Yesterday, I made two long ventures outside of the house and doing so made me happy if only because it meant I wasn't inside asleep, which is what Sundays tend to do to a man.
On the second of these, I'd been on the road for less than ten minutes and met my first traffic light with no problem. As I waited, I visualized my to-do list, which primarily featured getting my paycheck and trying to satistfy my mother's paranoia that somehow in the middle of Georgia a hurricane would wipe us off the planet.
A moment before the light turned green, I checked the rear-view and noted the presence of a Bibb County sheriff. "Keep it between the lines and go the speed limit," I muttered for my own benefit.
The car directly behind me -- the one sandwiched between myself and the law -- moved to the side and the light switched. Then the sheriff turned his lights on. I thought I'd move out of his way too but somehow, I found him glued to my rear.
Here I was being pulled over on what had been a lovely day. Not figuring I could have done much wrong sitting at a traffic light and dismissing my initial reaction which was that I imagined the green light and proceeded through the intersection illegally, I then thought it was a plot to silence me and the many anarchist opinions that accompany me.
Eventually, the sheriff (who I had no intentions of shooting) approached my open window and asked for the usual.
"What'd I do?" I demanded before conceeding to any of his requests.
"License and registration, son."
"I want to know what I did to be pulled over."
"Speeding."
"I was at a stop light!"
"No, back up Riverside. It took me a minute to turn around on you."
Shit. I didn't think I'd been speeding but it was no longer an issue because something more serious might be happening. My frequent readers may remember that I had a bench warrant for my arrest thanks to my failure at paying previous speeding tickets. I paid them but didn't go through the process of formerly reinstating my license. This, for those who can't do math, meant I was was caught speeding on a suspended license.
What I figured would happen next would be my first arrest -- something with which I flirted the last time I was in Atlanta and drunk. Hm, I guess it's like Death and Final Destination sequels -- you can't escape it.
I pretended to look for the registration for the car while I watched him take an obsorbant amount of time radioing in things on his little CB. It took him fifteen minutes of checking me out and going to his trunk to get stuff. During this time, I just resigned myself to a jail cell trying to figure out who I'd use my one call on. It's an honor that shouldn't be taken lightly.
He came back to the window finally and asked if I knew that my license was suspended. Of course I didn't. Of course, I thought it was all cleared up when I paid my fines. Of course, I was completely taken by surprise at this turn of events. Of course, it was the farthest thing from my mind and oh my god was I shocked.
"You have to go to the DMV after you pay your fines. Hold on."
He walked back to the car and spent some more time shuffling his belongings presumably looking for his favorite handcuffs. When he returned, the only thing he said was "You can get out of the car now."
My whole future flashed before my eyes. Me, Chris Horne, still dressed in his Sunday best after the first visit to church in months and months. Me, an upright citizen, slammed against the hood of a Crown Vic spread eagle and humiliated on the side of the road while on-lookers got their jollies. Me, the best guy in the whole world according to everyone who knows me, a hardened criminal. Me, a criminal hardened by repeated ass-rape because I have been blessed with soft skin and a great butt. Me, a lonely old man who can't look his grandkids in the eyes because of one night spent in the Bibb Country Correctional Facility, a place I passed often on my way to Alexander II, a magnet school for christsakes! Oh, I had so much potential and wouldn't Mammaw have seventeen heart attacks when she learned of my fate? This not even to mention the damage another speeding ticket and jail time would do to my plans for Detroit Rock City.
"This is what you take to the DMV to get your license back. And I'm giving you a warning on the speeding ticket because I really believe you didn't know."
Holy fucking shit. You're kidding me, right? Oh man, you're great. You're awesome. I want to have your kids! I'd lay down my life for you in a bar fight! Never in my whole life have I seen a more beautiful man, but not that I'm gay, I just think you're incredibly good-looking and wise.
I didn't say anything but "thank you" and "so I take this?"
Truthfully, he really was an incredibly kind person. The kindest representative of the law I've ever met, Jason J excluded. My luck turned on a dime and after that I seriously considered buying a scratch-off just in case it was my day. If you don't play, you can't win.
Instead, I hit the Waffle House to deliver my doctor's excuse and get my pay. The manager wasn't there and I haven't heard from her yet. Of course, I didn't go to work today because I was ailing... and lazy. Not lazy... unwilling to do further damage to my Great Toe.
Then I traveled to Warner Robins to get dinner with Juliet T; only realizing half way there that I shouldn't since I don't actually have a license anymore -- the sheriff took it for his collection, I guess.
Dinner at New China Buffet. On one of the many lines there, I discovered the ancient chinese culinary delight known as "Shrimp and Corn". Apparently a few cans of golden corn and leftover shrimp is all you need to make this old Oriental family recipe complete. It's almost as good, though not nearly as ethnically authentic as the bacon-wrapped imitation crab sticks. Man, that's good eatin'!
The storm was approaching and I was finally required to meet my duty as grocery shopping son.
Mother, having been tramatized by the 24 hour blackout caused by bitch-ass storm Frances, has demanded with each following hurricane that we stock up on all our basic needs. Some of the 'basic needs' on my shopping list: Cream Cheese, Spinach, Tea Bags and Salad.
While I loaded up my cart, I spoke with Big Hands on the phone until the cheese aisle interrupted my signal. Cheese, as I explained to her, absorbs the transmission. It's a scientifically proven fact. Maybe.
Apparently, she's working that camera shop swagger of hers and has bagged dinner offers from some of Metro Atlanta's finest hunks. One a cross-eyed and bald father of a 12 year old. The other, a kid from our area up there to soak in the sci fi energy of some Comics Dragon Horror Con thing. That and she's discovered the joys of a sake martini. In other words, she's doing fine.
And she'll be the big 2-1 soon. Don't expect to see her at Liz Reed's though as it isn't her speed anymore. No, if you want to party like a rock star you better get your driving boots and bar hop Atlanta.
This, I know, because I've actually talked to her. My other friends, I don't know so much about. Like I explained to Hoodrat yesterday, I get hermetic sometimes and don't notice the rapid passage of time. It isn't intentional, it's accidental. Keep that in mind before berating me.
I almost talked to Tangle, who remains my Nangle. Unfortunately, I was in a foul mood coming off the wedding party thing described in my last entry.
C-Dogg the Prodigal Babe who even posted a comment on my page swearing on a stack of flaming Bibles to call me, hasn't and so I'm left with one option, that being calling her. I suppose I should.
Do I have any other friends? Nancypants spends most of her time learning to be a good mother duck, the rest resigned to having the hots for Chicago, Chicago.
Speaking of having the hots, I have the hots for Maya Rudolph of SNL fame. In doing research (i.e. -- looking for naked pictures of her), I uncovered an interesting little fact. Apparently, Ms. Rudolph -- whose mother wrote and sang the moving "Loving You" -- was a member of the short-lived rock ground, the Rentals. It was a Matt Sharp side project after Weezer dropped their debut album. They once moved us all with their stirring info-tune, "Friends of P". Now are you remembering? I just thought it was odd.
In other news, it may or may not be known to you that I'm finishing off a screenplay for the one and only Action Girl. Her self-mythologizing ways have lead her to developing a movie based on her active imagination. Along with her team of evil geniuses, she toiled on a script but struggled bringing it to fruition. Cut her some slack, she's a busy lass with two jobs and a million friends. That's where I somehow stepped in.
I want to say to everyone that I think I'm finding my niche. Maybe I mentioned that this will be the year of the arts for me. While in Michigan, I'll be focusing hard core on making something out all this writing I do. The book is on hold because I'm having creative differences with my brain, but don't you worry that opus will soon find a home on your bookshelf. My focus right now -- even as I write this screenplay -- is on short stories and such. However, this scriptwriting has really engaged me as it is both much easier than prose and leads to fewer blocks.
When I return, maybe I'll write a movie you can star in and if you're interested, stay in touch. Be nice to me. Give me back rubs and compliments. Then when it comes to casting, get on the couch and assume the position. That's your best shot... and you know who you are.
Love.
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