It would be an understatement to say that I've been stressed. We move into a house at the end of the month to take over my mom's mortgage and I work 2-3 days a week and can't seem to find even a shitty job to pay the bills. A few weeks ago I found out that I have a leak in my brake line, then a few days later someone sideswiped my car overnight (in the driveway!!!!!!!) and then just a few days after that I got into a car accident...totaling my car. I still drive it but limited, just to work. We've been walking everywhere since. I don't have collision on my car and the damage is more than the car. Guess I can stop complaining about gas prices. Since I can't find any work and I need money, I agreed to work for a catering company when they have events, weddings and what have yous. I'll be the degraded asshole in a bow tie filling up your water. It's going to have to do until I find something more stable or gauge my eyes out. I've applied for well over 30 jobs.
We tried escaping reality for a night by going down to my family's cabin near Letchworth State Park but ended up having a horrible time due to stupid drunk drama. We weren't drunk, we shared one beer by the fire, and were being taunted all night. All we wanted was one night to forget our troubles and instead more trouble came to us. It's a lesson learned, if we want piece and quiet...don't let the family know you are going to the cabin. If it was up to me I'd make them all disappear Home Alone style. Luckily, one of them disappeared overnight after driving (drunk, remind you) to her mom's house around 5am. I'm glad no one was hurt although I wish her stupid ass would have ended up in a ditch or with a DWI to teach a lesson. It's not fucking cool to drive drunk, especially over a facebook message. Yes, a facebook message. Time to grow the fuck up, there are worse problems in the world...I wish a facebook message was my biggest problem.
Sobriety is especially tough after the weekend at the cabin. The weekend added more stress and I still can't get it out of my mind. I miss smoking. I quit in hopes of finding a job and not failing a drug test. I'm on day 4 and I've noticed the changes on day 2. I'm easily annoyed, tired during the day, awake at night, I'm depressed and my mind won't stop whirling. I hate it. I feel crazy all the time. Sure, it might get better but I remember feeling this way a few years ago when I quit for a few years. It sucked and I hated my life. I had horrible thoughts and feelings and relied heavily on booze. I don't want to drink again. I like having one or two drinks every few months or so with friends but I really have no interest in drinking again. Which makes me angry that I may not get hired for smoking pot. I'm not going to smoke before or during work so what does it matter what I do on my free time? It really angers me that something that keeps me happy and balanced can be the determining factor of getting a job or not. I refuse to take any medication to aid with depression and be turned into a pharmaceutical junkie. Alcoholics are lucky.
Throughout everything my boyfriend has been incredible. He's been amazing and nothing but supportive. I know it's cliche, but I honestly don't know what I would do without him. Every day since the spring has been a challenge for me, I can't seem to catch a break, and have been in quite the depressed slump. But there he is, constantly trying to make my life easier. Nobody has ever made me feel so special. I am so incredibly in love with that man and everyday he finds a different way to help me and love me. I love you, J.
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Can't Read My Polka Face
Yesterday I experienced my first Dyngus Day at Buffalo Central Terminal and The Adam Mickiewicz Library with my family and my love. Click on the links for more info on Dyngus Day and the history behind the two places we visited. But in a nutshell, think of Dyngus Day in Buffalo like a Polish St. Patrick's Day celebration. It's unreal! I hadn't been in either place before but I was so excited about going into the terminal! I wish there weren't so many cops around so we could sneak off and explore the rest of the terminal but just being in the main area of the building, even though it is completely run down, was breathtaking. Yes, even with non stop polka music from Those Idiots. I've had Polka Face in my head all day.
My mom found a picture of me and the boy on buffalo.com and I found us in the background of a buffalo news video too! Unfortunately, I can't find any footage of me sticking out my tongue in a lewd fashion behind my mom as she got interviewed from another news channel. Speaking of, more bad news: I forgot my camera. But thank goodness for cellphones! I was able to snap a few (crappy) photos inside Buffalo Central Terminal.
My mom found a picture of me and the boy on buffalo.com and I found us in the background of a buffalo news video too! Unfortunately, I can't find any footage of me sticking out my tongue in a lewd fashion behind my mom as she got interviewed from another news channel. Speaking of, more bad news: I forgot my camera. But thank goodness for cellphones! I was able to snap a few (crappy) photos inside Buffalo Central Terminal.
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.
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.
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