanks. The second time she left a toothbrush. When she came the third time she brought another toothbrush I asked why and she said she didn't know if I would still have it. Like I would throw out her toothbrush but still invite her back.
Since then she has left a hair clip, and a pair of pink panties. That I didn't find for 2 days. At least my daughter didn't find them. And I think she left something else too, but I dont' remember what it is. In 3 weeks. It has been only 3 weeks. I have been seeing Red for 3 months and she left behind a t-shirt once and asked me about it the next day.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Another Day, another $1100
Staring at a blank page trying to fill it with some enthusiasm. Gumby is sitting here with his everpresent smile making things a little easier. And it is sunny outside. Very sunny. In March in Chicago and that makes me happy. I think it is still a little cold outside but one thing at a time. I wonder if the car wash is open on Sunday. How sweet would that be.
Speaking of sweet, Monkey and I baked an Angel Food cake yesterday. We haven’t tasted it yet so I guess I should check to see if it tastes like ass before I get all excited about it. Monkey is excited though. We have been cooking together more these days, and it is kind of nice.
Nice to meet you. The Ass was out on St. Patrick’s day with this hottie from his kick boxing class. I was quite impressed and at least a little jealous. I wrote a post about Friday, copied it but then word froze up before I could paste it and then accidently closed the browser. I would tell you I am going to recreate that post but I’d probably be lying.
OK maybe not. Let’s get this over with. You will have to hope and pray that I go back and do the rest of the week, but for what it is worth here’s Friday.
I woke up on Friday at about 9 am with Little Indian Girl in my bed. I know I have only briefly mentioned her and haven’t used this name. I didn’t want to do it but it is the only nickname that fits. She is half Irish and half Native American. She has the Irish skin but Indian facial features and she is fairly cute. We wake up she wants to sleep in. There is a couple of rounds of fooling around split up by naps. I start talking about food at about 11am, she gives me an Uuuh you are always hungry. She is surprised? Finally I get her to agree to lunch at 1pm. There may have been more fooling around. I finally get out of bed at about 2 or 2:30p At three o’clock she is still in bed and not in the shower. At 3:30 I go out to her car to bring in some CDs she brought for me to burn, and to move her car because parking on my side of the street is illegal between 4p-6p. So I move her car around the corner, grab the CD case and head back to my car. As I get closer to it I notice this bright orange piece of paper on my winshield. Too big for a ticket I think. Too bright orange for a bar flyer. I get closer trying to figure it out when I am suddenly distracted by the big yellow…..mother fucking Denver Boot on my goddamn front tire. Fuck me in the ass with a running chainsaw. Why me lord, Why me? I usually don’t ask that question because I know the answer. I am a procrastinating, hard drinking, fornicating heathen who claims to be a Christian. And that is the answer today, but what I really want to know is why today.
I have a parking spot behind my house that I somehow refuse to use as often as I should. That is one of the reasons I have all these outstanding parking tickets in the first place. And I knew I had outstanding parking tickets, but I still left my car out in the open.
Because I am a Moron, with a capital M.
So now I am in panic mode. Fuck. I think I actually said that out loud and Indian Girl (IG) asked what’s wrong. I’m a moron I replied. I explained what had happed and then called the city’s parking hotline. That is how ruthless they are with tickets and towing here. They need a hotline so you can find your car after you walk out side and it is gone. I think everywhere else in the world people, upon discovering their car is missing, think Fuck my car has been stolen. In Chicago, we think Damn, I just got towed. It is slightly better now than it was twenty years ago when the Lincoln Park Pirates ruled the street. Oops I mean Lincoln Towing. Lincoln Towing used to have an exclusive contract with the city and would tow you whether you were parked illegally or not. Now they have inforced so many regulations that there is a sign every 15 feet telling you under what conditions you can park there.
Anyway I call 1-800-WEGOTYOURCAR and find out that I owed. Drumroll please. $2000 in parking tickets. How does anyone amass $2000 in parking tickets I just don’t know. But they did tell me I would have to pay at least half plus the $60 boot fee to get my damn car unbooted. If I was on public assistance I would have only had to pay ¼ plus the boot fee. If you are on public assistance should you be able to afford a car? I can barely afford mine. That was a rhetorical and sarcastic question so the liberals can refrain from flaming me in the comments.
So now the dilemma is how do I come up with $1100. I have got about $200 in the bank. Rico already owes me money and is avoiding me because of it. I don’t get paid till Monday, but I need the car now because I am due to pick up monkey in a few hours. Indian Girl offers to let me use her car. But that means I have to drive her all the way home and I will need the car for the full weekend which gives me two full days to get into a wreck, which you know will happen because I am living proof that Murphy’s law is alive and well. She then asks if they take credit cards and I say they do, but it does me no good because I don’t own one. I refuse. They are evil. Why, is another post altogether. She says you can use mine. I think two things simultaneously. One, wow she is super nice I can believe she is offering that. Two, oh, my god she is a psycho chick. Yes she has known me for about seven years but until a week and a half ago I hadn’t seen her in five years. People who give that much of themselves that soon always scare me. I know you are going to tell me she is just very nice and I know this but there are other psycho chick signs that I will go into in a later post.
She calls her credit card company and her bank while I am calling my nowhere to be found friends, and she comes back and tells me that she can put $500 on her card and give me $200 cash. Her $700 plus my $200 still leaves me $200 short. I am going through my phone book when I notice a test message from The Ass that I had ignored earlier. Basketball games. Joes on weed street. Get here. I was in bed with a naked woman at the time I received that and even basketball, beer, and bullshit doesn’t outrank that. But now. Now that I am in a crisis, the message meant something else. It meant that a friend with liquid cash, free time, and a bizarre sense of loyalty was available for contact. I reached out. He answered and after telling him my dilemma he said that sucks and followed it shortly afterwards with how much? I tell him I am short $200 but if he can come up with $700 I will be less indebted to this woman. He understands. He says give me a few minutes and meet me at Lincoln Station. This is why I like him. He may be an ass and bust my balls endlessly but he has always got my back. I wait what seems like and endless period of time for Indian Girl to put her face on and fix her hair. Even the most girly girl would be shocked at how long this girl takes to get ready. Right before leaving the house The Ass calls me to tell what a hug e sacrifice he is making. He apparently was talking to a cute girl at the bar who he left with True Dog. I say no problem True Dog is married and won’t hit on her and he is fairly entertaining when he is drinking. He says that’s the problem. He isn’t drinking. Oh, I say. You’re screwed, she’s gonna leave. I believe he then made some threats or cursed at me in several languages or something like that.
We get to Lincoln Station and can’t find him so I call him. IG goes to the bathroom. He tells me where to look and sure enough he is right behind me. I must have walked past him twice and looked at him three times. He is sitting with a girl and SHE IS CUTE. Way cute. We say hello and she compliments my shirt. I am wearing a Fun Lovin’ Criminals shirt, a small band that opened for U2 once almost 10 years ago. I am wearing it because it is green. I realize later that I didn’t say thank you and pretty much blew off her comment altogether, because I was distracted. Foti (ok this is where it gets confusing, although I have a friend I call Foti they are part of of a group that calls each other Foti, so for the record here I am talking about the Ass) makes the handoff I say thanks and IG returns from the bathroom. We make introductions. Foti asks if I am drinking I say I gotta go. Then I ask him why after drinking for 6 hours he is not loaded. He say he is in for the long haul. I tell him he can get buzzed and still hang for 12 hours. I tell him next time I have time I will show him how it is done. He says I am sure you could. We bolt because it is 6pm and the Dept of Revenue office closes at 6:30p. We arrive at 6:22p. The security guard sees us through the window and shakes her head. I walk up anyway and check the door. Locked. Bastards. Like I expected anything less from city employees. I should have stayed at the bar. IG and I drive to Wrigleyville to get dinner. No go. It is dark now and the St. Patty’s day revelers are out in force. It isn’t that we can’t get a seat. It is that we can’t even get a parking space. We drive to a bar and grill not too far away that I know has a parking lot. Full. We find a space 1 ½ blocks away. It is packed and an hour wait for a table. Now for those of you have been paying attention you know that I have not eaten since the previous day. And those of you who know me know that I eat every 2 hours and if I go more than 4 hours without eating you better lock up the sharp objects and stay out of my way.
Luckily there is one open bar stool. IG sits down and I order drinks and a food menu. Mmmm…….food. I suck down my drink like it is my first drink of water after traversing the Sahara. Even though I know it might be my last because the amount of money in my pocket won’t sustain a prolonged drinking binge, or even a few drinks for that matter. I order a Philly Cheesesteak. She orders Spinach Artichoke dip. For dinner. Now I have nothing against appetizers. I love appetizers. I am the King of appetizers. I like to order 2 or 3 at a time. But they should be followed…..by a meal. Women drive me crazy when they do that. Now I know if they eat like I do they would weigh as much as I do, but what they don’t understand is that I don’t care if they don’t finish it all, order all you want just take home and actually eat what is left over or give it to me for god’s sake. I have been to dinner twice with IG and both times she didn’t finish her meal and both times she didn’t offer me any and didn’t take it home. And I was still hungry both times. Actually the second time I took the second half of her steak because I wasn’t going to let a good filet go to waste but by the time I got to it, it was cold and although I will eat almost anything at room temperature steak is not one of them. Not that I haven’t I just don’t like to. So we finish our food. We finally get a second seat and IG has opened up a tab and has started feeding me drinks, something she seems fond of doing, seems strange to me but I haven’t complained yet. The Ass has moved up to a bar in Wrigleyville and the place we are at is not that entertaining. The only attractive women in the entire place are sitting on either side of me, and the one not with me has been under siege by a guy who wouldn’t stop talking about himself and looked like an ugly version of Bluto from Animal House. This guy just kept talking about himself and how cool he was and just as I was thinking could this guy be anymore full of himself, he says, outloud, “I love myself, I really do”. No shit jackass. He made the mistake of walking away for a few minutes and when he came back she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. So he closed his tab and left. Thank god. A few minutes later the women get up to leave and ask for their tab, and ask if they had the right tab and Bartender says yeah, I put all your other drinks on that guy’s tab. They say no wonder he was pissed. Seems about right though. He should have to pay something for making that woman listen to his drunken narcissism.
We head for Wrigleyville with the agreement that if we can’t find parking we will head for home. With food and drink in my belly I am a little more patient and actually make two passes and find a space about a block away, and in Chicago anything within a block is rock star parking. Bernie’s like every other bar in the city is packed. But I find the Ass and Cutie Pie pretty easily. Cutie Pie has a friend not as cute not as engaging. IG does not seem to be entertained. We order drinks and more drinks and she still won’t talk to anyone but me. I talk to everyone because that is what I do. Cutie Pie asked me how many outstanding tickets I had. I said lots. She said were you on the boot list. Apparently, eh. She said she is worried because she is on the boot list. I ask how many tickets she has. Five. Five, I say you are small potatoes I was like on the Ten Most Wanted List. She say it is more like…. And puts up all ten fingers. I laugh and say we are talking about parking tickets not past lovers. S he laughs. You can say the real number, but about that other thing you should stick with five.
IG has to work in the morning so she needs to leave, but has conveniently left stuff at my apartment so I have to leave with her. She pays her tab. I say good bye to Ass, Cutie Pie and her friends more of which had shown up in the mean time. Cutie Pie gives me a kiss on the cheek. IG walks out apparently saying good bye to no one. She later tells me she said goodbye. I have my doubts.
We talk to That Drunk Girl on the phone on the way back home TDG has met IG in the past and is asking me questions about IG and if I slept with her and is wondering why I am being so vague with my answers so I say she wants to say Hi, and hand over the phone. When I get the phone back she starts laughing and says why the fuck you didn’t tell me she was in the car. We laugh some more because that is what we do. I hang up.
We get back to the apartment and IG immediately pours me a drink (see what I mean) I have better ideas of what to do with our remaining time. So I say good bye to her. For about a half an hour or so. It takes her another 30 min or so to get her shit together. That girl kills me.
I call Ass back and he has left the bar and has dropped Cutie Pie off. He makes sure to mention that he made out with her for a while. Gotta be happy for him.
It is not really too late to go out at this point but I don’t know where anyone else is and am not energized enough to find out. But I can’t sleep. I fall asleep at 6am and wake up at ten and go to try to get my car out of hock. I call my bank and my paycheck has gone through a day early. Go me! Which turns out to be a good thing because it turns out I owe $2200 not just $2000. So I would have been a $100 short. I takes about 30 min for paper work and such, and when the lady calls to have the crew unboot my car they tell her that they were on the way to tow my car. Bastards. I am glad she made the call before we were done with the payment and paperwork because I would have been doomed.
She tells me it will be a few hours to get the boot off. Fuck. I have to be at Monkey’s house in an two hours and she has a band competition in 3 hours.
It takes me 20 minutes to get home by bus and miraculously the boot is already off. Praise Paperweight Jesus! (I’ll explain later) But as I get closer, I see what? A ticket hanging off my side window. Bastards ticketed me for being in a rush hour zone during rush hour, even though it was quite obvious that I was completely incapable of moving the vehicle. I so need to move to Zimbabwe.
Anyway, I make it to get monkey by noon, and all goes well. This post took 3 hours of writing time, 7 days of real time and has made me late once again.
Speaking of sweet, Monkey and I baked an Angel Food cake yesterday. We haven’t tasted it yet so I guess I should check to see if it tastes like ass before I get all excited about it. Monkey is excited though. We have been cooking together more these days, and it is kind of nice.
Nice to meet you. The Ass was out on St. Patrick’s day with this hottie from his kick boxing class. I was quite impressed and at least a little jealous. I wrote a post about Friday, copied it but then word froze up before I could paste it and then accidently closed the browser. I would tell you I am going to recreate that post but I’d probably be lying.
OK maybe not. Let’s get this over with. You will have to hope and pray that I go back and do the rest of the week, but for what it is worth here’s Friday.
I woke up on Friday at about 9 am with Little Indian Girl in my bed. I know I have only briefly mentioned her and haven’t used this name. I didn’t want to do it but it is the only nickname that fits. She is half Irish and half Native American. She has the Irish skin but Indian facial features and she is fairly cute. We wake up she wants to sleep in. There is a couple of rounds of fooling around split up by naps. I start talking about food at about 11am, she gives me an Uuuh you are always hungry. She is surprised? Finally I get her to agree to lunch at 1pm. There may have been more fooling around. I finally get out of bed at about 2 or 2:30p At three o’clock she is still in bed and not in the shower. At 3:30 I go out to her car to bring in some CDs she brought for me to burn, and to move her car because parking on my side of the street is illegal between 4p-6p. So I move her car around the corner, grab the CD case and head back to my car. As I get closer to it I notice this bright orange piece of paper on my winshield. Too big for a ticket I think. Too bright orange for a bar flyer. I get closer trying to figure it out when I am suddenly distracted by the big yellow…..mother fucking Denver Boot on my goddamn front tire. Fuck me in the ass with a running chainsaw. Why me lord, Why me? I usually don’t ask that question because I know the answer. I am a procrastinating, hard drinking, fornicating heathen who claims to be a Christian. And that is the answer today, but what I really want to know is why today.
I have a parking spot behind my house that I somehow refuse to use as often as I should. That is one of the reasons I have all these outstanding parking tickets in the first place. And I knew I had outstanding parking tickets, but I still left my car out in the open.
Because I am a Moron, with a capital M.
So now I am in panic mode. Fuck. I think I actually said that out loud and Indian Girl (IG) asked what’s wrong. I’m a moron I replied. I explained what had happed and then called the city’s parking hotline. That is how ruthless they are with tickets and towing here. They need a hotline so you can find your car after you walk out side and it is gone. I think everywhere else in the world people, upon discovering their car is missing, think Fuck my car has been stolen. In Chicago, we think Damn, I just got towed. It is slightly better now than it was twenty years ago when the Lincoln Park Pirates ruled the street. Oops I mean Lincoln Towing. Lincoln Towing used to have an exclusive contract with the city and would tow you whether you were parked illegally or not. Now they have inforced so many regulations that there is a sign every 15 feet telling you under what conditions you can park there.
Anyway I call 1-800-WEGOTYOURCAR and find out that I owed. Drumroll please. $2000 in parking tickets. How does anyone amass $2000 in parking tickets I just don’t know. But they did tell me I would have to pay at least half plus the $60 boot fee to get my damn car unbooted. If I was on public assistance I would have only had to pay ¼ plus the boot fee. If you are on public assistance should you be able to afford a car? I can barely afford mine. That was a rhetorical and sarcastic question so the liberals can refrain from flaming me in the comments.
So now the dilemma is how do I come up with $1100. I have got about $200 in the bank. Rico already owes me money and is avoiding me because of it. I don’t get paid till Monday, but I need the car now because I am due to pick up monkey in a few hours. Indian Girl offers to let me use her car. But that means I have to drive her all the way home and I will need the car for the full weekend which gives me two full days to get into a wreck, which you know will happen because I am living proof that Murphy’s law is alive and well. She then asks if they take credit cards and I say they do, but it does me no good because I don’t own one. I refuse. They are evil. Why, is another post altogether. She says you can use mine. I think two things simultaneously. One, wow she is super nice I can believe she is offering that. Two, oh, my god she is a psycho chick. Yes she has known me for about seven years but until a week and a half ago I hadn’t seen her in five years. People who give that much of themselves that soon always scare me. I know you are going to tell me she is just very nice and I know this but there are other psycho chick signs that I will go into in a later post.
She calls her credit card company and her bank while I am calling my nowhere to be found friends, and she comes back and tells me that she can put $500 on her card and give me $200 cash. Her $700 plus my $200 still leaves me $200 short. I am going through my phone book when I notice a test message from The Ass that I had ignored earlier. Basketball games. Joes on weed street. Get here. I was in bed with a naked woman at the time I received that and even basketball, beer, and bullshit doesn’t outrank that. But now. Now that I am in a crisis, the message meant something else. It meant that a friend with liquid cash, free time, and a bizarre sense of loyalty was available for contact. I reached out. He answered and after telling him my dilemma he said that sucks and followed it shortly afterwards with how much? I tell him I am short $200 but if he can come up with $700 I will be less indebted to this woman. He understands. He says give me a few minutes and meet me at Lincoln Station. This is why I like him. He may be an ass and bust my balls endlessly but he has always got my back. I wait what seems like and endless period of time for Indian Girl to put her face on and fix her hair. Even the most girly girl would be shocked at how long this girl takes to get ready. Right before leaving the house The Ass calls me to tell what a hug e sacrifice he is making. He apparently was talking to a cute girl at the bar who he left with True Dog. I say no problem True Dog is married and won’t hit on her and he is fairly entertaining when he is drinking. He says that’s the problem. He isn’t drinking. Oh, I say. You’re screwed, she’s gonna leave. I believe he then made some threats or cursed at me in several languages or something like that.
We get to Lincoln Station and can’t find him so I call him. IG goes to the bathroom. He tells me where to look and sure enough he is right behind me. I must have walked past him twice and looked at him three times. He is sitting with a girl and SHE IS CUTE. Way cute. We say hello and she compliments my shirt. I am wearing a Fun Lovin’ Criminals shirt, a small band that opened for U2 once almost 10 years ago. I am wearing it because it is green. I realize later that I didn’t say thank you and pretty much blew off her comment altogether, because I was distracted. Foti (ok this is where it gets confusing, although I have a friend I call Foti they are part of of a group that calls each other Foti, so for the record here I am talking about the Ass) makes the handoff I say thanks and IG returns from the bathroom. We make introductions. Foti asks if I am drinking I say I gotta go. Then I ask him why after drinking for 6 hours he is not loaded. He say he is in for the long haul. I tell him he can get buzzed and still hang for 12 hours. I tell him next time I have time I will show him how it is done. He says I am sure you could. We bolt because it is 6pm and the Dept of Revenue office closes at 6:30p. We arrive at 6:22p. The security guard sees us through the window and shakes her head. I walk up anyway and check the door. Locked. Bastards. Like I expected anything less from city employees. I should have stayed at the bar. IG and I drive to Wrigleyville to get dinner. No go. It is dark now and the St. Patty’s day revelers are out in force. It isn’t that we can’t get a seat. It is that we can’t even get a parking space. We drive to a bar and grill not too far away that I know has a parking lot. Full. We find a space 1 ½ blocks away. It is packed and an hour wait for a table. Now for those of you have been paying attention you know that I have not eaten since the previous day. And those of you who know me know that I eat every 2 hours and if I go more than 4 hours without eating you better lock up the sharp objects and stay out of my way.
Luckily there is one open bar stool. IG sits down and I order drinks and a food menu. Mmmm…….food. I suck down my drink like it is my first drink of water after traversing the Sahara. Even though I know it might be my last because the amount of money in my pocket won’t sustain a prolonged drinking binge, or even a few drinks for that matter. I order a Philly Cheesesteak. She orders Spinach Artichoke dip. For dinner. Now I have nothing against appetizers. I love appetizers. I am the King of appetizers. I like to order 2 or 3 at a time. But they should be followed…..by a meal. Women drive me crazy when they do that. Now I know if they eat like I do they would weigh as much as I do, but what they don’t understand is that I don’t care if they don’t finish it all, order all you want just take home and actually eat what is left over or give it to me for god’s sake. I have been to dinner twice with IG and both times she didn’t finish her meal and both times she didn’t offer me any and didn’t take it home. And I was still hungry both times. Actually the second time I took the second half of her steak because I wasn’t going to let a good filet go to waste but by the time I got to it, it was cold and although I will eat almost anything at room temperature steak is not one of them. Not that I haven’t I just don’t like to. So we finish our food. We finally get a second seat and IG has opened up a tab and has started feeding me drinks, something she seems fond of doing, seems strange to me but I haven’t complained yet. The Ass has moved up to a bar in Wrigleyville and the place we are at is not that entertaining. The only attractive women in the entire place are sitting on either side of me, and the one not with me has been under siege by a guy who wouldn’t stop talking about himself and looked like an ugly version of Bluto from Animal House. This guy just kept talking about himself and how cool he was and just as I was thinking could this guy be anymore full of himself, he says, outloud, “I love myself, I really do”. No shit jackass. He made the mistake of walking away for a few minutes and when he came back she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. So he closed his tab and left. Thank god. A few minutes later the women get up to leave and ask for their tab, and ask if they had the right tab and Bartender says yeah, I put all your other drinks on that guy’s tab. They say no wonder he was pissed. Seems about right though. He should have to pay something for making that woman listen to his drunken narcissism.
We head for Wrigleyville with the agreement that if we can’t find parking we will head for home. With food and drink in my belly I am a little more patient and actually make two passes and find a space about a block away, and in Chicago anything within a block is rock star parking. Bernie’s like every other bar in the city is packed. But I find the Ass and Cutie Pie pretty easily. Cutie Pie has a friend not as cute not as engaging. IG does not seem to be entertained. We order drinks and more drinks and she still won’t talk to anyone but me. I talk to everyone because that is what I do. Cutie Pie asked me how many outstanding tickets I had. I said lots. She said were you on the boot list. Apparently, eh. She said she is worried because she is on the boot list. I ask how many tickets she has. Five. Five, I say you are small potatoes I was like on the Ten Most Wanted List. She say it is more like…. And puts up all ten fingers. I laugh and say we are talking about parking tickets not past lovers. S he laughs. You can say the real number, but about that other thing you should stick with five.
IG has to work in the morning so she needs to leave, but has conveniently left stuff at my apartment so I have to leave with her. She pays her tab. I say good bye to Ass, Cutie Pie and her friends more of which had shown up in the mean time. Cutie Pie gives me a kiss on the cheek. IG walks out apparently saying good bye to no one. She later tells me she said goodbye. I have my doubts.
We talk to That Drunk Girl on the phone on the way back home TDG has met IG in the past and is asking me questions about IG and if I slept with her and is wondering why I am being so vague with my answers so I say she wants to say Hi, and hand over the phone. When I get the phone back she starts laughing and says why the fuck you didn’t tell me she was in the car. We laugh some more because that is what we do. I hang up.
We get back to the apartment and IG immediately pours me a drink (see what I mean) I have better ideas of what to do with our remaining time. So I say good bye to her. For about a half an hour or so. It takes her another 30 min or so to get her shit together. That girl kills me.
I call Ass back and he has left the bar and has dropped Cutie Pie off. He makes sure to mention that he made out with her for a while. Gotta be happy for him.
It is not really too late to go out at this point but I don’t know where anyone else is and am not energized enough to find out. But I can’t sleep. I fall asleep at 6am and wake up at ten and go to try to get my car out of hock. I call my bank and my paycheck has gone through a day early. Go me! Which turns out to be a good thing because it turns out I owe $2200 not just $2000. So I would have been a $100 short. I takes about 30 min for paper work and such, and when the lady calls to have the crew unboot my car they tell her that they were on the way to tow my car. Bastards. I am glad she made the call before we were done with the payment and paperwork because I would have been doomed.
She tells me it will be a few hours to get the boot off. Fuck. I have to be at Monkey’s house in an two hours and she has a band competition in 3 hours.
It takes me 20 minutes to get home by bus and miraculously the boot is already off. Praise Paperweight Jesus! (I’ll explain later) But as I get closer, I see what? A ticket hanging off my side window. Bastards ticketed me for being in a rush hour zone during rush hour, even though it was quite obvious that I was completely incapable of moving the vehicle. I so need to move to Zimbabwe.
Anyway, I make it to get monkey by noon, and all goes well. This post took 3 hours of writing time, 7 days of real time and has made me late once again.
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