And now Old Faithful hates me. Don't look at me like that. Yeah, I know it's bad. I've been awful. What a dickhead! Shit.
And you think I'm berating myself in a blog to win her favor? Fuck that. I'm too real, yo. Authentic.
Well what I did wrong was I called from a lonely place and said I'd meet her in Chicago, but when I did the math and realized I couldn't do that and eat or drive the following week, I had to back out. I'm just like my dad. Promises, promises, promises. Always wanted to give the people what they want and seldom able to fulfill it.
So I've lost the only girl named Courtney who ever meant anything to me and I will be a dreadful sight for the next few weeks because of it. God be with anyone planning to pick a fight with me this weekend because I'll have the machined gears of absolute sorrow muscling my punches, kicks and bites. Yes, bites.
Seriously, I feel like a dick about that. I have all week and so much so I could hardly call her again to see if she hated me. And I'm hoping with all my might that her comment on the front page is a joke. Surely, she's too good to be like that. Forgiving and just and kind. Giving crapheads a second chance when they deserve it the least.
That's not even to mention how I offended Professor Stomach by proxy. I should think before I start going off on people's favorite movies. Or movies directed by the same guy who directed their favorite movie. Especially when the guy who likes it so much also happens to be my sole subscriber.
That's right, you can subscribe to my journal entries so you'll know when I make up something new and exciting. Or at least, when I write something to read.
In other news, there's still nothing happening up here worth reporting. I smile and laugh on occassion but I haven't the heart to share all the gorey details. I will say I'm finally pretty comfortable up here, which is nice.
There's the job and I have shelter. Soon I hope to be getting back into the fight against the Prison Industrial Complex and maybe one day I'll make some friends. Besides the ones I live with. With whom I live.
Speaking of work, we were watching CNN today and they were discussing something awful about a 22-year old guy absconding with a 14-year old girl he lured online. This caused my youthful co-worker, Scooter, no small angst. In short time, he was raging about the atrocity and relating the details of his little sister's Internet life. He first mentioned that she talks to guys online and then said, and I quote, "She has this thing where she types her thoughts and people read them." His voice carried the omnious and judgmental tone of an elderly person talking about the newfangled contraptions and gadgets of this era, but was also so convincing that I had no idea what this terrible thing could be. What in the world could his sister be using where her thoughts were somehow transmitted for random and complete strangers to read? I had absolutely no clue, I shit you not.
Rodball, my pal and co-worker, asked, "You mean a blog?"
Scooter, "Yeah. Yeah, that's it!"
Wow, a different perspective entirely.
Time for an update.
My grandparents have gotten themselves a new car. One of these here fancypants Toyota Prius hybrid deals. Excellent choice, I say. That gives them an extra hybrid in the garage and jokingly, my mother (whose birthday was today), asked if she could have the spare. They shared a laugh and went about their business -- yada, yada, yada. Right?
Well, as she's about to head home, Pop tosses her the keys to the Honda Insight and says, "Why don't you take it home tonight?" Turning to my grandmother, he winks and then gives Mom a wink, too.
Being the sort of person she is, she wasn't about to ask if it was a loan or a gift and my grandpa's general weirdness doesn't lend her any confidence in either direction. So she's just going to hang on to it until they say something about it, I guess.
Pop, dear old Pop. Once when I was doing work on my Mazda truck and he was helping me, we went on a test drive to see if everything we'd done had made any difference. It's hard to remember if it did because he insisted on making me shift from first to fifth with nothing in between. He was adament that that's how they used to race back in the days and wouldn't let me drive it any other way. So I did and there I was going about negative six miles an hour while my motor bogged down. Meanwhile, he's in the background the entire time going, "Give 'er a minute."
He's good people though and I look forward to seeing him when I get home for Thanksgiving. I look forward to seeing all sorts of family and friends when I get home for the holidays -- this impending one included.
So we'll leave Dearborn around 7 or 8am on Wednesday and make it into Macon around 7 or 8pm on Wednesday. Then we have Turkey Day and Friday and Saturday before we leave at the ass-crack of dawn on Sunday. It'll be brief, my friends, but I will be there.
Though this is an eating-centric trip with many face-stuffing moments already planned, one trip that is absolutely essential to my continued well-being will be a trip to Waffle House. All the way up through Ohio, Waffle House faithfully dots the exits along the Interstate. But once you cross the border into Michigan -- none can be found and I don't know why. Maybe it's the abundance of Coney Islands or perhaps there's a conspiracy. I don't know, but there must be a reason.
Either way, I'm hitting the House on my visit and I hope to have a crew with me. Being up here a month with hardly any social interaction will make me so much more grateful for the friends back home. I even miss Tangle My Nangle.
Ooo, it'll be sweet. Maybe someone knows where we can get drunk since Liz Reed's doesn't exist any more. Maybe someone has a house where I can BMOB. Maybe there'll be a great big group hug with heart-felt affirmations and Valentines delivered two and a half months too early.
And maybe I'll get there and no one will give a damn. And maybe I'll buy a slingshot and shoot the lights out.
Oh and I should mention I've completely fallen in love up here. Not with Michigan or Detroit or the surrounding areas though I do like them a lot -- just not in that way. No, I am in love and I've never been happier about it. When we're together, I feel so complete. When we're not, I can't think of anything else. It's amazing, it's like I'm a kid again and Jesus, sometimes I think I really am.
I don't know how much I should tell you but -- ah, hell, I'll just spill the beans. Lord knows I didn't want to do it this way especially since it kinda disrespects all the girls I've loved before but dammit, I don't care because I'm happy with this relationship and nothing will change that.
I'm in love with Hot Cheese Popcorn by the Better Made name brand. It's a local establishment that puts out products that look to be on par with Golden Flake but they've stumbled upon the most delicious flavor this world has ever known. I'll probably bring a million bags of it with me to Macon and maybe I'll share. I don't know how to describe all the goodness I feel when I'm eating it so I'll borrow a line from Moe the Bartender, of Simpsons fame, "It's like there's a party in my mouth and you're all invited."
Touche', Moe. Exactly.
Okay, I've got to pee. If you love me, you'll let me know.
Peace.
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