Friday, November 12, 2004
Fahrvergbloggin
Little things. Everyday things.
Brian, old friend and screwup came by, tired, a bit bemused and bedraggled. He'd managed to find two companies possibly interested in hiring him as a driver. He's fresh out of Semi School, but has been driving flatbeds, dumptrucks, etc. for many moons. I grabbed his resume and had 4 online apps filled out in less than two hours. I told him drop by tomorrow, we'll do six more.
Candy calls. She owns a small carnival. I have to break it to her that not only is the county fair next week, two different Catholic churches in two towns will be offering their carnivals before Christmas, and yet another independent like hers usually comes in for 5 days in my town, then moves on. We are carnied out for this year. I remind her if she got a laptop with a satellite link, she could keep track of all this online.
Email. Many of those selling ink cartridges have this annoying habit of using your own screen name on some obscure ISP to email you. I like to write them back and tell them what an asshole habit that is, how annoying, and how it keeps me from even considering a purchase with them. Yet another small strike back. Sadly, there's no Nigerian Scammer this time.
It's Friday night. There was a time my brain would be a toasty green by now, full of the mellowing effects of good ol' marijuana, long-time smoking buddies with a series of safe places to blitz our brains, and various games and experiments to add to our evenings. One big one was to score as many different kinds of Devil Weed as we could. Thai Stick, Maui Gold, Michoacan, Jamaican Blue Mountain, Kentucky Bluegrass, Vietnamese, any of the infinite variety and power of the great Colombian weeds. My brother and I would keep as many seeds as we could find for our little garden, we'd each sprinkle some of the day's find into an enormous pipe, saving whoever brought the cheap Mexican or domestic to light the good stuff with, and proceed to have a multi-national Brain Fry.
We might surf the next day, go dirt-biking, water skiing, any of a dozen things, but the nights were for attaining advanced states of wasted. This awareness began to demand attention. What was missing here? Ah. Got it. FEMALES. The few who ever dropped by were there for the buzz, some of us had probably engaged in carnality with them in the past, but now it was all about the dope.
We'd all been together so long, we listened to the same music and talked about stereos, hot vehicles, and girls all the time. But nobody DID anything about it. I announced that I was gonna take a weekend off, find me a GIRL. This was met with jocular derision for the most part, arguments otherwise. We had a good thing going, why ruin it with girls? Well, uh...we moved on to the chances of a wild beast like me even getting a girl to go out with him, the even greater odds of her parents agreeing.
Fools. This was HIGH SCHOOL. There were ALWAYS girls sitting at home, hoping something english-speaking and semi-sentient would get them out of the house for the night. I was getting "yes" from girls I'd had ONE class with, hardly spoken to. Beautiful girls. Girls whose parents were sending them to Wellesley, Yale, UCLA, Stetson, Harvard. Even I was amazed.
Some girls I kept away from the Stoner crew. Others would express a desire to have an out-of-brain-for-a-while evening, and we'd head over to Stoner Central. I sometimes wondered why the one other member of our group who was often missing seldom showed up with a girl. Seems these guys were too lazy to go get their own, but if I excused myself to go pee, or go talk to somebody about something private, the rest of the crew immediately started hitting on my date.
Solution: ancient saying, "A hand on the bush is worth more than two on the stones." That's probably not from the I-Ching.
I think I'll go shower. One of those online survey companies sent me free shampoo to test out before they send it on to the test markets. Yippeee!
