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This journal entry will not be as entertaining as the last one. I have the blues. Again. And I'm kind of on edge and a bit angry.
Danny called yesterday afternoon wanting his five bucks back. I said Ok, I'd meet him at Farley's (the hippie bar) after I got off work.
Then Kelly called. It seems she's not going to be my new roomie after all. Damn! She's staying with some guy way up on the north end of town, not far from the bar called NEWT's. That's not Gingrich's bar, NEWT is an acronym, well known in Springfield but not anywhere else, for "North End White Trash". She wanted me to take her belongings, still in the car, up there. I said OK.
So I figured I'd take Kelly's stuff up there and maybe, just maybe, that when she found out that I was sans roommate she'd come to the wise decision that since this guy was WAAAAAY up there and with no car, and I wasn't too far from the courthouse where she has her hearing Thursday (tomorrow I guess) and I actually have transportation, she'd decide to come back with me and be so grateful she'd fuck my brains out.
Yeah, laugh all you want. You're at slashdot, you ain't gettin' laid either!
So I finally find the guy's trailer and Kelly lets me in. The guy gives me a beer (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) and I tell Kelly how I don't have a roommate any more. No dice; she's still staying with Newt.
So as I'm heading back south at three bucks a gallon, the phone rings. Probably Danny wondering where the hell I am and is he going to get his money back. But it wasn't; it was Debbie, the girl who had picked me up in Farley's when I was spending Danny's five bucks. She'd been fighting with her boyfriend, could I come and get her?
Hell fucking yes I could! I'd have gotten laid that day if my daughter hadn't showed up. I told her I have to give five bucks to Danny at Farleys, she said that's ok. Cool.
I go to the Bel Aire, where crazy people like Debbie live, to pick her up. She gets in the car. "Go! Go! Go! before my boyfriend sees me!" I swear, one of these guys is going to put a bullet in my brain. So we take off and go to Farley's. I buy us drafts and give Danny his cash. We drink the beer, so far so good.
She comes up with a tiny little joint, and we smoke it in the car on the way to another bar, and bipolar bitch turns on me when we get to the bar. I never saw pot have that effect on anyone; she was a completely different person. I almost left her there, telling her I was going home and if she wanted a ride she'd better go. I walked out to the car by myself, and she came out just as I was about to leave. She'd calmed down and said to drop her back at the Bel Aire. Gladly!
Why can't I ever get with a normal woman? Is it because nerds aren't normal? Shit.
It was close to nine, so I dropped her off and went home and went to bed. I kept getting woke up with strange dreams about my ex-wife, who I used to refer to in the Paxil Diaries as "Evil-X, A.K.A. Satan". It was wierd; I'd go back to sleep and the same dream would take up where it left off. In this dream I'd just moved into a new house, so it was strange to me. This house was for some strange reason furnished; none of the stuff in it was mine, none of the stuff was familiar to me. Anyway, in the first dream, or first part of the multipart dream, my doorbell rings and there X stands, telling me she's moving in with me. And not just her, but some guy and his wife and two kids!
During the whole dream the ex-wife is trying to get me into bed, and it keeps getting interrupted before anything happens, usually by one of the preteen kids and usually when X and I are unclothed or semiclothed. And I keep discovering new rooms in this new house.
I can't even get laid in my dreams. Like I said, I kept waking up, and when I went back to sleep that dream would take up where it left off. I've never, as far as I can remember, had that happen.
For once I was relieved that the alarm clock went off.
So I'm sitting there drinking my coffee and it occurs to me that Debbie resembles my ex-wife, only a hell of a lot better looking. I hear footsteps on the front porch, and the doorbell rings.
It's Amy, who comes in all smiles and drunken happiness, carrying half a half pint of Canadian Superior, telling me about the small SUV she's buying for a thousand bucks. Never mind that she owes me money...
She tries to talk me into taking the day off, and I compromise, and tell her I'll take the afternoon off. So I go to work, get caught up on everything so I can leave, leave for lunch and go home.
No Amy. "Why," I ask myself, "am I not surprised?"