Sunday, November 18, 2007


Last night we (all of us) caroused, had a home style type dinner at a trendy place called the Woodland with a fake kitschy tree inside (growing up and out from the center through the roof); went to a hipster place called Sidebar where outside to smoke was infinity tables harboring tight black jeans wearing emo kid penguins looking anxious and pissed, channeling the word drone in my mind more than once.

Everything was very hip and cool and hip and deep and trendy and I played pool, and pee'd in the boy's room twice because the girl's line was long and stupid. I don't remember any of the conversations, but they happened in massive multitudes of assumed interesting, on levels of casual small talk, with no real heavy themes, nice.

Inventorywise, I drank a Maker's Mark on the rocks, three draft beers, a dirty gin martini, a 13 dollar half glass of pinot noir (by accident) and two glasses of gallon jug red wine before finally waking up this morning gasping from thirsty and corroded feeling. I had a Fresca.

Two hours later I woke up again, my teeth glazed with aspartame.

My mom called today to confirm Thanksgiving plans in Tennessee and while telling me about a peeping Tom incident which happened to her last week, I couldn't help but feel like a shit head for thinking the whole time, 'this would make a great story! No way, my life is so interesting!' Her story sounded something like:

"I was in the bathroom. I heard a dragging sound outside, like an animal dragging something (no shit!) so I turned out all the lights inside and turned the outside lights on and looked around the house after looking outside in the dark and seeing something under the window that wasn't supposed to be there (no shit!) I yelled 'WHO'S THERE!' and nothing. Then I walked closer and looked and it was a chair. Someone dragged a chair under the window. So I called your aunt, my sister, and she came over fast. We talked to the neighbors. We called the police. The police looked around the house. They found another chair pulled up to the living room window. They said he must have been there an hour, at least. They showed me how to pull the pin from David's (my dead step dad) automatic. Now, whenever I hear anything outside, I get the gun and yell 'WHO'S THERE!' and wave the gun at the window. The two policemen said there were thirty break-ins that they personally had to deal with last month from gang initiation rituals, but I think it's just a guy who parks his car and walks."

(My mom and I had a nice conversation after that, about gang violence from peer pressure in lower socioeconomic ghettos where parents are ambivalent crackheads, about overpopulation in general with rises in cost of living giving people anxiety.)

Don't mess with my mom. She's totally holding and ready to blow somebody up. She will yell at you and shoot you if she catches you in the window. I'm serious. She takes kickboxing too, and has a black belt. My mom drives a cornflower blue Lincoln Towncar which will roast you like beef. My mom will kick you in the throat and shoot you.

1 comment:

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