I need to lighten up, I´m told (thanks miss hell). So I did, literally. Like the new light blue, instead of the blackness? It might betray how I really feel though, but I´m trying to not be a whiner, I swear. I might even try to post on something happy and light soon. If I can come up with some fucking material.
In the meantime, I´ll point out further flaws of mine.
My
walk down memory lane got me realizing I can´t remember jack.
One of the things about ageing, besides
saggy boobs and WTF hairs, is you begin to surprise yourself with how that heavy sonofabitch sitting on your shoulders stops functioning at optimum levels.
I saw a good friend of mine a few months back and we were reminiscing about a disaster trip to Mexico we once took on a whim over spring break where I wrecked my white pick up truck. Damn, how I loved that truck. It was perfect for denying people a ride and for claiming not to be able to drive because I couldn´t fit everyone in it. It was a pain though, in the help-every-goddamn-person-under-the-sun-move-their-shit sense.
Anyway, back to my lame-ass memory: I remember having three days of crazy fun typical of two semi-single twenty somethings in Mexico with the truck I had promised my parents I would never, under any circumstances, take to Mexico. Everything was going well until the day we were supposed to leave. We ended up at the bar and had the genius idea of staying another few days. So we headed for the ATM to withdraw probably every penny to our miserable part-time working names and on the way there were involved in an accident. The other "car" if you can call it that, was like someone´s science project and probably contained pieces from 100 different junk yard cars. They were driving down the wrong side of the road and slammed into me, almost killing me. But no, I´m alive.
No injuries.
No deaths.
No Spanish.
No, those were not just beer bottles you just threw into the back of my pick-up.
No, Señor, I do not want you to impound my car and take me to jail. Por favor.
FUCK.
I don´t know how the hell I got out of that mess. Seriously. I don´t remember. And I didn´t even remember that the other guy threw the beer bottles into the back of my car, and that the woman "helping" us by translating tried to steal my camera, until my friend reminded me of it when we were reminiscing about the story. I´m wondering how much more of the story I don´t remember. Did I have to have sex with anyone? No, I´m sure I didn´t. I do remember begging a police officer at the impound for my keys and somehow getting out of Mexico that very night, barely making it across the border before it closed.
The weird thing is, it´s not that I can´t remember because I was drunk. I remember remembering the story. And now I don´t remember it.
Nor can I remember names and faces anymore. I just went to Detroit for a family reunion/
Grandpa´s 100th B-day, where I had to have one of my cousins whispering other cousins names into my ear before they walked up.
To further prove my inability to remember shit, I just lost a $400 bet with my husband because I thought
Lorraine Bracco (Tony Soprano´s therapist) and
Debra Winger (Terms of Endearment) were the same person. I also thought
Tobin Bell (from Saw) was
Freddy Krueger (or Robert Edmund, as he´s known in real life).
$200 a pop lost on those bets. Whatever, he can send me a bill. And then I´ll light it on fire. If I can remember what it was for.
-Bluestreak
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