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Wednesday, November 6, 2002

In Which her True Colors Show

3:14 pm

We went to bed around six this morning. By the grace of my fellow pharmaceutical junkies I had a few klonopins in me, plus the requisite triazolam. So when My Girlfriend tried to get me get up and come outside with her to confirm that her car had, in fact, been stolen, at 7:50am I really was not able to do that. Of course, she missed everything she was supposed to be doing this morning: mailing bills, class, picking up a script for me, and taking her friend out to a birthday lunch. When I finally agreed to come to consciousness, around (post) noon, I felt awful when I realized that she had, in fact, had her car fucking STOLEN. With CDs and other fabulous items inside. Luckily the CDs are without cases, so they can't really be pawned.

So we wound up taking the bus back to my house. She's taken the car to go and retrieve my stuff and her stuff, including the laundry we were so excited about me doing last night and the groceries I bought for my house on the way home last night. As we were walking the bus route, the way you do when it's well below freezing and best to keep moving rather than just jump on any random bus that passes in the hopes it will not deliever you to West Virginia, I found out her car has enough gas in it to go 170 miles on the highway. Enough to get out of state, as a matter of fact. I'm fairly certain there are at least 3 different states a car leaving this city on the highway with 170 miles to go could wind up in. Perhaps 4. Maybe 5.

Lets just hope some moron needed to get to his drug dealer fast and it will be located, abandoned, outside a crack house sometime this evening. Let's hope that there's not a big market for parting out Saturns, cause that would suck.

Someone tried to break into her car last month. This was apparently a junior criminal. JC didn't try, oh, say, jimmying the lock or even breaking a window. The Stupid Criminal of the Month gift for November had been a very large bottle opener, and someone had actually attempted to pry her door open. "Maybe it's the same guy," I suggested. "He went and took a correspondence course and this is, like, his final."

I have to go do some Tae-Bo on video, toss this blunt syringe and pack up a new one in the hopes that I might be somehow fortunate tonight, take a shower, glam myself up, and head to the bar. Which is what all self-respecting people are doing at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, right?

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