A friend of mine passed away last month.
And while there’s plenty of humor about dying and being dead, I thought I’d take a short stab at writing something less sophomoric that my usual nonsense. Not a full seven-inches-in-stab, like the murderer in the song Blood on the Dance Floor. Michael Jackson wrote some dark lyrics. But boy could he move like the wind. Anyway, I’m drifting. Back to the topic at hand – my friend’s death.
My friend received a crazy note on her car yesterday.
She had not done the best parking job. She works in a high rise building in the downtown area of Chicago. The garage where she parks is only ever around half full. She woke up late and was hustling to work. By the time she made it to the parking garage she was flustered. She parked the car in a half-assed manner and ran to the elevator. Because of all the empty space she didn’t think twice about it.
The same thing happened when I was sixteen.
My dad handed down his Merkur XR4Ti (yes, it had a double spoiler), and the day after I earned my license I smashed into the back of a Cadillac. It was piloted by an elderly couple on their way from Florida to Chicago to see their only granddaughter’s high school graduation. They yelled at me, but good. Old people suck.
I’m not even going to pretend I won’t write about my cat anymore.
But this post is about revenge, people.
In the past I’ve talked about how I’ve fantasized of beating her silly each time she urinates outside the box. People were really upset that I admitted to having that thought. But every mom has had the idea of wringing their child’s neck at least once, and unless you have a really uncool local police that convicts people with crimes of the mind, it’s totally normal to have those moments. So, to reiterate, I have never beaten my cat.
For the second time in about six months, I got pulled over.
I was driving to a doctor’s appointment this evening and talking to the friend I wrote about the other day where I offered to eat her kidney stone. I live in Chicago and it’s impossible to speed. I’m even one of those nerds that does a complete stop at stop signs. I’m not all law-abidin’, though. I turn on red all the time even when there isn’t a turn arrow in the left lane or if there’s a “no turn on red” sign in the right lane. I’m an outlaw when it comes to turning. But, this time I know I was just driving along at 27 mph through downtown Evanston.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
