2002-08-03 - 2:45 p.m.
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"That's so Gay...that's not what I mean""Next you're gonna tell me that monkey's gay" "Well how do you know he doesn't smoke monkey pole?"
Gay Man getting IM'd: So, did you hit him with it?
Gay Man IMing: Yeah, I got him on his back
Gay Man getting IM'd: Ohhhh god that makes me so hot
Gay Man IMing: I know, I'm pretty horny too.
- What graced the desktop of the Renaissance Village Computer this afternoon as I sat down to type.
Finding your fellow tenants stories of jizzing all over thier gay lover in an IM on the desktop after sitting down on the seat he most likely sat in is one of the most disturbing thoughts one can have.
But since there weren't any wet spots, I don't think I have too much to worry about.
That being said, that was probably the least of my problems at the end of this week, after fucking myself up royally on a Realty sign...
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Here's some mathematics for you:
Belmo + 11 beers = Drunken Belmo
Drunken Belmo + Stumbling Home = Trouble
Drunken Belmo + Trouble - Common Sense = Belmo running through a Realty sign with a beer in his hand and a cigarette, fucking up his leg, getting cuts all over, putting his cigarette out on his arm and being too drunk to realize he's injured. All for no reason...
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And add to that the food shopping fiasco...
The Food Shopping Fiasco goes as follows. I had absolutely no food left besides a half a box of Ziti and 2 pounds of a 5 pound bag of dried pasta, with the exception of a can of fruit thats been in my fridge for the entire summer and condiments. Not looking forward to the "Fetticini Rancid Fruit and Parmesean Cheese Surprise" I needed food and I got money from home (becasue I am dead broke and they'd rather send $60 for 2 weeks worth of food than $500 for a down payment on a casket) to go shopping. But, since I just fucked myself up greatly the night before (which you know now) and because I have no car and no one up here I know has either the time or a car, I was forced to grab a backpack and go foraging. I went across town at the speed of a gimp on a bike and hit up a grocery store that has probably the best prices on deli meat I've ever seen. The quality of this meat is debatable but since I'm still alive and not vomitting intestines up, I'm sure it's all good.
Anyway.
I buy all the food I can with the money and shove as much food as I can into my backpack, with 2 plastic bags full of little shit I didn't want to fuck up to carry with me on the bike.
Imagine a guy hungover, with a gimpy leg, pedaling down the street with a bulging backpack, two plastic bags hanging off of either side of the handle bars and he's cursing up a storm.
That's me.
So, like any thing I do, something has to go wrong.
That day's "thing that went wrong" apparently was that I needed a new backpack and was unaware of this, as the zipper on my backpack undid itself, letting loose a massive flow of groceries onto the pavement from 4 feet high.
One of these things was my GLASS jar of spagetthi sauce, which was one of hte most expensive things and something I spent 5 minutes deciding on...
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"5 minutes on sauce? Are you mad?" fuck you very much. I pride myself in spagetthi sauce selection becasue spagetthi is probably the only thing besides cereal I can make without fucking it up and I can do it VERY well. So, when it comes time to select my ammo, I don't fuck around...
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At any rate, expensive or not, now it was sidewalk paint.
Knowing that little kids are all over the place, I picked up all the glass chunks, because god knows I dont want to have that on my conscious. With nowhere to throw anything out besides the garbage can in front of the house whose sidewalk I just decorated, I used good old logic and threw it out there.
By the time I was actually starting to clean up the sauce with old newspapers on the ground, the old lady who lives there comes out and starts yelling something about "NOt in my garbage! Don't you dare put that in my garbage!"
Now.
I might be new here. I might have only been in Plattsburgh for a year or so, but last time I checked, there wasn't a goddamn spot on the Earth that treasures its garbage. The simple fact that it's GARBAGE denotes any form of worth or currency about whatever it is you're throwing away.
This lady loves her garbage I guess.
I could see if she didn't want to get her garbage can dirty, but then again, SHE DOESN'T LIFT THE SUCKER TO THE TRUCK! In fact, all the crap work that garbage entails is not only taken care of by garbage men, but I'm willing to bet that old lady hasn't taken her garbage to the can by herself in years. I dont think I've ever seen my mom do it, which isn;t to say she doesn't. IT's always been my dad. This lady was probably both of thier ages together, so I can guarantee she has someone do it for her.
So, I do what anyone would do in this situation. I say "Ok."
Then I start to leave.
That's when she gets reallllly pissed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU'RE GOING TO LEAVE THIS MESS ON THE CURB???"
Well, since I messed up the sidewalk and not the curb.... yeah. Also, since you've denied me your refuse bin, despite my attempts to make good on a mistake I made, you can go play a game of hide and gofuckyourself.
I never said this, but I think that when I rode away, she got my message. Loud and clear.
Call me an asshole that I left a mess for a little old lady. Go right ahead. Then realize that anyone who couldn't be bothered to let someone throw out sauce covered magazines becasue it was the only thing they had to do the job with, even with it getting all over themselves, becasue they felt bad taht they messed up your sidewalk and you lose the "You cannot do anything mean to a little old lady" card.
Once people step across the asshole line with me, there's no age, there's no gender, there's no race, there's no handicap, there's no boundary to you that prevents me treating you other than what I see you as. An asshole.
So, livid about the whole situation, the ride home didn't get any better. I almost got run over 5 times because I resorted to putting my backpack on the front, in case it decided to be stupid again.
One guy almost got out of his car on a sidestreet to hit me. He was yelling at me like "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" because I dared to cross the street at a RED LIGHT and he wanted to go right on red. So I point at the sign:
"What does that sign say?"
"South Catherine St."
"What's your name?"
"What the fuck do you want to know for?"
"BEcause it sure as fuck ain't catherine so fuck off. This isn't your fucking road."
Being tired, hungry, hungover, injured and angry will do a lot to a man's common sense.
He didn't do anything, but he looked PIIIIIIIIIISSED!
Anyway, after WEDNESDAY (all of that was on Wednesday. The only good thing about Wednesday was I got a bunch of new CDs from the radio station and I talked to BEan for like 2 and a half hours) Thursday and Friday both collectively sucked, although I did manage to beat Final FAntasy AND find WarMECH and kill him, two things I've always wanted to do but never did.
It's the small victories that make life worth living.
To counteract with this victory, Fate decided "hey, you seem too happy" and then reminded me that I have to move out on the 19th of August...when I was absolutely sure it was the 24th of august.
Turns out I'm a big idiot.
Well, to make a long story short, for whatever reason I thought I would be able to stay here for as long as I need (or rather, my STUFF would stay here, because as soon as Friday comes, I'm fucking on LI so fast the mountains up here will still be spinning when I get back) I'm gonna have to get storage, which means I get to move my stuff 4 times this summer.
Whoopde shit.
All I keep telling myself is that its all gonna be over soon, that the summer is winding down and although I can't enjoy any of it except 2 weeks at the end, I know that those 2 weeks will barely be spent sober or relaxed.
They will be spent in a perpetual state of "WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
BMC
What did you just say? - What's he gonna say next?
