6/09/2006
Let the good times roll
Got call around 5 p.m. from last night's winning date, telling me I could redeem myself by going to her house and being "an amiable fellow."
I refrained from cussing her goddamned Rottweiler and offered to pay for her cab if she wanted to come to my pad for the night instead. I asked her to think about it while I napped after work, then called her at 7 p.m. to see what decision she'd reached. She said she'd probably be here around 8:30, so I showered, shaved, dressed, vacuumed and chose a
movie.
Around 9:25, she called to say she'd just gotten back from walking the dog and that they'd been chased. Concerned, I asked for details and learned that some gay dude downtown had turned his porch light on while she was stealing flowers from his garden and the goddamned dog was crapping in the grass and started yelling at her, "Ma'am, ma'am, I saw you stealing my flowers last night and I've caught you now. You have to stop pinching my bulbs."
He advanced on Amanda and Buddy Joe (the dog), and the dog lunged at him. Amanda, being from Mississippi, always begins her dog walks by breaking a supple limb from a tree to use as a switch, which is the only thing that makes dog walking with her bearable to me ... at least she beats the son of a bitch incessantly. Anyway, she told Mr. Mincing that she couldn't restrain the dog, so the dude pulled out his cell phone, called the police and said he was going to follow them and get
their address, because the dog was, as she herself had confessed, a menace.
So they zigzagged through the hysterical district bordering downtown with a screaming, melodramatic fag shrieking along behind them until he became hoarse and went back home, and that's why she was late calling me.
I told her we'd try again when she could start an evening with me at a reasonable time to start an evening. As it was, had she called a cab at around 9:35 on a Friday night, it would have arrived at 10:10, and then she would have gotten the poor bastard lost on the way to my house and racked up an unnecessarily large fare for me to pay for her to get here around 11. I can't start a movie at 11. Why the fuck should I? I have absinthe. The only movie I want to start watching at 11 is going to run on the backs of my eyelids.
What a shitful chain of events. I think I'll start some cheap-ass, frozen chimichangas, which I'll top with plain yogurt, extra sharp cheddar and a drained can of Ro-Tel.
I refrained from cussing her goddamned Rottweiler and offered to pay for her cab if she wanted to come to my pad for the night instead. I asked her to think about it while I napped after work, then called her at 7 p.m. to see what decision she'd reached. She said she'd probably be here around 8:30, so I showered, shaved, dressed, vacuumed and chose a
movie.
Around 9:25, she called to say she'd just gotten back from walking the dog and that they'd been chased. Concerned, I asked for details and learned that some gay dude downtown had turned his porch light on while she was stealing flowers from his garden and the goddamned dog was crapping in the grass and started yelling at her, "Ma'am, ma'am, I saw you stealing my flowers last night and I've caught you now. You have to stop pinching my bulbs."
He advanced on Amanda and Buddy Joe (the dog), and the dog lunged at him. Amanda, being from Mississippi, always begins her dog walks by breaking a supple limb from a tree to use as a switch, which is the only thing that makes dog walking with her bearable to me ... at least she beats the son of a bitch incessantly. Anyway, she told Mr. Mincing that she couldn't restrain the dog, so the dude pulled out his cell phone, called the police and said he was going to follow them and get
their address, because the dog was, as she herself had confessed, a menace.
So they zigzagged through the hysterical district bordering downtown with a screaming, melodramatic fag shrieking along behind them until he became hoarse and went back home, and that's why she was late calling me.
I told her we'd try again when she could start an evening with me at a reasonable time to start an evening. As it was, had she called a cab at around 9:35 on a Friday night, it would have arrived at 10:10, and then she would have gotten the poor bastard lost on the way to my house and racked up an unnecessarily large fare for me to pay for her to get here around 11. I can't start a movie at 11. Why the fuck should I? I have absinthe. The only movie I want to start watching at 11 is going to run on the backs of my eyelids.
What a shitful chain of events. I think I'll start some cheap-ass, frozen chimichangas, which I'll top with plain yogurt, extra sharp cheddar and a drained can of Ro-Tel.
