99% of my life is boring as fuck. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it being like that one bit. I would totally panic if I woke up one day and had to live the day like Jason Bourne. A four-year old tossed into general pop at San Quentin would last longer. I’m content with my daily routine, no matter how mundane it may seem. However, on occasion (usually with the aid of alcohol), interesting things do happen. These are all true, unfortunately.
– I was chased by a giant lesbian outside of a Lyons restaurant at 3 am. OK, so not technically chased, as I was in my car, but she was pulling some safari-gone-wrong type shit. I was pulling out of the Lyons parking lot as the car containing Lesbipotmus was pulling in. And by pulling in I mean going full on Vin-Deisel-would-have-shat-himself-powerslide inches from my beloved ’95 Maxima. Someone in my car yelled something, profane I assume, that they took offense to. I thought the whole ordeal was done and over with when I looked in my mirror. Have you ever watched an episode of My Name Is Earl? Imagine Earl’s brother/cousin/friend (Whatever he is. I’ve seen like 2 episodes and don’t feel like putting in the effort to research the info), with frosted spiked hair, pukah shells running a 4.2 40 in FUCKING BIRKENSTOCKS. The Raiders would be winning games if they signed her up as a defensive end. Terrifying. Shit was going in slow motion. Seeing as how I wouldn’t hit a girl, even though she was the love child of Chris Farley and Usain Bolt, dead set on power-slamming a Nissan as well as myself. I decided to get the hell out of there. Burnout, into traffic and home free. We went to Denny’s instead.
– I hung out with a crack dealer for about an hour. I didn’t know he was a crack dealer at first though. I had taken one of my friends to donate blood, and for some reason they wouldn’t let me sit in the waiting room. Fucking nazis. I had some time to kill so I started chatting it up with some random guy hanging out in front of the building too. Things were cool until he saw a cop car down the street and threw a baggie into the grass. By now I knew that something wasn’t normal. Once the cops left he asked me to help him look for his baggie, and not wanting to be a dick/get stabbed, I started walking around looking at the ground, giving a half-assed effort. He found his magic rocks and proceeded to tell me about how he used to sell crack in New York. I’d like to apologize to the DEA for my part in this little event.
-I’ve been kicked out of an adult bookstore for being too drunk. I don’t remember this so it doesn’t count.
-I got special treatment at work because I told everyone that I was in the Big Brother/Little Brother program. I was a terrible person.
– I almost fucking died once. This is not a repeat of https://liveandletry.wordpress.com/ryan-almost-fucking-dies. That was a somewhat harmless incident of too much lighter fluid and not enough common sense. This however really was the closest I’ve come to death (not counting the time I watched the Notebook and someone had happened to leave a bottle of sleeping pills nearby). I was driving home late one night, I forget from where. That’s not important. Anyways, It was like 2 am and I’m in a good state of mind, not all Lohan-ed out or anything. The freeway to get to my house apartment is 2 lanes on each side, curves a lot, and separated by a bunch of trees and nature-y shit. I could see headlights coming around the corner in the opposite direction through the foliage. Everything was cool until HOLY FUCK HE’S GOING THE WRONG WAY! IN MY LANE! At this point I figure I have like four or five seconds to live. Instead of asking for salvation, my life flashing before my eyes and all that shit, I thought of one thing in this brief moment of despair. All the times I had been walking towards someone in a hallway and we both take a step to the same side, then the other way, until someone says “Fuck it” and presses up against the wall and lets the other pass. I can’t even get down a hallway without making contact with someone, I was totally fucked in this situation. I wish I could say that I did something awesome to avoid contact, like did a 360 while narrowly avoiding impact, but i didn’t. I put on my blinker and got over to the other lane. They flew past to God knows where (probably a fiery crash a few miles down). Almost dying sucks.
-I’ve been written up at work for the following:
Throwing my chair into a wall
Going on the roof
Telling my boss to get back to work
Leaving a picture of Bert & Ernie on someone’s desk (I know, right?!)
-The infamous Winco 500. Fucking legendary. Some friends & I were on the 1:45 post bar mad dash to get more beer. The first gas station we go to must be run by Mormans because they have the beer locked already. Across the street to Winco we go. If supermarkets were a large family, Winco would be the retarded cousin that you are forced to play with just to be polite, even though it smells like piss and play-dough. For some reason that I still do not quite understand, Carrie & Serena decide to leave Joe & I outside while they go in. Oh they are the aforementioned “friends”, I suck at character introduction. Joe & I notice a couple of people riding around on the store’s motorized scooters. I decided that I needed to get in on this, fucking pronto. I walk up to the first person I see and say, “I wanna drive”. The girl driving got up and walked away without saying a word! Well that was easy. After taking some laps around a Honda, the other guy who was riding a scooter decides he wants to race. I got this. We set up our starting line and Joe signals for us to go.
Just like this, except with scooters instead of hot rods, Joe instead of a woman, and located in a grocery store parking lot.
We crept off the starting line. I swear I could have crawled faster than this thing. It was so damn slow I started feeling awkward, like should I try to make conversation with my new friend inching along next to me? Fuck it, I had a race to win. I pulled out to an early lead, just as we passed the shopping cart corral. All of a sudden, this shithead accuses me of using NOS! Are you fucking serious?! I’m going about 1/8 of a mile per hour. If I had NOS I would have hit about two or three miles an hour. What a dick. I ended up winning. There are only a few fuzzy pictures to prove that the Winco 500 actually took place. It lives on as a legend in the far away land of Citrus Heights.
-RL
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