Case in point…as I sit at the bar one night, minding my own biz with one of my hoes talking about emergency underwear, I catch a wannabe frat boy giving me ‘the eye.’ By ‘the eye,’ I mean one eye half closed, already hungover, and trying to raise his eyebrow with the other one as if to say ‘come here to me.’ I knew by the 3 wet spots on his Ohio State tee, this beef cake and I would be fast friends.
About 20 minutes and two pitchers later Ohio State sidled me from behind….a tactic I would normally applaud as I think everyone should be rewarded for acting like a ninja, but I had a good amount of back sweat brewing that I preferred go untouched. I decided his shirt looked like that because he got a cavity filled that afternoon leaving his face numb, and his eyes were going nuts because he’s a high powered attorney who has been working 48 hours straight on a murder trial he would tell me about later, breaking client attorney confidentiality. I was drunk with the possibility of information only he, myself and the FBI knew, so I let him have a seat.
He did NOT get a cavity filled (I know because I asked) and he was a college drop out by day and drove the ice cream truck until the streetlights came on at night. If it wasn’t for my weakness for Screwballs, I would’ve faked diarrhea and took off for the nearest McDonald’s for a midnight Happy Meal but a large part of me was already picturing myself speeding through neighborhoods blaring Yankee Doodle while eating an endless supply of Screwballs as I watched children chase me in my rear view mirror.
After what seemed like 3 hours into a conversation about pizza toppings and squirrel bacon, I decided I had enough and gave my scumbag friend the rescue phrase. I was not shocked when she laughed at me and ordered another drink. I can’t blame that MOFO, I think watching friends suffer is hilarious too. After 8 more minutes of me telling her Mr. Brown was at the back door (our code phrase) and 3 kicks to the shin, she did her friendly duty and planted an ‘emergency call’ from the bathroom. I kindly thanked Ohio State for refilling my purse booze and educating me about why possums play possum and told him my friend was in the bathroom with IBS and there was a situation.
P.S my mom hired a new cleaning lady who comes once every few weeks to do the shit we are too lazy to do and today was her first day. She needed trash bags and mom politely told her they were under the sink. This cabinet not only houses trash bags but every other random product in our house haphazardly shoved in there. She must have been hit with a monsoon of shit when she opened the cabinet because when mom opened it later on, the whole thing was organized and neat.
Next week, I’m throwing the trash bags in the bottom of my closet.