Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Lost in an episode of Breaking Bad Part 1
The road to Coyote and Espanola.
Sweet bearded Moses, who slipped the Adderall in with my Percocet and what hell was I even going on about last night? I think I must have been in some heightened state of delirium because my previous post reads like something out of a Valerie Solanas manifesto. I did NOT shoot Andy Warhol! Not only do I sound seriously gakked but a bit deranged as well. Hahaha, I don't give the slightest fuck. The truth is that I stand by everything I wrote, even if it does sound somewhat unbalanced.
A few hours ago I was on the phone with k1tten and got an aborted call from Rainman. I did NOT feel like leaving the house under any circumstances, especially since I have been laying about stewing in my own sweat while the dope bleeds out of my system. Leaving the house would require taking a shower and trying to arrange myself into some semblance of order. While complaining of this to K1tty-girl, the line flashed again and instead of doing the sensible thing (I NEVER do the sensible thing), I answered it.
I was confronted by Adrian and his oh-so-convincing argument that I must leave the house and go trotting around the desert with him and R-man. *sigh* I gave a non committal answer and told him to call me back when they were a bit more certain of their destination. It was 3am for fucks sake!
I then got a call from Regina and we must have spent a good hour on the phone when I mentioned to her that I had left the back door open (for Fat Mike), and that I thought I heard tweekers invading the backyard...I was joking but it turned out to be prophetic as Adrian and Rainman strolled casually into the room. I silently cursed Fat Mike for his recent refusal to use the litter box (he now prefers the outdoors), which had resulted in my leaving the back door ajar.
I'm sure I looked beyond fetching as I sat on the couch in my smelly Adverts shirt and a pair of Casey's boxers. My hair was plastered to my skull and I had the phone stuck to my ear while Regi went on about something or other. I was unable to concentrate seeing as how Ade had plopped his delicious self next to me.
He looked much like he always does, that is to say he looked absolutely...edible. Damnable child! In my current frame of mind how am I supposed to deal with something like that? A kid who smiles at me with the seductive sweetness of the devil himself, even when I'm laying there like an unwashed lump of dung.
I did my best to ignore him and waited until Regi hung up before I turned to talk to the offending tweekers...uh tweeker, Ade is not offensive at all, Rainman on the other hand...
Summoning up the attitude that is usually my constant companion, I asked them what the hell they were doing in my living room. R-man burbled something incomprehensible and flapped his hand in my direction, he was much too busy sorting through my CDs to spare valuable tweeker minutes and answer my question. I turned back to Adrian and got another deadly smile and, "We're here for you of course." Of course.
I tried to gather myself as best I could and then informed them that I was going nowhere without showering first, I was hoping that this might persuade them that I was not worth the wait. Unfortunately Rainman was becoming intimate with my media collection and had no problem with my statement. He would be entertained for hours if need be. AAAAARGH!
I slunk toward the bathroom and took a shower. I made sure to take my sweet-ass time applying the necessary products to body,hair and face in the hopes that they might get irritated and take their leave. No such luck.
I one last look in the mirror and saw my signature raccoon eyes staring back. I immediately felt better and realized that my confidence level rises and falls in accordance to the amount of black eyeliner I smear on. Interesting. By the time I'm forty I'll probably look like Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer, "My mammy...."
A towel is not the ideal outfit for walking past Adrian but I do what I must heheh. I went into the bedroom and got dressed as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Casey. He was tossing and turning and had a fit of machine-gun sneezes as I was sneaking out the door. Feeling somewhat responsible, I woke him up, shoved a few Percocet down his throat to ease the encroaching sickness and told him I was going for a ride with R-man. Casey gave me a disgusted look and pulled the pillow over his head, oh the pain of dismissal!
I made sure Fat Mike was safely ensconced in his kitty tower and locked the door behind us. It had not been easy prying Rainman away from my CDs/DVDs but we managed. I was unthrilled to see the lowered disco-mobile parked at the curb....UGH! I made up my mind then and there that I was NOT going to do any speed and I was NOT going to let Adrian get to me. Riiiiight. The usual tweeker madness ensued as we drove down the street, R-man juggled the pipe, one hand on the wheel.....as we cruised past police headquarters ( the tri cop residence ), on the corner. *sigh*
OK this is obviously going to take way too long and since I already favored y'all with my 20,000 word dissertation on guilt, I will do this in 2 parts. Besides, I need to smoke in the worst way and Casey is a TOTAL fascist when it comes to smoking in the house. I don't want to endure one of his spasticated seizures, so I will drag my ass outside and be back later, I promise.