This looks like a pretty good ice breaker.
A couple of things tonight…first I want to go over the relationship advice I received from Issac.
I don’t want to go into a lot of detail, but last weekend I puked on a woman’s area rug. Now, I’ve dated some women for years, some for months, and others for weeks. Shit, I’ve even dated a few for minutes. Wink.
But I’ve never had a relationship turn from good to bad in such a short period of time. A week has gone by, and she has agreed to give us a fresh start.
Now for the advice from Issac – “You should tell her that she overreacted. That’s all.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. I puked on the woman’s rug. She watched me do it, and was completely disgusted. She spent hours cleaning it. She has agreed to give me another chance. And you think I should tell her that she just overreacted. Is that right?”
“That is quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m just saying.”
The other item on my plate tonight is the cab ride I had on Wednesday. I was over-served once again, and asked the bartender to call me a cab.
The guy arrived in about a half hour, and I got into the back seat. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Westport. Just take the Page Extension to Bennington, and go left,” I replied.
“Where exactly are you going?”
“What’s the address?”
“You know what? – Just drop me off at the YMCA at the top of the hill. Is that good enough for you?”
He took off, and I started popping off jokes about Tiger. “How many swings did Tiger’s wife take at him? She said, ‘I’m not really sure. Put me down for a five.'”
He mumbled something about me being a racist, and I guess that’s when I passed out.
I woke up to find this jack-off driving me through the streets of North St. Louis City.
“Are you smoking crack?” I asked.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me where you wanted to go, so I’m just driving.”
“I told you to take me to Westport; not the f’n hood you dumb fuck.”
When we made it onto Broadway, I told him to pull over. “I see the meter says I owe you $65,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s still running.”
“You are out of your f’n mind if you think I’m paying you.” And then I got out of the cab and slammed the door.
The mf’er didn’t come after me, but I found myself walking the streets of downtown at 1:30 in the morning.
Thankfully, I was able to find another cab on The Landing. “Can you take me to Westport?” I asked.
I prayed the entire way home. I finally felt safe when we passed the airport. And the other cab driver better pray I never run into his punk ass again.
But it’s too late to say you’re sorry. How would I know, why should I care? Please don’t bother trying to find her. She’s not there.