I had every intention of going to church Sunday. I didn't.
I puttered around the house instead, did a little laundry, washed dishes, tried to watch some TV but all that was on was drivel masquerading as religion and commercials. Why do they call them "infomercials" when there's no info in them?
I wrote a slashdot journal. The last one, in fact. If you haven't read that one, it's kinda part one of this one so you might want to look at it first. Even though, like the Star Wars movies, it and this journal stand on their own. Well, if you give them crutches anyway. Don't expect them to run, or even walk. But they'll stand.
I decided to go to Farley's and get a beer and see if they'd cash a check for me. As I pulled up in the back, there was a crowd of people standing around the door smoking. They, for more than one, do not welcome our new non-smoking nanny-state overlords. I said "hi" to a few of them, told them to get their dumb asses down to the polls next election and show the asshats who pass those idiotic laws what's what; I used to smoke and know what it's like to have to stand outside in ten degree weather because heartless bastards won't let you feed your addiction inside, and went inside.
My eyes had a hard time adjusting from the harsh winter sunlight to the dim inside of the bar. A blonde was sitting there... my eyes adjusted a bit... Tami.
Her alien husband had been in Peru for the last week, visiting as far as I knew. He was supposed to have been back in Springfield the previous day. I said "hi" to Tami, despite the unjournaled falling out we'd had the previous week. That happens often; she's bipolar (among other mental disorders; she says she's been called "Sybil") and I've gotten to the point that when she snaps, I just go off on her and see how fucking crazy I can make her. Fuck it.
The next day it's always as if nothing happened. I get tired of it, and I get tired of her.
So I go down to the other end of the bar and get a beer and drink most of it. "Another?" the bartender asks. "If you can cash a check" I say.
This has turned into a weekly ritual - I'll take enough money out of the bank Saturday morning to last the weekend, then spend it all Saturday night. Then cash a fifteen dollar check at Farley's Sunday. I need a good woman to keep me from fucking up instead of all these bad ones that cause me to fuck up.
I get another beer and Tami comes down to talk to me. Crazy bitch. The fat married fuck has been hitting on me lately, I should put my dick in her just to shut her up. But I don't do married women. All you have to do to keep my dick out of your woman is put a ring on her finger.
I don't understand the laws of this state; adultery is legal, but prostitution isn't. Why is it OK for me to fuck my congressman's wife but it's not OK to pay her for it?
Yeah, she's kind of on my shit list lately. Tami, I mean, not my Congressman's wife. I don't even know my congressman's wife. So don't go telling him I've been fucking his wife, ok?
I know crazy people can't help being crazy but it gets tiring. I wish this stupid country would get universal health care, or at least universal mental health care. Of course, if they did that then all the homeless nuts you see wandering around talking to themselves would be looking for jobs, and our unemployment rate, which is based only on those collecting unemployment insurance so the figures rule out 99% of the jobless people, would skyrocket. But at least I wouldn't have all these crazy women making me crazy.
She had been on an alcohol binge and hadn't slept in a couple of days. It seems her dad had written a check for her rent and she cashed it for booze money, and the fucking theif was so worried her dad would send her to jail she drank even heavier.
I went home, stopping for gasoline and a six pack on the way. And no, the gasoline was for the car, the only thing I huff is kittens.
The phone rang; it was Amy. She was SO sorry she'd been so hateful to me and Bighead and didn't know what had come over her, habla bla bla... she and her boyfriend came over and visited for a while. While he was in the pisser I told her what bighead had said, that Amy was jealous. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "Maybe I was, a little."
Wow. I'll never understand women.
Then Tami and Brian showed up, and I partied some with them. "Brian" isn't really the fellow's name, but it will do here. When my six pack was gone Tami left. I wound up giving Brian a ride home. Bedtime came early that night, as well, since all of my beers and all but a couple of my fifteen dollars were gone.
Monday was Martin Luther King day, and I had the day off. And I was broke. And the banks were closed. I loaded up the dishwasher and put a load of laundry in.
My horoscope said I was going to get laid Tuesday. Too bad astrology's total bullshit. Sigh.
Next up: Delirium tremens