Monday, October 18, 2004

Screwed in a bad way

Last night over dinner I said to Jazz, “What do you want to do for your birthday tomorrow?”

I got the surprised response I was expecting. The kind of look men know translates into “You remembered!” nookie. The monthly newsletter Bianca sends out includes the names of employees celebrating a birthday for the month. Even though Jazz had mentioned when hers was, I couldn’t remember for shit and being a man I damn well knew better than to admit that. I trusted the newsletter to save me and it did.

“I’m helping my sister tomorrow, remember?”

“No problem. I’ll take you to breakfast.” Jazz’s sister, Cruella, is staying with her for the weekend. Some unlucky bastard has decided the woman is the best he’ll ever do and Jazz is going with her to try on wedding gowns. Like I need that shit in my life right now. Bitch, take your influences far away from my girlfriend.

“Breakfast sounds great. You picking me up?”

“Yes ma’am. Let’s do 9am, before the bible thumpers get out.”

After dinner we went to Best Buy, the manly playground, and she let me play with the toys for an hour before heading over to my place for some good loving and then back to her place to drop her off. I hit the sack just after midnight, tired and satisfied.

At 5:30am this morning my cell rudely interrupted my beauty sleep.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Shutup, bitch. The 20k is today. Get your ass downtown and cheer us on.”

I laid there, rubbing my eyes in the dark, struggling to comprehend the conversation. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Um…because…I need to…do…something. “I think I’m busy.”

“Be at my place in 30 minutes and you can ride with me. Hurry it up.”

The line went dead. Jesus. That was Adam, wasn’t it? Hell I don’t even know. I sat upright with my feet on the floor and checked the incoming call log. No, it was Jim. What the hell, he’s not supposed to be running this soon. Especially not 13 miles.

The phone was still in my hand when it rang again.

“Now what?”

“The hell with you, I’ll be at your place in 20. I don’t trust you to be on time.”

I struggled to orient myself. What was today? Had to be Sunday if there was a race. Shit, I’m tired. What did I do last night? I wanna go back to bed. My jeans were lying on the floor beside the bed. I stepped into them, fuck it if they aren’t wrinkle-free and I didn’t waste my time zipping the fly either. To hell with it. I walked into the closet and grabbed the shoulder of a shirt and tugged it, flipping the coat hanger off the pole. That fucker lied when he said 20 minutes. The doorbell rang before I had my shirt on and another thirteen times before I answered the damn thing.

“Grab a cap. You look like shit.” Subtlety escapes Jim.

“Are you saying you won’t fuck me looking like I do?”

“Forget it. It’s your head. Come get in the truck.”

I stepped into my flip flops and carried my shirt out to his truck, still unable to remember why I didn’t really want to go. “Man, seriously, there’s something I’m supposed to do today.”

“We’ll be back by 10. You don’t have anything to do but sleep.”

He had a point. I climbed in and we headed downtown.