We Don't Get Tired: PT 2

We left all of our things in the car and started exploring.  First we found a tourist shop- all kinds of shirts and shot glasses and all the usual tourist crap pile with I <3 NY all over everything. I wasn't particularly interested in getting anything but the guys were all over it. 

Then Superman says to me, "You know you gotta get her something. She said so."

Damnit.  My demanding roommate Kandy was knocking at the back of my head, "You better get me something when you're there. I love New York and I wanna go ....." Blah blah it just kinda trails out from there. Damnit.  So I start looking, wondering what to get her, still trying to remember all her little details, "Not like a damn keychain", and "I don't want a t-shirt, I want something that says New York, it doesn't necessarily have to say New York but something...." and again it trails off in the back of my head. On the glass shelves I saw something right away I knew she'd adore. A beer opener.

You don't get it, we're bartenders. We love our accessories. There are never enough.

For her to have a beer opener that had the iconic New York City scape in black, greys, and white all cool-like and shit, I would be the ultimate BFF. Don't get me wrong, I don't give a shit if she loves me and she doesn't give a shit if I love her. Not like a love/hate relationship. Like a hate/tolerate relationship.  We know we don't like each other and that's what makes us US. But even if I don't give a shit, I could be the best hate friend EVER if I got her this.

Hell yeah.

But THEN something else on the other side of the glass shelving caught my eye- New York coasters.  Plastic ones, paper ones, glass ones- coasters in every style with shit on them.  This bitch has been bitchin at me about coasters ever since I got her shitty coasters for Christmas.  Then she saw some cool ones one of our friends had and was all, "Why couldn't you get me cool ones like this?"

See, she's like my fuggin wife without me ever getting laid.

So I found a nice durable set that would look good on her glass coffee table.  Double best friend.  I got her some epic coasters so she'll never utter another word and I got her a bar accessory.  I hadn't been on the New York streets for more than twenty minutes and I was already winning.

So we get outta there and keep walking down the same street. Just a few blocks ahead we can already see our next stop- all of the signs on the buildings, the people gathering, and even at eight in the mornin the lights were so vibrant on the street- Times Square. There was a amphitheater set up for seating but it didn't look like anything was going on at the time.  I was caught up in all the bright lights and signs and advertisings that didn't seem to even distract the locals from their everyday walk to and from wherever it was they were going.  The guys whipped out their phones and immediately began snapping pictures.  We wandered around in the big clearing for a while, looking at all the different people, hearing different accents of all the travelers, then Superman brought us back to attention, " I Think the room might almost be done. We can come back later." We agreed then started back on our stroll. 

There was a Hershey's building that we had to stop in.  It reeked of chocolate but we were curious about it because the side of the building was super cool with all of it's Hershey candies represented and even working as gears next to the brick.  Cool shit.  We checked out all the giant Hershey mugs, Reese's hoodies, big candy bag mixes- you name it they had it, but what a fuggin headache. Like I said, reeked of chocolate.

We run outta there and back up toward the hotel.  Superman calls. Still not ready yet.  "I gotta super pee," I said.  We looked kitty corner from the corner we were standing on.  A little cafe placed there perfectly for my needs.  We run over there and of course, only to customers. Easy enough.  Superman gets a tea. Some sort of Jasmine Mint Hippy Loving Flower Cloud Green Mist something or another. I get the code and head to the back.

When I come out, the guys are ready for a little more wandering in the area.  We step out and walk down the road a little ways and Superman nudges me, "You see that ahead?" he smiles and I look up and squint because I don't have my glasses on but when I read the sign my eyes got as big as an owl's.

"PIANOS?" I said.
"That's what it looks like."
"Thats's so funny! Because the other day we were just-"
"I know."
"Can we go in? Please? Will they let us?"
"We can see."

We walk up to the door of the piano shop and I walk in without hesitation.  It was amazing how incredible small the shop was yet how many grands, baby grands, and stand up pianos they could fit in the place! I didn't see anyone at all in the shop.  I started lurking through all the pianos when a small Asian woman came out from a crevasse somewhere in the wall. I said hello but she just kinda smiled and started to string a piano.  They were all so beautiful.  I couldn't touch them, though I really really wanted to. 

Then a blonde lady came out from a doorway and greeted us. Asked us a few questions, told us about the shop, then asked if we wanted to see the new performance studio.  We gladly accepted the small tour as she told us a little more about the place, renting the pianos, purchasing, and now that they had a studio, she told us they now rented the room for practice and also small performances. 

The elegantly lit room was behind a sliding door and when she opened it I think I peed a little. 

She walked us in the sound proof little room and opened the keys to the grand piano and asked if any of us played. "She does," Superman spoke up, "Well not really..." I trailed off. "You're free to play on it if you like. Go ahead, I'll be in the front and you enjoy yourselves and feel free to ask questions."

I could feel my eyes water.  I was so excited.  It had been a long time since I put my hands on a piano and such a nice one at that. 

"Go ahead, play something."

I sat down slowly, my fingers just feeling the keys without pressing on them.  I had no idea what to play.  A memory full of songs and all I had to choose was one. 

I started noodling around, listening for the tones, figuring which keys made the right pitches. 

That's the problem with having played piano by ear, instead of a normal pianist, thinking to yourself that songs were in the key of C or started on a D, I had to remember the sound that it started on and guess the increments in my fingers.

I pressed a couple keys here. A few there. They all of a sudden as if my fingers never left in the first place, they glided so beautifully, playing songs I remembered from my church and moving to little songs I'd made up myself with chords that sounded good to me many years ago when I had the time to noodle on such an instrument. 

That went on for several minutes, noodle a little bit with random sounds then all of a sudden another song would burst from them because I found the right notes.  Then my fingers found my favourite song to play on the piano.  Clocks by Coldplay.  Such a peaceful melody.  Brought me back to a time where I used to play alongside another pianist I know. 

After moments passing I look up at the guys, "Ready?"
They just kinda smiled at me, looking like I played something miraculous, and nodded. On our way out we grabbed a card from the woman who owned the shop.  She thanked us for stopping in and we were on our way. 

The hotel was ready for us to check in.

Well. When I say us. I mean Superman.  One. Only he was supposed to be stayin the night.  But Remmington and I would be stayin in the same room.  Reals sneaky like.  So Superman went to go check in while we got the bags from the car that we checked into the parkin garage.  Then we went to the room separately. 

Superman and I got all showered before his meeting.  I threw on some heels because we were gonna be taking a cab, and I can walk a few city blocks in heels. No big deal.  we go down the escalator and around the block then we hail a cab from (what we didn't know at the time) the worst cab driver ever.  He took us in a full out circle around the block before going the right way, then even after we gave him the address, he dropped us off and said our location would be a block up.

What. The. Eff. Motha fucka, it was two blocks up, across the fuckin hipster park, and another city block away! CITY blocks, people, that's some hiking to do when you're late for a meeting!

So Superman says YOLO LOL, and starts bookin it with materials in hand. Remmington and I look at his GPS and start following a ways behind him.  I call it the hipster park because you should have seen the fucking people that were chillin in this little park in the middle of the crazy buildings.  Dudes with no muscle mass and wearing three layered sweaters and a million layered scarves to match the women in the same scarves and pleated skirts and everyone wearing pantyhose and giant fucking glasses sipping their little cups of tea and coffee and reading books and chatting quietly at their meetings.

What the fuck hipster community. 

And the other end of the spectrum was the grunge hipster bums chillin in the park with their dreads and smiling faces with other bums and flower children frolicking merrily. I don't even. Just. Incomplete thought.

Remmington and I finally make it to this lunch place. We walk in and everyone in there was so bourgeois I had to take a step back and make sure Dorothy was in Kansas. This place was packed with business men and women and this little nook even had a middle glass room for presentations. Yet there wasn't a buzz. You know that loud buzz that any luncheon place would have when there's a lot of people? Just the cluttered sounds of chattering and people enjoying themselves? No.

There was no enjoyable laughter or chatter. Just the hushed chit chat of ritzy bull shenanary that I didn't give shits about.  Just wanted to sit down before I killed people.

A few city blocks in heels? Gucci. You want me to fuckin walk across town through Hipster Narnia into the bourgeois luncheon streets of New York because you're a shitty Taxi guide? Fuck people.

So Remmington sees Superman but it's not so simple as to just walk over to him.
Oh no.
The hostess with her pretty little face, "Do you have a reservation?"
Remmington has this, "We're with a party that is already seated."
"Last name please?" As she gets on her computer.
He says Superman's last name. Of course it doesn't come up, it's the dude he has the meeting with.  Like we know his name. 
Luckily, the dude comes up to get us, but oh no. Not like we can walk to our table with him.
"Sign in please."
OH FOR THE LOVE OF MARY
I look at the little type in screens and jot down some information. Something about wanting to email me.

For a fuggin business meeting? Dafuq?

We get seated and shake hands and blah blah.  I already don't like the Indian guy that is brought to the meeting.  He's a pretentious twat and I don't like the way he moves his hands.  He's in a hurry to get somewhere so I don't have to listen to much of him anyway.  They other two, Superman and the gentleman he has the meeting with- are already eating some lunch. 

Upon asking if we'd like something, Remmington and I both deny food, but I decide to partake in one of the fancy ass drinks they have.  The Roots- which contained beets, ginger, and carrots.  All juices were made in the kitchen.  There were some other interesting combinations but my stomach wasn't sitting right so I decided something with a little ginger would do me nice. 

The meeting was so long. And Frenchie turned out to be super nice and somewhere in there mentioned going to France later in the year and throwing out and invite and I really wanted to be all, oh yeah, let me just dip into my Iranian funds that I have in that one bank overseas to fuckin pay for that shit. Like WHAT? Who the fuck are these people? But toward the end of the meeting is where I started to wake up. I will never. Ever. Forget what happened at the end of that meeting.

Pretty basic stuff, the waitress asks if we need anything else.  Frenchie would like a double shot espresso, and Superman asks for a cookie. At first she said they had no more but soon after to come back and confirm that chocolate chip were fresh out of the oven.  Superman accepts and Remmington accepts the offer for a cookie as well.

Ohhhh Remmington. Here is where the fun begins.

The waitress comes back with a bitch sized tea cup of espresso for Frenchie and a cookie each for the guys. I still sit there, silently as I ever have, watching.  The guys are trying to take their time with their one cookie a piece.  While Frenchie and Superman are talking, out of the corner of my eye I see it: the incident.

I'm sitting in the middle of Remmington and Superman, and French nearest superman at this little round table. French is almost directly across from me so it was easy to pay attention to their business and stay awake.  I started to drift off....until the incident.

I see Remmington fumble and drop the last fourth of his cookie.
I see Remmington pick it up off the floor.

No. No man. Don't fucking do it. NO. Not in this bourgeois ass place of business.

I see him contemplate, trying to stare and stare hard at Frenchie in the eye so I didn't have to witness, he ate it. He fucking. Ate. It. I. Am. Dying.  For the first time the entire hour meeting I crack a smile.  I'm looking all over the room right now, trying to look for a ladies' room. Trying to find an exit out of this situation. Trying not to be the black woman in the room of conservative Amish people and refrain from bursting out, "OH HELL NAW WHITE BOY! NO THE HELL YOU DIDN'T YOU BETTA GET'CHO ASS UP AND WALK THE FUCK OUT! OH HELLLLLL  NAWWWWW!!"

But I couldn't. I had to sit there. No escape.  Trapped between the guys, meeting on one side, the incident on the other. I couldn't hold it in. I felt my face getting hot trying not to burst out in laughter.  I was trying so hard to be respectful.  I was looking around the room, staring at Frenchie which didn't help me because I couldn't help but think, motha fucka he's sittin right next to me, I know you saw that shit. I know you saw that fuckin shit. Smile damnit. Give me the okay to shit all over the place of laughter.

Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  So I looked down in my lap and silently laughed to myself.  The meeting soon ended and even then I couldn't say anything to the guys.  The Guilty and the Ignorant.  I walked happily down the street toward the Hipster Park now more wide awake than I was. 

"Let's walk. That was an expensive ass shitty cab ride here." Superman suggested.
Twenty seven city blocks. One pair of heels. Deep breath.

To be continued.

We Don't Get Tired: PT1

It's been a while since I've had one of those college-esque adventures. You know, hop in a car, go somewhere, sleep in the car, come back half the bum you were with twice the memories. 

It was a big decision for me to go to New York.  The Manman had an important business meeting there and had asked me the month prior to go with him.  Of course I wanted to, and seeing as how I went on all his other business trips with him since we met, I didn't see why not.  Other factors came into play the closer time came-  my job was a big one.  I couldn't get the time off because I'd already used my PTO, and I really could use the hours at said job for other expenses and later travels. 

When it came down to it, I had told him no.  There would be other trips and other places that I would want to go to. New York hadn't necessarily been a dream of mine anyway, so I wasn't stressing too much.

Those that know me and my faithful readers that follow me know that this last paragraph sounds nothing like me. Saying no to an adventure? NEXT TIME?? When did I become so boring?  A week before he'd planned to leave, he asked me again if I was sure I didn't want to come with. 

The gears began ticking.  I only had four more weeks at said job because I knew I was going to another job.
On the other hand, I had 9 1/2 attendance points and you are only allowed 12 before you are fired.  Calling out two days in a row would put me at 11 1/2 points.  It was risky, but worth the risk? That meant I would only allow myself 1/2 point for the three weeks after that. You get 1/2 point if you are one minute late.

For someone like me, three weeks is a fucking long time to screw it up.

Fuck it. YOLO!!

So I went to New York. It was me, the Manman (we'll call him Superman), and Remmington. 

My usual days off were Monday and Tuesday, I called in Wednesday and Thursday, and we were to arrive at eight in the mornin on Friday so I'd have enough time to nap before work at two.  It was planned, we just had to put it into action.

With the crew we had going, make no mistake that the trip began as epic as it ended. 

Remmington got off work the latest so we had to wait for him before we could go.  What we thought would be midnight turned into leaving at three in the mornin.  Have no fear, insomniacs are here.  We had to stop by Superman's office first before we could leave.  Remmington, his intern, and I sat in the car and waited patiently, getting to know one another through a little more than idle chit chat and laughs.

A good while goes by before we get a phone call from Superman. Remmington put it on speaker, Superman sounding out of breath.  "The door in the hallway to my office was locked and I didn't have the code to open it," he breathes, remembering that he's just renting his office space. "So. I'm in the ceiling.  Might be a minute."  We both laugh, and hang up the phone.  Minutes later he calls us again to come inside.

We look at him and can't help but smile.  Wearing his lounge pants and sweatshirt, he's covered in mothballs and white powder.  I brush him off, listening to his explanation while he grins ear to ear as he talks, showing off his perfect canine teeth. 

"Well, I text and called the landlord but he wasn't answering and I really needed to get into my office.  The hallway door is never shut so I never needed the code to get into it.  I did the only thing I could think of- went to the bathrooms before the door, climbed on the toilet and pushed the tile up," he pointed to the tile above the commode and began walking from the restroom down the hall to where the door was now open. Pointing to the ceiling, "I crawled all along here, and got all the way to the edge of the wall. Then I kicked the ceiling in," he said pointing to the obvious hole above. 

Remmington cracked up, "Wait, wait, wait.  You KICKED it in? You know these tiles are easily removed right?" "I know, I know, but I was in video game mode! It just felt right."  We all were laughing hysterically.

This is my man. MY man.  Only such a crazy individual could be mine.

He got his belongings from his office and we were set off, wide awake in the car from all the action.  He cleaned up the mess and sent the landlord a lengthy text explaining he couldn't get in the door and that he would replace the tiles no problem. 

We stopped in North Carolina for a few hours because we were still ahead of schedule as far as the business meeting went.  Lunch at the mall and we wandered around shopping.  The city was beautiful and lush; neither of the guys had been there before and were dazzled by the glory. 

The ride was half the fun.  Riding with these guys reminded me of a place in my heart I called home.  Remmington had known Superman for years so they had a certain level of comfort and humour with each other. One I jumped right into just fine.  There were rants between the two of them that had me laughing so hard I was crying uncontrollably and it didn't stop for long periods of time. 

One of the rants was something about tourmenting Burger King workers by asking for a BossMac repeatedly for days at a time. Where the fuck do they come up with this shit?  If I had recorded the trip, we'd all be rich.  Their good witted thoughts were gold. 

About seven the next morning, we saw the outline of the big city.  After several toll pass ways, we were finally driving through the Lincoln Tunnel.  Traffic was so packed even at that time of morning but I was enjoying having the moment to drive so slowly and have a gander at everything.  Once we got deeper into the city, the guys were taking all kinds of pictures and video.  The buildings were higher than high and there were so many people walking through the streets.  We passed the Eiffel Tower, Fifth Avenue, and the guys began listing all the things they wanted to do on the trip.

I just sat in silence, taking it all in.  Looking at all the people.  Marveling at their fast pace, the disregard for speeding cars, wondering where they were headed to. Wondering what it's like to be a local, if it even phases them the city that they live in. 

After circling the blocks a few times, we finally located our hotel and found a parking garage. It was expensive as shit but the "cheapest" we could find.  Superman ran in to go check us into the room and when he came back, noted that our room wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours so we had time to explore the city a little in the surrounding blocks while we waited. No one had any qualms with this notion and the first few steps of our little New York journey began.

Pay It Forward

For nine years I played clarinet. Roughly four of those years were bass clarinet.  Five of them were bari sax.  Two or three was dedicated for the bass. 

I didn't come from a musical family- save my older brother who went on to play his sax in college orchestra, everyone else was into sports.  Baseball, football, hockey, you name it, and someone in my family probably played it.  Don't get me wrong, I played my fair share of tennis, volleyball, and rugby over the years, but growing up I was more of your ballet/gymnastics/I'm-gonna-be-a-hair-stylist-and-rule-the-world kinda gal.

It all started with Sister Donna, our pastor's wife, who played beautifully on her sax every Sunday mornin in church.  There wasn't anything boring about her playing. Well. About her, for that matter. The smooth sounds of her jazz, her soul, her love- all poured into that instrument to make anyone listen up and get excited.  I thought it might be nice one day to learn how to make such a sound.

However, when I got into the sixth grade, the year that everyone was choosing their instruments they were interested in, playing the sax was off limits.  Being the little sister of a boy who was already playing the sax, I didn't want to be a copy-cat.  When our band teacher was going over the list of instruments and giving a preview for each of them, I was in la la land.  (I didn't really have the attention span of a meditating monk, but then again at the age of eleven, what kid does?) Then I saw it. What our band director called "licorice sticks". The clarinet.  Being a little bit of a dark child, I think I might have been more attracted to the fact it was a black sleek looking toy with fancy silver decorations than I actually was to the fact it made such a wonderful sound.  He played a fast chromatic scale up and then down again and I was hooked. 

That was my sound.  That was the sound I grew to love.  Then he showed us the clarinet family, and when I saw that big son of a bitch you had to sit on the floor just to play, I knew I was going to love what I was getting myself into.  

My mum was okay with it.  She was just glad her kids all had something to occupy our time with but there was a problem: I didn't have a clarinet.  Hell, in the type of house we grew up in, you were lucky if you found a whistle tucked away and forgotten in a drawer.  Problem number two, I didn't come from money.  We were a working family,  one that fixed our own cars, made our own entertainment, and "vacation" for us was driving to the mountains in our backyard and camping with everyone else in the damn town.  My mum was worried about renting a clarinet and didn't exactly have a spare $500 to get a cheap one.

When we got to church that Sunday, my mum mentioned it to her bible study gals that she was in search of a clarinet because yet again, another one of her children gone soft. She prayed about it and I used my director's clarinet for the time being for the first couple weeks and by that second Sunday after it was mentioned, my mother's prayers had been answered. 

My mum summoned me to the back of the church during the Greeting.  One of the church women was smiling and holding a small suitcase looking box.  "I knew you were looking for a clarinet.  I was out and about this weekend at a few garage sales like I usually do and I saw this on a table. Five dollars! I just had to get it. I'm not sure what kind of shape it's in, but I hope it's useable."

She clicked open the trick locks on the suitcase-box and opened it to a red velvety inside with a beautiful little licorice stick. My mum and I hugged her and thanked her and assured her we would ask my band director about it the next day at school. 

Monday he took a look at my new find.  "Needs new cork." He says, picking up the individual pieces and inspecting them carefully, "And these buttons here are a little sticky. Might need replacing," He says, showing me the keys that were having a little trouble on their own.  I gave a look of disappointment. "Lucky for you, I know how to repair these things." I smiled and thanked him. "Also, this is a professional Selmer mouthpiece.  A very nice instrument.  You should be happy."

So it begun.  I had a clarinet.  One that lasted me for years.  Playing in quartets, jazz bands, pep band,  having solos, performing for state competitions.... oh yes. That clarinet went with me everywhere. From middle school to high school to college and across the states from Montana to Mississippi. 

After college I stopped playing.  My love for the instrument didn't die, just my opportunity to play the thing did.  You get caught up in life and other aspirations and goals and sometimes the things you love most change over time.  My clarinet sat idly by in my apartment, every once in a while being taken out for cleaning or to noodle around on the keys with.

When I moved a couple other times and each time selling things I could and throwing away what I couldn't, the clarinet followed. 

It doesn't deserve this fate.  I should probably sell it before, again, it becomes a dusty licorice stick that needs new cork because over the years it forgot to be greased. 

Being connected on some yard sale pages on Facebook, I posted that I was selling a clarinet for $200 or would go with the best offer.  A day later a woman responded, asking how low I would go.  I informed her I was just ball parking what I should let it go for.  I wasn't doing anything with it and the extra cash would be a bonus. 

She told me it was for her daughter who had just chosen to play the clarinet in her school band class.  The family didn't have a lot to rent one and was trying to find something cheap. She didn't have $200 and was seeing about a lower price.

My little heart tingled.  I remembered being in that situation.  I remember being a little girl that wanted her own licorice stick and was understanding that her mum couldn't afford a new one. I told the woman a place to meet me and I would bring her the clarinet. 

Waiting at the Shell gas station, I made sure all the music I played over the years was still tucked inside the hidden case compartment.  I thumbed through, reminiscing on the music and the parts I had for each of the songs. The scales, the warm ups, the little notes made in pencil for my own reference... and as my own little goodbye, sealed an envelope with the story of the clarinet folded inside for the little girl.

I saw her in the car she described and it wasn't hard for her to spot my Beetle.  I got out of the car with the clarinet and I almost wanted to jump with excitement when I saw who came out of the car....

From her purple cat rimmed glasses to whatever kind of massacre of bright colours she was wearing to the way she wore her hair in pigtails, I knew, I KNEW the life of the clarinet would continue on.  She was a badass. I knew just from looking at her.  She marched to her own licorice stick, that was for sure.  "I want to bless you with this clarinet, like it was to me.  I want you to have it and I don't want to charge you anything.  I was in her shoes once and I know what it's like to appreciate what is given to me."
"Really?? Are you sure?"
I looked at the little girl and smiled at her while replying to her mum, "Yes ma'am," as I handed her the envelope, telling her a gist of the contents.  She hugged me, "Tell her thank you," she motioned to her daughter, and the little badass did so. 

I drove away feeling good, knowing my little clarinet was going to a good home and to someone that needed it, not stuck on a shelf to be stared at. 

October Always Sucks

For as long as I can remember, October has always sucked the big one for me.  Whether at the time in my life it's a break up, someone passes, I get horrible career alterations, or I'm failing horrible in my studies, October always seems to be the month that tragedy strikes in.  The only thing different about this year was that I decided to embrace the suck and laugh at it. As best I could. 

Due to some job changes, and living changes, I'd gotten myself in that position that apparently everyone in life goes through- doggie style. Or in layman's terms, royally screwed to the point you're just takin it from behind from Life.

Doing as the struggling hard workers do, I've been doing everything in my power to keep my head up and myself afloat, making other drastic changes like my career and moving in with a friend. Easier tasks like that.  But right when I think I can't take it any longer and think that maybe some burdens are being lifted Life is all, JK LOL UR DUM and decides to go ahead and throw one more thing my way. This time involving the police.  We all know how much I despise piggies.

Let's go back a little to the core of this problem- I drive a '73 Beetle named Gladys. Classy. I know.  Well, in a trooper that old, they tend to wear down on some things. Like brakes.  I've tried to get them fixed before but... eh. Never mind that story.  The important piece of information here is that the brakes are shotty at best.  If I come to an easing stop, then we're gravy.  But if you want me to slam on the brakes at a last minute stop?  Best believe the brakes aren't listening and we're blowing through the stop light whether you want to or not. 

The brakes have been especially temperamental the last couple months.  It's cool. I mean, you know, it's not but what choice do I have? I don't have the kind of money to fix them. I know my baby better than anyone. I know when she'll stop and when she won't.

Which brings us to the story now, and why after all these years October still sucks. 

I was driving on 90- that's the main highway that everyone uses. It goes all along the Gulf coast beach and takes me straight from my place to my work which is about a thirty minute drive.

I was a good fifty feet behind the truck in front of me.  With these brakes, I take no risk. You won't catch me tailgating anyone.

Most people speed through at yellow lights, am I right? Bet your ass I am.  But not the ass in front of me.  See, when he saw a yellow light, he thought it would be a shmantastic idea to go ahead and stop.  My little Gladys didn't think it was such a good idea.  Now given only a matter of seconds to think while driving in the left lane I went over my options quickly.

A. Veer into the right lane and smash into the cars next to me.
B. Hit the truck in front of me.
C. . . ..  hhehe.

Mount the curb on the median and drive in the sand.

Welp. Only one of those options involved not causing a collision.  Let's mount this bitch.

That's exactly what I did, still applying breaks like it was a piano foot pedal, I mount the median and the car goes about fifteen more feet, barely missing the palm tree in the middle, before finally stopping in the sand.  I was about nose and nose with the truck stopped at the light.  He rolls down his window so I reach across to the passenger window and do the same.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"Yeah. My breaks went out and I didn't want to hit the back of your truck."
"Well that was sweet of you!" He says. I nod, then the light turns green and he takes off like nothing happened.

WHAT THE EFF.

So I'm in the median laughing hysterically, put my blinker on and try to merge back into traffic.  Gladys goes about a foot and then sinks further in the sand.  Damnit Gladys.

I keep laughing at the situation and get out of the car. I check out the vehicle. Yeah. Yeah she's in there pretty good.  Ballsack.  I get back into the driver's seat and start to think. I call my work and tell them I'll be late.  I sit in the seat a little bit longer, looking at the time, and I call my friend who's just now getting off work. 
"Tokeennn?"
"Yeah what's up?"
"What are you dooooooing?"
"Just clocked out. What you need?"
I explained my predicament.
"I'll come push you out."

This man. Is my rock.

But somewhere in there as I'm waiting I stop smiling. I get this overwhelming feeling of everything that's going on in my life and this had to be the fuckin cherry on top.  I start crying. Then I call my mommy. She doesn't answer so then I go from sappy to pissy in an instant.  That was when I noticed the inevitable blue and white vehicle coming up behind me.  The lights flash on.  Now I'm not pissy. I just give up.  Piggies are assholes. Piggies are nosy and twats and have never helped me when I needed.  I'm ready for this fuckin fine. I already see it.  Just one more thing I can't pay for.

I get out of the car and look to the po-po- he's actually smiling.  A really handsome guy, as a side note, but this guy is almost about to laugh.  I smile back, a little confused. Finally, he says, "Alright. I'll bite. What's the story?"

I giggle a little myself. Not really what I expected him to say. I explained the story. Either hit the car or hit the curb. "Well you did the smart thing," He said. UHHHHWHHHHAAAAAT??? I was baffled.  "Do you have someone coming to get you out?"
"I have a friend that said he can come push me out."
"With his hands??"
"Yes?...."
"Oh no, you're gonna need a tow truck for this one. Look how deep it is in the sand. And this is rear-wheel drive isn't it?"
"Yeah... okay. Fuck. Well. Now you're gonna make me call the ex."
"Uh oh," He says, "Good luck."

This guy is actually pretty cool. As he goes to his car to talk on his walkie thing, I whip out the phone. My ex had this roommate that worked at this auto place and blah blah blah, I know. Never call the ex. I know.

That was a big fat ass NO anyway. I look to the cop and Token calls me, telling me he's almost to me.  I tell him he probably doesn't have to because the po-po doesn't think it's pushable. 

"Well, I can call a tow truck out here and he can pull you out."
I look at him with a little worry, "Seriously dude, if I can be frank, my brakes have been shotty like this for a couple months now. If I don't have the money to fix them, there's no way in hell I have the money for a tow truck."
"Oh don't worry about that," he says, "I'll put it on our tab.  Tow companies love it when we call them.  They know they get paid and if they make it here quick enough, we keep them on our list of companies we call regularly.  Since you didn't hit a car and your car doesn't have any damages, you don't even have to file a report for this. We'll just get you out of the sand and you can go about your way. I can even take you to an auto place if you want. No charge."

The hallelujah chorus sounds.  Finally. I get a damn break.  "I seriously have to get to work so an auto place isn't necessary, but the rest sounds good."  He looks at me quizzically, "Not necessary?"
"I mean I can't pay for it when I get there for the breaks remember?"
He shakes his head and has a truck called in. By this time, Token is walking up and I give him an embrace.  "I told you you didn't have to come!"
He shrugs, "It's cool breh breh, let's see what we can do."
The po-po informs him it's really soft sand.
"But if you're really gonna try, I'm getting this on camera."
He runs to his dash in the cop car.
Token and I are laughing.  I get in the driver's seat and gas it up, he pushes. She gets half a foot up and sinks in a deeper sand pit.  I cut the engine and step out again. 
The cop tells us he has to get a picture of this before I go because this has to be one of the funniest things he's seen. Tells me it's great it's even a Beetle too.  While we're waiting for the truck to come, I ask him about other crazy shit he's seen in his job. Then he starts to tell us about crazy drug users. Something about a chick trying to swim away from him in a mud puddle. Classic stuff.

The truck comes and my mum finally calls back.  Back to reality. Life sucks and I tell her how so. She gives me some encouragement and I start walking to where my car is being towed to on the opposite side of the road in a clearing safe from traffic.  Token gets in his car and follows me.  I walk through a little grassy patch to the car... and when I get out, my converse and work pants are covered in those little spiky bur plants or whateverthefuck they're called.  I'm not even mad. I can't get mad. Today blows ballsack. 

I walk up to the cop and he tells me I'm good to go. He looks at me feet, "What in the world-" he chuckles a little, "You're just having one of those days aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am. Thanks again... you're probably the nicest cop on the coast. He smiles, "Get those brakes fixed."

Never asked for my insurance, my license, my name. Nothing.  You know damn good and well that legally he shouldn't have let my car back on the road knowing it's a potential hazard.  But sometimes rules are meant to be broken. For those of us who can't always afford to follow the rules. 

Token followed me to work to make sure I made it there safely and by the time I got there, everyone at work was convinced I died in a wreck.

Find the silver linings in life, people. Even when life sucks, the good things are there. The friends to help you smile, the job to be thankful for, and sometimes even the people that give you just a small break when you need one. Shout out to the po-po. You just won.

URKA!!

I don't think there was ever a time where I "became" crazy. I think I was always just crazy and attracted other crazy ass people. This particular story goes back to freshman year in college.  I lived in a dorm that my friends who came to visit always referred to as a hotel because it was super nice.  One that you needed a prox card to get in the front, and it was four roommates that lived in a suite and shared a living room. It was nice.

I was brand new.  Didn't know a soul in Bumfuck, Wyoming. Not that it mattered much, I've never been bad at making friends. My first three roommates were awesome. Inviting me home with them for family dinners, inviting me out with their friends- they were all local, so it was easy for them to adjust to the college life and knowing where to go and where to be.

But this story is all about a little lady I called Urka. She was probably the coolest warm welcoming to Wyoming that I could possibly have.  She was crazy, happy, loved random trips to places, and loved a good laugh.  We'd gone to basketball games together, she was there for me when I had my first breakup, we shared music tastes, and just an overall blast. 

Then there was that man. Her man. The new man.

You see, her and this guy started dating that year.  I wasn't ever too fond of him, thought he was a royal tool most days, but being the friend, I was at least kind enough to tolerate his presence.  As long as she knew I wasn't particular on him, I'd said my piece, and no need for more. 

But then the man moved away. To a different college. Awesome right?

No. No it wasn't. Because since her dude now lived in Denver, CO, that meant she was gonna go see him.

She didn't wanna go alone.

She knew that there were no other crazy bitches around to take that eight hour road trip.... but me.

You know I didn't say no! I mean come on, a road trip?? Spur of the moment? Heeellllll yeahhhh!! 
Little did I know....



Anywho, so she wanted to go the weekend of Valentine's Day. No big deal. Not like I had a man I needed to be with.  Fuck it, let's go see see Urka's dude in Denver.  She goes on to tell me that she's never taken such a long trip before by herself. Wish I could say the same.  I've always gone everywhere by myself. So I know that having a travel buddy would make time fly and feel a little safer. 

We started out our trip by going to Dairy Queen. We bought an ice cream cake.

We bought. An ice. Cream. Cake.

You know we had to finish that son of a bitch before it melted.  So there we are bright eyed and bushy-tailed, screaming at the top of our lungs for the first couple hours because of our crazy sugar high. We made little videos on our phones about us eating entire cakes. It was classic. We were delirious.

Hours and hours of singing, dashboard dancing, and little heart confessionals, we finally role up in Denver.  Her dude comes and lets us into his dorm and we meet some of their friends that are hanging out in their room.  We were pretty pooped when we got there, and had plans of going out the next night- Saturday night of the Valentine's Eve, so it wasn't long before I was shown to my couch where I'd be sleeping and Urka and her dude disappeared into his room.  He showed me where everything was- remote, movies, all kinds of fun stuff.

So there I was, laying on the couch. Wide awake.  Decided to pop in a DVD... The Mighty Boosh. Someone had great taste in their cinema.  I'm a few episodes in, and from one of the roommate's doors pops out a tall sexy lookin' somethin that makes me stop for a second....

Guys. You're not the only ones. I don't give a shit what you've been told by all your gal pals or your lady friends. We lose our concentration too!

Y'all, his daddy was black and his momma was greek. They made a pretty. Ass. Baby. Light coloured cocoa skin with big ass brown bambi eyes... Phew. Take a breath.

He is going to their little kitchenette for a glass of water or something.

"Hi." He says.
"Hey." I muster out, complete focus on the telly. Trying my damndest anyway.
We make small casual conversation.
"Long trip huh?" He says.
"Eh, wasn't bad. I can't sleep now."
"Yeah, I couldn't either. So I came out here."
"Care to watch some Mighty Boosh with me?" I suggest.
As if he just noticed what was on the screen, he raises his eyebrows, "Oh you know what this is?"
"Yeah. One of my favourites."
"Yeah, mine too! It's my box set."
I just smile, and motion to the couch.
"Oh, right, well no I better not. I have to be up early in the morning." Something about his college classes or something. He has to be super professional and dressed up for it.
"Well if you change your mind I'll be out here."

I can't even remember where the conversation went or how it even happened, but homeboy ended up staying out there all night with me.  Something was mentioned about Kung-Pow and then he got super excited. First we were quoting the entire thing from memory, then he goes into his room and busts out the DVD. First we watched the actual version, then we watched the hidden special edition of "What they're actually saying." Talking all night about school and the two love birds in the room next door.

Turns out not all pretty boys are douche bags. This one had a fantastic personality too.  For a moment there I thought to myself, awesome. That means this trip will be bearable. I won't have to be the third wheel maybe!  We see the sun coming from the crack in the window. He looks at his watch, "Holy shit. Did I seriously pull an all nighter? Can't say I've ever done that before." Wish I could say the same.  "Well I gotta go get ready for the gym. You wanna come with me?" He asks.  I scoff for a second, "Oh you're serious? Uhm, no. No thanks. Not really a fan. Plus I don't exactly have the attire. "You can borrow some of my clothes."
Thu-thump.
Thu-thump.
"Uh, no that's fine. I'll probably still be watching some Mighty Boosh. Maybe even go to sleep finally. Haven't decided yet.
"Okay, that's fine." He runs off into his room to change and reappears shortly.
"You sure you don't want to come?" He asks one more time before exiting.
"Yeah yeah get out of here!"
He smiles, and leaves their suite.  That smile.

I finally get some sleep, and open my eyes about an hour later when he's coming back in the room. I throw the cover over my face, not sure how ragged I'm looking at this point.  Some amount of time lapses while I'm sleeping and eventually the love birds emerge from their cave.  The roommate isn't in his room anymore.  "How'd you sleep dude?" Urka asks. "Pretty good. Just a few hours." She nodded her head, understanding I never really slept.  "He must be in class this mornin," Her man said, lookin a little confused like he wasn't normally gone so early. I explain that he had a meeting with a board or something like that and he'd be back in time for lunch with his parents.  He just kinda looked at me dumbfounded.  "Oh. You talked to him before he left?" He asked.
"He stayed up all night. Watched some movies with me and stuff."
They both just look at each other. "Thiiiiibbbbbssss...!" Urka said, poking.
I could tell I was blushing. "Shut up."
We took showers and got ready for lunch. 
The roommate came back in at that time, and Urka's man says, "Dude what you doing for lunch?"
"I told you this, my parents are coming here. I'm going to lunch with them."
"Oh. Well what are you doing tonight?"
I interrupt his roommate and rattled off his schedule for the next two days.
He just smiles, shrugs, and points to me, confirming what I'd just said.
"What the hell man? She's only been here one night and she's already replaced me as your best friend!"
"No, she just listens when I tell her something," He responds back.
I just smile smugly on the couch.
When he leaves again and Urka's man goes into his room, Urka starts tellin me, "Ask him to go with us to the club tonight! Then you can have someone to dance with!"
"Nah, he has to be up early again tomorrow mornin and I already kept him up all night last night haha."
"DUDE come on! I'll see if my man will put in some words!"

The day went by pretty slow. Just chillin at the dorms all day. Then night came aroung, Urka and I put on our sexy outfits and it was time to go downtown to dance! We find a parking spot an walk a bit of sidewalk to the entrance.  We got carded and had X's on our hands because we were still under age.  Didn't matter. This place was still bumpin.  It was elbow to elbow in there. Men a plenty. Dancing was a must.. it was so crowded and so much fun!!

Would have been more fun if the roommate would have came out.  He was so tired because he was busy all day and I'd kept him up the previous night, so I understood he wanted to sleep.  Besides, finding a dance partner was never hard for me.  I just kinda made my way into the crowd.  Within the first minutes, the Arabs had found me.  Turns out they love redheads.  This guy was probably ten years my senior if not more.  He was a decent enough dancer- had rhythm- then started talkin that smack.  So I nicely let him down, by telling him I had to go meet my girlfriend at the door. 

The age old trick.  It's what nice girls do. Instead of throwing a hand in the face or tellin them to fuck off, you simply throw a wrench into play. A fake girlfriend. Fake boyfriend. Bathroom break. Leaving. Whatever. Just use the excuse.

Now in this place, it was big enough and packed enough that I left the amoeba of people and entered in from a different side without problems of running into the same guy.  I have no idea where the other two were but at the time didn't care. I was all about dancing  and just cutting loose.  I soon found myself dancing close to them.  Then there was this adorable giant. Rhythm. Tall. But had no idea how to approach a gal. You could tell. So he was dancing close to me and a couple other gals when one of them grabbed my wrist and grabbed his and made us dance together. Neither of us cared. It was just the vibe.  About a few minutes of the close proximities, and the polite giant asks, "Can I dance with you?"  I thought it was adorable because we were already dancing together I thought.  After I nodded my head, he put his hands around my waist. AWwwwwwweeeeEEeee he asked for permission.  Modern. Day. Gentleman.

That's how the night ended.  Polite giant. Dancing. Then when I was walking off, he asked if I was from here. I had to tell him I wasn't with a resounding no.  He smiled, told me to have a good evening and a good life. 

The next day was just hangin out at the place.  Debating on heading back early or late because of the snow storm we knew was coming.  We took pictures old school on a Kodak camera in their living room before we left.  Then the guys walked us back to the car.  The roommate had burned me a cd with the 500 Days of Summer soundtrack on it.  Still to this day is my favourite.  We said our goodbyes and see-you-laters. The trip home was as epic as it was on the way there.  Driving through Denver in rush hour traffic. I was driving. In a big ass truck. Winning. 

Got home and still to this day is one of my favourite road trips to reminisce about.  Oh, and for the curious inquirers, yes we facebooked each other a bit after that. Still keep in contact.

And as for Urka and her man?  You'll be happy to hear they just got married this summer.  Cheers y'all, and congrats. :)

Worst. Day. Ever.

Given that this happened about two Aprils ago, I think it's enough time distanced to calmly talk about my worst day ever. I don't have a lot of bad days. I'm a freak of nature that turns frowns upside down.  One individual killed my day. My months. Possibly the next three Christmas's. That's how bad this pompous jackass was.  Let's start with a little background that lead up to this atrocious day...

We met at a dealer's school. Classy, I know.  He'd seen me on my lunch break a few times and decided to give me his number, telling me we should hang out sometime. Harmless. Sure.  About a week later I text him for some company, had me meet him at his favourite bar.  I didn't do it on purpose, but it happened to be our first meeting was on Valentine's Day. Whatevs, I don't celebrate that anywho.

Meet him there, jokes ensue about V-Day, the night ends. Asks to take me out for breakfast a couple days later or whatever. Can't quite remember. Go out for breakfast, viewed some art places, la la la, all over very nice, but I just didn't click.



So by the actual second date, I was very upfront and honest. I wasn't feeling it. Thanks but no thanks, don't wanna date. Very nice. Have a good day.

Then shit just got all fuggin weird. He's all Oh yeah that's cool, well I'll talk to you in a few weeks, month or so when I think I can be your friend. I'll need some time.

That was the actually seemingly normal part.... I didn't give shits either way. He was nice. No click. I was honest. Only two dates, you know? And I mean very very clean dates. Like a, no-don't-walk-me-to-the-door-thanks-for-dinner dates.

As promised, a few weeks later he hits me up for coffee. To fast forward this part, I'll tell you it was a weekly thing. Always optimistic for a different outcome, but always ending the same to where I stopped answering texts:

Coffee is normal.
Would start talkin about some other honky I could give two shits hearing about.
Continue that conversation into some weird "oh but you didn't wanna date me though" talk.
Continue into some ... weird... guilt trip for not wanting him? The fucks I know. 

This guy thought he was top notch because he's always been a dealer and made his thousands and comes from money or some shit and moved to the dirty south because who the fuck knows the reasons...(my language doesn't get better from here...) and thinks that because he can buy shit means he can get any girl he wants.

I've never been rude to a human unless they gave me reason, and even then I've had the patience of a monk. This man would not stop badgering me. You wanna play a cock showing game, mine's bigger. Every time.

So yeah. I stopped answering texts.  It stopped a couple weeks... then I got the text. Why Oh Why didn't I avoid it like the plague...

Him: What's up?
Me: Just got off work.
H: What you doing tomorrow morning?
M: Relaxing. Haven't had a day off for two weeks. I'm gonna stay up til six then sleep in.
H: Wanna go to breakfast with me?
M: Day off. Sleeping in.
H: Come on! I'll treat!
M: No thanks.
H:Okay, I'll hit you up later tomorrow.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Letting that man still know that I existed for that weekend was a mistake.  Responding was a mistake. A Christmas ruiner.

Because the next morning...
I did not get my sleep in day.
I did not get my day off.
I did not. Enjoy. My life.

At about fuggin ten that mornin I get a phone call. Not looking at the caller ID, I pick up and hear that voice. That VOICE. EFF.

"HEY!" So fuggin obnoxious, "Where you at?"
"Home. Sleeping. What?"
"Guess you haven't been getting my texts. Well since you ditched out on breakfast, how about you take a drive with me to New Orleans?"
"Fine. In the afternoon."
"Come on! It's already ten! I'll give you an hour." 
GIVE me an hour? Mo'fuggah I will cut you.
"Fine." And I hang up.
Why did I even agree, you may be asking. See I have this problem with getting rid of people. Too nice to scream at the ignorant but still bold enough to call them fuggin ignorant. Well. Used to have this problem.

I get up. Throw on some shorts and a button up. No need to impress- it's just a drive. I might be able to enjoy some fresh air. I remember my electric bill is due. Having an hour to spare, and knowing I already took the total ten minutes it takes for me to get ready for the day, I drive down to my power company to pay said bill. Not even thirty minutes after Pompous called the first time, he calls again,
"Where are you?"
"Paying bills. Why?"
"Well hurry up! I'm waiting at your place."

Hurry? Waiting? Mo'fugga I have another thirty.

"Uhm, why? You're early."
"I wanna get driving! We're wasting daylight!"
At this point I have no idea what he's talking about. We live an hour outta Orleans, and I can't possibly understand why we would run out of daylight. It's just a drive, right? He said a drive right? There and back? Maybe a scenic tour of the town? Ohhhhhh little ginger. So naive. So. So. Naive.

I take my sweet ass precious time driving home, contrary to my normal Indy 500 style of driving.  I get there and Pompous is already getting outta his car and headed to my door like a damn puppy. Y'all, this man is 9 years my senior. When he met me, he thought I was his age. A common occurrence, older men and myself.  I don't think I've ever met such a man that acted like such an arrogant child.

Walking to my door, he announces he has to use the loo before leaving. Good boy.  Then, I'm grabbing my purse with my ID and shit in it just in case- you know, because everyone gets in the swing of bringing their ID and cell with them- and as I'm walking out the door, Pompous grabs a green tea from my fridge. My last green tea, in fact. Knowingly.  Ass-wipe, we ain't cool like that for you to be jacking my last tea. Especially since I'm a broke bitch at this point. Hence working non-stop.

My broke factor is very important later as well. Keep it in mind. 

We get into the vehicle.  I'm looking rather tattered. Probably had been a few days since I'd showered, knowing me. Damn sandals. Booty shorts. If I was gonna be stuck in a car, I was gonna be comfortable.  About thirty minutes into his psychobabble, he pulls up to a gas station, needs gas.
"You wanna pay for the first tank?"
"No." I said promptly.  He invited me to go on a drive with him. Why the fuck would I put money in his tank?
"Suit yourself." Gets out, puts gas in, gets back in the car with a bottle of water. Only took a few sips of my last tea. I'm pissed. Bastard. Tea stealing bastard.

I had brought CDs because he suggested it. Not that good music lasted long... he said we should "rorate" which entailed listening to a couple songs off one CD I brought, then listening to his.... rap.

I appreciate good music. This particular rap was not it. Not only was it shitty, I had Pompous big ass white boy screaming the lyrics half assed into my ear. Maybe he thought it was cute. Maybe he knew he was annoying. Maybe he has downs. Maybe.

Either way, I wanted to jump ship but at the time I was still relatively new to the area, not really knowing a lot of people and the few I did know, I didn't know their dedication to a ginger that wanted to jump out onto the freeway into the possums and raccoons rather than sit there and listen to the Tubby MC Fagsalot.

Somewhere in that drive he asks if I had a time I needed to be home.
"Seven?" I said, not understanding how we could possibly be driving for that long.
"SEVEN? Maybe TEN!"
"Dude, I have a friend's show to get to. I told him I would show up at eight. I'll need time to get ready."
"Well why didn't you say so before we left?"
"I didn't think it was relevant. You just said a drive. How fuggin long are we driving for?"
"Haha ohhh well you know, a drive, a walk, let's wander!"

So. We get to Orleans.  He starts talking about parking at Harrah's because they're the best or some shit..Exqueeze me? Parking? That means stopping? He reads the sign and looks disgruntled, "Ugh, parking for more than four hours here is twenty dollars? Well. We'll worry about that later."
"Uh, why are we staying more than four hours? More than two?"
"Well I was at least hoping to gamble while I was here."

See. I can accept that. Sure, he didn't tell me, but gambling, fine. I can stand in an air conditioned place for a little bit while he gets his rocks off. But that's not where it stops. Oh no. Not at all. May the wrist slitting begin.

We walk into the casino and it's gorgeous- go up a floor, explore the carpet- simple. Until he leads me outside.  He wants to go to Bourbon Street.  I look down at my sandals and booty shorts and I'm not happy. Sandals are not walking shoes. When you have thunder thighs like mine, booty shorts are walking shorts either. Too much rubbing. Fuck. I wanna go home. I never should have come. Someone kidnap me and hold me for ransom because I feel it would have been a lot more enjoyable at this point. But no. No ransom. No kidnapping. Just horrible shoes. Shorts. And company.

We go on Bourbon Street and my stomach starts to grumble.  Lunch. Fuck I haven't eaten and I'm surrendered to this cow for who knows how long.  I'm a broke bitch and I just wanna get off Bourbon and onto the main strip where I know I can afford subway. He insists we get plastered. Momma ain't got that kinda money, but being a lady I don't say so. I just mention I don't quite feel like drinks on this afternoon and just want food. Of course he pops into every damn bar outlet on Bourbon, falling for the women who insist he take shots from their tits, then 'blaming me' for him drinking so much. Finally we get to some little food place just barely off Bourbon. Still out of my price range, but fuck it. He isn't budging and I'm hungry.

When we're inside he keeps asking if I'm paying for lunch.
No.
Appetizer?
No.
Alligator tails?
Fuck off.
RELENTLESS.

We get done with lunch and he still wants to go out to all the bars. He is lead by women and alcohol, I am lead by the sweet sounds of music... there was a band in particular I could never forget. Well, not so much the band more than the tenor sax player.  The stage was inside but very open to the street, where the sax player stood.  His solo was so beautiful I literally began to cry.  Probably but a few years older than myself and it brought me back to a time I played a little jazz. Then the bastard tries to ruin my moment with his want to go to the next place.

Go fuck yourself with something hard and sand-papery. If I'm going to be on Bourbon I'm going to enjoy myself and let the sax man mesmerize me.  And he does.  Our eyes lock as he's playing. Gives me a nod and a smile while he's playing. Mm. Dark chocolate smiles.

When he has a break I let him know I'm an appreciator, a former bari player. He smiles and thanks me. 

Pompous ushers on, and eventually I cop enough of an attitude and tell him I'm going to be late for my friend's show that he finally gives in.  He mosies on to the car which at this time is about two miles away.  My feet are angry, my legs are so rashy and sore, I give no fucks and am high tailing out of the streets and into the casino to where out car is parked... I know he knows he's pissing me off by now. He's taking an extremely long time. I want to punt small animals.

We get in the car and get all buckled in, it's already eight. I'm livid. Good thing I lied and told him it was so early, knowing the concert didn't start til ten. Still time. But it was super rude and shitty on his part to keep me so long. He starts the car, grabs the parking ticket from his dashboard, looks at it, and tosses it in my direction, "Guess that's your's". I want to cry. I barely had a spare buck to spend twelve fucking dollars on lunch let alone a fucking twenty dollar parking ticket. I swallow my tongue. Can't afford a fucking taxi home. I better shut up on this one.  I bite the bullet and pay for parking. 

On the way home he tries to make small talk about how 'great' the day was and wishes he could have stayed the night.  Trying to knock away my terrible mood, I try engaging in conversation.  "Yeah, one day when I have a spare couple hundred, I think I'd like to come here and blow some money on Bourbon. Could be fun."

The next sentence that came out of his mouth is what sent me into a boiling inner rage. So hot that the devil himself would have crossed his legs.

"Well that's exactly what I wanted to do today. I brought seven hundred with me to blow for the weekend. Oh well I guess."

I slowly turned to look at him all Emily Rose style, "What?" I said barely in a hiss.
Composure. Composure.
"Yeah! I wanted to get out of town, blow some money, and have fun!"
I couldn't hold it.

"Then why the fuck did you throw a fit about me paying for gas? And lunch? And the fucking twenty dollar parking ticket?"

I thought the last statement was the worst. Nope. It was this next one.

"Because we're not dating. You can't expect me to pay for everything."

WHAT THE EVERLIVING HOLY TITS ON A CRACKER MONEY IN THE HOLE OF A WHALE YOU MOTHER FUCKING TWAT SCUMMING SON OF A RATS ASS PIECE OF.....

But I said none of that. Quickly following he asked me if I wanted to take the scenic beach route home or take the freeway straight home.

"Take me home. You're already making me late."
"Making you late? You're the one that was watching the sax player. "

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!

But that's not what I did. I wanted to start crying. I wanted to go all Collumbine up in there with only one witness to worry about. 

The drive was less than enjoyable. I got home and bastard asks me if he wants me to wait outside while I get dressed so he can take me. I let him know he's not invited. Then huddle into my place, rage showering and changing.

So. That's what this trip was about. Because. We're not. Dating. I see you, you fat fuck.

After that, he kept texting me for the evening, wanting to meet me at the show. I got short with him really quick, insisting I was trying to bang the drummer.  His mood went all "I have money" super quickly.

You can't buy me off. 

Moral of the story? Sometimes we lesn't be optimistic. Sometimes you really can't just be friends with someone after only two dates. Sometimes maybe laying into someone is better than holding your tongue for the sake of their feelings.  Because in turn it will completely ruin you if you don't fucking say something to the pompous twat who's single for a fucking reason.

Happy Father's Day

I grew up without a father.  There really isn't any more plain of a way to say it.  Whenever Father's Day comes around, however, I've never felt left out, or even angry at the fact. 

Over the years, I've always been invited by friends to go on camping trips with them and their dads, or do something with my other friends who also didn't have fathers.

This year, I'm so very far away from all of those friends I've been very grateful to have in my life at this time of year,  but I'll be doing something different- I'll be doing an ode. 

This is an ode to all of the men in my life- father figures, fantastic boyfriends, and even best friends who have stayed by my side- who have kept my strong, shown me what to look for in a husband, and molded me to the strong woman that I am today.  No names to be mentioned, because you all should know who you are, but rather a random collage of memories of anyone who has shown me the least bit of respect, kindness, or a grand gesture of affection.


The first memory that always pops into my head when I think of what I'd want my father to be like, or even the future father of my children, is when I was still in high school.  I was over at my youth pastor's house.  His son, only about 2 or 3 years at the time, was crying.  Almost inaudibly, it was understood he had a problem with his ear.  Having already given him medicine,  my pastor starts to draw bath water for his son, hoping the moisture would soothe him.  The boy started crying even more, and had worked himself into such a frenzy about his ear ache, he started to heave.  Instantly, his father picked him up, set him on a chair to stand on next to the kitchen sink, and bent him slightly, rubbing his back, "It's okay buddy. You'll be okay. Just puke it up in the sink."  I stood by, not having much interaction with children, and unaware of what to do but look to my youth pastor with sympathy and ready to help. "He'll be okay, it's common for kids his age."  His son still crying, stopped vomiting into the sink long enough for his father to ask him if he was gonna make it to the bath. He shook his head, sniffled a little, and quieted.  He was picked up and brought to the bathroom. No yelling. No frustration.  He understood his son couldn't help being sick.  He wasn't angry he threw up on the carpet, just wanted his son to simmer down and feel better.  Patience.

The next memory comes from an old boyfriend, the 'highschool sweetheart if you will' and he was just that.  Everyone loved him.  You couldn't catch him on a bad day.  We were all but fifteen years old.  He was borrowing his parent's car for the day to take his gal out.  About mid-afternoon, I suggested that I drive.  I can't remember the reason.  "Are you gonna be mad if I don't let you?" He asked. I just shrugged and smiled. "It's not my car. Why would I be mad?" Like a Chinese fire drill, he was in the passenger and I was in the driver's seat. "Seat belts," he minded.  We were heading out to the hills- a different part of town that was nothing but dirt roads and houses that had miles of yard between neighbours. It was relaxing, driving up and down those dirt roads as we came to a fork in the road. I was going to drive the straightest fork, and go left.  "Go that way," he'd said quickly.  I thought he meant to turn right.  My mistake.  Brakes don't work too well on dirt roads, and the right fork was much too sharp.  On these roads, you had to stay on them or off a cliff you went.  The ass end of the vehicle spun too far behind us- off the edge of the road we started to go. Our saving grace was a rock that caught the back wheel before going off the edge completely down the hills. When the car fully stopped, all I remember is him saying in almost a panic, "Are you okay? Are you okay??" I just looked at him in shock.  I knew I fucked up hard core.  "Look at me, can you get out of the car on your side?"  I look, and see the drop of land. "I dunno." I grabbed for the handle and opened the door slowly, dropping myself out of the car, and climbed up to the road.  He did the same, being on the side where the road was still close. At that time, a truck was driving by and he flagged it down for help.  Being in the north, every truck has some sort of towing device whether it be a rope, chain, or lift.  When he pulled the car out I was relieved but still had adrenalin going.  On the way home, him driving of course, he kept asking if I would be okay. Until now, our secret.  "I'm so sorry," is all I could get out, tears starting to stream. He smiled at me, almost half a chuckle, "Hey, it's my fault. you were going the right way and I shouldn't have said anything.  The car's okay, you're okay, I'm okay. It's not a big deal." "I almost ruined your parent's car!!" He smiled again, "but you didn't."  Kindness and forgiveness in it's purest form.

In my college days, I'd started drinking. Not heavily, but the occasional party, as per the college experience.  One weekend I was at the house of the man I was seeing at the time, ten years my senior. I'd always been mistaken for older than I ever was.  Watching a movie and coming to the end, I felt the mister coming on too strong.  In my drunken state, I wasn't ready for such things and called the only other person I could.  My other friend, also some years over me, showed up at the door. I was giggling and happy he came, but my mister wasn't, asking why the hell I invited him.  He stayed for a little while until it was too late. He didn't know which dorm was mine at the time to bring me home, and knowing I couldn't go home with him, he asked if I would be okay staying with this guy.  I giggled, shrugging it off. He waited until my mister went into his kitchen, then he grabbed me by my face, and said "Hey. I need you to sober up for a split second and remember this conversation." I stared at him intently, doing my best.  "I need to go home. I have class in the morning.  You call me again if you need help okay?" "Suuuuuure," I giggled. " Hey. Ginger. I mean it." He pulled my face to his to make sure I was listening.  "If he puts a hand on you, call me. I'll come get you. You know better than this."  The mister walked back into the living room.  I stopped giggling. Took note of the situation. "Yes sir."  He announced leaving, and I had no more problems that night.  A great friend to this day, he wasn't interested in taking advantage of a drunk girl, nor was he about to sit back and watch it happen.  He stayed til I sobered a little, making sure the mister knew his place.  Respect.

I had a friend once that had gotten married and was three months in when I'd met him.  He was unhappy.  He married her thinking it would change her opinion about him, to convince her that he really was loyal.  That he really cared about her, but in the end it was her own self destruction and lack of self confidence that destroyed the relationship from the get go.  And even though he called her every day to convince her he loved her, she didn't believe him.  Even when he opened up to me, telling me he liked me, wishing for someone as relaxed and easy going as myself, he ended it by saying that he was married, and even though it's hard, he'd always be faithful to her.  It was the last time I saw him but I understood.  To be with a woman he loved and to prove to her day in and out he was in it for the win, he let go of a friendship because he didn't want it destroyed or tainted.  I'm still not mad.  I only hope now that she sees. Loyalty.

In non-specific instances, I've always had the men who've had my back in shitty relationships- telling my I could do better. Deserved better. Could have any one I wanted and not to settle.  Encouraging me in my wild careers and dreams.  Taking risks and joining me on my crazy rendezvous'. Men that can speak before the act- talking things out before throwing punches.  Not just the men in my life, but in the lives of the few female friends that I have.  Taking them out for dinner.  Standing up for them when another man steps up on them. 

To be specific, more recently, I was out with my gal and her man, and all the other party people we invited. On our way out the club on the top floor, we heard screaming from the lower floor.  My bestie's man was the first to scope it out.  Girls fighting. Dragging each other by the hair.  Their friends trying to break them up, and as soon as the fight ended, they were scrapping again, no security to be seen.  Next thing you know, some random man steps in and grabs one of the women by the throat in a choke hold. "HEY! You don't put your hands on a woman like that!" And my bestie's man goes flying in, getting the guy off the gal.  Even though he didn't know the female, or the situation, he still knew right from wrong and knows that women shouldn't be handled like that.  Even if every one else was standing by.  Bravery.

This post is also an ode to the men who stand up for themselves. Then men who don't let their women walk all over them and also request respect when they dish it out.  For years, single or taken,  I've always been in the club dancing on whoever and wherever I pleased.  Your man, my man, your woman, my friend, your momma, your cousin- they were on the dance floor and they were mine to posses.  The men I dated didn't care.  They knew I was loyal and didn't care to acknowledge when my waist was being held by another man on the dance floor. Until recent.  For the first time, I had a man tell me he was walking out.  Though I was dancing with a friend, he was still a male, and still someone unfamiliar to the gentleman.  I walked outside the club with him and took him to a quiet street. "His hands. I can't have someone else put his hands on my woman like that." It wasn't that he didn't trust me, he had enough self respect to not sit back and watch someone else dance with what was his.  I think I can actually say I'm with someone that gives a shit about what I do.  An easy going spirit, fun, but territorial when he needs to be.  I respect him so much more for it.  Heart. 

So many more men to acknowledge on this Father's Day, but so little space to write.  To my good guys out there, don't stop fighting the good fight. Nice guys don't finish last, push overs finish last.  Nice guys don't get the shitty stick, pigs putting on a fake facade playing nice guy get the shitty stick.  Live life with your heart, and you'll find a gal living life with hers.  Be careful with the women you treat, because one day you might end up with a woman who once had a man that treated her like you did a woman of your past.  Happy Father's Day, not just to fathers, but to future dads, and all of the kids like me without dads who turned out alright too.