May and shit.
I was at the grocery store running the register. Residual traces of alcohol dueled with caffeine to determine whether I was over or understimulated. Never just right. Almost never right in the middle. Some lady with three kids came through the line. Two children were mobile. Waist height. Not terrible but still requiring enough attention to remind me how much I wanted a vasectomy. My goals are as follows:
1-out of debt
2-new guitar (probably Gibson but I need to shop around)
4-get the fuck out of the country
Anyway. The other child was in a car seat that was placed in the cart. The caffeine dominated the alcohol for long enough for me to make dynamic small talk with the Mom. I don't remember about what. She walked away with her groceries and I turned to help the next customer to find the infant in the cart.
"Hey, Miss! You forgot a child!" I yelled to her as she approached the door several checkstands away. The way she moved back towards me is difficult to explain. It wasn't quite a jog or a run. It was more than just walking, though. Her posture expressed shame and guilt.
"Sorry." I said meekly. "I probably shouldn't have yelled that across the store. I should have been more discreet." She raised one hand. "Right here! I'm the bad mother!" and so on. There were several witnesses. It probably wasn't an ideal morning for her but I could hang.
Some party out in the sticks. I showed up around midnight and had just a couple beers. Told some coworkers I'd swing by their pad around one or two. Tom said he was riding with me. He was a drunk stranger to them. That didn't matter.
We had some drinks and decided to climb a church because that rarely fails to be a good time. The nearest church was in the process of being scaled when a coworker informed me of approaching voices within the compound of god. It was several buildings separated by paths and gates and courtyards. I bailed from the roof and scaled up and over a gate onto the street. I called Tom, who was very committed to the roof and encouraged him to expedite his departure. I ran to the other side of the building and we discussed a way down. The catholics were approaching.
"What are you doing?" one of two churchites asked me. Almost four in the morning at that point and the followers approached in bathrobes with their flashlights demonstrating curiousity and confusion. I don't think they could see Tom at that point.
"Nothing." I said with a long first syllable because I thought it would help stall them or something. And then, Tom did it. He fucking jumped from the roof and grabbed the street light and slid like some drunk fire fighter down the pole and into the bushes. The branches cracked beneath him and he shot to his feet.
"RUN! RUN!" And away we went.
Mexican Independence Day. I rarely go out because the bars get too crowded and it takes too long to get a drink and there are a lot of people that only drink on New Years, St. Patty's and Cinco de Mayo, so they're not really familiar with the effect of alcohol and generally end up under foot. So, I had some drinks with the roomies. A few folks came over, not many. I didn't notice for a couple of days, but one of my roommates pointed out that somebody puked in the bathroom and tried to clean it up with the bath mat. They did a pretty good job, taking their resources into account.
really old months: