Misadventures of the Village Idiot #8

After pretty much having the whole office to myself this week, I wasn’t pressed for the weekend like I usually am.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for it, but I went into the weekend feeling relaxed, thinking I was going to party hard.  Nature had other plans.

So, I took off early Friday afternoon to go get some paperwork taken care of at my other job.  I got home around 2, did some exercise and then settled onto my couch to watch the first round of the World Figure Skating Championships.  Yeah, I know it sounds gay, but I really like watching figure skating.  It’s some shit that I could never really hope to do.  One, I’ve never even seen a skating rink in my life and two, I’m really clumsy.  I don’t really see me gliding across the ice on a blade, let alone spinning around like a lunatic or jumping through the air with my leg over my head.

So, anyway, half way through it, I decided I wanted to get some Chinese food.  I have been severely limiting how much Chinese food I am allowed to eat every week.  Chinese really isn’t all that bad for you, except for the sodium.  I don’t have blood pressure problems, but they give you so much food that it’s way over the caloric intake one should have.  I don’t eat leftovers, so it would be a waste for me to toss out 3/4 of the food.  I go down to get some egg foo young, my favourite and then I settle in to watch the ice dancers.

About twenty minutes later, I was racing to the bathroom.  My stomach was completely twisted up like someone was inside my belly twisting my intestines around for fun.  I was like, oh my God.  So, I guess this is what a person might describe as personal, but you know what?  Who gives a damn.  If you’re grossed out, stop reading.

I swear to God, I was in the bathroom about to die.  I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with that egg foo young, but my body was like… time to die, bitch.  I was all hot and sweaty, moaning and groaning.  My stomach was making all these weird ass sounds.  I really thought Alien was about to jump out, like in the first movie.  I was praying to the Heavenly Father to exorcise me of whatever demon had taken control of my digestive system.

So after all is said and done, I get up and take a shower.  It’s just this thing I have.  When I get out, I only have enough strength to lay on my floor for like 20 minutes.  Finally, I get dressed and crawl back into the living room and lay on the couch.  It’s like 530.  I fell asleep and when I woke up around 930, I knew there was no way I could go to Ascension like I planned.  I had no energy!  Whatever symbiont I gave birth to depleted all my energetic stores.  It was like I didn’t eat anything that day.  It was so crazy.

Anyway, I was too much of a zombie, so I just laid on the couch the rest of the night.

Saturday, I got up feeling a lot better and went to the gym to do power yoga and step with Gina.  Afterwards, I toiled around the house for a little bit before going to my part-time job.  So, because gas is getting expensive, I have decided to go to my part-time job late in the evenings and then go to Midnight straight afterwards, instead of going to work, coming back home and then going back out to DC.  At first, I didn’t want to go at all, because my tummy had that weird feeling.  It wasn’t Alien part two, but sometimes I just get that weird feeling.  I decided to go anyway.

Soon as I walked in, I realised that I should have stayed home.  Okay, first of all, the club smelt like bologna.  When I was little, one of my aunts used to fry bologna, and the club smelt just like it.  I came early because I got that email saying that parking might be tight, and I hate trolling around DC looking for a parking space.

I sit down in my normal spot, minding my own business.  The first DJ, Cheetah Dave, I didn’t like him.  His first set sounded like the soundtrack to Charlie’s Angels.  I couldn’t find one song that I liked.  So, here we go again with random people coming up to me for no reason.  I am sitting there, watching the dance floor.  I’ve said it before, I enjoy people watching.  I take in everything around me, clothes, dance moves, the little cutie that always wear the army pants.

Anyway, this super drunk hoe comes up to me and says, “Why aren’t you dancing, out there having a good time?”  I tell her that I don’t like the music, but she misunderstood me.  The DJ sucked, but I like the type of music that is played at Midnight.  So she says, “Why are you here?”  To make it easier, I tell her that I was waiting for the next DJ.  Then she says, “Yeah, I’ve been coming here for like 5 years, ever since they opened and I don’t really dance.”  Yeah, because you’re trashed all the time?  Then she says, “I dance horizontally.”  I stare at her like she’s crazy.  Then she says, “Don’t worry, my mom does too.  She’s been doing that forever.” 

So, are you a prostitute?  Are you saying your mom is also a prostitute?  Why would you randomly come up to someone and tell that person that your mom is a skanky hoe bag?  I’m just staring at her like she has lost her mind and she just starts laughing and walks away.

Did I mention the bitch is like 5 months pregnant with a lit cigarette in her hand?

Clearly, she was trashed.  I could smell the booze on her and then she tells me that she “dances horizontally” and she has a lit cigarette in her hand and she is pregnant.  What the fuck is wrong with America?

I should have tracked her down and asked her if she knew who her baby daddy was. 

Anyway, I wound up only staying at Midnight for about 30 more minutes.  Those idiots were back again.  I guess this is their new hang out join now that they are 18.  Yes, I noticed the X’s on their hands.  Last week, I talked about the one with Down’s Syndrome and how he was wearing a stretched out wife beater and some saggy pants.  Apparently, he read my commentary because he came to the club in his Sunday suit.  My guess is he either sells insurance during the day or he was planning on attending Easter services after he left the club.

First of all, let’s talk about the suit.  The suit jacket was wrinkled.  Lightweight jackets, more for summer than early spring, wrinkle easily.  Let’s try an iron. Better yet, just leave the jacket on the rack back at Value City, okay?  Then, those raggy black pants… Where do I even begin?  Actually, I’m going to let it slide so I can move on to the busted slippery Earls and that outdated skinny tie.  This fool was in the club with his church shoes on and a tie that looked like his mother bought it from a jumble sale back in 1986. 

Then to top it all off, he was scratching at his head constantly.  I was about to ask him if he needed a flea bath, but I was momentarily distracted by his friend that insists upon wearing every Gypsy belt to come out of Romania.  She didn’t appear to have on as many as she wore the last time, matter of fact, I think she was wearing one less.  I think I am paranoid, because it appeared to me that she was purposely standing next to me so she could annoy me with those goddamn belts. 

One improvement, sort of.  The other friend wasn’t wearing his Michael Jackson shoes and white socks.  This time he was wearing his orthopaedic shoes he got to combat the polio he was infected with after drinking stagnant water in his native country of Djibouti.

Anyway, Javier was next and his set was really 90s goth and then was Phae, and by that time my stomach was hurting and I didn’t feel like sitting there listening through every song in the hopes she might play something interesting.  After hearing my favourite 80s song, I slipped out.  I was home by 1245.

Sunday, I went looking for a pair of 8 lb weights.  My 5 lbs are too light and the 10 lbs I have are good, but too heavy for some exercises.  I found some but I didn’t feel like paying $30 for them so I headed to my part time job and put in 5 hours.

On the way home, I was sitting at a stop sign waiting for my turn to get on the 14th Street Bridge, when I noticed a car fly past me on the other side of the median.  The problem was, he was facing the same direction as I was, when he should have been opposing me.  The vehicle stopped for a few minutes and I was went forward, I noticed it was an old ass Buick Skylark driven by Gramps.  Gramps, apparently, didn’t realise he was on the wrong side of the road.  That, or he didn’t care.

Then Gramps stepped on the gas again and went flying onto the 14th Street Bridge, the wrong way. 

I don’t know what happened after that, but it ain’t looking good.

It is now 645 and I plan on watching the rest of the Figure Skating Championships and doing a little bit of exercise.  I will then settle down for the night with Jack McCoy and some angel food cake and strawberries.

Hope you all had a better weekend than I did.

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