real world update, part nine
So last night about 11:00 or so I'm just chillin' at my pad, because as I've said earlier, I can't going any fucking where.
For a day at home it had been a surprisingly pleasant day. Early in the afternoon I called the manager at that yuppie hole and had him send me some lunch. 45 minutes later Diego shows up with this salmony thing in a styrofoam box, a bottle of Grey Goose, and a bag of weed. He tells me the booze and the grass will help me pass the time until I am released back into the world. Damn, Diego really is a good guy.
Maybe I'm actually feeling isolated, maybe I'm just bored, whatever the reason I invite him in. I pour a couple drinks from the vodka and load a bowl in a small pipe I keep in a desk drawer. We mostly just sit, sipping vodka and passing the pipe while Radio Paradise plays on my iMac. Maybe that's why I kinda like Diego, like me he also appreciates the silent camaraderie of men.
Soon the drinks are gone and the bowl is empty. Diego says something about having to go back to work. I don't know it it's the warmth from the vodka or the buzz of the grass, I guess I'm just feeling generous. I pull two C-notes from my wallet and hand them to him, telling him here's a little something extra for the family fund. Diego thanks me, says God will bless me, and leaves.
God will bless me? Whatever.
I mostly just chill on the sofa or hang out at MySpace while listening to music, sipping the Grey Goose and loading the occasional bowl. As the afternoon melts into the night I find myself with one hell of a righteous buzz.
Well, drunk and stoned inevitably leads to what? We've all been there, you know the answer. That's right, drunk and stoned leads to hungry and horny. So I call the manager at that yuppie hole and place an order. An hour and a half goes by, which is an unacceptable amount of time considering who the fuck I am. I don't give a rat's ass if Saturday is a busy night. Barringtons are not to be kept waiting. Next time I talk to the manager at that yuppie hole he will certainly get an earful about improving service for the important customers.
Finally there's a knock on my door. It's the Hot Waitress with the rockabilly tattoos and the small diamond stud in her nose.
Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom! Another hour and a half goes by and she leaves with a generous tip after completely satiating all my appetites. Sometimes it doesn't suck to be me even if I can't leave the house.
Which brings me back to where I started. It's about 11:00 on a Saturday night and much to my surprise I am actually contemplating going to bed, because really now, what is left for me to do today? I'm feeling drunk, stoned and spent.
There is another, this time unexpected knock on my door.
Hmmm, who could that be? As I walk across the room I briefly entertain the inebriated fantasy that the manager of the yuppie hole sent another hot waitress with desert to make up for the slow service earlier. I can always go another round.
No such luck. I open the door and see two men in wrinkled suits standing there with tired expressions. They both carry briefcases and have hanging luggage bags slung over their shoulders.
The corporate calvary my father, The Bastard, is sending has arrived.
For a day at home it had been a surprisingly pleasant day. Early in the afternoon I called the manager at that yuppie hole and had him send me some lunch. 45 minutes later Diego shows up with this salmony thing in a styrofoam box, a bottle of Grey Goose, and a bag of weed. He tells me the booze and the grass will help me pass the time until I am released back into the world. Damn, Diego really is a good guy.
Maybe I'm actually feeling isolated, maybe I'm just bored, whatever the reason I invite him in. I pour a couple drinks from the vodka and load a bowl in a small pipe I keep in a desk drawer. We mostly just sit, sipping vodka and passing the pipe while Radio Paradise plays on my iMac. Maybe that's why I kinda like Diego, like me he also appreciates the silent camaraderie of men.
Soon the drinks are gone and the bowl is empty. Diego says something about having to go back to work. I don't know it it's the warmth from the vodka or the buzz of the grass, I guess I'm just feeling generous. I pull two C-notes from my wallet and hand them to him, telling him here's a little something extra for the family fund. Diego thanks me, says God will bless me, and leaves.
God will bless me? Whatever.
I mostly just chill on the sofa or hang out at MySpace while listening to music, sipping the Grey Goose and loading the occasional bowl. As the afternoon melts into the night I find myself with one hell of a righteous buzz.
Well, drunk and stoned inevitably leads to what? We've all been there, you know the answer. That's right, drunk and stoned leads to hungry and horny. So I call the manager at that yuppie hole and place an order. An hour and a half goes by, which is an unacceptable amount of time considering who the fuck I am. I don't give a rat's ass if Saturday is a busy night. Barringtons are not to be kept waiting. Next time I talk to the manager at that yuppie hole he will certainly get an earful about improving service for the important customers.
Finally there's a knock on my door. It's the Hot Waitress with the rockabilly tattoos and the small diamond stud in her nose.
Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom! Another hour and a half goes by and she leaves with a generous tip after completely satiating all my appetites. Sometimes it doesn't suck to be me even if I can't leave the house.
Which brings me back to where I started. It's about 11:00 on a Saturday night and much to my surprise I am actually contemplating going to bed, because really now, what is left for me to do today? I'm feeling drunk, stoned and spent.
There is another, this time unexpected knock on my door.
Hmmm, who could that be? As I walk across the room I briefly entertain the inebriated fantasy that the manager of the yuppie hole sent another hot waitress with desert to make up for the slow service earlier. I can always go another round.
No such luck. I open the door and see two men in wrinkled suits standing there with tired expressions. They both carry briefcases and have hanging luggage bags slung over their shoulders.
The corporate calvary my father, The Bastard, is sending has arrived.
posted by dr noyz @ 10:50 AM
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