Last Tuesday, I came home drunk and sloppy once again. I was lucky to find my Velveeta Shells & Cheese, left over from earlier, waiting on the stovetop. Sure, it was a little dried out, the orange cheese darkened and dehydrating, but the reminiscent taste was enough for me. I scarfed down what was left of the stuff, and I stumbled into bed and fell asleep in my clothes.
Less than an hour later, I felt awake and alert, with the intense urge to piss and have a smoke. My apartment around me still seemed light and unstable, and I was starting to feel queasy.
I sat down and sighed as I let out the longest pee, and I fumbled to pull out a cigarette.
Fumble indeed. I dropped the last three onto the floor, into a puddle of water that had either leaked from the toilet tank or ran over from my last shower. I wished then that my cigarettes were a bundle of twigs, floating away in a stream. Then I could watch them disappear under a bridge, dodging rocks and tumbling away in the current.
Instead, they sucked in the water, and their paper started to stain, just like burning, but not. Not at all.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
'You know what?,' I thought to myself. 'It's fucking.. whatever o'clock, and I want to smoke... I'm going to the god-damned gas station, and I'm going to get a new fucking pack of cigarettes. Not tomorrow. NOW.'
I dug through my dirty laundry and found my jacket.
As soon as I stepped out the door, I heard the blaring sound of a truck on the distant highway. How do trucks make that loud tearing noise? The sound trailed off, and only the breath of the highway remained. That, and the stereotypical buzzing of the streetlights. Ah, the city. I figured I'd hear police sirens soon.
My stomach felt like a cement mixer, ready to pour its contents out onto the street. I was waiting for the right moment, but it just wasn't coming yet.
I walked in a zig-zag line up the sidewalk, looking down at my feet, trying to decide whether I wanted to regain my balance, or just give in to gravity.
I reached out and put my hand against a brick building to my right, and I breathed in deeply. Halfway to the gas station - I psyched myself up to make it the rest of the way and hopefully set my body at least half-straight with a little nicotine.
I leaned against the wall. I felt dizzier than ever. That's when I heard a sound beside me. I turned to face the barrel of a handgun.
The look in the eyes of the man robbing me wasn't as intimidating as I would have thought. Certainly he looked urgent, but also desperate, perhaps even a bit afraid.
Drunk as I was, I tried to get a grip on the situation. This was more than a situation. It was an opportunity. The barrel of this man's gun was ready to deliver me. His hand was tediously gripping the trigger.
Finally, I was faced with a chance to escape the world with my pride intact.
Sure, I've often thought about swerving off bridges as I drive over them. Ledges have taunted me. As drafts from below brushed up into my cowardly face, tall ledges always seemed to suggest to me that if death was so close, it couldn't be all that bad.
Now I had the chance to have the job done for me. The man and his gun stood next to me, strung out and ready. This time I was not afraid. I felt a sweet wave of relief rush through my alcohol-thinned blood. I told the mugger, "DO IT."
"I'm not fucking around!" he screamed, and pointed the gun again. He looked mistrusting as I started to reach for my pocket. "Take off your jacket," he requested.
"No," I replied. I was almost smiling. I was almost giddy, even if my nerves were starting to go into overdrive. "Do it. Kill me. You can have my money... when you kill me."
"Fuck you!" he said, and smacked the gun against my jaw. I stumbled backwards only a little bit, nearly losing my balance. As I composed myself, in a moment of tipsy brilliance, I looked at his gun, and then looked him in the eye, and said "I have a lot of money on me!" Of course that was a lie.
Once I said it, I felt full of fear and excitement. Maybe regret? My stomach was tightened with anxiety, and I was starting to tremble. In less than an instant, I took a deep and shaky breath, and I realized -too late- what was happening.
My mugger had no time to react before I stumbled forward and puked Velveeta Shells and Cheese on the ground between us, splashing his shoes and mine.
Intense moments are a startling reminder of how much the mind can think in a nanosecond. I was surely thinking about the fact that I had just removed the chance of dignity from my demise. I was also wondering how the pasta could remain nearly intact in my stomach. Had I forgotten to chew? It looked better than it had when I'd eaten it.
I exhaled the a sour gust of breath into the face of the man with the gun, and I began to stumble backwards again.
"Man, Fuck You!" the man screamed. He pushed me, and I fell backwards against the wall. He ran back down the street, cursing under his breath.
I sat against the wall for what seemed like forever, and then I got up and made my way to the gas station. When I ordered my cigarettes, I wondered if the attendant could smell my foul breath.
...
"Man... you're one lucky motherfucker!," Dan said, shaking his head upon hearing my story the next day.
I shrugged. Yeah... real fucking lucky. That's me.
Date: 5 Dec 2005 01:09:57 -0000 [12/04/2005 08:09:57 PM EST]
From: shayes@____
To: josh@________
Subject: Killoggs Message: me
Sender's Name: steven
Sender's e-Mail: shayes@____
Subject: me
Sent via http://www.killoggs.com/feedback/
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This morning, if you listened closely, you could hear me muttering "mothefucker!" under my breath repeatedly. As I slid around on the ice on my way from house to bus stop, attempting to maintain my balance, I cursed at the snow and the ice and the cold. It didn't really make me feel much better. Once last year, while walking down an icy sidewalk in Pigtown after grocery shopping, I slipped on my butt in front of a stoop full of thugs. My groceries went everywhere and I sat there and cursed aloud as I watched a jar of spaghetti sauce roll away from me. The thugs could have used that oppurtunity to have a hearty laugh at my expense, and I think they were greatly considering it, but perhaps something was too relatable and struck an empathic cord. They even asked if I was alright. I almost felt touched.
Today I'm wearing a (gasp!) white sweater. Actually, I'm wearing this. This is a big step for me because well, I'm kind of a slob and I've never really trusted myself with white garmentry. Today is a test: can I do it? Can I pull it off? Will I be able to wear it for a WHOLE day and not get any STUFF on it? Only time will tell.
Last night Chris and I watched True Stories which I've already seen a bunch of times but for some reason I found it particularly funny last night. Especially that scene where those kids in the green shirts come marching along, singing and playing instruments made of junk. I watched it three times.
I am listening to Of Montreal's The Sunlandic Twins . This album is so good.
I think this is the funniest picture ever (right now):
Don't see this movie, it was really really shitty (unless you just want to see some peener in vag, be my guest....):
I was getting ready for work and there was a knock on my door. No one ever comes over so I was kind of freaked out. Plus, I had just woken up. I looked out the peephole and there stood these two well-dressed, clean-cut girls. I didn't know what to do, so like a stupid asshole, I opened the door. The blonde one said, "Are you Katie?" I said that I was, again like a stupid asshole. They introduced themselves as Sister Sara and Sister Elizabeth. I didn't think they looked much like nuns, and then I noticed that Sister Elizabeth was holding a Book of Mormon in her hand. I knew I'd fucked up, immediately, but I was curious as to why they knew my name. Sister Sara said, "We've tried to call you a few times, but it's always busy." So they know my phone number, too?? And my address??? Sister Sara proceeded to tell me that "headquarters" had told them I was interested in learning more about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and asked if they come in and tell me more about the Book of Mormon. I told them I was just about to leave for work, and then they asked if they could come back some other time. They were so sweet looking, I found myself unable to lie to their faces and tell them that there was no good time for them to ever come back to my house and convert me to their bizarre bigamist religion. For the life of me, all I could do was give them a fake phone number when they asked to verify my contact info, and tell them they could come back on Thursday (when I knew I wasn't going to be home).
I want to know why the Mormons have sent their ninja sisters to terrorize me. I want to know why they know where I live and why they think I want to join their religion. Seriously, the Jehovah's Witnesses usually don't know your name and phone number, they just randomly go door to door. Can I be placed on the Mormon do-not-convert list?? If they come back and I'm here, I'm going to make sure that all the pot pipes, porno, and liquor are in plain view, that I haven't taken out the garbage in a few days, and seriously freak them out with some hardcore blasphemin'.
