A Ditched Bitch.
Okay. First off, I don’t think I’m really a bitch. Readers? Speak up and let me know. It’s alright. In fact, it would be great if you told me I was a bitch (or not.) It would help me with “My Issues.”
Alright, the ditching. In my regular pub. Know the older guy, D. Met this (Gorge!) girl/woman/whatever-ageism-can-go-to-hell. She apparently is the Granddaughter of…
Oh, yeah. I’m like, beyond pissed so I’m blasting Skinny Puppy so loud, I’m sure the entire floor can hear it. Sucks to be you when I’m beyond pissed and I blast music when I can’t get an outlet.
I’m even too angry to masturbate to get a release. But if I had a partner, I’d fuck her like Armageddon was only five minutes away. I don’t have a partner though. So right now, that means music that will make your ears bleed at huge volumes (or even more quiet volumes?) is the only choice I have.
Anyway, “Gorge” is the Granddaughter of this lovely, old guy. A Scot through and through and salty to the bone. We’ve had some good chats.
Well, maybe I should have a chat with him about his goddamn, fucking Granddaughter who ditched me tonight! Okay, the old man too, but I know him. I can give him the tiniest bitch slap that will land him crawling on the floor, begging first for my forgiveness, then to somehow, some way make him vertical again.
So we’re drinking and talking and I see this other guy I know plop A GINORMOUS-A-RAMA bag of pot in her lap, with all the accessories included: scissors, papers…and how many bags of dope? I mean, I don’t know street value, but when she opened one of them? WHAM!
Just one sniff and I was nearly thrown across the entire pub! I knew I had to get this (really good) shit out of the pub or at least hidden on her–Granddaughter or not! I was still staring at all the bags thinking I could get busted just sitting with her.
FUCK ME.FUCK ME.FUCK ME.
Seriously. For someone who smokes dope (and apparently a lot unless marketed?)
It’s been a lllooonnnggg time folks and NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, NEVERRRRRRR IN PUBLIC!!!
Hello, PA. Not only are you banned from the pub, but you are charged with Possession and also Possession With Intent To Sell. I think I was “Gorge Blind” because I can’t even believe I did this. But I knew she wanted to toke really…like NOW REALLY!
I grab a MASSIVE BUD and put it on a piece of paper I had on the table. I was ripping and tearing (like I said folks, a long time, no MJ since my 20s.) I roll like shit but I figured I managed to get enough for a cigarette size that she wanted. The MASSIVE BUD still looked just as MASSIVE!
I eventually had to run into the bathroom because I felt like I was looking too obvious. So I rolled up what I had done still with the MASSIVE BUD and kept it tight on both ends–like I’d rolled a joint! I told her to run into the bathroom NOW! I had to take her hands and put them on both ends like mine were so as not to lose anything!
Alrighty. That’s up to the Bitchin’ Ditchin’
They suggested going somewhere else and I was keen. I was just concerned about getting home. Walking with them would have been fine but alone? She said she can make sure I’d get home safely. Call a cab, whatever. Cool.
I said to them that I just had to go to the bathroom and then I’d be done. They said, “Okay.” I also had to settle up my tab.
I went outside and… Gone. The guy working there said that they had gone to where “WE” were supposed to go.
For some reason (like they’d come back?) I just stood outside the place, had a cigarette and walked around a bit. Of course they never came back!
UNLESS: Between all of the substances in everyone there was a misunderstanding. I “knew where it was?” And I did. Because when I finished in the bathroom and paid my tab, the table where we were all sitting was quite different. The old guy D. wouldn’t touch my stuff, but “Gorge” would have after all of our talking for hours and not to discriminate, I have to pull the Gender Card.
Some of the things I had on the table were now in my rucksack but the most amazing thing was my cane. It wasn’t beside my bag as per norm. My cane was sitting on the table. Almost in an…”…okay…come on then!” sense.
Christmas Party there tomorrow. They’ll both be there. I haven’t decided about going or not now. Drop off my “Secret Santa” and then just fuck it off. Or, walk in, dressed up, somehow, kickass.
And Kick Some Ass.