IT BEGINS
7 June 2009, 01:00
Oh my god, my head. It’s like somebody stole it from my body, and used in a soccer game. Yes. I got plenty drunk. Way, way inebriated. So it begins. This whole birthday thing. This whole… thing. It’s the weekend of Black Monday. It’s me inching my way closer to death. It’s my birthday.
I finally got Jake in to see the vet, and it’s like he’s a new dog. He had flea dermatitis bad – even after the Frontline treatment, after the powder, after the shampoo. This poor dog was itching his hair off, making himself bleed. I took what little money I had, paired it with money I didn’t – wrote a check at the vet and had him looked at. Foothills Vet here in Hee Haw did a wonderful job in taking care of him – it was fast and cheaper than Tri-City. After a pills and a shot, he’s not the little itchy tortured dog than he was. Seeing that I could take care of my dog, I feel a hundred times better about things. I was flipping out just a little less after that.
Yesterday, I spent a TON of money, but feeling good about most of my purchases. Got more sunglasses from Paul – didn’t like these at all. Gave a pair to my roommate, Donna. I broke the ones I had, so I have to jet up to the gas station where I bought them and pray they have the ones I want. My god. It’s pathetic that my outlet for a pair of good sunglasses is a hillbilly convenience store that sells pickled pigs feet in a jar.
I didn’t go to the track – for some reason, I figured I’d go get my tattoo. My marking of a milestone for my attempt at a relationship. I dropped by OMT, on my way to get my new tattoo. Shuby said, “Yeah, it’s only a mile down the road” so I figured on walking it – I walk a mile and some change to the track, why not this?! Although the heat was oppressive, I thought I could do a mile. Dear god in heaven, sometimes I am a stupid woman. It turns out to be 2.5 miles to Iron Ink, the place where I got my tat. I was dying in the heat, since I had my swimsuit underneath my T-shirt (so I could take my shirt off getting the tattoo) and the fucking inbred mouth breathing populous of Forest Shitty kept trying to run me down. I actually had people looking like they were swerving to clip my ass or at least force me into the ditch. THIS IS WHY I FLIP THESE PEOPLE OFF. Either they were trying to kill me, or they were trying to yell at me for a date at 50 mph. I’ll never understand this little burg and its insane residents.
Well. I hiked it back in 90 degree heat BACK to OMT, and for some reason, the walk back was faster than the hike up there. I sat and slowly got soused with Jerry, one of my friends. To give Forest City some credit, they actually allowed something to happen, something that resembled fun – it was a street dance… but it was a street dance for the elderly. A veritable cornucopia of blue hair, and love handles. It was a sea of hip injuries waiting to happen. They were setting it up as me and Jerry and John got marinated.
The street dance happened and I ventured out to … well… make fun of all the people. It was a little cabaret with my drinking binge. And it was a theatrical display of the Blue Light Special people at it’s very best. I think it was a gathering of all the people who didn’t have the brains to find something better to do in all of North Carolina. I was there because I don’t have the money to go to where better things are happening, so my job now was to mock those who didn’t either. Also, I was Jerry’s wing man, as I pointed out little 12 year olds dressed as hookers. We dared John to go dance with this big woman who was rockin’ out, and I use the term very loosely – rockin’. The music was doo-wop and very badly performed doo-wop. But I had a blast. One of the cops who talked to me when I found the case of hand bells passed by OMT and I said hi. He came over to talk to me – remember, I could be all these boy’s mamas. Jerry kept slurring to me “Now, you don’t need to be bringing the fuzz here where we are drinking”. Jerry is hilarious and one of my best friends. Me, him and John got wasted in the start of what is going to be a long weekend.
I’m up against my will right now, and its way too late to go to the track. I barely found where my shoes were and I’m searching for a large butcher knife to cut off my own head because it hurts so bad. Tonight is the cookout. Without my friends here, I don’t know how I could deal with being in North Carolina. I resisted the urge for so long to know people – but the ones I do know, I am so grateful for – it’s like a gift to me.
Okay. I’m going to probably try and be vertical and not throw up. More to come on the progress of my transition into my 40s. It won’t be pretty. It might be funny, though.
