Marc
There are very few times that I've been able to wake up in the morning and say, "Wow, I shouldn't have done that." Today is one of those times. Stupid impulse buys. I headed to Walgreens yesterday, only giving someone a ride at first, but then, out of nowhere, I'm besieged by all these products that need me. "Buy us! Buy us!" I walked out with deodorant, paper towles, a Glade plug in, envelopes, and ... of course, a package of Phillies cigars. What the?! How the hell did they get in there?
I had no other choice later that night, after going to a cookout and eating free burgers and mac n' cheese, and after leaving there to go to this house party out on the edges of town ***1***, and after coming home, calling people on the way, saying, "our place, go there, now", but to open the cigar package and start smoking. And smoking. And smoking. It took me one hour to finish the first one, and I don't even have a clue how long I was gnawing on the second one before I decided to just pass out. Yeesh.
So, now I've got the cough, and that awful taste, and I just feel dirty. I was brushing my teeth, scrubbing the back of my tongue and the roof of my mouth as far back as I could without gagging too much. I'd rather be dead right now than be here, in this room, with this terrible taste in my mouth. Give me another eight to ten months before I do it again.
***1*** Hold the phone, sissy. This house -- fucking shit, was it nice! We walk in, and there's one of those widescreen tv's in the living room, like six feet wide, and tall as fuck, taking up more than the corner of the room. Fucking huge. Party's in the basement, per the sign on the door, and we'd been forewarned that it was older people (which is so uncommon for people like us), so we head downstairs, and it turns out this guy, whoever he is, built a fucking bar in his basement, replete with nice tapper handles, two more huge televisions behind the bar, standing-sized bar tables with stools, a pool table, a dart board, a poker table, beer signs, and blah blah blah. Someone there had a tazer. Why? We'll never know. This girl hands it to Matt cause he wants to see it, and next we know the guy that lives there, this guy who is obviously way too concerned about appearances, judging by his basement, is beating Matt's hand with a pipe, trying to knock the tazer to the floor. He later apologized, but I'll be damned if we didn't feel a tad bit out of place there.
There are very few times that I've been able to wake up in the morning and say, "Wow, I shouldn't have done that." Today is one of those times. Stupid impulse buys. I headed to Walgreens yesterday, only giving someone a ride at first, but then, out of nowhere, I'm besieged by all these products that need me. "Buy us! Buy us!" I walked out with deodorant, paper towles, a Glade plug in, envelopes, and ... of course, a package of Phillies cigars. What the?! How the hell did they get in there?
I had no other choice later that night, after going to a cookout and eating free burgers and mac n' cheese, and after leaving there to go to this house party out on the edges of town ***1***, and after coming home, calling people on the way, saying, "our place, go there, now", but to open the cigar package and start smoking. And smoking. And smoking. It took me one hour to finish the first one, and I don't even have a clue how long I was gnawing on the second one before I decided to just pass out. Yeesh.
So, now I've got the cough, and that awful taste, and I just feel dirty. I was brushing my teeth, scrubbing the back of my tongue and the roof of my mouth as far back as I could without gagging too much. I'd rather be dead right now than be here, in this room, with this terrible taste in my mouth. Give me another eight to ten months before I do it again.
***1*** Hold the phone, sissy. This house -- fucking shit, was it nice! We walk in, and there's one of those widescreen tv's in the living room, like six feet wide, and tall as fuck, taking up more than the corner of the room. Fucking huge. Party's in the basement, per the sign on the door, and we'd been forewarned that it was older people (which is so uncommon for people like us), so we head downstairs, and it turns out this guy, whoever he is, built a fucking bar in his basement, replete with nice tapper handles, two more huge televisions behind the bar, standing-sized bar tables with stools, a pool table, a dart board, a poker table, beer signs, and blah blah blah. Someone there had a tazer. Why? We'll never know. This girl hands it to Matt cause he wants to see it, and next we know the guy that lives there, this guy who is obviously way too concerned about appearances, judging by his basement, is beating Matt's hand with a pipe, trying to knock the tazer to the floor. He later apologized, but I'll be damned if we didn't feel a tad bit out of place there.
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