I seem to be having tremendous difficulties with my lifestyle.
Oh, I'm sorry. I seem to be plagiarizing. Please let me correct that. The above sentence comes from chapter 31 of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by the late Douglas Adams, who in my opinion wasn't late at all but left the planet way too early.
Fucking party pooper.
I got laid Satuday, and it ruined my whole weekend. And mcgrew.info lapsed, and when I tried to log into the registrar to renew it I discovered that it was registered under an old email address supplied by an ISP that I no longer have. I'm going to have to send a bunch of documentation to Canada to get my domain back.
Anyway, Tami has been staying with me since her alien husband joined the National Guard and left her homeless. Bipolar Tami was a godsend while I was recouperating from the surgery; she doted on me and helped nurse me back to health. She's been cooking and cleaning ever since she's been staying with me. It's like being married, only there's no sex.
I'd told her I was done with the whores, who always seem to get the best of me. I've been telling friends "I need a slut, because I can't afford a whore". Why is it that a woman who sleeps around is a slut but a man who does isn't? We thought that whole "slut" thing was done and over with back in the seventies with the "free love" movement, when birth control was cheap and easy and there were no incurable STDs. I guess AIDS derailed that.
I'd told Tami, only half jokingly, that I wanted her to be my agent and hire a whore for me. It turned out to be a less than humorous joke; well, maybe it was humorous but the joke, as usual, turned out to be on me.
Saturday morning I got up before she did, made coffee and ate breakfast and took a good healthy shit. Why "healthy" and "shit" can be used in the same sentence has always been a mystery to me, but what the hell.
She finally got up and took her shower, and donned her "hugs not drugs" t-shirt. So I gave her a hug. She made more breakfast, and I couldn't finish the second breakfast. I'd make a lousy Hobbit.
Bipolar Tami was exceptionally animated and said "I think this is going to be a manic day!" That's a good thing. When she's in her manic phase she's funny as hell and has everybody busting a gut laughing. Our friend Charlie hates seeing her in a manic mood, as he always winds up with beer shooting out of his nose, which has everybody else laughing even harder.
Wnen I'm in a bad mood she works it until she has me laughing. Last week she spoke of it, saying that when I'm in a bad mood and she's being funny and I'm trying hard to stay in my funk "and I see that little half grin on your face, I almost have an orgasm!"
We went to the bank, and since It was near payday I moved some money from savings to checking and withdrew some more. Fucking gasoline and food are impoverishing me. Someone needs to start going postal on some God damned oil company executives. The motherfuckers are going to burn in hell.
If you are an oil company executive, the President of the US (an oil man) or the Vice President of the US (another oil man) I hate your fucking guts. Especially if you are the latter two; when Bush and Cheney took office gasoline was $1.05 here in Springfield, it was $3.69 yesterday when I bought gas and I saw in the news today that there's a strike in England so of course the price of oil hit a record high and the shit will be even more outrageously expensive today. Lot of good going on strike is doing them, the people they're striking against are making record profits because they went on strike. No wonder labor unions worldwide are hurting so bad, we workers have no leverage at all any more.
I'm afraid that little light that tells me I'm almost out of gas is going to burn out, as even when I put ten bucks in the car the damned light still shines. If you are a violent person, please put an oil company executive in the hospital for me and the rest of humanity. If you are an oil company executive know that you are universally hated by nearly everyone on Earth. You're hated even more than a lawyer for the RIAA.
As we pulled into the bank parking lot, Tami exclaimed that there was a garage sale right there!
"Somebody's selling their garage?" I asked. "No, they're selling old stuff they don't want any more."
"Oh", I said. "It's a misspelling then, they mean garBage sale!"
She said something uncomplimentary. Women seem to have no sense of humor, especially when it comes to things women like, like garbage sales.
She went to the garage sale while I went in the bank to further bankrupt myself. When I got out she was still at at the sale, so I walked over there to collect her. The ladies holding the sale were amused by the fact that she was wearing a Cubs hat and buying a Cardinals t-shirt.
For those of you in other parts of the world, the St Louis Cardinals and the Chicago Cubs are professional baseball teams and bitter rivals. I used to be Cardinals fan, as I grew up in the St Louis area, until a strike/lockout cancelled the World Series. Fucking millionaires and billionaires don't give a healthy shit about anything or anybody except their God damned selves and their God damned money, the love of which is not only the root of all evil but the root of all the world's woes. I'm rooting for the striking oil workers on strike in England (or is it Wales?).
Tami's rooting for the Cubs, who haven't won the World Series since 1908, while the Cardinals win the Series every five or ten yesrs (yay Cards). My late grandmother, who I thought was early but was in a hurry to leave since she'd already hung around this godforsaken planet for a hundred years, was five years old when the Cubs won the series. The only other time they were ever in the series was back in WWII when all the able-bodied men were in Europe and Asia shooting at each other. And even against cripples the Cubs lost.
The Governor of Illinois, who will probably be in prison after he loses the next election, is a fan of those losers.
Springfield is a third of the way betwen Chicago and St Louis, so it's a strange place. In a bar here you can talk about sex, or religion, or politics, but you damned well better not talk about baseball or you might get your ass kicked.
At any rate, I wound up with three t-shirts and a VHS movie for two bucks. I think I'm seeing why women like those garbage sales so much!
As usual when in her mania she had me cracking up. We went up MacAurther from the bank to Martha's Magic Comb where haircuts are onlly five bucks. We had planned to go to Farley's from the bank. "If I'd known you were getting you hair cut I'd have stayed home!" I reminded her that I'd talked of a haircut all week, as my hair was starting to look stupid. I hadn't had it cut in months.
I parked in Family Video's parking lot and crossed the street to the Magic Comb (actually it's a beauty parlor but for a five dollar haircut I don't care) while she went into the video store. There was an old fat lady wearing bright red lipstick and a breathing tube hooked to an oxygen bottle, reading a misnamed "People" magazine. Misnamed, of course, because it isn't about people at all, but rather about celebrities.
Martha came out and had me sit by the sink to get my head wet, then move to the other chair to get it shorn. Tami came in when the haircut was almost finished. Martha gave me a mirror, it looked ok. "You look ten years younger!" the red lipped oxygenated woman said.
"That's because she cut off all the gray hair" I replied. I left her a ten; I'd feel like a cheapassed bastard if I didn't. An oil company executive would probably bitch about the price of the five dollar haircut before leaving in his chauffer-driven Rolls Royce. That is, if he didn't go to barbers who charge hundreds.
The phone rang and Tami answered. "It's for you," she said, and handed me the phone. It was "Jayjay", one of my hooker friends who I'd never had sex with. "Hi Steve, hey I need a real big favor from you. I'm stranded at the Quest and I need a ride".
The Quest Inn is a hotel in the far east side that is a drug haven and whore hotspot. If you need a police officer you can usually find one there. I told Tami, who grumbled a little; Jayjay is a very thin middle aged woman with a cute face and big silicone titties and Tami dosn't like her one little bit. Ladies, if you are contemplating getting a boob job you should know that in twenty years those tits won't sag, they'll be rock-hard. Jayjay's are, at any rate.
Tami spoke of being my hooker agent. "I guess I'll be your pimp now" she joked. "No, my agent" I replied. "You'll be HER pimp!" We picked Jayjay up, and she thanked me profusely and asked to borrow my phone. Nobody was home, she said, and could she hang out with us for a while?
Like I said, Tami never did like Jayjay; it was hate at first sight. The first time she met Jayjay, last year, Tami pretended to be a lesbian hitting on her to get rid of her. It was hilarious. We went to Farley's.
Like I've mentioned before, Farley's is the sleaziest dump in town, but you can get big brown farm eggs for a buck-fifty there, and they'll cash a check for me if I need it so I like going there sometimes when I don't need it. And you can often find a slut who will go to bed with you for a drink or two. The place is dingy and dimly lit, and when you go inside on a bright sunny day like Saturday was, it takes a bit for your eyes to adjust.
I bought a pitcher of beer and the three of us sat down at a table. I saw Brian was there. Brian said he'd been off of the heroin since the last time I'd seen him, maybe a month ago. I think it was right before my operation.
He'd been in a bad way then; a real bad way. I'd seen Amy go through the throes of alcohol withdrawal, but Brian had been in a whole lot worse shape going through withdrawal than Amy had been, and Amy is a hardcore alky.
I was happy that Brian was off the unhealthy shit. He went outside for a cigarette (oh the irony) and I went in the can to take a piss. "Moo Dog must die at home!" someone had scrawled on the door. Moo Dog is a homeless black man who haunts Farleys and bums drinks. He's a real character. But Springfield is a cartoon city and Moo Dog is as cartoonish as they come.
"This IS his home!" someone else had scrawled beneath it.
Tami was going into the ladies romm as I was coming out of the men's room. Why they call it the "ladies' room" I have no idea, as there are usually plenty of women at Farley's but never any ladies. She was grinning hugely. "I did it!" she exclaimed proudly. "Did what?" I asked. "Scared her off again?"
"No! I lined it up for you with her. Twenty bucks!"
This was a surprise to me, as I'd talked to Jayjay before about her services, but she was too expensive for my tastes, wanting at least fifty. I went back to the table. Brian was still outside smoking. Jayjay tried to renegotiate it. "Twenty for a blow job," she began, ending with "fifty for the whole enchelada!"
"Um" I said, "I told you before I don't just want a blowjob. You're going to have to talk to my agent." Tami came back and I explained the situation. "Look" she said to Jayjay, "the deal was a straight fuck for twenty!" Jayjay agreed.
"Wow" I said to Tami, "You're good!"
Shiela, a white country woman who is the bar's owner (she supplies the eggs), had gone to the ghetto on east South Grand for some catfish. There's a stand there where few other white people dare to go, with the best fish ever to not see the fish hook. Brian had given her some money for catfish, which he shared with me, Tami, and Jayjay.
We all left for my house, stopping for beer on the way. Tami and Brian sat in my dining room drinking while Jayjay and I went into the bedroom. When we came out, Tami seemed agitated, her manic mood nearly gone and fast slipping into "psycho bitch from hell" mode.
Unable to get rid of Jayjay and with Tami getting more and more psycho as the day went on, we finally dumped Jayjay and went back to my house. Brian said a friend was coming by to help him program his TV remote, whose on-off switch was the only thing to work. "I'll call you maybe in a half hour" he said.
I drank and listened to Tami's bitching about Jayjay for the next three hours. It was after dark when Brian called; he was walking from way over in the west side of town. I drove out and met him halfway.
"Man", he said "that was pure crazy! I never did get my remote programmmed. She had her boyfriend and her kid with her, they were fighting and screaming and the six year old was crying and it kept up until this other girl came by with heroin, so I had to leave. Damn but that was hell!"
We drank a little more at my house and I drove him home. He said he was going to take a couple of pizzas to Farley's the next day at noon, to meet him there for some pizza. Tami was asleep when I got back.
The next morning she was just as bitchy as the day before. It was starting to get on my nerves. The car's tank was on fumes when I'd gotten back from taking Brian home, so after listening to Tami bich some more I walked to Felbers in the cold misty rain. "Hi Steve", the bartender said. "Beer?"
"Hi John, yeah, and a pen, too. God damned oil bastards." I drank a couple of beers, joked around with John and his other patrons, and walked back home. Tami was in the shower. When she got out she was still in a foul mood. We were going to stop at the Shell station on the way to Farley's - and all the pumps were closed. Shit, a couple of weeks ago I went to the drug store to buy drugs and the pharmacy was closed and they would sell everything but drugs, now the gas station would sell anything but gas. I crossed my fingers and drove south to Ayerco, hoping not to run out of gas on the way.
Brian was nowhere to be found at Farley's, and wasn't answering his phone, so I bought a pitcher and a pizza. Even food wasn't helping the fat woman's foul mood. As we were about to go, Brian called. "We just got done with a couple of steaks", he said. "Where are you?"
"At Farley's" I replied. "We just finished a pizza."
Tami didn't lighten up until later that night. If I didn't know better I'd swear she was jealous!