Saturday, February 5, 2011
I sent out a few select pics because the gaggle of disbelieving bitches I call friends needed proof that had indeed done such a thing. I even now look forward to getting my own section on the People of Walmart blog. Where the fuck else am I gonna wear that dog of a coat?
It's nice, not tatty at all but kinda looks like I skinned a bear and threw it on my back. I suppose it can go in the closet next to that floor dragging leather one that looks like Matrix gone retarded. The problem is that the longer I look at it, the more I like it. I am currently 1/4 in love with it, by this time tomorrow, who knows? I could be fully committed. Plus it's cold and that motherfucker is warm.
Moving on, I recently saw Frances, fresh from jail. He, fat Cyndi and Julio all got arrested though only Frances and F.C. got pinched at the same time. It's all so ridiculous that I feel a headache coming on just thinking about it right now, so I'll save that gem for another time.
Anyway, Frances was all smiles as he tried to talk me into going in with him on some black. I declined because anytime someone around here is selling H it's a joke. I will not pay $50 for a quarter G but if I send F in, he will pay it and then act all hurt, like HE thought I would just want us to have something rather than nothing at all. I may be a fiend but I'm not an idiot.
In this case the idiot was my dear, darling boyfriend. He made the decision to go ahead with it and then, of all the stupid things...he let Frances leave with the money. Now don't get the wrong idea, F will come back but what he has when he gets here is another thing entirely.
At this point in my life, I've heard all the excuses, first and second hand. There is NOTHING that is gonna convince me that "Small? I couldn't get into it if I wanted to, see it's in a balloon" or "The plastic was torn when he gave it to me" and my personal fav "I got pulled over and had to swallow it". I know several people (I may or may not have been one of them), that used to carry balloons just for that purpose. And if you're gonna pinch my bag, at least have the decency to melt the plastic shut again. *sigh* So now you see what I was dealing with.
Frances is amazing when he's flush and less than such when he's not. Pretty much like any other junky, except for his willingness to share when he's in the dope. Regardless, it was not a good idea to let him scuttle off, cash in hand. I gave Casey one of my "are you fucking stupid" looks and proceeded to the living room. At least there I could watch things unfold in comfort.
An hour later Casey went to hunt him down and found him on his way back, clutching an obscenely small "gram" of tar. Since we paid for half, C just broke it in two, told Fran to kick rocks and brought it back to me.
When I saw it I had to mentally restrain myself from saying anything, I just took it and fixed it up. A so called 1/2 gram gone in 2 shots, nothing weird about that, right? Well factor in that neither of us have a habit right now. A half shoulda kept us loaded all night and produced more than a couple of mildly pleasant issues. Never again Frances, not if I hafta drive all 6 hours to and from Espanola myself. Fuck it, the first 3 are the hard part, I'm high as shit on the way back, piece of cake.
I really, really don't like this place. Even if I lived in 'Spania, I would still hate it. It's so dry and gross here, it's like living in a dehydrator, even when there's snow on the ground. I'm constantly having to baste myself with disgustingly thick lotions just too keep from withering up. It's uncomfortable, I hate the feeling of being greasy, like when you bend your arm and your skin sticks to itself...blegh! The alternative is worse and as much as I love Iggy Pop, I do NOT want to end up looking like beef jerky in leather pants. Or fur coat as the case may be.