I think I am going to vomit

I think I am going to vomit on you. But not yet. Which is good news for you. But maybe not. Since I can't really vomit on you because we don't really know each other. All we have is the symbiotic synthetic cyber relationship where I write things for you to consume, and you gurgle them all down so as to stave off the suburban boredom you are going through.

I hope my post does this for you, because I can't hear another story about some disaffected middle aged woman who hated her life so much that she went to the store to buy six quarts of ice cream and an Oprah magazine so she could make it through another day of feeling useless to her husband and used up by her demanding, unappreciative children.

It makes me want to go out and hire some guy on Craigslist to rape you back into reality which is just what some guy did if you believe the reports on TV.

I don't believe things I see on TV which is why I assume the whole thing was made up.

High Crimes and Misdemeanors

Instead I will just tell you about the guy I met last night who found some marijuana on the street as he was walking to the store. I had no idea pot heads were so observant. But I guess they are if they don't get their fix. They start to see pot everywhere and every once and a while they turn out to be right.

He did not find a lot of pot. Just enough for a bowl. But I can tell you that this pot finding friend of mine can find better pot on the sidewalk of his neighborhood than he can score from his connections or buy from his drug dealer.

Last night I watched a guy get high from found pot and I drank an 18 pack of beer. Two hours after all my friends went to bed I sat outside their apartment listening to my mp3 player and finishing off the 18 pack of beer I bought myself that no one drank from because I guess they are just too good for Keystone Light.

I woke up hurting at 7:13 in the morning which was just enough time for me to run down to the curb and catch the 7:18 bus. I jumped on the bus even though I knew I did not have a bus card much less the exact fare that the sign located on the ticket booth said was required.

I must have looked pathetic or stupid (sometimes it pays to be white) because I went through all the motions of asking if the machine took debit or credit cards. My driver must have assumed I had never been on a bus before. I am sure he thought I was probably making a run from the skinny girl that drove me to the bad side of town and took advantage of me by getting me to buy beer for her and her friend, because he let me board for free.

Maybe the driver hoped that he had turned a suburban white boy into a proponent of public transportation . But I think he just figured that I would pay for an all day bus ticket when I boarded the connection to my next bus. He was almost right, but instead of buying an all day pass I bought a one way ticket fare that cost me only a $1.25. That meant I saved 50%. Now I see why public transit never makes money.

The girl that gave me a ride to the bad side of town where I booze it up with my underage friends is some kind of pill freak. She gets high at work all the time and the manager is always having her tested for drugs which somehow she manages to pass because I guess whatever pills she takes can't be tested by the oral drug tester we have at work.

I smell like booze. I called in sick at 8:11 am. I was sick. Not throw uppy sick. Just pounding headache with liver pain. The liver pain was not too bad though. I drank a two liter of cola and felt better. Around 2 pm work called to tell me that they found my stolen library book.

That put me in good mood.