Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Ritual Went Awry

Okay, I know this is going to start out sounding dumb. I get it now. I'm stupid. Whatever.

So a while back we're at this bar-b-que. It was at the time we were just about over Bob. He was there talking some nonsense and in an effort to avoid him I turned around and started talking to the guy next to me. He  seemed intelligent (except he didn't believe in past lives-whatever) it was a good conversation. 

Shortly after I got an e mail asking me out. I replied with what I thought was a very clear, "that's lovely of you, but I can only be friends, if you were expecting anything more, that's not going to work for me." I got back one of the cleverist things I have seen in a while. It was a whole story about choosing friendship or nothing and the possible repercussions of both. He chose friendship, or so I thought...

My guy friends laughed at this. "Yeah, sure Sarah, he wants to be your friend. Uh, no." I thought they were wrong. He asked me out to get a drink and dinner one night. I brought Hunter. She got wasted and left. I had to pick her up later but that's neither here nor there. Just fact. The friendship with him continued. Or so I thought.

Sometimes I write to Hunter on FB in Chinese or Thai or any language. I tease my Mexican friend in Spanish and I write in Turkish to my friend who lives in Istanbul. My "just a friend" saw it on my wall,  enjoyed it and wrote to me in other languages. We started exchanging poems in mystery languages. Mostly Robert Frost, a little Bob Dylan and a sonnet here or there. I shared everything with Hunter. I enjoyed the repertoire, I like when people get me. I think the last thing I had shared was one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs ever.

Guess what I got back?
 Bob Dylan? No. Maybe some Van Morrison? He's a genius. Nope. Any of the greats? Um...no! I had always looked forward to his poems, when I got it I put it in the google translator cause it was in Mandarin. I was expecting something great. I got a fuck me song with my name in it by a teeny bopper. I was pissed. It basically said, "fuck me." I closed my laptop and called Hunter to tell on him. Seriously? Why? 

"Who does that?" she demanded. "It's just wrong! I didn't even understand what the song meant and the lyrics are just wrong. Its all fucking wrong."

Shortly thereafter Hunter and I had our "get rid of them" ritual. 

I hadn't responded to his last song. He sent me one more short message that I didn't answer. I thought he was gone. He must of understood my silence. I am a good communicator and honestly very easy going. This went way to far. 

That all happened Friday night. It's Tuesday now. Hunter came over today at lunchtime. She walks in and says, "You are never going to believe what "he" texted me today!"
"What?" I asked.
"He texted me at 8.30 this morning and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with him today," she said.
"No he didn't," I said laughing.
"Oh yes he did and he even had the fucking nerve to offer up Star Trek or The Terminator, what a dumb ass." 
"Oh my God. That almost makes me like him. It's so funny," I said.
"What the fuck was he thinking? 'Oh, Sarah won't talk to me cause I sent her a fuck me song so I'll try Hunter again?'  Does he think we're not best friends? We won't talk? Is he trying to make you jealous? What an idiot! And by the way, I already got rid of him TWICE before you even met him! I was only nice to him cause he paid for both our dinners that night I got wasted and you said he was smart.  When we performed the ritual it was to get rid of them, not fucking trade them! Why were you friends with him anyway Sarah?" she demanded.

"Uh, if you remember, I was pissed at Bob and avoiding him that night I met him," I said.

"Fucking Bob! It always comes back to Bob!" she yelled.

I love you Man. Now be a sport and take one for the team.  

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Dearest Sarah,

I was reading somewhere that we could "rid" ourselves of bad people by having a ritual...

It said something like, We make paper doll cut-outs of all the people we want to say, "Buh bye" too...

Then we write all the things that make us sick on the front...
Then we dunk them in red wine...toss pebbles at them...
Snuff out a cigarette on their stupid face...
Dunk them in the pool a couple times (only to cool them off)...

Then toss them over the fence!!!

All while chanting, "Good bye Mother Fuckers."

Let's give it a try ol' pal.

I love you Man.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Dear Hunter (Letter 3),

One of my main goals in life (besides driving 365 different places in the 4 hours that lay between school and shower time) is to make you laugh. 

I'm pretty good at it. Even when I don't mean to be. I say things with complete sincerity and the corner of your eyes start to turn up even before your mouth. It almost irritates me because it makes me laugh and then I'm not sure if you know I'm serious or not. 

You know I am. 

So in an effort to make you laugh on a night when you are not my Friday night date (thanks a lot for that btw Bitch, if I get sold into white slavery for going out with almost strangers, remember, my friends name is Tasha, you know where she works.) I will tell you a little tale to hold you over until I can unintentionally make you laugh again by telling you about my future travels, house and the amount of pedicures I require in a month. No offense (just a little) but forking over some of those sweat earned dollars for a pedicure never killed anyone. Just sayin'. You know who loves you right? NO! Not fuckin Schaffer. He might say it, but he can't txt like me. If he can. Take him. Snatch him up. Never let him go.

Bob's a fuckin' idiot.

So listen, you got the short version earlier. Stupid Mac is a raging alcoholic. I'm not even kidding. I was always wondering why he couldn't remember things I had told him. Dumb ass me. I have even said on occasion, "Do you not listen to me?" Now I realize he is a fucking drunk.  He is a cheap, wasted, mofo. So today he says, "I felt awful today. Barely got any work done."  Trying to be nice, I asked, "Why, are you sick?"  To which he replied, "No, I had to many drinks last night. I am paying for it today." In my head I thought, "Self, I guess cause it was Thursday night he might have been partying but also self, isn't it his week with the kids?" Hmmm... So I said, "Who did you go out with?" Stupid Sarah. Remember, don't ask the question if you don't want to hear the answer. My bad. "I didn't go anywhere, I drank here by myself. I have been trying to stop that and only drink with other people." Buh bye. Not only are you the richest cheap mother fucker I have ever known but now you're an alcoholic too? I would take my (estranged) husbands pot smoking ANY DAY OF THE WEEK over that. 
So in the famous words of you, Hunter "Go get your purse Bitch, grab your perfume, your pink boa and your pink slip and go down to HR. You Are Out."

Oh Mother say a prayer for me, Jesse's (SS) back in town, it won't be easy.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Hunter In Wonderland

"I have the most exciting news to tell you. You can't tell anyone. Not Mandy if you see her tomorrow. No one. It's a total secret," Hunter says the minute I pick up the phone.
"Do tell," I say. 
"Well, tomorrow Shane is picking me up and we are going kayaking on the oldest lake in the history of man.."
"I don't even know what that means."
"Just listen, we are going kayaking on the most historical waterway in the tri state area AND he's bringing mushrooms."

I glance in the rear view mirror to make sure the kids haven't heard this revelation through the cell phone. Thank God they're to busy chattering away about their crazy principal and how he was on the news last night (for nothing g00d).  

"I'm not sure what to say to that. Congratulations."
"You don't even know how happy I am. So happy. Kayaking, historical lakes, mushrooms. This is the happiest I've been since I've been here." she gushes.

Go get 'em Tiger. 

I love you Man. Now shut up about the bees. 

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Buzzed and BeeWildered

It's beyond gorgeous outside. The sky is as blue as it's been all spring. There is a breeze. The birds are tweeting and chirping and zipping around. So are a couple bees. It's bee season. I like bees. Bees are nice. I just don't want  bees sitting on me. I got stung a while back on my neck and it made that one thing under my jaw swell up and I was convinced I had cancer. Anyway, I'm lying on the lounge chair in the sun soaking up another form of cancer and a bee starts buzzing around me.
"Get off bee. Go play over there," I say.
"Yes, bees. That bee that was on you was totally entranced by the pattern on my bathing suit." Hunter says.
"Don't be stupid. That bee didn't like your bathing suit. It landed there by accident."
"Oh yes he did! He loved it. It reminded him of a honeycomb which is the shizzle to a bee," Hunter replies with absolute sincerity.
"That is straight up retarded. It was completely by chance he landed there."
"No it wasn't! He was looking for a safe place to sit. He saw the design and he flew around and around, he became enticed and then landed on my teet."

Stunned silence from me...

A couple minutes later.

"Why do you have the mother load of Russian caviar cans stacked in your kitchen cabinet?" Hunter asks after she has obviously been rummaging through them.
"My neighbors are Russian, they give it to us every Christmas."
"You don't eat it?" she asks.
"Does it appear that we do?"
Next she pulls a little glass caviar jar out of her bag that is housing her maryjawanna. "Are these inside of it?" she asks.
"What do you mean? It's all cans. Didn't you see?"
"Well maybe there are jars inside of the cans," she says.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You think there are glass jars inside of those little cans? Are you stoned now?"

Sunday, May 17, 2009

"You Need Medication"

Listen Mom, I know we're getting into the last early part of the 2000's but still, don't you remember "Free To Be You And Me?"
Don't dress your cat in an apron

Just cause he's learning to bake

Don't dress your horse in a nightgown

Just cause he can't stay awake


Dear Hunter's Mommy,

This is an anonymous letter from someone who spends in inordinate amount of time with Hunter. I thought I should throw in my two cents to the whole "Hunter needs meds" conversation. I would rather do it here though than in front of you and Gramma because I don't want to get in trouble and although at the age of 18 (14 and 1 score year ago) I decided that "trouble" was no longer a option, but that's with my parents, you and the Vickonator are a whole other story. You know this is Suzy writing, right?

The thing is, Hunter is one of the best people I have ever known. She is a good friend. She is smart. She is just different. She dances to a different beat. She runs at a different pace. She walks with a different gait. Whatever the case may be. She is my muse. Should you stifle her with some nasty meds I would be low on material. I would have to make stuff up. No one wants that. Plus I think she does a fine job of self medicating (please see picture below). She has perfected the doses to bring her down to half past medium. That could take years going through a handful of shrinks. Does Insurance cover marijuana in the Commonwealth? I think not.
And speaking of meds, when I asked her what time she had to work tomorrow and she told me 5.30 in the am, I expressed my sympathies at the early hour she must rise. She said, "I know, it's hard, I like to wake up early enough so I have some chill time before these fuckin' nutballs I'm living with get up and start cleaning with Q-tips. I believe she was talking about you and your mother. With compete and total respect, I beg the question, perhaps the meds are needed elsewhere?

With Great Love In My Heart,
Suzy Stuck-Up (in a passive aggressive mood) Sue me. 
Get it? Sue, Suzy?
You know I'm double jointed right? I can do some sick shit with my arms. Don't test me. 

Rule number One: Everything comes back to Bob
Rule number Two: When in doubt, blame it on Suzy.

I love You Man...

Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Weekend Rolls On In...

"We went out to dinner last night."
"Who all went?"
"The whole crew, me, my Mom, Uncle Darryl, my other Uncle Darryl and Gramma," Hunter says.
"What freak show transpired?" I ask as get out my note pad.

Note pad.
A glass of red wine.
Sound of boys playing baseball in the yard.
Dogs sitting staring at me with great love. 
Sun beating down at 6 o'clock Saturday night.
Hunter telling stories.

I'm a simple girl (if you don't count the trainer, masseuse, esthetician, reiki healer, therapist, botox doctor, hair stylist, cleaning people and the Asian woman that does my nails)- straight up for you Hunter- but I am a simple girl. Small things make me abnormally happy. This is one of those times.

"So first my goddamn Mom stares at me put 6 quarters in the meter, as I start to fish through my wallet for more she says, 'You don't need quarters on Friday night honey.' Thanks Mom. You're a fuckin' peach."
"Good start," I say, "Please continue." (I'm not even charging her for this therapy session)
"So then we go in the restaurant and she tucks her napkin in the top of her shirt."
"Wait, who does that, (I'm confused) your Mom? Sydney? Or do you mean your 95 year old grandmother (cause that seems slightly more feasible)?"
"My Mom!" Hunter says.
"Why?" I ask. 
"Cause she doesn't want to get anything on the shirt that she paid $450 for in Tortola when we could have gotten it at a head shop here for $20 and it probably cost the Mexicans a buck fifty tops to make."
"Then she pulls her bottle of wine out a brown paper bag, slams it on the counter and then reaches in her stupid gay beach bag and pulls out her own plastic wine glass with the dolphins on it." 
"She brought her own wine glass?" this just keeps getting better and better. Dysfunctional is not even adequate to describe this family. They are worthy of so much more.
"She sure did. She won't drink out of anything that isn't plastic. You know she doesn't even use utensils to eat?" she says.
"I did not know that. For what? Like finger foods? Butlered hor devours? Granola bars?"
"No. Anything. Salad. Pasta. Piece by piece. She eats like a goddamn Aborigine and she taps everything twice before she puts it in her mouth."
"Is Tom Cruise her brother from another Mother? Can she count cards?" At this point I'm trying to figure out how to use these oddities to my advantage. Hunter seems disturbed. I am strangely intrigued by this kooky behavior. 
"No. She's not Autistic! She's just fucking nuts. It's weird and uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as Bob's profile picture..."

When it's all said and done friends...
It all comes back to Bob.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Vertigo, The Nettie Pot and Will She Turn Blue?

Ah the vertigo. The fucking vertigo. It's all I ever hear about. Hunter is constantly complaining of vertigo. "It's an inner ear thing. Inner ear. Inner ear. I can't stand up. I can't sit down. I've got vertigo." Listen, if we want to talk dizzy, let me tell you how I had to sit down while teaching today because of a major head rush. I don't know why it happened but I'm not crying "vertigo" though.
I think the only reason she fell out of the pose the other day in her class was cause she couldn't hold it. If it had been me teaching that class and not her luva Brad, I would of totally yelled, "Get up. You're weak. You suck. Get out of my class!" :)

But whatever, you say vertigo, I say dizzy. You say potato, I say patato. I hate that saying. Who but a complete asshole would say patato? 

Anyway, back to the title. What's next? Ah yes, the nettie pot. Now I love a nettie pot just as much as the next hippie or as the next person that loves a nettie pot but I think you are abusing the nettie pot Hunter. I have to interrupt myself here and tell you I once had to tell a friend to never say the words "nettie pot" to me again because I thought she used them to many times in a sentence and look, here I go doing it...  Back to my point. I think you are treating the NP like some sort of skunk bud you happened upon. It's just burning a hole baby. The thing is the NP isn't going anywhere. Give it a break. I don't want you to go blind.

And last but not least, the silver. Our dear little self appointed Facebook Police of the Pedophile Pictures has taken it upon herself to treat all her ailments with some sort of silver. It is supposed to have quite a success rate but there is that one little glitch that it could make you turn blue. It's not even her nonsense. I know it's true cause I saw it on CSI Las Vegas one time, the one with Grishom. I think that's where I saw it. There was a definitely a blue guy. I'm going to go out on a limb and ask everyone to say a little prayer for Hunter that she doesn't turn blue. I don't want her to walk around like some freak. Well, anymore than she does now. 

I love you Man.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

HA HA HA to YOU Hunter...

Back To Bob

When all else fails we always have Bob. We actually have other stuff too but Bob's pedophile profile picture talk makes me laugh so hard that sometimes I think I'm going to have stomach issues. When Hunter gets on a roll with it, I actually have to tell her to stop. More of that later. 

Other goings ons...
Although Hunter's early morning complaining usually irritates me, today on the way to the gym made me laugh so hard that I had to tell her to slow down because lots of times I have to jot stuff down while driving. 

"I didn't sleep at all last night," she whined.
"Why now?"
"My goddamn Mom kept me up all night snoring. That and five planets were lined up outside my window shining in. That's right. Five moons right in my window making a prism. Five planets coming through the window of my room!  and I have vertigo."
"Would you shut the fuck up with that vertigo shit? Seriously, it's annoying me."
"You shut up Sarah, it's true. Sometimes I just tip over. I did it in class the other day. Just tipped over while we were doing something.  I can't remember what it's called."
"Was Brad teaching?" I asked.
"That must have been a huge turn on. Are you guys like an item now? Are you going to his prom? Did he make you a mixed tape?"
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I don't even like him anymore," she said.
"Why not? I thought he was so dreamy."
"He's got a gut and I don't get that. He's a fitness teacher. Where does he get off having a gut? We were doing that thing where you're upside down (at which point she demonstrates on the lounge chair as her shirt falls down) I mean, I'm sure he wasn't impressed by my shit (as she gestures to her miniscule stomach) but still, he is the teacher!"
"Yeah, he's a little chunky," I agree.
"So I'm over it."
"Cause of that? I thought you didn't care?"
"Yeah, but he was acting like a girl again saying he had tennis elbow. Stupid."
"Straight up."

We now return to our regularly scheduled program:

"So Bob has fallen off the face of the earth," Hunter says.
"Yeah, I think you calling him a pedophile on his "wall" didn't help matters." 
"He isn't talking to you anymore either," she points out.
"Well, A, we come as a team and B, I'm over him. I was over him the night I skipped out of that bar-b-que."
"I couldn't help myself once I understood what that picture was. I didn't realize at first it was hin and a baby. I thought it was his girlfriend," she says.
"You thought his girlfriend was three?"
"I didn't look that closely. I wasn't paying attention. If you can believe that?" she says.
"I sure can Kooky."
The following came out as one long stream of consciousness and I'm sure I missed some:
"I don't trust him. It's weird. He was always saying he was going to Colorado. I don't believe it. I think he was on the weekend Pedophile Program at Sing Sing in New York. And I told him to take that picture down! If someone told me that I had a pedophile picture up  I wouldn't care if I was in Colorado, Venezulea or Ethiopia I would have someone get into my facebook account and change that picture! He was a pervert. He wasn't in in Colorado! He was on pedophile probation! I've worked with enough animals in the wild  to know that. I don't trust him, he's living with a gay man that eats acid and mushrooms all day. Don't even get me started on that"model" picture with that circular saw. He was chipping bodies. It's just freaky. I'm glad he's gone."

Bye bye Bobby... We'll miss you...

Monday, May 11, 2009

The Big Blow Off

It was fun while it lasted. Hunter coming to my class. I was so proud of her. Working and working out! I knew it was coming to an end the other day when she called me from the studio.
"I love Brad," she said. "He and his girlfriend just broke up. I think he's going to like me too."
"Fantastic. Isn't he like 12?" I ."said, somewhat snarkily.
"No! He's 32 and I think I love him." 
"Oh dear God, I should have seen that coming a mile away." I said.

Brad is another teacher in the studio I work in. He and I trained together one time. He is adorable but I never considered him "datable" for my single friends. Just didn't occur to me...

"Oh and I helped him change his status on facebook." she said.
"Oh, well then it's official, facebook status is like Gods word. Why did they break up anway?"
"You're never going to believe this," Hunter said, "but he said he was acting like such a bitch cause she never had time for him."
"Hunter! Aren't we sick of men that act like bitches! Seriously!"
" I know but he's so cute. " she said.
"Yeah, cute like a newborn chick."

A couple days later I get a phone call. "Are you coming down to practice here this morning?" she asks me.
"No. I'm going to my gym, why, who's teaching?" at this point I had pushed the whole Brad thing out of my head.
"Brad," she said.
"Have fun Hooker."

Later that afternoon. 
Phone rings.
"Yes?" I say.
"I think we're in love," she says.
"Is that so? That was quick. He must have been impressed with your moves."
"Uh, no. I'm pretty sure he wants me though because he kept touching me the whole time and at the end he gave me a very seductive foot rub." she literally giggled. Hunter giggled. I threw up a tiny bit in my mouth. 
"Dude, I'm not sure he's of legal age. Careful."
"Shut up." 
"Well great. I'm glad you've made a love connection at work. That's very PC these days," I say.
"And you know what else? The whole time I kept doing things wrong so he would adjust me and put his hands on me." she said.
"That sounds fabulous Stalker."
"I can't come to your class Wednesday Sarah, I'm going to Brad's instead." 
"Fuck you."

Friday, May 8, 2009

Dear Hunter, Letter 2

  You'll see this when you go home. Hi there. How ya feeling Champ? You all ready to come back watch baseball games with me all day? No? Instead you say, you are going to go to McDonalds and go home to Syd and Vickie? Okay, cool. Maybe Syd can find you a boyfriend today. I liked the other day when she asked the gardner if he was married. That was great fun. Especially when he said that he was married and she said, "Oh, okay, I didn't know if you wanted my daughter or not. Then she pointed to you and you were all sweaty and gross from taking my class, which I meant to thank you that you only gave me the finger once the whole time. I was proud of you. You little exerciser. Who saw that coming? Not me.

 So listen, sorry I made you sleep on the floor but it's enough sharing a bed with Mickey. Sorry I made you get out of my car when you lit up that bowl, but we all know I don't like the smell of that very stinky weed. I can't help it. It's an old scar. It's taking some time to heal. Sorry I had to pick your ass up at Gary's bar when I told you not to go in the first place. Sorry we haven't found a replacement Bob yet but I think we're fine on our own for a while. Sorry I parked illegally again. Okay, I'm really not sorry for that.

Can you wake up and tell me a story so I can fall asleep? No? Selfish bitch. 
Love you Man. Anyway. 

P.S. I hid your keys. Did you find them? I am so tempted to go out and "surprise" you like you did me when you were annoyed with me for something stupid and you piled all that shit in my car so when I opened the back I wouldn't be able to get to the kids baseball stuff. That was good. You're a clever little Minx aren't ya?
I would really like to go put something smelly in your car so when you have to drive home feeling not 100% tomorrow you will have a bad smell the whole time. I just can't think of what to put in there. I wish I had a rotten egg or some stinky cheese lying around. If it weren't 12.45am and I wasn't already in my pajamas I would go out and get something. I'm a bad sleeper. I should take a trip to Turkey. I hate to waste travel time though, unless it's an emergency. 

Now I'm just rambling. Ramble on Rose.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Our Bob Was A Punk...

And not the cool kind.

It's official. We are now scouting and taking resumes for a New Bob. Just in case you don't know our Old Bob was our Sidekick. He had his moment in the sun. He got lazy. Or perhaps he always was lazy and we just didn't notice. Whatever the case may be our Old Bob lost the dream job. Sucks for him. He should have thought a little harder before he took a three hour long shower while we were starving and waiting for him to meet us at a restaurant. He's not that tall or wide and he has not one hair on his shiny head. It was unnecessary and a waste of our time. 

We have been contemplating how to go about the interview process. We decided our best course of action would be to set up a table and two chairs right in front of his old restaurant in our town and just start there. We are going to need resumes, and not any of those doctored up ones that say things that aren't true.  We're going to need head shots and we are thinking of incorporating some sort of "Apprentice" type task for the applicants to do in order for us to see their abilities. Bob was lacking in this department. We let him get away with it for a while because Hunter liked to have a tokin' buddy. She's willing to forgo that for someone with either more potential or better pot than her. 

We also need our New Bob to be named Bob. That is going to weed out a lot of the riff raff. We also need NB to have moments when he is funnier than we are. We don't mind being the side show most of the time but at some point we are going to need to be entertained. 

What else do we need? Oh yes, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE can the NB have a facebook profile picture that makes him look like a pedophile. We all know it's his "god child," whatever. It's just weird. It makes Hunter squeemish. You don't have a picture of yourself in the bath tub with a baby as your profile picture. It's just stupid Bob. And we're pretty sure it's also fucking illegal.  You didn't even change it when Hunter called it to your attention on National Change Your Pedophile Profile Picture Day.  

This has been a hard decision for us to make. Like most, we are creatures of habit. We enjoyed OB during his short stint as our Third Wheel. We liked calling him Charlie, he liked calling us his Angels.  We chuckled at his odd little idosyncracies that made him inherently OB. The problem arose when he kinda started acting like a girl all the time. No offense to girls. Finger to nose. You know what we mean. We think that is the point of this whole post. No long ass showers, no restaurant decision making issues, no, "I hate that bartender." None of that. 
Cowboy the fuck up. 
That's what we said.
If your picture has ever been stapled to a telephone post you need not apply.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

She's In A Cult

Just between you and me and the lamp post I think Hunter's about to join a cult. Well, when I say me I really mean her grandmother. It actually has nothing to do with me, I just like little sayings like that. 

Yesterday Morning:
"Get me outta here." the txt says.
"Where are you?" I reply full of genuine concern. 

An hour goes by.
I guess she's fine. If she was in jail she would have called me. I don't know if you are allowed to txt from the holding cell, I'm kind of thinking no, so I am somewhat confident she was uncomfortable for a minute, txt'd that then got distracted by another shiny object and moved on.

Hours later.
"OMG, call me," the next txt says.
Now I am slightly concerned. And when I say slightly. I actually do really mean very slight.

I call her.
Her whispered voice comes on the phone, "I'll call you back, I'll be out of here in a minute."
"Where the hell are you?" I ask.
"Ok, fine, call me back," I say as I roll my eyes to myself.

Finally an incoming phone call. Not some crypted txt or a half assed conversation. 
"Well it's official. Gramma thinks I'm in a cult." she says.
"Are you?" I ask, I had been out of the loop for the day, you never know what can transpire in an 8 hour time period. It is Hunter we're talking about. Things change dramatically with a trip to the gas station. A cult's not entirely out of the question. 
"The Kabbalah. She hates the Kabbalah." Hunter says.
"Well, you had to see that coming. She was very concerned about you and your relationship with Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior," I say.
"Yeah, well now she has my Mom and Uncle Stuart thinking that too."
"Oh well, what are you gonna do? You wanna come over? I'm bored. And when I say bored, I mean bored of this conversation."
"Fuck you," she says.
" Oh, is that what all the cult kids are saying this week?"

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Here You Go

Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call 
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall 
You've seen it all, you've seen it all 

Watched the men who rode you switch from sails to steam 
And in your belly you hold the treasures few have ever seen 
Most of 'em dream, most of 'em dream 

Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late 
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder 
I'm an under-forty victim of fate 
Arriving too late, arriving too late 

I've done a bit of smugglin', I've run my share of grass 
I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast 
Never meant to last, never meant to last 

And I have been drunk now for over two weeks 
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks 
But I got stop wishin', got to go fishin' 
Down to rock bottom again 
Just a few friends, just a few friends

Jimmy Buffet

Here you go children. Hunter, I know the only thing you're feeling tonight is hungover. I do enjoy when you told me to hold on so you could pack your bowl.  And then the cough. The cough is priceless. 
Now that you have internet access, don't get crazy. I worry you know. Even though apparently somehow I'm the bad one. That's just stupid Bob.

I Love You Man.

Dear Hunter,

I'm sorry Hunter. When you read this you'll be all, "Hey, what happened to that Jack Johnson singing Jimmy Buffet song that I tirelessly listened to over and over drunk last night to get every last lyric, even though Sarah said we could easily google them if I needed them so bad." "Fuck googling them!" you said. You wanted to listen, stop, sing. Listen, stop, sing. Kind of along the lines of stop, drop and roll. But different. 
I typed away for you but there was something goofy going on and it was making the type to big and cutting stuff off and I just looked at it. Just stupid. We were kinda drunk. That was fun.  Especially the part where you wrote on Bob's wall that he looked like a.... I won't say it, cause what he reads this sometime? I'm telling you, I don't care how old we are, adult supervision is s a good idea and you can't count Sue as "adult," when she's drinking too. Sue and her crazy showers. That's why she left, not cause we were boring her. Or maybe we were. Once there had been to much wine to do tricks anymore and the games got old, she was outta here. Hey, now that I think about it, she left when she thought the wine was gone. She didn't know about that fifty dollar bottle my brother left here to give to my parents. Whoops. 
So sorry about the song. I'm going to text you the whole thing, piece by piece. That'll be fun...

Friday, May 1, 2009

Once Upon a Time...

In  a land called Bennigans I went to lunch with three generations of my dysfunctional female family. It was like a fucking train wreck. 
Gramma was stamping out her Virginia Slim in the entry way as we put our name down for a table. She wouldn't stop saying how she didn't want to eat food. Uh...we're in a restaurant Vicki. You needs to shuts ups. 
Bennigans, Flannigans, Hooligans. Wtf?

"You shut up!" Gramma said to anyone who was listening. (You shut up Gramma)

It was 12.05 pm. I ordered my first beer of the day from the bartender when no one was watching before we even sat down. It wasn't because I wanted it. This had nothing to do with want. This was Stone Cold Need. 

The waitress with the goofy smile and fake happy voice named Anna came over to take our beverage order. This the last fake happy voice we were going to get out of her now that she had met the Vickonater. As she was asking for our drink order Gramma demands, "I want a shrimp cocktail!" with the gruffest of voices that only 95 years of smoking can produce. (shut up you old Goat)
"We don't have shrimp cocktail," Anna says.
"What do you mean you don't have shrimp cocktail?" she screams. (please dear God, if there is one, make her shut the fuck up)
"Gramma, she's taking the drink order. Stop. Look at the menu. Chill." I say quietly as I finger the pipe in my pocket lovingly.
Sydie quickley ordered her a fried shrimp off the kiddie menu. Crisis averted for the moment. 

Drinks ordered. 

"Where's the goddamn cocktail sauce? What did they go to the Shore to get it?" Gramma belts out the moment those nasty fried pieces of canned shrimp are placed in front of her. 
"You're being rude!" I say as I once again feel my precious pipe. It gives me comfort like a teddy bear does a child in a dark scary room. 

Once Gramma starts to eat I sneak out saying I have to go to the bathroom. I go outside to the light of day were humans are. I take a hit off my beloved one hitter, relish it for a moment, slowly blow it out so I can feel it hit each part of my throat and then I dial the phone.
"Hello," Sarah answers so cheerily that I want to bitch slap her. 
"Can you come pick me up?" I plead.
"I'm busy. What's wrong, where are you?" she says. (sure I'll just drive on my rims home again)
cough, guffaw, choke, snort
"What the fuck are you doing in Bennigans? Do they still even make Bennigans?"
"Shut up. I'm with a real living dinosaur Have some mercy."
"Okay, well, sorry, buck up Little Camper. I'm on my way to a grown up lunch."
"Fuck you. I don't love you Man. You only eat beans. That's just stupid Bob."