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I was sort of funny the way it all started really. I got into a fight with my then girl friend, Amber, over dirty dish’s in the sink. It was a common fight one that we constantly had, at least once a week. It’s not that I couldn’t remember to clean the dishes, or that I’m a slob necessarily. In fact I’m not if your wondering, she was more of a slob then I was, always leaving her fucking clothes all over the floor, in the bedroom, in the bathroom, every were.
In fact the entire time we lived together not once did I see here clean up her cloths. It took me to finally do it, and by then all she could say was, “Why did you pile up all of my clothes?” instead of, “Oh thank you for cleaning up.” But that’s how women are. Anyways, As I was saying it started out with this terrible fight, that reached the point of foul names and the typical “I hate you, your bad in bed.” type Bullshit, You know what I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard it before. Anyways, I got really pissed off and stormed out of the house to take a walk and clear my mind.
At the same time, my cell phone started to ring, I grabbed it out of my pocket to check the number sure enough it was Jack. Jack was my best friend, shit, still is, We exchange letter at least every month, since we have so much time to write.
I hit the send key, and said, “Hey”
“What’s up man?” Jack replied.
“Same old shit, another day, another fight.”
“You and Amber, get into it again?”
“Man, I told you she sucks.”
“She doesn’t suck, she just has a short temper.”
She doesn’t suck, in fact I’m sure deep, deep down some where I really do love her, but at this very second, I want nothing to do with here, in fact I would have been happy to have just walked away right then, but of course I didn’t. I never do, Even when I know that a relationship is going nowhere, I still stick out, hoping that some where along the line that it will get better. It never does though; I’m starting to think that it’s me and maybe it’s not them.
Not that I’m some well traveled man of the world or anything, I’m only twenty-two, but I have had some crazy girl friends. Like Lora, this Greek girl that I went to school with. It’s kinda funny really, because I never had any intention of asking Lora out in the first place, I wanted to go out with her best friend, Yoli. Anyways, me and Lora, went together for two year, or the way I remember it, from my sophomore year till my senior year. But she was any interesting, one, for instance, she would bring a bottle of fruit juice everyday to school, with shots of Oozeo, a Greek Liquor. I know, that doesn’t sound so daring to some of you that went to public school, but hey, this was a little private school, and shit like that was cool, in my book.
Even more interesting though, was her father, a postal worker by night, he made me write an essay once on, ‘The coloration of Responsibility and a successful future’, Bullshit is what I wrote him. Then he tried to make me read that God awful book “The catcher in the Rye”, you know the book, that every serial killer loves. Well I read it and I must say, I just don’t get it. It had no FUCKING plot, the thing was fucking unreadable, and I told him that, I told him, that 1984, and Fahrenheit 451 are more important works, but he wouldn’t have any of that, he wouldn’t have any of that at all.
Anyways I’m getting off the subject, I was talking to Jack,
“Look man I’m going up to Frisco this weekend, wanna cruise?” Jack asked.
“Yes, yes I do.” I replied.
And I did, I really did, in fact I wanted nothing more then to get far, far away from that monstrous bitch, I called the “love of my life”.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“I’ll be ready.” I said.
At that point I turned around and marched right back into my apartment and announced to Amber that, “I’m going with Jack up to Frisco for the weekend.”
“What? Your going to leave my by myself?”
“What do you care, you said you wanted to break up.”
“So that’s it, your just going to break up with me like that?”
“You’re the one that said you want to break up.”
“Your not sad or anything.”
“Of course I am.” And I was. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to go out and try to forget about it.”
And she walked way into bathroom, and turned on the shower.
It’s funny to me, because men, can’t understand why women cry about everything, and women can’t understand why men don’t cry, it’s sort of funny you know. Anyways, I packed up my shit, and waited outside for Jack. It only took him about forty-five minutes, luckily I was ready, and off we went into the traffic of the 5 freeway.
So the plan was, that we would drive straight through from L.A., into Fresno, were we would stay with a friend of Jack’s for the night. Then the next day we would drive through to Frisco, and spend a few days up there with Jack’s friends.
The drive was nice once we got past Los Angeles and up over the Grape Vine. From that point it was clear driving, which was nice, at this point I pulled out my pipe and packed a bowl of the greenest chronic I have had in a long time. I greened the bowl, and pasted it over to Jack. He reached over and took the pipe from my hand. He fumbled a bit with it but finally got it lit. It’s so hard to light a bowl when your driving, especially a stick.
As we cruised over the top of the Grapevine, I realized that I need to use the bathroom really bad, so I asked Jack to pull off at the next exit, which he did.
Jack pulled off the freeway at the next off ramp, and made an impulsive right turn, I say impulsive only because there was know gas stations or establishments of dinning as far as the eye could see. So in my mind Jacks turn was impulsive and foolish, considering we were in the middle of fucking nowhere. Jack drove down this road for maybe four or five miles before we finally cam across this dingy old gas station. It looked like the one from Easy Rider; you know the one were the hippie buys the gas for the guys, and Billy freaks out because the hippie might find their money?
Anyways, we pulled into this old gas station, I got out of the car and headed inside to find a bathroom, only the problem was, the door was locked, and no one was inside. So I decided to go around to the back of the building and see if there was a bathroom back there. Of course with my luck, there wasn’t. So I decided that against all moral belief I would just piss behind some bushes. I usually don’t do that but the fact was I had no other real option. I unzipped my fly and started the procedure; just then a car came zooming past on the highway, causing me to have performance anxieties. I never have been really good at pissing in a urinal, in front of other men, I don’t know why really, I always get stopped up and can’t go. I have always been more of a stall man, so you can see how this situation was a problem for me.
Anyways, I finished up and started for the car, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a large figure moving towards me. I turned to see what the figure was, but had no time to process the information, as he it grabbed me by neck and dragged me along the ground.
“What are doing here?” A low and gruff voice asked.
“I, I needed to use the bathroom.” I replied, still trying to see the face of the figure that grabbed me, and was now dragging me forcefully.
“This is private property, Yah all are trespassing, now I dun call the sheriff.”
“Wait,” I said, “look I just need to use the bathroom, and the store was locked,
What was I supposed to do?” Finally the large figure let me lose, pushing me away from him. Finally I got a good look at him. He was tall, probably 6’10, with arms as thick as tree branches. His hair was long and curly, and covered most of what should have been his face. Finally he let out another grumble, “I’m calling the sheriff, you trespassing on my property.”
“Sir, please, I just need a bathroom.” I wasn’t really worried that the sheriff would come and give us tickets or something; my big concern was really the haft once of pot I had sitting in my backpack. You know how these okays are out here, they throw city folks in prison for farting the wrong way.
“Look, please sir, me and my friend we’ll, we’ll just leave, okay?”
“I’m dun calling the sheriff.” He bellowed.
“Look please sir, if you’ll just listen…”
I didn’t even give the guy a chance; I just took off running towards the car, as fast as I possibly could, around the building, and towards Jacks car. Jack saw me running, and started the car. He must have seen the big guy to, because he opened my door, I jumped in, and Jack took off. I looked back and saw the big ogre shaking his fist at us.
“What the fuck was that man?” Jack asked.
“I think they are closed.” I replied.
Jack hit pedal to the metal and drove as fast as his car would take us. Jack got us back onto the free way and we were off.
At or around noon, we cruised through the beautiful town of Bakersfield, if you don’t know; Bakersfield is home to Buck Owens, George Jones and a few other famous old country singers. I was feeling a bit anxious over the whole, ogre incident and decided it was about time to pack another bowl.
Now I didn’t go over this in the first place so I will now. Packing a bowl means to place marijuana into the ‘Bowl’ part of the pipe. Now most of the time I use a pretty red and purple glass pipe. But since we were traveling I felt that it only logical to use my grandfathers old tobacco pipe, which I used quit frequently when I traveled. The pipe was also an excellent way to fool the cops because they just assumed it was a tobacco pipe. Unless of course they saw you passing it back and forth, in which case they would bust your ass. But Jack and me had come up with the solution of passing it low, out of view from any other cars.
Anyhow, I packed up the bowl with the chronic, and passed it over Jack, he stuck the pipe deep into his mouth, lit the bowl and inhaled, exhaling a large, brown cloud of smoke. He passed the pipe back to me, and I did the same. There is nothing better then smoking a bowl when you’re on a long trip like we were. I mean I have heard some people say that they might pop a beer or two, or maybe stop along the road at a bar. No us, not me, shit I hate drinking.
I get so fucking stupid when I drink; I end up making a complete ass out of myself. Like this one time when I was at home right? I had just broken up with my girl friend Lora, the day before. It was Valentines Day, and I was alone in the house, my dad was still at work, and my mother was at one of those, stupid PTA meetings. I started with a few shots of Vodka, moved onto to the gin, and finally the last thing I remember is opening a bottle of Whiskey, with a pair of pliers because I couldn’t twist off the top. The next thing I know, it’s 4 am, and I Love Lucy is on. I got up out of my bed with a horrid headache, and walked into the bathroom. I poured myself a glass of tap water, downed it, and went back to sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, my parents are asking my all sorts of questions about drinking. Turns out I had attempted to go out side to smoke a cigarette and in the process was unable to walk back up the stairs myself, plummeting down a whole flight of stairs. So you can see, dear reader, why I prefer to indulge my delights in marijuana rather then the excessive lifestyle that is Drinking, clubbing, going to bars, etc. In fact I hate bar altogether, they are so dingy and dark, and the people that frequent these establishments, God, can you get anymore depressing. I mean really depressing people, they look as if they have just given up on life altogether, pour sad souls, waiting for there number to come up in the big lottery of life. An end to the madness, they numb there minds, stumble home, and start all over again in the morning. God, it’s so fucking sad, I never want to end up like them, I mean sad, and depressed just waiting for it to all end, what a sad life that must be, it’s really fucking depressing.
Fucking A, there I go again with that, it’s depressing shit, I hate that about my self. I always let other peoples sadness rub off on me, it’s like I’m having an empathy overload, and I start to get really depressed. There I go again, there’s that word again, depressed, maybe I should be on some sort of med or something, like everyone else. Drop a pill and make life nice and happy, and make everything ok. FUCK THAT! I hate that shit, it’s horseshit, depressing, maybe, but it doesn’t mean I should be a fucking zombie like everyone else. Take a pill and be okay, drug society so they don’t have to cope with the problems of the world. Oh, what am I saying look at me, I habitually smoke pot all day long, I’m no better, really. (To Be Cont.)