Well I put my notice in at work last Thursday and that night before I went to bed I received an email stating that the following day would be my last. It was bittersweet. I was glad to leave but nervous about money, mainly because I have none. Then my wheels started turning. Maybe they would give me at least a weeks pay for the sudden notice? Nope. Not one penny more and they actually had me stay later than I was supposed to! Phew...glad that's over. On top of the stress of money, I found out that my mom is going to be renting her house to my boyfriend and I and a friend of ours. Sweet! Wait, we have no money...shit. Time to get some! As if the stress isn't enough right now, I've decided to start two businesses. I know, I'm crazy. More on that as more becomes finalized, but for now here's a look into my first three days of freedom:
Day One of my new life was extremely lazy. It's too embarrassing to even think about.
Day Two started with a thorough car cleaning in temperatures just peaking thirty degrees with The Dead Weather blaring out of my dad's garage. After that I sorted out pennies from the rest of my almost twenty bucks worth of change and then decided to re-alphabetize my records and listen to a few.
Day Three was a little more social. After dropping my boyfriend off at work, I picked up our soon to be roommate and we went over to check out my mom's house which lead to my mom taking us our to lunch. The menu had vegetarian options! The food was good but the decor was country diarrhea, hard to digest. After we all went our separate ways I stopped in a Verizon only to waste my time. They really should change the name to Verjizzon. I picked up my boyfriend, he made a tasty vegan pizza and I made a vegan texas cake. I meant to take pictures but we were hungry. Sorry.
I'm definitely looking forward to spend more time learning how to cook and bake vegan, sewing too. Ad of course I'll have more time to spend with my awesome boyfriend and friends. Life may be a little tough right now, but I'm doing OK. I'm happy and I can't wait for the future.
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Flash Memories of a Dead Bird
I have memories that often pop into my head at the most irrelevant of times. I’ll be watching a Julia Roberts movie and all of a sudden….BAM! I remember planning to attack a fellow classmate out in the hall because he allegedly cheated on a friend. She held his arms and I kicked him square in the nuts. Combat boots were cool and socially acceptable in sixth grade at the time. I haven’t spoken to either of them in well over ten years but the memory still lingers like poop on a finger. This happens a lot to me, not poop on the finger, the memories.
Another memory that consistently pops into my head is from when I was a little girl. My grandma lived close to a train station and many felons. We’d go for long walks on uneven sidewalks and for some reason there were always dead baby birds laying right there on the concrete in front of us. Any normal adult would tell a child not to touch dead animals but my grandma didn’t exactly live by the norms. I also wasn’t a normal kid. I would crouch down next to these dead little birds and wonder how they died and why no one saved them. Their eyes were usually half closed, their beaks open just enough for me to close one eye to peak into their mouths, their bald little heads made me smile and I was always mesmerized that they had more skin than feathers. In her most exaggerated and saddened tone, that always made me feel guilty, my grandma would explain how horrible it was for that mama bird to lose her babies…usually followed by some praying to a saint or Jesus. Then she’d tell me to place it under the tree and I would walk the lifeless bird off the sidewalk and to the tree it came from. The baby bird took up my entire five-year-old palms and I would slowly walk it over to the tree, resting it against the bark while my grandma held her hand out for mine to continue our walk. I’d always look up for the nest and close my eyes out of respect for mother bird’s loss. If I concentrate hard enough I can still remember how their tiny bones felt under their loose, wrinkly skin.
About a month ago, while walking with friends through a park I saw a bird, full grown though, just sitting on the ground. It was hard to tell if it was alive or dead so I crept closer and closer trying to get a better look. It was so strange. It looked alive, the way it was sitting there, but it was completely motionless. The first thing I thought to do was to pick it up and move it under a tree. I instantly started taking a mental inventory of the contents in my car, trying to figure what I could use to carry the still bird. After being told several times to leave the bird alone I decided it was probably best and I looked down at the bird. I was very sorry that I couldn’t help it, my five-year-old self would be extremely disappointed. I looked up at the trees, trying to figure out where it came from as I started backing away. I looked back a few times at the bird while we walked away and couldn’t help but be stunned. I still think about that bird and wonder what happened to it. I can’t help but wonder if it was a sign from my grandma.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Cars, Trains and Things Found Along The Way
I just developed a roll of film from this past July. The girl at the drugstore was very friendly and helpful when I warned her that I had been having trouble with the film door on my camera. I left feeling confident and anxious to see what was on that roll of film. Most of all, I hoped it wasn’t all exposed. The photo tech chatted about holidays with me for a while and then told me to come back in about half an hour.
When I walked into the store just a little over thirty minutes later there was no one at the photo counter. I waited while looking in the corners of my eyes for my friendly photo tech to hand me my pictures with a smile on her face…I waited and waited. I finally spotted her down an aisle changing sale signs on items. I stood in her view to give her the old “I’m waiting, but I’m patient” message. I still waited. I started shuffling around to make some movement and noise until I heard her walking towards me. She was walking fast and seemed upset to see me. I frowned. Did I do something wrong? Did my pictures not come out? I was so nervous you would have thought I was there to ID a body.
“So…how’d they come out?” I asked the girl while biting my lower lip.
“Eh…”
“Oh no, were they exposed?”
“Some of them, not too bad…here, you can look through them if you want,” she said while throwing the pictures down on the counter at me.
Then I realized why her attitude changed towards me in just half an hour. The roll of film was filled with pictures of underage drinking, some offensive things and children. This girl definitely no longer wanted to associate with me. I could have explained that I had a flat tire in the middle of nowhere with some railroad tracks splitting down the middle and taking pictures passed the time, but if I did that I wouldn’t have a story to share these pictures with you.
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| I don't know how to change a tire. This is not me. |
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| The scenery is beautiful at 1460 feet above sea level. |
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| A stroll down some tracks seems like a good idea. |
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| You wanna go faster than a snail's pace while crossing any tracks. |
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| Uhhhh...time to turn around! |
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| WHAT THE FUCK?! |
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| West is best. |
The flat tire journey was short, but well lived. I’m going to have to take the next roll someplace else…who knows what’s on the rest!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Party 1999
The other night I walked into a party in a small, two bedroom apartment and was instantly greeted by an overwhelming stink, a punch in the face, of liquor followed by four sluts staring me down. They were crammed on a couch together and dressed like they were hoping to get raped at a club later (fingers crossed). Sitting across from them was with a tall, skinny kid who tried to be a lot cooler than he’ll ever be. Walking through the apartment we passed a DJ sitting in the corner and, of course, more assholes and sluts. We made our way to the back of the apartment, propping ourselves against the kitchen counter, standing next to the table that was being used for beer pong and barely big enough for a family of four to crowd around. There was a short, muscular built kid playing beer pong next to us. He wore a tight, black tank top, had a buzzed faux hawk and lots of Asian character tattoos on his pock marked covered body. I’d like to think he was 25 or so, but he looked more like 38 and had a slight lisp. Oh, did I mention that he kept fist pumping? All night.
I ended up following this kid and watching his every move, listening to every word he had to say. At first I’m pretty confident he thought I was interested in him because my eyes barely left him and I was constantly smiling. If I wasn’t looking at him he would get my attention by waving his arms at me or make a clicking noise. Not only did I respond to the clicking the noises, I gave him my attention and once he got it he would do something stupid to show off, like make fun of the guy next to him, fist pump and he even threw a couple dance moves in my direction. He approached me at one point when I was standing alone. Looking back on it, I wish I did accept his offer to play beer pong and I would have told him a fake name like Beverly and follow it with a story about how one day I’ll move to Jersey, one day. But once he realized I was with someone he stopped trying to get my attention. Don’t start thinking he has values, I overheard later on that he took advantage of a girl the night before. He spotted a cute high school blonde girl on her way to the kitchen like a hawk eyeing his prey. It was go time.
“A lot of people say I look like Ronnie,” the douche bag said.
“Who?” the little girl asked while squinting her eyes.
“Yo, you watch Jersey Shore?” he turned to asked me. Wait it really that obvious I was listening? Maybe the giant grin on my face gave it away.
“No, never seen it,” I replied honestly (and proudly…but now I’m considering becoming a fan).
“Some people watch shows with more substance,” the feisty blonde added while giving “Ronnie” a dirty look.
“What? What?!” he was upset. I was in heaven. He gave her a couple “why I outta” looks (WHO DOES THAT ANYMORE?!) and then a smile. Oh this guy was smooth, real smooth…unlike his skin. “I like your necklace,” he muttered out while throwing his ping pong ball in the red cups and his creepy side glance to her.
“Thanks,” the uninterested blonde said.
“You like my hair?” he asked her about his tiny and sad wannabe mohawk.
“No, I don’t like that kind of hair style.” This girl was turning out to be my hero.
He was in her face and just staring in her eyes, he was angry. After whispering something to her for a good minute or two she stormed away back to her friends. Class act gentlemanly things were said I’m assuming. He tapped my leg with his foot and sat down in a chair in a corner while putting his arms behind his head. He flexed his muscles as his opponent made his shot. Was this guy real? I was confused. Should I burst out laughing or punch him in the face?
While pondering this brutal dilemma I was distracted by the host of the party chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels. Coming into the party the bottle was half full (or empty, take it as you’d like…PESIMIST!), two hours later there was nothing left in that bottle. I feel a movie voice coming on…”One bottle. One man. Two hours.” He began humping imaginary women between steps (most likely the only thing he’s ever humped besides a pillow), sweating profusely and slapping girl’s asses as they went to get more vodka from the freezer. America’s sweetheart, ladies and gentlemen! As the girls were doing their ice cold shots of Mr. Boston vodka, we figured it was a good time to go outside and have a cigarette.
A reality check was desperately needed. When we walked back into the party there was an unconscious man being propped up on a chair like something out of Weekend at Bernie’s. The sluts hurried and gathered around him for pictures. Screaming and laughing as they tried to hold him up. Turns out it was their boss that they all decided to intentionally black mail. What kind of fuckery is this?! “Ronnie” began to pout in the corner since all the attention was taken away from him by a half dead man. The DJ started spinning some old 90’s club songs, the high school girls became upset because they wanted their Solja Boy or whatever else shit music they enjoy. Oh, don’t mind the guy in the living room that may or may not be breathing. I was becoming a little worried about the situation. There was weed, high school girls, lots of booze and I’m pretty sure there was some coke going on in the bathroom, oh, and someone with a blood alcohol content that would make Mel Gibson weak in the knees. Once we realized he was breathing I just hoped he would puke on one of the sluts posing for pictures with him. Luckily for them, they moved just in time. They all laughed hysterically as vomit poured out of his mouth as if someone just simply turned a knob to a faucet.
“This mutha fucka puked all over himself!” they screamed and jumped, rolling around like turtles on their backs.
They took a couple more pictures, added some to facebook (yes, of their boss passed out and covered in puke) and started passing around a blunt. As I waited for my turn with the wacky tobacky, I noticed that there was a lap dance about to happen…right next to me! He started bouncing and swaying in front of her while she wiggled in her chair with her arms up. They were both so ugly it was hard to watch, but I stared for as long as possible without my retinas burning. He started lifting up his shirt and she pushed him away. Puff, puff, pass.
A guy with Jesus bling about the size of his fist came in with his girl eating a burrito. He saw our unconscious friend, still propped up in a chair and laughed so hard till he was on the ground. His unimpressed girlfriend continued to chow down on her burrito. She was…remarkable. Her jeans were a couple sizes too tight, her robot t-shirt was just big enough to cover whatever skin fell through the cracks and she had uneven fire engine red bangs. She was expressionless all night. I loved her. They started sharing their pictures with him and he wanted in on the action, he asked his girlfriend to take a picture but she was too busy with her burrito.
“Woman, get your ass over here and take a picture!” he yelled at her while holding a pose on one knee and the empty bottle of Jack resting on the unconscious.
“What you want? A picture?” she juggled her phone and burrito until she figured out how to take a picture without letting go of that fucking burrito. Her boyfriend and his Jesus bling laughed till he dropped again. She still ate her burrito. After calming down he started eating some kind of Slim Jim sausage about the size of a sharpie marker without the cap. He wiggled it in all the slut’s faces before taking a bite. I did the best I could trying to control my laughter but apparently not good enough since I got a couple more dirty looks to add to my collection for the night.
The DJ saw “Ronnie” pouting and started messing with him. Spinning songs perfect for fist pumping and yelled, “Come on, man! Where’s The Situation at?” He did this several times as “Ronnie” just glared at him from across the room. I thought for sure there was going to be a fight. Some of the sluts joined in with the DJ as they fist pumped in front of him while laughing. “Ronnie” never laughed. His eyes were squinty, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed tightly down while he gave everyone dirty looks. Obviously I loved every minute of this display of public humiliation and “Ronnie” took note, he was flashing the scowled look at me throughout the night. Clearly he knew I was laughing at him all night instead of with him. Poor “Ronnie.” We ended up leaving shortly after some peer pressure by the classy partygoers to go to the clubs. Eh, no thanks. I’m sure the clubs would promise even more entertainment but I do have some self-respect. The whole way home we laughed about the party. We’re still laughing.
I ended up following this kid and watching his every move, listening to every word he had to say. At first I’m pretty confident he thought I was interested in him because my eyes barely left him and I was constantly smiling. If I wasn’t looking at him he would get my attention by waving his arms at me or make a clicking noise. Not only did I respond to the clicking the noises, I gave him my attention and once he got it he would do something stupid to show off, like make fun of the guy next to him, fist pump and he even threw a couple dance moves in my direction. He approached me at one point when I was standing alone. Looking back on it, I wish I did accept his offer to play beer pong and I would have told him a fake name like Beverly and follow it with a story about how one day I’ll move to Jersey, one day. But once he realized I was with someone he stopped trying to get my attention. Don’t start thinking he has values, I overheard later on that he took advantage of a girl the night before. He spotted a cute high school blonde girl on her way to the kitchen like a hawk eyeing his prey. It was go time.
“A lot of people say I look like Ronnie,” the douche bag said.
“Who?” the little girl asked while squinting her eyes.
“Yo, you watch Jersey Shore?” he turned to asked me. Wait it really that obvious I was listening? Maybe the giant grin on my face gave it away.
“No, never seen it,” I replied honestly (and proudly…but now I’m considering becoming a fan).
“Some people watch shows with more substance,” the feisty blonde added while giving “Ronnie” a dirty look.
“What? What?!” he was upset. I was in heaven. He gave her a couple “why I outta” looks (WHO DOES THAT ANYMORE?!) and then a smile. Oh this guy was smooth, real smooth…unlike his skin. “I like your necklace,” he muttered out while throwing his ping pong ball in the red cups and his creepy side glance to her.
“Thanks,” the uninterested blonde said.
“You like my hair?” he asked her about his tiny and sad wannabe mohawk.
“No, I don’t like that kind of hair style.” This girl was turning out to be my hero.
He was in her face and just staring in her eyes, he was angry. After whispering something to her for a good minute or two she stormed away back to her friends. Class act gentlemanly things were said I’m assuming. He tapped my leg with his foot and sat down in a chair in a corner while putting his arms behind his head. He flexed his muscles as his opponent made his shot. Was this guy real? I was confused. Should I burst out laughing or punch him in the face?
While pondering this brutal dilemma I was distracted by the host of the party chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels. Coming into the party the bottle was half full (or empty, take it as you’d like…PESIMIST!), two hours later there was nothing left in that bottle. I feel a movie voice coming on…”One bottle. One man. Two hours.” He began humping imaginary women between steps (most likely the only thing he’s ever humped besides a pillow), sweating profusely and slapping girl’s asses as they went to get more vodka from the freezer. America’s sweetheart, ladies and gentlemen! As the girls were doing their ice cold shots of Mr. Boston vodka, we figured it was a good time to go outside and have a cigarette.
A reality check was desperately needed. When we walked back into the party there was an unconscious man being propped up on a chair like something out of Weekend at Bernie’s. The sluts hurried and gathered around him for pictures. Screaming and laughing as they tried to hold him up. Turns out it was their boss that they all decided to intentionally black mail. What kind of fuckery is this?! “Ronnie” began to pout in the corner since all the attention was taken away from him by a half dead man. The DJ started spinning some old 90’s club songs, the high school girls became upset because they wanted their Solja Boy or whatever else shit music they enjoy. Oh, don’t mind the guy in the living room that may or may not be breathing. I was becoming a little worried about the situation. There was weed, high school girls, lots of booze and I’m pretty sure there was some coke going on in the bathroom, oh, and someone with a blood alcohol content that would make Mel Gibson weak in the knees. Once we realized he was breathing I just hoped he would puke on one of the sluts posing for pictures with him. Luckily for them, they moved just in time. They all laughed hysterically as vomit poured out of his mouth as if someone just simply turned a knob to a faucet.
“This mutha fucka puked all over himself!” they screamed and jumped, rolling around like turtles on their backs.
They took a couple more pictures, added some to facebook (yes, of their boss passed out and covered in puke) and started passing around a blunt. As I waited for my turn with the wacky tobacky, I noticed that there was a lap dance about to happen…right next to me! He started bouncing and swaying in front of her while she wiggled in her chair with her arms up. They were both so ugly it was hard to watch, but I stared for as long as possible without my retinas burning. He started lifting up his shirt and she pushed him away. Puff, puff, pass.
A guy with Jesus bling about the size of his fist came in with his girl eating a burrito. He saw our unconscious friend, still propped up in a chair and laughed so hard till he was on the ground. His unimpressed girlfriend continued to chow down on her burrito. She was…remarkable. Her jeans were a couple sizes too tight, her robot t-shirt was just big enough to cover whatever skin fell through the cracks and she had uneven fire engine red bangs. She was expressionless all night. I loved her. They started sharing their pictures with him and he wanted in on the action, he asked his girlfriend to take a picture but she was too busy with her burrito.
“Woman, get your ass over here and take a picture!” he yelled at her while holding a pose on one knee and the empty bottle of Jack resting on the unconscious.
“What you want? A picture?” she juggled her phone and burrito until she figured out how to take a picture without letting go of that fucking burrito. Her boyfriend and his Jesus bling laughed till he dropped again. She still ate her burrito. After calming down he started eating some kind of Slim Jim sausage about the size of a sharpie marker without the cap. He wiggled it in all the slut’s faces before taking a bite. I did the best I could trying to control my laughter but apparently not good enough since I got a couple more dirty looks to add to my collection for the night.
The DJ saw “Ronnie” pouting and started messing with him. Spinning songs perfect for fist pumping and yelled, “Come on, man! Where’s The Situation at?” He did this several times as “Ronnie” just glared at him from across the room. I thought for sure there was going to be a fight. Some of the sluts joined in with the DJ as they fist pumped in front of him while laughing. “Ronnie” never laughed. His eyes were squinty, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed tightly down while he gave everyone dirty looks. Obviously I loved every minute of this display of public humiliation and “Ronnie” took note, he was flashing the scowled look at me throughout the night. Clearly he knew I was laughing at him all night instead of with him. Poor “Ronnie.” We ended up leaving shortly after some peer pressure by the classy partygoers to go to the clubs. Eh, no thanks. I’m sure the clubs would promise even more entertainment but I do have some self-respect. The whole way home we laughed about the party. We’re still laughing.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Cologne, Gasoline and Italian Sausage
There’s an area downtown littered with bars that attracts douche bags and sluts. In fact, you might find those Jersey Shore fucks fist pumping there…Snooki came to town just a few months back! Wait that probably isn’t something to brag about. Anyways, it’s rare I stumble down douche drive but when I do I try my best to make sure I’m good and drunk. This particular night a few years ago was a success! I drank enough booze to fuel two lawnmowers. Believe me, after spending a night at these bars you’d have to drink at least that much just to stop yourself from choking on your own vomit all night. One sure sign that I’ve had too much to drink is when my mouth salivates at the sight of the truck that serves greasy meat, or as it’s known around here, “Street Meat”. Tasty, right? We joined the line and started with the usual small talk while waiting to order.
“What are you getting?”
“I dunno, maybe a cheeseburger. What are you getting?”
While my friends and I are having this delicious conversation the guy in line ahead of me decides to chime in with his wise words as he overhears that I want an Italian sausage.
“Hey, I got your Italian sausage right here!” he says while grabbing his bulge which I’m sure was 97% balls and 3% wiener. Instantly I was impressed with his wit, creativity and originality. I turned my head slowly to share my look of disgust and noticed that he was the epitome of a douche bag. He was wearing black dress shoes, ripped jeans with a button down shirt that seemed to have lost a lot of buttons, gold chains, at least three bottles of gel in his hair to get it to blow out all nice like and he smelled like he rubbed every cologne sample he could find from a magazine all over his body. Were his eyebrows waxed? I don’t remember.
I started by ignoring his comment which only made him say it louder and more often. The genius and his comrades laughed as he continued to tell me what I could do with his sausage (or cocktail wiener), he was right where I wanted him. Suddenly I started to comment on his offensive odor.
“Oh, God! What is that smell?” I started to sniff heavily as my friends nervously laughed. “Ugh! Oh! Oh, God! It smells so bad! Do you smell that?” I said to the prize standing next to me.
“Uh, no.”
“Oh, God…it smells like cologne...like really, really bad cologne. You don’t smell that?” He knew it was him.
“No,” he said while his smile escaped his face.
“Oh my God! It’s horrible! Someone really reeks!” I continued to yell as he tried to ignore me. This wasn’t working. I had to take it a step further. The car parked on the street behind me smelled like it was leaking gasoline. Perfect. “Is that gasoline? Do you guys smell gasoline?” I asked my friends. They encouraged me to stop and I was not going to let that happen. This was just about to get good! I was crossing the line and it felt so right, so good. I continued to sniff around and yell that someone smelled like gasoline and cologne. My Italian sausage friend kept looking over at me and he looked angry. This held so much more satisfaction than any name I could call him!
“Do you smell gasoline?” I asked him.
“No, not really,” he said while trying to blow me off.
“Ugh!” I moaned over the stench, “It smells so bad! Like gasoline and cologne.” I continued to dramatically sniff while his friends ordered their street meat until I finally sealed the deal and began to put my nose as close as I could to his body and inhaled deeply.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” he yelled.
“Oh my God! I think it’s you!” I shouted. “It’s you!”
“Sssssstoooop,” my friends whispered as I continued to ignore them.
“What?! No it’s not you crazy bitch!”
“No, it really is you!” I leaned in closer, “You smell like gasoline…and cologne.” I said this a few more times until I could feel him glaring down at me.
Our eyes met as I was practically resting my head on his chest. Right at that very tender moment a cab pulled up in front of the car that smelled like gasoline and a skinny, blonde kid in his twenties stepped out. Italian sausage spun around and knocked the kid out with a punch and took off running. Blondie laid on the cement in shock as a small crowd started to form. We decided pizza seemed like a better option and left.
“What are you getting?”
“I dunno, maybe a cheeseburger. What are you getting?”
While my friends and I are having this delicious conversation the guy in line ahead of me decides to chime in with his wise words as he overhears that I want an Italian sausage.
“Hey, I got your Italian sausage right here!” he says while grabbing his bulge which I’m sure was 97% balls and 3% wiener. Instantly I was impressed with his wit, creativity and originality. I turned my head slowly to share my look of disgust and noticed that he was the epitome of a douche bag. He was wearing black dress shoes, ripped jeans with a button down shirt that seemed to have lost a lot of buttons, gold chains, at least three bottles of gel in his hair to get it to blow out all nice like and he smelled like he rubbed every cologne sample he could find from a magazine all over his body. Were his eyebrows waxed? I don’t remember.
I started by ignoring his comment which only made him say it louder and more often. The genius and his comrades laughed as he continued to tell me what I could do with his sausage (or cocktail wiener), he was right where I wanted him. Suddenly I started to comment on his offensive odor.
“Oh, God! What is that smell?” I started to sniff heavily as my friends nervously laughed. “Ugh! Oh! Oh, God! It smells so bad! Do you smell that?” I said to the prize standing next to me.
“Uh, no.”
“Oh, God…it smells like cologne...like really, really bad cologne. You don’t smell that?” He knew it was him.
“No,” he said while his smile escaped his face.
“Oh my God! It’s horrible! Someone really reeks!” I continued to yell as he tried to ignore me. This wasn’t working. I had to take it a step further. The car parked on the street behind me smelled like it was leaking gasoline. Perfect. “Is that gasoline? Do you guys smell gasoline?” I asked my friends. They encouraged me to stop and I was not going to let that happen. This was just about to get good! I was crossing the line and it felt so right, so good. I continued to sniff around and yell that someone smelled like gasoline and cologne. My Italian sausage friend kept looking over at me and he looked angry. This held so much more satisfaction than any name I could call him!
“Do you smell gasoline?” I asked him.
“No, not really,” he said while trying to blow me off.
“Ugh!” I moaned over the stench, “It smells so bad! Like gasoline and cologne.” I continued to dramatically sniff while his friends ordered their street meat until I finally sealed the deal and began to put my nose as close as I could to his body and inhaled deeply.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” he yelled.
“Oh my God! I think it’s you!” I shouted. “It’s you!”
“Sssssstoooop,” my friends whispered as I continued to ignore them.
“What?! No it’s not you crazy bitch!”
“No, it really is you!” I leaned in closer, “You smell like gasoline…and cologne.” I said this a few more times until I could feel him glaring down at me.
Our eyes met as I was practically resting my head on his chest. Right at that very tender moment a cab pulled up in front of the car that smelled like gasoline and a skinny, blonde kid in his twenties stepped out. Italian sausage spun around and knocked the kid out with a punch and took off running. Blondie laid on the cement in shock as a small crowd started to form. We decided pizza seemed like a better option and left.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Bartonville, Illinois: Always Room For One More
When the weather becomes extreme I tend to want the complete opposite weather. Sometimes the winter around here feels like it will never end and all I can dream is a warm, sandy beach with waves gently crashing onshore while I sip a strong margarita. But I’m typing this while in the beginning of a heat wave and there is nothing I want more than to build a snowman and watch some football. Grass is always greener, right? Well, I think I found something to melt that snowman and be thankful for no snow on the roads!
Looks like a road trip to Bartonville, Illinois is in my future! How exciting! Oh, Bartonville! Known for…well, um…is it near Chicago? OK, OK, so it’s a suburb about three hours away from Chicago and it’s not as lame as it sounds! Sitting in Bartonville is an old asylum that was abandoned during 1973. The now decaying, vandalized buildings, that used to be part of Peoria State Hospital, certainly are not completely abandoned. There are ghost stories that will raise a brow of any skeptic. By no means am I a skeptic, I’ve seen and heard plenty. I try to hold in my giggles when I come across a non-believer, I’ve been with many skeptics before and they have witnessed the same events and are now full on believers. Something tells me that this place with convert any skeptic! But it’s not so much the idea of experiencing anything supernatural that intrigues me.
I’ve always been fascinated with the insane. None of us are completely sane (if you are…you’re probably the most insane individual out there). It’s interesting how the definition of sanity evolved over time. What is sane now was insane and many innocent, healthy people were locked away to never join society again. If your child was born on a full moon it would be considered possessed, instantly insane and taken away to the loony bin to live his life. Torture was certainly common and considered a treatment, not to mention basic abuse and neglect. Lobotomies, branding and blood draining, OH MY! Sounds like the men and women behind these hospitals were lunatics themselves, but that was the norm. Most asylums were created to keep the “crazies” locked up and away from the public, like a prison. And most “patients” were treated as prisoners instead of receiving the care and treatment needed. The Peoria State Hospital was a revolutionary hospital that had no bars on doors or windows, no restraints. Were inhumane treatments practiced on patients? I’m not sure, but I’d love to find out!
The Bartonville Insane Asylum is actually open for tours! It would be an absolute treat to learn more about this hospital, patients, staff and history. Overnight paranormal tours are offered, but I’d love to walk and talk with someone familiar with the grounds and history. Tropical destinations are overrated anyways. I know what you’re thinking…I’m crazy.
Looks like a road trip to Bartonville, Illinois is in my future! How exciting! Oh, Bartonville! Known for…well, um…is it near Chicago? OK, OK, so it’s a suburb about three hours away from Chicago and it’s not as lame as it sounds! Sitting in Bartonville is an old asylum that was abandoned during 1973. The now decaying, vandalized buildings, that used to be part of Peoria State Hospital, certainly are not completely abandoned. There are ghost stories that will raise a brow of any skeptic. By no means am I a skeptic, I’ve seen and heard plenty. I try to hold in my giggles when I come across a non-believer, I’ve been with many skeptics before and they have witnessed the same events and are now full on believers. Something tells me that this place with convert any skeptic! But it’s not so much the idea of experiencing anything supernatural that intrigues me.
I’ve always been fascinated with the insane. None of us are completely sane (if you are…you’re probably the most insane individual out there). It’s interesting how the definition of sanity evolved over time. What is sane now was insane and many innocent, healthy people were locked away to never join society again. If your child was born on a full moon it would be considered possessed, instantly insane and taken away to the loony bin to live his life. Torture was certainly common and considered a treatment, not to mention basic abuse and neglect. Lobotomies, branding and blood draining, OH MY! Sounds like the men and women behind these hospitals were lunatics themselves, but that was the norm. Most asylums were created to keep the “crazies” locked up and away from the public, like a prison. And most “patients” were treated as prisoners instead of receiving the care and treatment needed. The Peoria State Hospital was a revolutionary hospital that had no bars on doors or windows, no restraints. Were inhumane treatments practiced on patients? I’m not sure, but I’d love to find out!
The Bartonville Insane Asylum is actually open for tours! It would be an absolute treat to learn more about this hospital, patients, staff and history. Overnight paranormal tours are offered, but I’d love to walk and talk with someone familiar with the grounds and history. Tropical destinations are overrated anyways. I know what you’re thinking…I’m crazy.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Hausu
After many hours of drinking and what have you, I purchased this movie on DVD last night. I don't even know what to say, I'm completely speechless. Watch the trailer and you'll understand.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Perfect Trusting Strangers
I thought tonight was going be a rather dull and ordinary evening of me watching t.v. in bed all night, but I was dead wrong. I got a tweet from a friend asking if I could bring her coffee to her work. She works in the pharmacy at a drug store and told me to come to the drive thru window so she could give me a gift card to use at Starbucks. We laughed at how awkward and random the situation was of talking to one another through a microphone. Starbucks was in the same plaza, just a couple hundred feet away from the drug store. Before I pulled out of the drive thru to head over to Starbucks, I waited for a woman to cross. She looked at me as if she knew me, but I had never seen her in my life. She came over to my window and asked for a ride.
"Oh, I'm just going to Starbucks for a friend," I explain to her. She squinted her eyes behind those gray thick framed glasses from 1989, giving a tired look.
"Well, can you give me a ride?" she asked.
"To Starbucks?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah."
"It's right there," as I pointed, she looked over and squinted to the building just across the way. She seemed lost and confused.
"Oh, well I'm not from around here. I'm trying to find my friend and I need to get to the mall. Please, could you give me a ride there?"
"The mall?" I asked, knowing the closet mall was about twenty minutes away.
"Yeah, you know where Target and Wegmans is?"
"Oh! Yeah, but I'm really just getting coffee for my friend," I told her (Target and Wegmans were only ten minutes driving down the road).
"Oh please," she begged, "I've been standing outside of Walmart asking people for a dollar so I can get the bus down there. No one would give me a dollar. I'm cold and tired and it looks like it's going to rain."
"OK." I said with barely thinking. I moved my bag and coat off the passenger seat.
"Really?! Oh thank you so much! My name is Karen," she said while stretching her arm out to shake my hand.
"Hi, Karen. I'm Sarah," I said while shaking her hand. My friends coffee would be coming late.
"I really appreciate this. I've been standing outside for so long and you know those people had a dollar. I just want to find my friend. You see, I was just in some trouble and I just got out of trouble and I'm not looking for anymore trouble. I'm just so tired and thirsty...and hungry," she told me as I thought to myself that I must be insane.
"Well, that is a far way to walk, I've done it before. And if it was windy like this and about to rain, I'd hope someone would give me a ride too," I said to her wondering what kind of trouble she was talking about just before.
"God bless you! It's just so cold! Now let me ask you if I could borrow twenty or thirty dollars and I can pay you fifty dollars back? Or one-hundred dollars and I'll pay you back more later."
"You're asking the wrong person," I told her while laughing. I explained to her that I was just about flat broke. All the money I had in my bank account would fill my gas tank.
"Oh, well I understand. You know, it's not worth it. I've been in trouble and ain't nothing worth going back to where I was. You're not worth it. You know I could get six years for taking one-hundred dollars from you?" she asked.
"Wow. Six years for one-hundred dollars?" I asked, not so sure exactly what was happening.
"Mmmmhmmmm, six years. Listen, I'm just looking for my friend. I don't know this city. I got in some trouble here and ended up in jail and I just got out and all I'm looking for is some help."
"Oh. Does she live out this way?" I asked.
"I don't even know. I'm just so thirsty and hungry and tired. I've been drinking tap water out of store bathrooms. I haven't eaten in two days and I'm just so tired. I just need to get over there and look for her." she said while fumbling through her huge red purse. She saw me glance over.
"Well, if you're hungry I might have a couple of singles I could give you, but I'm not sure how much I have. I know it's not much."
"Bless you. Aren't you scared that I might kill you or something?" she asked me while still rummaging through her bag.
"Well, now I am!" I said to her being almost completely serious. "I wouldn't have opened my door for you though if you looked threatening."
"No, no, no. I don't mean anybody no harm. I just want to find my friend and stay out of trouble." I believed her. I might have been crazy, but I believed her. She did seem very tired, exhausted even, and very out of sorts.
"Well, believe it or not, it's not the first time I've invited strangers in my car," I said while trying to see what she had in that red bag. Sounded like a bunch of paper.
"Do you smoke, baby?"
"No, I don't. Sorry."
"Oh no, that's OK. I'll just roll a cigarette real quick," and she pulled out a bag of tobacco and rolling papers, "I shared this pack with a nice woman I met yesterday." The cigarette was rolled and resting between her two fingers by the time I looked back over at her. "Oh shoot, I can't find my lighter. You don't have a lighter do you?"
"I don't think so, no. I don't even have a lighter adapter for my car," I said, actually feeling sad.
"No? Not even one of those car lighter things?" she asked looking toward my dashboard.
"They don't make them in newer cars now. Isn't that weird?" I'm sure she cared.
"Oh wow. They don't make them anymore? What year is this car?" Or maybe she did...
"It's a '97, but it doesn't have a lighter adapter," I said while showing her the plug that would have been a cigarette lighter.
"Oh, I've never seen that before," she said and then continued to dig even deeper into that purse (she didn't care).
"So do you live around here?" I asked.
"Oh no, I'm staying at this place right before West Main Street."
"Oh," I said thinking how far that was, "did you walk all the way from there?"
She looked at my very seriously and then said, "Yes, it's a long walk. That's why I appreciate any help I can get."
"Wow, that is a long walk. I road my bike once from the city to out here," I told her. It was true. Two summers ago I road my bike from my apartment off Monroe Ave to my parent's house in Chili for no reason.
"Oh you did? That's a long way! Why would you do that?" she asked me.
"I don't know, I guess I'm impulsive," I said while laughing, "but I'll tell you that my dad gave me a ride home."
"Oh you're funny!" She laughed. She looked out the window, "I didn't realize how far this was...you can drop me off up here and I can walk."
"It's just up the road, it's really not that far. I can take you."
"Oh well I feel bad. I just need to go somewhere and get a drink, I'm so thirsty. You can drop me off up here, I don't want to trouble you anymore," she said while holding that rolled cigarette.
"I'll take you up here so you can find you're friend. I don't mind." I told her again.
"I really do appreciate this. It's hard to trust people these days and you're giving me a ride to help me and I thank you for that," she said.
"Well, like I said, I just hope someone would give me a ride if I was in your situation."
"Oh, well you can just drop me off that this gas station. I am going to run in there, get a water, find some food and find a light," she said pointing to the gas station on the right just across from Wegmans and Target.
"Alright," I said while turning into the gas station.
"I can't thank you enough for this ride. You have no idea how much you just saved me," she said to me as I pulled along side the building.
"You're welcome. Let me see if I can give you some money to help you out," I said while opening my wallet and finding only a five-dollar bill, "Here, please buy yourself something to eat," I said while handing her the money.
"God bless you! I will!"
"I want you to take care of yourself, alright?" I said.
"Oh I will. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome."
"Oh and one more thing," she turned to me before she got out of my car, "how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-six," I said.
"I'm forty-two. It was nice to meet you!" And off she went.
"Take care of yourself!" I yelled out the window as she walked into the gas station.
I drove back down the road to Starbucks and dropped off coffee to my friend. And that's how I spent my Tuesday night. Ah, to live another day.
"Oh, I'm just going to Starbucks for a friend," I explain to her. She squinted her eyes behind those gray thick framed glasses from 1989, giving a tired look.
"Well, can you give me a ride?" she asked.
"To Starbucks?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah."
"It's right there," as I pointed, she looked over and squinted to the building just across the way. She seemed lost and confused.
"Oh, well I'm not from around here. I'm trying to find my friend and I need to get to the mall. Please, could you give me a ride there?"
"The mall?" I asked, knowing the closet mall was about twenty minutes away.
"Yeah, you know where Target and Wegmans is?"
"Oh! Yeah, but I'm really just getting coffee for my friend," I told her (Target and Wegmans were only ten minutes driving down the road).
"Oh please," she begged, "I've been standing outside of Walmart asking people for a dollar so I can get the bus down there. No one would give me a dollar. I'm cold and tired and it looks like it's going to rain."
"OK." I said with barely thinking. I moved my bag and coat off the passenger seat.
"Really?! Oh thank you so much! My name is Karen," she said while stretching her arm out to shake my hand.
"Hi, Karen. I'm Sarah," I said while shaking her hand. My friends coffee would be coming late.
"I really appreciate this. I've been standing outside for so long and you know those people had a dollar. I just want to find my friend. You see, I was just in some trouble and I just got out of trouble and I'm not looking for anymore trouble. I'm just so tired and thirsty...and hungry," she told me as I thought to myself that I must be insane.
"Well, that is a far way to walk, I've done it before. And if it was windy like this and about to rain, I'd hope someone would give me a ride too," I said to her wondering what kind of trouble she was talking about just before.
"God bless you! It's just so cold! Now let me ask you if I could borrow twenty or thirty dollars and I can pay you fifty dollars back? Or one-hundred dollars and I'll pay you back more later."
"You're asking the wrong person," I told her while laughing. I explained to her that I was just about flat broke. All the money I had in my bank account would fill my gas tank.
"Oh, well I understand. You know, it's not worth it. I've been in trouble and ain't nothing worth going back to where I was. You're not worth it. You know I could get six years for taking one-hundred dollars from you?" she asked.
"Wow. Six years for one-hundred dollars?" I asked, not so sure exactly what was happening.
"Mmmmhmmmm, six years. Listen, I'm just looking for my friend. I don't know this city. I got in some trouble here and ended up in jail and I just got out and all I'm looking for is some help."
"Oh. Does she live out this way?" I asked.
"I don't even know. I'm just so thirsty and hungry and tired. I've been drinking tap water out of store bathrooms. I haven't eaten in two days and I'm just so tired. I just need to get over there and look for her." she said while fumbling through her huge red purse. She saw me glance over.
"Well, if you're hungry I might have a couple of singles I could give you, but I'm not sure how much I have. I know it's not much."
"Bless you. Aren't you scared that I might kill you or something?" she asked me while still rummaging through her bag.
"Well, now I am!" I said to her being almost completely serious. "I wouldn't have opened my door for you though if you looked threatening."
"No, no, no. I don't mean anybody no harm. I just want to find my friend and stay out of trouble." I believed her. I might have been crazy, but I believed her. She did seem very tired, exhausted even, and very out of sorts.
"Well, believe it or not, it's not the first time I've invited strangers in my car," I said while trying to see what she had in that red bag. Sounded like a bunch of paper.
"Do you smoke, baby?"
"No, I don't. Sorry."
"Oh no, that's OK. I'll just roll a cigarette real quick," and she pulled out a bag of tobacco and rolling papers, "I shared this pack with a nice woman I met yesterday." The cigarette was rolled and resting between her two fingers by the time I looked back over at her. "Oh shoot, I can't find my lighter. You don't have a lighter do you?"
"I don't think so, no. I don't even have a lighter adapter for my car," I said, actually feeling sad.
"No? Not even one of those car lighter things?" she asked looking toward my dashboard.
"They don't make them in newer cars now. Isn't that weird?" I'm sure she cared.
"Oh wow. They don't make them anymore? What year is this car?" Or maybe she did...
"It's a '97, but it doesn't have a lighter adapter," I said while showing her the plug that would have been a cigarette lighter.
"Oh, I've never seen that before," she said and then continued to dig even deeper into that purse (she didn't care).
"So do you live around here?" I asked.
"Oh no, I'm staying at this place right before West Main Street."
"Oh," I said thinking how far that was, "did you walk all the way from there?"
She looked at my very seriously and then said, "Yes, it's a long walk. That's why I appreciate any help I can get."
"Wow, that is a long walk. I road my bike once from the city to out here," I told her. It was true. Two summers ago I road my bike from my apartment off Monroe Ave to my parent's house in Chili for no reason.
"Oh you did? That's a long way! Why would you do that?" she asked me.
"I don't know, I guess I'm impulsive," I said while laughing, "but I'll tell you that my dad gave me a ride home."
"Oh you're funny!" She laughed. She looked out the window, "I didn't realize how far this was...you can drop me off up here and I can walk."
"It's just up the road, it's really not that far. I can take you."
"Oh well I feel bad. I just need to go somewhere and get a drink, I'm so thirsty. You can drop me off up here, I don't want to trouble you anymore," she said while holding that rolled cigarette.
"I'll take you up here so you can find you're friend. I don't mind." I told her again.
"I really do appreciate this. It's hard to trust people these days and you're giving me a ride to help me and I thank you for that," she said.
"Well, like I said, I just hope someone would give me a ride if I was in your situation."
"Oh, well you can just drop me off that this gas station. I am going to run in there, get a water, find some food and find a light," she said pointing to the gas station on the right just across from Wegmans and Target.
"Alright," I said while turning into the gas station.
"I can't thank you enough for this ride. You have no idea how much you just saved me," she said to me as I pulled along side the building.
"You're welcome. Let me see if I can give you some money to help you out," I said while opening my wallet and finding only a five-dollar bill, "Here, please buy yourself something to eat," I said while handing her the money.
"God bless you! I will!"
"I want you to take care of yourself, alright?" I said.
"Oh I will. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome."
"Oh and one more thing," she turned to me before she got out of my car, "how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-six," I said.
"I'm forty-two. It was nice to meet you!" And off she went.
"Take care of yourself!" I yelled out the window as she walked into the gas station.
I drove back down the road to Starbucks and dropped off coffee to my friend. And that's how I spent my Tuesday night. Ah, to live another day.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
McDonald Adventures
After saying that we would only stay out at the bar till about 11pm, we heard the "last call" warning and hurried out the door. It was 2am and one of my friends wanted McDonald's. We walked over to the golden arches, which might be comforting to some but repulsive to me, and got in line for the drive thru window...on foot. Drivers and their passengers snickered at us as if we were some kind of freaks of humanity. The only thing different about them and us was that they were hiding their fatty selves inside a vehicle, we choose the healthier and more environmental friendly way of taking healthy steps...to a fast food restaurant. It was our turn before we knew it! We stood in front of the intercom system and waited for a friendly greeting asking to try some new item that no one ever really wants...nothing. Hmmm. "Maybe a car has to trigger a sensor?" we thought. The three of us spread out over the cement rectangle, about the size of a SUV, and began jumping in various places. The man behind us kept saying that all he wanted was two double cheeseburgers and fries. We told him to wait his turn. "HELLOOOO???" I said to the speaker. No response. I walked up and knocked on it. Still nothing. Rude. The line was getting longer, so we let some cars go ahead of us. I rested my elbow on the intercom speaker and leaned against it while drivers placed their order. They acted as if I wasn't even there, just placed their order and drove away. Annoyed that they were all greeted and served, I tilted my head towards the speaker as the next car drove up and yelled that they were rude for not serving us because we did not have a car. Silence. Then the driver started to place her order, I tried to speak over her into the intercom this time saying that it's discriminatory not to serve someone because they lack a vehicle. All of this, of course, was me being a jack ass. I don't even like McDonald's. But my friends were hungry and I was bored. After trying to fight the good fight we gave in and got ourselves a car.
We pulled up to the intercom system and one of my friends asked if they served those who do not have cars. Some kid who actually makes more money than me and has health insurance (unlike myself) just gave us a simple "no." The ladies ordered their food and we sped off into the night...well, around the corner to where one of my friends lives. They ate their fast food and yearned for more of it's greasy, salty goodness. So back we went!
This time as we approached the parking lot we noticed a man and woman trying to order without a car. They looked frazzled, upset and best of all...drunk. We yelled to them that we tried ordering food without a car and they wouldn't let us. The woman, Nicole, seemed as shocked as we were. There is no sign with a walking pedestrian circled in red with a line through it or a cardboard sign stabbed in the landscape telling customers "pedestrians not permitted" (it is called a "drive thru", but you can walk into a drive-in movie theater). They seemed bummed, let down and like they were losing their buzz. Just then a light bulb went on over my head. "Do you have cash?" I asked the hungry strangers. "Huh? What?" They asked, obviously disoriented from their hunger and lack of respect from the McDonald employees. "Do you have cash?" I asked again. "Yeah, we have cash," they both said. "Well, get in!" I yelled to them. Neither one of them thought twice about getting into an unknown car. Introductions were made quickly. "Curry," the man said. "Are you Indian?" my friend asked him, "cause I am." He ignored her question...which was probably for the better since she was talking about two total different cultures. My other friend was feeling around under the passenger seat while this was going on and yanked out my orthopedic insoles for when I go walking. "What the fuck???" She asked while flopping them in my face. "My insoles!" I screamed in excitement (I had thought I lost them). I snatched the rubbery footprin shapes and tucked them into the visor above my head. I pulled up to the intercom., everyone shouted out their orders. Curry ordered a happy meal. And happy he was. I pulled into a nearby parking space so everyone could get their orders organized and put into the right hands. Our fast food hitchhikers thanked us repeatedly as they left with their food. I asked them to do one thing, "pay it forward."
We stayed in that parking spot for a little while reminiscing about the night. "Is it really after 3?" I asked knowing that I had to be up at 5:30 for work. Next thing we know a man comes jumping out of the bushes next to us and yelling. It was our new friend Curry! We all yelled back to him and how nice it was to meet the both of them. He continued running and yelling down the street till he vanished from our sight. I'm sure he was on some sort of opiate or psychedelic....lucky bastard. Then we heard yells from behind us in the drive thru line. A rather tall drag queen got out of someones passenger seat and strutted to the car behind them. She began yelling and doing some sort of gestures to the men in the car that were yelling. We felt bad for her so we took it upon ourselves to get involved. My friend began yelling at the men to leave the drag queen alone. "No, you be nice!" They yelled back at her. We all looked at one another and laughed at how immature it sounded. Two can play at that game. My friend began a game of repeat. Anything those hate-filled men yelled at us, she yelled it right back. It continued without anyone missing a breath until they got their food and drove off. I let out a sigh and mentioned to my lovely ladies that it was late and that we should all probably call it a night.
It seemed to be enough excitement for one night...and that was all after the bar! We went our separate ways and said goodnight. On my way home I started to become rather worried about the time. If I raced home and went right to sleep, I'd get a little over 2 hours. Do I even go to sleep? Sometimes it's better to just pull an all-nighter. As I was debating what the best option was I noticed that the car in front of my came to an abrupt stop on the expressway, as did everyone else. I slammed on my brakes like the rest of them and was trying to figure out why I went from 70mph to 0mph in 5 seconds. Then I saw a cop car blocking traffic. He wasn't letting anyone through. "Oh no! It's a DWI stop!" I quickly thought. Had I been drinking? Yes. Was I alright to drive? Yes. But I was still nervous. I started to fumble through my bag looking for either some mints or gum to cover up any left over beer breath. I imagined him coming up to my car...."No officer, I have not been drinking," I would say. "Ok ma'am, have a good night...my, what minty fresh breath you have!" the portly officer would say back to me. "Oh officer! You know just what to say to make a girl blush!" Then I found my mints! I began eating them as if I was shoveling handfuls of popcorn down my throat at the latest blockbuster film. I kept a watchful eye, trying to see where Officer charmer was. My mouth hurt and my throat was on fire. As it turned out it wasn't a stop at all. There has been construction going on and new overhead signs were being mounted, unfortunetly closing the expressway for a while. Aggravated that I wasted all those mints, had a rather uncomfortable sensation in my mouth and that it was well after 3:30am now I grew more and more mad at myself for staying out so late. Eventually traffic was let through and I got home a little before 4am. By the time I washed my face, brushed my teeth, had a coughing fit (I'm sure brought on from the mints) and drank some water it was 4:30. I put my head on my pillow and drifted away for one hour.
We pulled up to the intercom system and one of my friends asked if they served those who do not have cars. Some kid who actually makes more money than me and has health insurance (unlike myself) just gave us a simple "no." The ladies ordered their food and we sped off into the night...well, around the corner to where one of my friends lives. They ate their fast food and yearned for more of it's greasy, salty goodness. So back we went!
This time as we approached the parking lot we noticed a man and woman trying to order without a car. They looked frazzled, upset and best of all...drunk. We yelled to them that we tried ordering food without a car and they wouldn't let us. The woman, Nicole, seemed as shocked as we were. There is no sign with a walking pedestrian circled in red with a line through it or a cardboard sign stabbed in the landscape telling customers "pedestrians not permitted" (it is called a "drive thru", but you can walk into a drive-in movie theater). They seemed bummed, let down and like they were losing their buzz. Just then a light bulb went on over my head. "Do you have cash?" I asked the hungry strangers. "Huh? What?" They asked, obviously disoriented from their hunger and lack of respect from the McDonald employees. "Do you have cash?" I asked again. "Yeah, we have cash," they both said. "Well, get in!" I yelled to them. Neither one of them thought twice about getting into an unknown car. Introductions were made quickly. "Curry," the man said. "Are you Indian?" my friend asked him, "cause I am." He ignored her question...which was probably for the better since she was talking about two total different cultures. My other friend was feeling around under the passenger seat while this was going on and yanked out my orthopedic insoles for when I go walking. "What the fuck???" She asked while flopping them in my face. "My insoles!" I screamed in excitement (I had thought I lost them). I snatched the rubbery footprin shapes and tucked them into the visor above my head. I pulled up to the intercom., everyone shouted out their orders. Curry ordered a happy meal. And happy he was. I pulled into a nearby parking space so everyone could get their orders organized and put into the right hands. Our fast food hitchhikers thanked us repeatedly as they left with their food. I asked them to do one thing, "pay it forward."
We stayed in that parking spot for a little while reminiscing about the night. "Is it really after 3?" I asked knowing that I had to be up at 5:30 for work. Next thing we know a man comes jumping out of the bushes next to us and yelling. It was our new friend Curry! We all yelled back to him and how nice it was to meet the both of them. He continued running and yelling down the street till he vanished from our sight. I'm sure he was on some sort of opiate or psychedelic....lucky bastard. Then we heard yells from behind us in the drive thru line. A rather tall drag queen got out of someones passenger seat and strutted to the car behind them. She began yelling and doing some sort of gestures to the men in the car that were yelling. We felt bad for her so we took it upon ourselves to get involved. My friend began yelling at the men to leave the drag queen alone. "No, you be nice!" They yelled back at her. We all looked at one another and laughed at how immature it sounded. Two can play at that game. My friend began a game of repeat. Anything those hate-filled men yelled at us, she yelled it right back. It continued without anyone missing a breath until they got their food and drove off. I let out a sigh and mentioned to my lovely ladies that it was late and that we should all probably call it a night.
It seemed to be enough excitement for one night...and that was all after the bar! We went our separate ways and said goodnight. On my way home I started to become rather worried about the time. If I raced home and went right to sleep, I'd get a little over 2 hours. Do I even go to sleep? Sometimes it's better to just pull an all-nighter. As I was debating what the best option was I noticed that the car in front of my came to an abrupt stop on the expressway, as did everyone else. I slammed on my brakes like the rest of them and was trying to figure out why I went from 70mph to 0mph in 5 seconds. Then I saw a cop car blocking traffic. He wasn't letting anyone through. "Oh no! It's a DWI stop!" I quickly thought. Had I been drinking? Yes. Was I alright to drive? Yes. But I was still nervous. I started to fumble through my bag looking for either some mints or gum to cover up any left over beer breath. I imagined him coming up to my car...."No officer, I have not been drinking," I would say. "Ok ma'am, have a good night...my, what minty fresh breath you have!" the portly officer would say back to me. "Oh officer! You know just what to say to make a girl blush!" Then I found my mints! I began eating them as if I was shoveling handfuls of popcorn down my throat at the latest blockbuster film. I kept a watchful eye, trying to see where Officer charmer was. My mouth hurt and my throat was on fire. As it turned out it wasn't a stop at all. There has been construction going on and new overhead signs were being mounted, unfortunetly closing the expressway for a while. Aggravated that I wasted all those mints, had a rather uncomfortable sensation in my mouth and that it was well after 3:30am now I grew more and more mad at myself for staying out so late. Eventually traffic was let through and I got home a little before 4am. By the time I washed my face, brushed my teeth, had a coughing fit (I'm sure brought on from the mints) and drank some water it was 4:30. I put my head on my pillow and drifted away for one hour.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Button Lady
I have an odd request to satisfy my never ending, sometimes quirky, imagination...buttons. As a kid I always like buttons. I remember being jealous of Dennis the Menace because he always had a button in his pocket. I guess I could of put one in my pocket, but it seemed planted and fake. The things in Dennis' pocket seemed random and non staged. Sometimes I would check my pockets at night to see if a button got in there some how before I threw my pants into the hamper. Never did happen. The word itself holds so much charm. Just say it. "Button." The charm is effortless.
So I'm writing this blog as a plea to my people. My button people. To the people that don't save anything or the people that save everything. Next time you buy a sweater or a pair of pants that comes with an extra button, don't throw it out. And if you see a button laying on the ground of a Target or one snuggling safely against the curb of the road...pick it up! Collect all the buttons you can find and donate them to me! It would put a smile on my face. Thanks guys!
Oh, and I'm really not crazy. I have ideas for these buttons. :)
So I'm writing this blog as a plea to my people. My button people. To the people that don't save anything or the people that save everything. Next time you buy a sweater or a pair of pants that comes with an extra button, don't throw it out. And if you see a button laying on the ground of a Target or one snuggling safely against the curb of the road...pick it up! Collect all the buttons you can find and donate them to me! It would put a smile on my face. Thanks guys!
Oh, and I'm really not crazy. I have ideas for these buttons. :)
Sunday, August 16, 2009
How the Flour City Brewery Festival Tried to Destroyed my Body
The Brew Fest was a blast last night! We tried almost every beer and had some more than once. At first we were a little nervous when we saw the lines, but a line filled with about 20 people lasted only 2 minutes. You waited, gave your glass to the person with a keg, said "thank you" and moved along to the next line. In line you drink what you have in your glass. Sometimes the line would go too fast and you'd have to chug your beer because it was your turn for more free, tasty beer! Oh and wine too! The place was full of happy douche bags, drunk cougars and everyone else in between. We all understood one another: get in, get out and keep moving. Surprisingly there were no fights. Just beer lovers in a world of paradise. But paradise has to end eventually right? When you're up you have to come back down.
And that's when I'm pretty sure I tried to poison my body last night with all the beer, cloves and cigarettes. I used to be able to go all night and be up by 8am feeling like a million bucks. Not so much anymore. My body has gotten used to being pampered and treated as it should. Today I feel like someone tore out my throat and everything attached to it down to my stomach, poured some ajax down it and then put it back as they found it...hopefully. I forgot why I stopped smoking while I drank, this morning I remember. And I'm sure I'll remember for the rest of today because when I talk I sound like the woman from Beetlejuice that smoked through her neck. Oh and the taste of Marlbro that is sticking to the inside of my mouth like a bumper sticker you've been trying to scrap off your car but it's just baked on there from the sun. Water. Lots of water. It's the only way I can apologize to my body for what I put it through last night.
And that's when I'm pretty sure I tried to poison my body last night with all the beer, cloves and cigarettes. I used to be able to go all night and be up by 8am feeling like a million bucks. Not so much anymore. My body has gotten used to being pampered and treated as it should. Today I feel like someone tore out my throat and everything attached to it down to my stomach, poured some ajax down it and then put it back as they found it...hopefully. I forgot why I stopped smoking while I drank, this morning I remember. And I'm sure I'll remember for the rest of today because when I talk I sound like the woman from Beetlejuice that smoked through her neck. Oh and the taste of Marlbro that is sticking to the inside of my mouth like a bumper sticker you've been trying to scrap off your car but it's just baked on there from the sun. Water. Lots of water. It's the only way I can apologize to my body for what I put it through last night.
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