Friday, March 30, 2012

Gotta maintain a sense of humor, man.

All right. We're fucking done here. The house has been cleaned over and over, the yard has been cut, the lists have been checked and double checked, the guest bathroom is sealed off, I got about $100 worth of pig in the icebox to go in the smoker later tonight, we got salad for the token gay couple, and I had the presence of mind to stash quick reloads of various calibers around the house and put a razor's edge on my KA-BAR in case of trouble.
I'm ready to get married tomorrow.

I had to run into Modesto earlier today to return a book to the libarry and drop off my monthly check at the bank for my ex-wife (if I'm not late, I don't hear from her), plus a couple odds and ends.
I hate going into Modesto even though the town I live in is basically a suburb of it. As soon as I cross the river, the fucking idiots started coming out of the woodwork.
Just coming off the bridge, I got behind a car that was doing about 15 mph and swerving from one side of his lane to the other. He comes to a stop in the middle of the road, opens his door and blows bacon. Then he notices a hooker walking down the median as he's wiping the vomit from his mouth and calls her over. Still pukey and he's looking for a blowjob.

Then I'm turning the corner off J Street to get to the Wicked Witch of the West's bank, they's got the fucking road closed off for a street fair that DRAIL (Disabilty Resources and Independent Living) is putting on. I park a couple of blocks away and when I get back to the street I cross from the corner and when I get about halfway across I angle off towards the bank and the street fair.
"Hey, get back in the sidewalk" barks a cop that didn't look more than 16.
What the fuck? I look over at the crowd at the street fair standing in the middle of the street not 50 feet away. "Are you fucking kidding me, Junior?" I pointed over at the crowd. He started to say something, then looked sheepish and turned his back. That's when I saw he wasn't carrying a gun. Fuck, he wasn't even a cop! He was an Explorer Scout. He WAS 16!
Great. This one's getting badge heavy before he even goes to work at the cop shop.

I get out of the bank and start checking out the street fair which I have to admit was pretty goddamned entertaining. Remember that this was put on by a Disabilities advocacy organization? These guys do pretty good work in the community for a bunch of lefties- they advocate for disabled folks as far as services and housing, shit like that. Not only that but it's run by a bunch of cripples. So yeah, the street fair was pretty fun - couple of  blind motherfuckers wandering around aimlessly, people cripping into tables and shit, retards smearing ice cream all over their faces and bibs and a handful of people in the street with their helmets all askew trying to dance. At least I think they were trying to dance, they might've been just spazzing out. Or maybe Junior the Cop tazed a couple of them, I don't know.

So I got bored with that after awhile and headed back to the truck, laughing at all the soccer moms at the sidewalk tables outside the cafe clutching their purses closer and crossing their legs as I walked by with the camera turned on my phone, scouting for a camel toe.

After I got back underway, I pulled back into traffic and made a right turn, almost getting hit by a woman making a left in front of me while talking on the phone. Not only did she almost hit me but she didn't even slow down as I stomped on my brakes and leaned on the horn. When we ended up next to each other at the next light I rolled down my window and she did the same, oblivious to the fact that she almost wrecked my truck and pissed me off mightily in the process.
"I hope to fuck you're calling a goddamned driving school for lessons, Lady" I hollered. She just smiled, waved and drove off, still talking on the phone.
Fucking people - how in the hell did they survive without their electronic leashes?

Finally, my last stop was at a store where I needed to buy some III shit that I never bought before and wasn't sure how to go about buying it. So I go in and talk to the salesman and I make it very clear that I'm wanting to pay cash because I don't want a paper trail on this. I find what I need and go back up to pay for it and the first thing the motherfuckerfucker does is ask for my name and phone number. Oh, man.......
"Thomas Jefferson, 555-1776." Just like that. I used the 555 prefix.
"And how do you spell your last name, Mr. Jefferson?" Didn't say a thing about the 555 prefix.
Really? Are you fucking serious? Motherfucker, you just took US Government last semester!

Fuck, it was good to get back home. And Miss Lisa wonders how come I'm so cynical when it comes to my fellow man.