I found myself sitting on a bar stool recently at the always atrociously awful Sloppys on N Elm St. I believe it was a Tuesday evening. The much-maligned Michigan Molly waltzed her wantonly & time weathered ass into the joint, and sure enough, sat at the bar stool two spots to my left. I immediately ordered a shot of the most repulsive rock-gut scotch they hide deep in the bowels below the bar. And that was a wise move on my part. I have some experience in these types of situations. You know, the types of situations where you can't possibly be intoxicated enough not to hate where you are or anyone within 10 feet of where you are who happens to represent the worst that womanhood has to offer in the known world. As always, I knew what was coming. Questions. Questions. And more questions. "How are you, Jack?" & "Are you having a nice spring, Jack?" & "Why do you seem so unhappy, Jack?" Things like that. The question about unhappy Jack was easy enough to answer. I simply told her I'd been listening to The Who quite a bit. That reference flew right over the woman's head. Usually the best way to proceed in a scenario like this is to try and get the terrible person to move on to another terrible bar (preferably Ass Traps or The Wench). The thing is that I can never get Michigan Molly to leave a bar. She's so fantastically clueless that she never gets offended at what I say to her. So, given that she wasn't about to leave, I decided that I better get the hell out of there my own damn self. I ordered one more evil tasting scotch shot & an indiscriminate light beer to chase the shot with. And I drank up pretty quickly. But before I could get the hell out of Sloppys, I got several uninteresting pieces of news from Michigan Molly. One, she was on Spring Break from her job teaching Sex Ed to wheelchair bound 2nd & 3rd graders. Two, she had a big tennis match coming up against some perceived foe. Three, she's contemplating moving into some old man's guest house on Lake Townsend (and yes, I noted the irony of her mentioning Lake Townsend after my Happy Jack reference flew several yards above her boil riddled head). The thing about Michigan Molly renting a guest house did catch my attention a bit. While telling me about all the perks of living on this giant estate (horses, golf, massive dildos everywhere, etc.), Michigan Molly mentioned that the man who owned said estate looked like a "fat Bill Murray." I asked if this fact turned her on. She seemed put off by that. I delved a little deeper into this "fat Bill Murray" comment. What I did was note that Bill Murray is a very talented man. A genius to be accurate. And this is when she said it. This is the comment that this whole stupid paragraph has been leading up to. Michigan Molly informed me that she loved Billy Murray in Animal House. All I could really think to do at that point, having paid my tab, was finish the last few gulps of the indiscriminate light beer I'd been tolerating, get up from the bar stool, and say, "So did I, Molly. So did I." I felt like a beaten man. I felt about as low and depressed as I've ever been in my continuously & habitually low & depressing life. Everything worked out okay though. There are several other bars within about a 5-7 minute drive of Sloppys. I simply drove to one of them and got hammered.
I ran into someone at work recently, someone I hadn't seen since like last July. This person asked me, "Where have you been hiding yourself?" I replied, "The Prison Farm."
I ran into a 2nd person at work I hadn't seen in quite a stretch that same morning. This person said, "I heard you've been working in Durham." I replied, "That's a damn dirty lie."
I ran into a 3rd person that same morning at work. This person happens to be a woman I hadn't seen in 6 years. She also happens to be one of the women who stalked me. This particular stalker did her stalking 11 years ago. I blogged about being stalked in a post from 2009. And to recap the thrust of that stalking post: Being stalked sucks. It's not all it's cracked up to be, that's for sure. It's a bit of a nuisance, if you know what I mean. Anyway, this stalker chick said to me, in a sick and perverted lilting voice, "Long time no see, stranger." Now, I wasn't expecting to see this stalker ever again. I had no heads up that she'd be in the building working. In other words, she caught me off guard. I did manage to regain my composure though. I said, "That's true. It has been a long time. I guess the reason it's been a long time is because you've obviously been spending hours a day at the Golden Corral." Which might be true. I have no idea. The reason it might be true that this stalker has been spending hours a day at the Golden Corral over the past 6 years is because she's put on a good 60 pounds. Or a bad 60 pounds. Or some kind of 60 pounds. I was super depressed over the whole incident. Not so much because I ran into this stalker so unexpectedly after 6 years. Although that didn't help matters. What I was so depressed about was the fact that this stalker of mine had gotten so fat. Back in 2001 when she was stalking me, she wasn't the hottest girl alive by any means. But she at least was reasonably not terrible looking. And if you're gonna be stalked by someone and have to carry those memories around with you for years, it's best that the stalker at least be reasonably not too horrible looking. And those are the memories of this stalker I've been carrying around about her (even the last time I saw this stalker in 2006 she was not bad looking). But now that's all ruined. Now, whenever I think of this stalker moving forward, I'm gonna picture this fat-ass woman saying, "Long time no see, stranger." And that really sucks. Damn my luck.
I've been passing the time the last month or so by watching reruns of Beverly Hills, 90210. It airs on something called Soapnet Channel. I've been enjoying it immensely. My girl Valerie Malone...
You're just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls' Day
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Cell phone not working?
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