So, interesting turn of events last week. My girls were coming to town to celebrate my birthday, which actually occurred a few weeks ago, natch, but one of my relatives passed away, so I needed to go back to my hometown to attend the funeral. The whole cousin passing thing is really tragic and sad particularly because it happened unexpectedly (heart attack), she was young (37) and had 3 kids (ages 10, 6, and 3 months). Even though she was a relatively close cousin by Southern Black people standards (3rd cousin, my grandad's brother's granddaughter), I hadn't seen her in about 20 years and really didn't "know" her, but I did remember her being nice to me and having a really pretty smile.
So, I went home instead. My girlfriends, uh, let's call them Krystle and, um, K-Risty, for the purpose of this story, and I rode up the highway to my hometown. We decided we could "celebrate" the whole birthday thing when we got to town and then Saturday, I would spend the day in solemnity with my family. Right? Right.
So, off trucking we go, cake in back of the good ol' Pontiac with me (and of course, I ended up leaning on it, pretty much ruining one side), ending the journey at this Mexican restuarant that apparently only opens for business when we come to town and specifically for us because they are almost always completely empty AND out of all of the tables in the entire restaurant, we always end up sitting at the same one. Which is cool with me, whatever. They have a good health rating and they put top shelf alcohol in their margaritas and only charge for the regular house crap, so, they are alright with McCrazy. Two thumbs up. Our other two homegirls, um, let's call them D. Woods and Cold Blooded Tiff show up, nachos appear on the table, the drinks arrive and rainbows and butterflies fill the room. All is good until the freaks come out and put a sombrero on my head and a Mexican Flag in my face, telling me to suck and do it fast.
Yeah, I felt plenty violated...
Afterwards, I was also highly intoxicated (because I would say I drank over 1/2 of the pitcher of margarita, in addition to the flaming flag). I put my sunglasses on and off we went to stop #2, this bar "across the water" called DPs where I run into this guy from my dad's Sunday school class every time we go, which makes me wonder, is it simply a coincidence, since I am not in town all that often, or is it more like this guy goes to the bar every weekend? Things that make you go, hmmm....
Anywho, so we're getting out of the car when, cool sunglasses wearing drunken mccrazy finds her finger somehow not completely out of the car, and yet, the door is strangely closed and the rest of me is standing in the parking lot. I lift up the door handle. Locked. Drunken mccrazy is starting to realize that her fricking finger is in this shut car door and calmy says, "D. Woods, unlock the door. Unlock the door, D. D, unlook the door." Because my buzz was completely gone. No more drunken mccrazy. D.Woods says, "What?" K-Risty looks down, sees my finger lodged in this door as I frantically try to wiggle it out and says, "Open the door!"
D. Woods, "It's unlocked!" And because K-risty is always the one right next to me when I am in the midst of a crisis situation, which is pretty dang awesome now that I think about it, she screams, "No, it's not! Unlock the door!" and then, I was rescued. As soon as I retried my finger though, I thought I was going to throw up. I didn't. Talk about a buzzkill.
So, we go inside, my holding my injured finger, my so-called "friends" laughing their arses off "How do you slam your OWN finger in a door?", the margarita/mexican flag effects completely worn off. And who do we see, but Mr. Sunday School. How unsurprising. Krystle went and got me a glass of ice from the bar to soothe my wounds and some freak in a can redneck man came over to us at this pub table, learned of my injury, and had the nerve to cover my finger by cupping his two hands over it, closing his hands in the process.
Excuse me, Freaky Redneck Man, but WTF are you doing? Reeking, REEKING of alcohol, he responds, "Healing."
Come again?
So, the Freaky Redneck Man is a "healer", is he? He asked if it felt better after he was done and
just so he would get the hell away from me, I was like, "Yep," and he says, I shit you not, LOUDLY, "Git-R-DUNNNNN!"
Wow. So. Yeah.
We moved to the bar.
We noticed this, um, interesting-looking couple at the end. This 'hood, 'hood, beyond 'hood, black (HBHBC) chick with an OBVIOUSLY gay white dude (GWD). We were JUST getting into our, um, "review" of this couple when suddenly GWD says, "McCrazy McCrazy!"
Wow. So, I know this GWD. I take a closer look. OMG. Not only do I know this dude, BUT, he is the first guy that wasn't a member of my family to ever be alone with me in my bedroom with the door closed. His dad lived across the street from my house when we were growing up. I was, like, maybe, 11, and he came into my house and we went to my room to play and McDad was like, "McCrazy, open that door!" and I was all, "But, McDad, its just future GWD, I mean, come on." Cause GWD Tyler was, even at the age of 11, going to end up being a GWD, whether his parents wanted to take note yet or not. COME ON. We were probably in there playing Barbies. McDad, though, doesn't believe in boys in the room with the door closed. Matter of fact, when Mr. Mc and I were engaged, I would get in trouble if we were SITTING on the guest room bed at the same time. And no, sitting is not a euphemism for anything.
But, back to the bar. I was tripping out at seeing Tyler and asked the same question you ask anyone you haven't seen for a while, "How are you doing?"
His answer? "Well, I've got a little drinking problem, led to about 3 DWIs, my license is suspended, I don't have a job and my underage boyfriend dumped me."
Well, how the hell do you respond to that? I mean, seriously, the question I asked him is supposed to come with the obligatory "Great, thanks, how are you?" answer, in which you say, "Super, me, too!".
But, damn my luck and throbbing finger, I asked this question to a self-confessed alcoholic pedophile as he sits drunk in a bar, probably breaking all types of probation decrees. Wow, just wow.
I told him that I hoped he didn't leave anywhere near the time we left the bar. DWIs and all. Perhaps that wasn't sensitive enough? Krystle, as she do, was entranced by the conversation, leaned over the bar and felt the need to have him elaborate on his previous statement. "So," she begins, "how old was the boy?"
Tyler responds, "Oh, he wasn't underage, it was a joke gone bad!" Um, yeah, we believe THAT, perv. To which I sa to him, "Liar. How old was he?" GWD, "19." And then HBHBC speaks for the first time, never once taking her eyes away from the electronic slot machine in front of her, popping probably the most ridiculously large piece of gum in the history of chewing, " 14." and Tyler snickers and denies it.
Well, don't THAT beat all? Wow. Yuck. Now, I really, really wanted to beliee that the HBHBC was saying this fo kicks, but the chick never one took her eyes away from the screen. She said this shit as matter of factly as if I had asked her the time. So, I decided to roll with what she said instead of Tyler, an alcoholic who was steadily throwing back glasses of Jim Beam.
Speaking of Jim Beam, Tyler decides to change the subject and offers us all a shot, but says, "Oh, but I'm not buying or anything." Umkay...
The rest of the the night proved to be even more incredibly awkward. Among the highlights:
* Tyker declared that his father pays all of his bills (GWD has his own apartment with all of the frills, bells and whistles) and that he is entitled to these things because his father has been married 4 times and his mother has been married 6 times and thus, ruined his life.
* Tyler's mom is a whore. His words, not mine.
* Freak in a Can Redneck Man came over and told an incoherent "joke" about a homosexual chicken that wore underwear and said, 'cock-a-doodle-doo' all the time and also said "Git-R-Done!" I think he meant the chicken ?
*When K-Risty and I stated that our parents were giving us the shaft, not paying our bills, Tyler said, in a sneering voice that they were, "Trying to make us 'better'." Like it was a bad thing. Awesome.
*My girlfriends and I ran into my ex-boyfriend at a gas station and laughed at him for a while (because we're bitches). Ha.
*I drunk dialed Mr. McCrazy at 5am because my finger was throbbing so bad, I thought I was dying. Like Natasha Richardson. Because you know, they said that she pretty much died for no reason. That she didn't hit anything - she just fell, was fine, then 2 hours later she was knocking on death's door so hard she broke the dang thing down. And I was scared that, like, blood was getting into my finger bone and I was going to die. Right there in the bed with Krystle. So, I needed my husband, who never sleeps anyway, to Google what was happening to me. It hurt like, um, imagine, um, I can't even tell you. Just don't ever do it. At least the bed was soft. The mattress was the softest I have ever slept on. And, yeah.
The next day Dad laughed at me and suggested that maybe if I wasn't drunk it wouldn't have happened. Dude...
I still am kinda pissed that the unemployed alcoholic pedophile has an iPhone. Where is the feckin justice?
