It’s 3:43 a.m and I just got home.
I ordered a new power cord for my laptop and got it in the mail today and so what do I do? I blog, that’s what I do. I blog at three-fucking-forty-three in the morning.
Today was long. I massaged six clients back to back and then drove forty minutes to Hammonasset beach to meet with that cute guy I wrote about from the Memorial day picnic a while back. He’s the one singing in the video.
He had his little mandolin slung across his back, barefoot, hair tied back in a samurai top knot, wearing a T-shirt that read Hippies do it barefoot.
He looks like someone I would want to be friends with. His attitude, his style, even his friends are awesome.
I pulled up to their campsite in my shitty car filled with two garbage bags full of books I keep meaning to donate, and slid in-between a shiny new truck and a 38 footer RV that his friends uncle owns.
It was me, the cute hippie, Christian, his two friends both named Dave, Natasha and an aunt and uncle. I’m not sure who’s aunt and uncle they belong to, but they’re awesome people living the RV American dream of traveling north America.
Every one of these people possesses some kind of artistic talent.
Natasha is an amazing artist who got her degree in fine arts – she say’s it was a waste of money and could have learned everything from a book. Christian’s friend, Dave, is a self-taught prodigy on the guitar who sang us songs that he wrote over the campfire. Uncle is a photographer, Christian plays his mandolin. The other Dave is asian and therefore has some sort of built-in talent whether it be breakdancing or doing math in his head.
Tonight, asian Dave was the man with the crazy fireworks. We lit some big one’s and ran for cover, hiding from the cops when they drove by.
We walked around the campsite/beach with beer and jamensen in hand, cigarettes dangling from our lips as we stumbled and made horrible imitations of british people.
Me – “I’m going to be Hermione Granger tonight. Yes, I think it is so. I want to be Hermione Granger because she’s brilliant at most things.”
Christian (also speaking bad british) – “You would sound like her more if you had a little less cockney.”
Me – “You think I have too much COCK-NEY?!”
The more outrageous I sounded, the more everyone got a kick out of it.
Anyway, super awesome people.
Shit I’m tired.
I ate a bag of beef jerky for dinner. And I drank a lot of beer.
I drove home, but I didn’t feel drunk – not really drunk. The last bit of the night sobered me up, but I don’t think I’ll get into discussing that tonight.
Anyway, it’s a bit unnerving driving home super tired, hungry and with an empty stomach full of beer and beef jerky.
I didn’t have gas while I was at the beach, but alone in my car for the ride home, I let it rip. It was my one and only defense against the police. A cop would have pulled me over, have me roll down my driver side window and like a thief in the night, my beer jerky farts would’ve stolen his breath away. He would have passed out, laying motionless on the side of the highway. That’s when I’d make my getaway. Escape in a cloud of fart vapor. Not much different from the fog cloud batman uses in his escapes.
I hate it when I’m driving down a lone, dark highway with one other car who is traveling on the side of me matching my speed. It’s like going into an empty theatre with hoards of empty seating, and choosing to sit snuggly next to a complete stranger.
I hate when cars traveling parallel to me match my speed. I especially hate it when they see me chain smoke by lighting one cigarette with the butt of another. I just know if I were to look over at them, they would be some old, horny dude making crude gestures at me. And he would think it’s okay because he saw me chain smoke and everyone know’s chain smoker’s are not respectable people with high ideal’s.
Okay, shit, I’m done. I have to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.
Damn you blog for keeping me awake! Damn you power cord for coming in the mail and giving life back to my computer!