Per Normal Activity

Some time ago, probably about a month or two ago, I was having a conversation with my father about my insomnia. This is already a subject that's touchy enough between the two of us, as on several occasions he's quite candidly told me he doesn't empathize with my condition at all and that he's never had trouble sleeping a single night in his life. A statement I'm sure is full of shit, although sadly I do believe he has an utter lack of empathy in my plight as an insomniac. Regardless this conversation wasn’t aided by the fact that my dumbass slut sister and her bastard child were buzzing around the kitchen, in close proximity to our conversation. The aforementioned dumb slutty sibling, Colleen, wasted little time in interrupting our conversation to inform my dad and I that she too, had insomnia. I immediately chimed in that she didn’t, however if she did, the last thing people with insomnia are supposed to do is drink caffeine. Given she’s a daily coffee drinker, I figured this would shut her up enough so that she’d back off and mind her own business. Of course it wasn’t and only added fuel to the fire, as she was now claiming that not only did she have insomnia but that I did not; and then went on to tell my dad how all I do is sleep all day. Needless to say what little patience I possess was now desolate.

“Bullshit,” I screamed out. “The only reason you say that is because when I finally crash and am able to sleep it’s usually in the day-time hours. That’s beside the fact that the primary reason you ever come downstairs in the first place is to pawn off your kid on me because you’re a terrible parent who ignores her the majority of the time.” “Don’t use that kind of language in front of Kadence,” my dad sternly warned me. “Well then tell this ignorant idiot to shut the hell up. She has no idea what real insomnia entails. And if she did, she’d know she’s doing the exact opposite of what any doctor would suggest, sitting a room all day doing nothing, drinking caffeinated beverages and not exercising. Since this point forward she’s continued to insist she has insomnia, whilst her habits have remained stagnant, unlike her weight.

Jumping forward to a time closer to our present, about a week ago I was looking for a large glass pitcher, which I use to refill the dogs’ water bowls. I scoured the kitchen but couldn’t find it. My dad and I agree on few things however one exception has been our intense displeasure with the way Colleen “re-organizes” the kitchen. Her methods of sorting make little sense and genuinely just annoy my dad and me. Out of my frustration it was at this moment I decided to take some vindictive action. I hid her coffee pot, displaced all her types of coffee and coffee related condiments in various locations. For the last week or so, she either hasn’t noticed or has made her degenerate baby’s daddy who had been hanging around the house buy her pre-made coffee elsewhere. This week however, he along with their kid is back in South Carolina, which means as a broke jobless bitch without a car or a license, she could no longer outsource for coffee and was finally forced to look for her missing coffee pot. Last night I heard her questioning my father about the location of the coffee pot and I was impressed with his Clinton-esque manner of speech. I had previously told him I intended on hiding various things from Colleen to deliberately annoy her, so he knew full well that the coffee pot was deliberately hidden, along with the identity of the perpetrator. Yet he was totally forthright and honest with her that he didn’t know where the coffee pot was and tactful in his responses, none of which even hinted toward incriminating me.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011: I run out on an errand at the request of my youngest sister to pick up a prescription from a doctor’s office roughly 5 minutes away when I’m approached by Colleen, inquiring about the location of her coffee pot. And the game begins. “Have you seen my coffee pot?” she asks me, in a neutral non-accusatory manner. “Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve seen it.” “Oh, do you know where it is?” She eagerly asked. “Nope,” I immediately responded. “But I thought you said you’ve seen it?” She questioned. “It’s in our kitchen on a daily basis of course I’ve seen it… just not recently,” I said as I subsequently slammed the front door in her face before she could inquire any further.

I returned roughly 10 minutes later and laid the prescription I had been asked to pick up on the kitchen counter. As I opened my door to head downstairs I notice Colleen is in the kitchen, frantically looking for her coffee pot. So far so good, I think to myself. “So… you really don’t know where my coffee pot is?” she asks me in a suspicious tone. “No,” I reply. “And if I did, I wouldn’t admit it.” “So then you hid it!” she exclaimed. “I never said that, I simply said if I knew where it was, I wouldn’t tell you. Don’t waste your time, you’ll never find it.” I closed my door and walked downstairs, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Our kitchen is only one room and although it has significant storage space in it’s amplitude of kitchen cabinets. I knew it was only a matter of time before she found the coffee pot, given that I had hidden it along with all of her coffee related crap in there. I also knew after finding said coffee pot, that I claimed she’d never find, she’d feel a sense of victory, of indomitability. It was inevitable, predictable and of course only a ruse to cover up its true genius. I’d hidden all her coffee condiments in places I knew she wouldn’t have bothered looking; especially after she had found her “holy grail” that was her coffee pot. The only condiment she had left was a bowl of sugar, which I replaced with salt, which lay innocently the entire time right next to the coffee maker. Thus, she’d victoriously make her first batch of coffee, pour salt in it and ruin it herself.
A short time later I ventured upstairs to get a vitamin supplement from my upstairs cabinet when I notice my top step is soaking wet. Immediately I look toward Yago, whose been locked down the basement with me since one of our bitches is in heat. Whenever he does something wrong, he immediately bows his head and avoids eye contact with me. Then I notice this liquid is browner looking and partially splattered on both sides of the wall. Given how narrow my basement stairwell is, this would’ve been a very impressive urination display, if it were in fact urine, which of course it wasn’t. I come upstairs and my sister is beaming with victory. “You think you’re so smart. You said I’d never find it. I found it in less than 5 minutes,” she proudly stated. “Then you poured a bunch of salt in your coffee and ruined it, just like I had planned all along, dumb bitch.” And just like that her face turned from victor to victim. No doubt aided by the smile spread across my face and my pleasant demeanor despite just having coffee poured all over my top basement step. Having already cleaned up the mess which was obviously the bad coffee she had made, I trotted down the stairs whistling along the way. Despite the fact that she was no-doubt left in an angry state, the fact that she had the last word by soaking my top step, I’m sure was enough for her to feel that we were even. Perhaps if she had read the motto of some of the Morton’s salt I replaced her sugar with she’d have seen the foreshadowing: When it rains, it pours.

Still in a fairly good mood about what had just transpired I contemplated my next plan of action. I initially thought of dumping a large pitcher of water all over her bed. But the ramifications of such would just be her monopolizing the laundry machine – as she often does anyway – and really that’d be more of an inconvenience to my dad. As I brainstormed about various things I could perhaps dump on her possessions and which of those would be most fitting I realized I glanced over a much easier and more effective solution. The answer lied in the source: where the problem had started: the kitchen. Of course this answer lied in my kitchen. And it had been lying there, covered in black mold, filled with green-yellow opaque water which had been sitting stagnant and smelling foul for months. It was a medium-sized Tupperware bowl with once-unfinished food lining its sides, which had long since been overtaken by mold, bacteria and fungus. So I nonchalantly walked upstairs and grabbed a pair of latex rubber gloves and put them on. I poured a slight amount of the putrid water out so I wouldn’t spill it on my trip upstairs and subsequently to Colleen’s room. I also took the liberty of cleaning all the most disgusting parts of the bacterial growths, located on the bowls outer rims and placed them inside the tepid repulsive liquid, where they’d serve my purpose perfectly. Once I had finished the task at hand I wasted no time. I slowly, carefully and deliberately walked up the stairs, right past Colleen who was in the kitchen and shouted “Hey what are you doing!?” and poured the entire bowl of filth in the middle of her carpet. The putrescence splashed anything in the vicinity and foul odor engulfed her tiny room. “Oh okay!” she shouted. “Well now I’m just going to do something to something of yours again,” she said. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” I ask in amusement. “When you’re not here I’ll just go downstairs, she says.” “I have a lock on my door, thanks for the warning.” “Fine then your car,” she says. I briefly laugh for a moment then reply, “I’ll just lock that too.” “Just face it,” I say. “You can’t win.” “Yes I can!” she immediately exclaims. “I’m smarter than you, faster than you, stronger than you and most importantly better than you,” I calmly state. “You’re a piece of shit, you have nothing on me, and you can’t win.” She walks away her head still held high, the typical response of denial for a victim of yet another:
Reality Check

Chuck McG Flees

The night before I recant this events of this morning, my father Chuck McGovern aka Chuck McG 3 inquired about any possible plans I had for the next day. That day being a Saturday, he told me he had some work for me to do. To anyone that knows even the slightest information about Chuck, myself obviously included, this was no suprise. Pretty much any remaining time he has between his full-time job as a CFO and his part-time job as a dance-instructor, he will fill with meaningless, tedious tasks. While some would call this "busy work," he would probably call it "free time." To put a little more emphasis on this point, he will go well out of his way to make sure he spends most, if not all of his free time engaging in such tasks I've often labeled, satirically so, as "Chuck McGovern's weekend projects."
Getting back to the story at hand, I told him I had planned on probably reading most of the day, but that was about it. Essentially my docket was wide open. I'm sure this came as a shock to him... "Well he repeated, I have some work for you to do if you're interested. What time do you plan on getting up?" "I have no idea," I replied. "I just told you yesterday one of the new perscriptions I picked up is supposedly an 'oldschool' sleep aid. Meaning it's supposed to knock you out. The doctor told me don't make any plans for the next 6-8 hours after taking it. So... yeah, I have no idea. I plan on getting as much sleep as my body allows me to."
He shrugged and briefly outlined for me some his plans which included driving the F-150 to downtown Charlotte so one of us, presumably him, could drive his other car back. I contemplated asking him a snyde question about his confidence in my ability to drive one of his vehicles, given his utter lack of confidence in my driving style but in the end I decided perhaps it was best to leave this for another time. A time when I'm not basically broke and relegated to taking any odd-job he will throw my way. "Alright," I say. "I'm not setting any alarms so I guess I'll talk to you when I get up."
I get up around 11:30AM. As I walk toward my light switch it's already evident that I was definately still feeling some of the physical effects of the sleep medication, which frankly suprised me. I'm also hungry as hell. So the first thing I do is head straight toward my kitchen and make a protein shake. I figure getting something in my system would be the best way to solve both problems of my hunger and lingering drug effects. I make a shake, grab a multivitamin and a fish-oil supplement and proceed through my typical morning routine. This usually consists of pulling up My Yahoo! homepage and then checking fagbook for any possibly entertaining updates or friends in need of my social signature; meaning people who have posted something I deem as 'stupid' that I will add my 51.3 cents to. Usually insulting or satirical in nature; often both.
After consuming about half of my shake I feel both my grogginess and hunger will quickly be resolved so I called my dad. Asking him if what the status was with his daily plan and if I had missed my window of opportunity. He told me I hadn't, he was on the way home in the F-350 and he'd see me soon. So I hang up and pick-up where I left off, purusing various articles that struck my eye on Yahoo!. Roughly 10 minutes later, my dad opens my basement door and shouts down "Are you ready to go?" As if he had mentioned any detail about being in some sort of rush or meeting some time-frame. "Uhhh.. almost" I yell back. He slams the door and I jump into action. I was already dressed so my answer was essentially true. Although it's noteworthy I didn't have my contacts in and there was an imminent need for me to defecate before I left on whatever dumbass errand we were running. As I didn't see either of these tasks as very time consuming, I headed straight to the source: the bathroom. I popped both my contacts in relatively quickly then sat down to complete the task at hand. No sooner does my ass hit the seat til I hear my dad's voice shouting out my name in an annoyed tone. "CHASE?!" "YES?" I shout back in an more annoyed tone. "What are you doing!? It's been 8 minutes already." "I'm going to the bathroom." I respond. "Come upstairs when you're ready," he replies. I hear him subsequently stomp up the stairs and slam the door.
After finishing my business I grabbed my wallet, phone and of course - my sunglasses - and knocked on his door. I notice all three of the dogs look toward the front door. Meaning he had definately already left the house. I open the front door and notice the F-150 is already gone and I'm immediately perturbed. I call his cell-phone. He doesn't answer and it goes to voicemail. I repeated this three times til I realized he probably wasn't going to pick up. Typical Chuck McGovern behaviour; act like a teenage girl. So I sent him a text, despite the fact I was relatively certain he wouldn't read it til long after he reached his destination or perhaps indefinately.

Me:Wtf is your problem? You said "come upstairs when you're ready." Not hey Chase I'm gonna come downstairs act like a jackass and leave.

Me: Way to act like a 3 year old.

Knowing full well these text messages probably wouldn't be read only fueled my anger at getting ready in such a rush only to be ditched without warning. So once again I call him back. Once again he doesn't answer. And once again I get his voicemail. This time I decide to leave a message. "Hi, this is Chase McGovern," I begin. "Since you've decided not to answer my calls, I'm going to keep calling you back and fill up your entire mailbox," then hung up. I then proceeded to keep calling him back repeatedly going through the alphabet as I left messages. I got about half-way through til I came to the conclusion I was probably only annoying myself much more than I could ever annoy him. Unfortunately for me, this is often the case regardless of who I am dealing with.
So I retreat to my basement, knowing he'll be back eventually, unable to avoid my impending confrontation. As I settled back down in the dark solitude of my basement my mood quickly followed suit and I was very quickly overwhelmed with feelings of tiredness. Perhaps it was my anger slowly diwndling, the darkness of my basement, the lingering sleep-drug effects or the most comforting fact that I'd probably annoyed him somewhat - just in the fact that he got mad enough to leave so quickly, thus disabling him to fully accomplish whatever his total plan for the day was, given it required two people. So I went back into the total abyss that is my bedroom and fell asleep for a few hours.
I woke back up and immediately listened down the hall, to see if I could hear his TV going. I could, so I wasted no time in going straight up the stairwell to confront him. "So... what's the deal?" I asked him. "What deal? There is no deal. I didn't feel like going down to Charlotte today." Total bullshit. "No I mean why'd you come downstairs and say "come up when you're ready," then just leave?" "I was in a rush, I waited and waited and waited. Then I decided to finally leave," he said. "Oh really," I replied in the most sarcastic tone I could manage (which, for the record, is ultra-sarcastic). "What exactly was the time period between these supposed 'ands'? If you were in such a rush, why didn't you even ONCE mention that to me? Don't you think that'd have been at all pertinent? Instead you tell me come up when I'm ready then just go? Who does that?" "I was already past exit 23 when you first called me," he replied. "Sounds like you were driving pretty recklessly, and you think I drive too fast." "Listen," he says. "I don't feel like arguing with you right now." "Arguing?!" I exclaim. "This isn't an argument. This is me asking you why you always have to behave like such a jerk. While you have no comeback whatsoever." He starts to laugh slightly. This means he's getting really annoyed. Before my dad completetly erupts, sort of similar to the fashion I often do, he always tries to laugh off the agitation at hand. "Don't you consider anyone else when making any decision? And you think Colleen is selfish... and you wonder where she gets it from?" "No I don't," he replies in the same half-laughing manner. "Good," I say. "Because it's pretty obvious."
He then got up and slammed his door and my face. "Typical behaviour for someone who has no comeback and nothing to say... or for a 16 year old girl," I shout through his door. I hear him laughing, probably half-laughing, half-fuming on the other side of the door. Also the typical behaviour of someone who has just been served up with a rather harsh: Reality Check.

End of the Road...

Most people who know me well know that there is one thing that annoys me above all else. When people break constitutional laws that our forefathers laid down for us in hopes of better, more fair lives. Well roughly a month ago I was taking one of my dogs for a walk down to the end of the street, where Lee Dukes Water Treatment plant happens to be located. It was a nice day out and I was in a fairly good mood until something vile caught the corner of my eye. I did a double-take and unfortunately but predictably, my eyes had not deceived me. It was a cross on public property. Being the upstanding citizen I am I decided the best plan of action was to turn it upside down. That way it would no longer be a religious symbol on public property. Happy with my good deed for the day, I walked back down the street to my house.
The next day was a hectic one for me but being the concerned citizen I am I managed to clear some time in my schedule to check if the rules of the United States of America were being upheld. Much to my dismay when I returned to the end of the street the cross was "right side" up and wedged further down in the ground. Initially I was confused. Who would want to blatantly disrespect America? A few minutes later it dawned on me this must have been the work of some type of evangelical terrorist cell. I knew I had to take action first before this situation escalated any further.
Jumping forward to about a week later, during each day of which this battle of the cross continued, I managed to procure what proved to be a decisive tool. The tool was none other than a huge red thick-tipped permanent marker. With my tool in hand I once again made the trek to the end of Babe Stillwell. I pulled the cross up from the ground, then shoved it back in upside down as I'd normally done. Then I wrote 9 9 9 in massive letters across both sides of it. Needless to say, the cross has never been back seen since.

Short, Cold and Sweet
On a totally unrelated note yesterday night I was driving down my driveway for a Slushy run. Anyone who has been down my driveway knows that it's basically like a tunnel with an overgrown fence on one side and overgrown bushes on the other side. So driveway drivebys being somewhat close encounters are a very regular thing. Although I suppose my perspective is somewhat limited because I'm not a fat fuck, which brings me to my next point... my fat sister Caitlin is motioning something meaningless to me as I am approaching her in my car. An even more rotund individual and my other sisters bastard child are accompanying her. So as I have notoriously done before, I ignored her and drove past her to attain my slushy. I arrive back home and walk in the door and my fat sister, her horizontally similar friend and my dad are staring me down.
I shut the door calmly all the while savoring my slushy as deliberately as possible. Caitlin immediately starts bitching at me about how I almost hit her and BC. It's worth noting at this point that basically for the duration of this slushy run I'm so high I was having enough trouble keeping a straight face. All 3 of them stared me down for around 5 seconds before I asked, struggling not to laugh
"Are you joking right now?"
"No! I'm not joking you almost hit Kadence [aka BC(the rest of the family uses her 'given' name)]" Caitlin shrieked back.
"Oh I'm sorry, I figured you'd have to have been joking to think anyone could ever miss you."
Not one of them said a word. So after the appropriate amount of time to let my comment sink in I walked past all of them through my basement door. Then I slammed it and my straight-face-demeanor instantly caved in as I laughed hysterically the rest of the way down the stairwell, my laughter echoing in the ears of the victim of yet another, Reality Check.

Basement Invasion

As of late my basement has come under attack of a new pest. Every night for the past two weeks probably, I have had to eliminate at least a dozen millipedes that for some reason keep crawling into my basement. Tragically I can empathize with their cause, because the basement is indeed a great breeding ground for vermin; probably the reason my dad wanted his daughter and grandaughter to live here. Chuck McMillipedionaire. Great minds. Anyhow as serious a problem as this millipede invasion has been, the basement has been invaded by a different pest this past night. The end of June is here and apparently it's that time of year when The Man's Charm shines it's brightest, or so I've come to experience.
Jumping back to last evening I had just awoken from an afternoon-turned-evening nap. I had been out in the sun earlier relaxing on my beach chair earlier in the afternoon after I finished my workout, so when I noticed it was darker outside I immediately went up to move my chair out of the driveway where I left it, because my dad would - and has - run it over. As I walked outside my dad was moving something in and out of someones car - the details of which I couldnt care less, and he informed me that someone was nice enough to move my chair or he'd have ran it over. My sister, her apparent boyfriend and "bff" Whitney were sitting on the steps, smoking cigarettes. "Well... Thanks someone." I replied and went to pick up my chair and go back inside. As I picked up my chair and wrapped the towel around it so that I was able to carry both more manageably with one arm I received an unprovoked but coy "hey, Chase," from my sisters friend Whitney who shot me a look. Looking back on the incident now I fear I may have inadvertantly given her The Man's Look here, the truth of this incident will probably never be known. So I did the only thing to do in such a situation and replied back with a "hey," of my own. Slick. "It's been a while since I've seen you," she said. I then walked back past all of them, back into the house and back down the basement. My libido having had successfully filled its quota of sexual tension for the night, I proceeded to take a GB and play some video games for the next 2 hours or so until I fell asleep once again on my couch.
It's 1:24 am when I wake back up. I was starving so I made myself a "Total Sickness" shake and browsed Anarchy Online forums while casually walking back and forth between my bathroom preparing my next GB. No sooner did I finish my shake than was I startled by some rustling and slight tapping on my basement back door. Yago and I both look at one another as another knocking comes, this time slightly heavier. He barks and I go to answer the door. I open it and it's Whitney. We exchange heated "heys" once again as Yago barks at her like he is going to kill her. I calm him down and ask her whats up. "You locked me out!" She exclaimed. "I just woke up. What are you talking about?" I reply. "Oh. The upstairs door, you locked it,' she said. Which I had for some odd reason earlier. Normally the door itself isnt even totally shut, by slightly ajar so the dogs can roam the entire house. "Well are you going to come in?" I ask, "I can't stand keeping this door open." Just as she starts to come in I notice my sister coming in right behind her. Luckily, once they both came inside she (my sister) proceeded to walk straight past us and went back upstairs. How unfortunate. "So what's up?" I ask. "Well how are you I haven't seen you in forever," she says. She then proceeded to hug me and then subsequently criticize my hugging method, or lackthereof - like ALL girls do. I explained to her that I had been out in the sun earlier and I was probably dirty. "So what? Everyones dirty. I'm dirty," she says. "Interesting," I replied, as I shot her a look. We proceeded to talk for a little while about nothing in particular. She asked me what I had been up to and I explained to her the various subtleties of my daily existance. One of the details we discussed of course was my GB and proper it's usage; something I proceeded to demonstrate. After we sat on the couch and she giggled for a little while I decided maybe I should take some conversational initiative. So I asked her what she had been up to? "Nothing," she replied. The perfect reply. The very thing I say to everyone else to instantly dismiss any encouragement of a conversation I feel is going in that 'usual' or 'typical' direction I'd like to avoid. "Really?!" I reply. "So really nothing like me then?" She shook her head. "Haha. Awesome," I said as I was truly appreciating this situational irony in its moment. Then she asked me what the story was with my drinking situation or lackthereof. Filling me in on the details she had received from my sister; all of which were incorrect. When I inform her of my pancreatitis she asked me several questions regarding it and then suggested I get a second or third opinion before I decide to doom myself with this diagnosis indefinately. She said as a nurse, which I just discovered she was, you really couldn't trust most doctors. I told her I was pretty certain to her dismay while she continued to try and convince me otherwise. For some reason or another the conversation then shifted to me feeling I'm always the exception to the rule. To plead my case I explained to her a quick breakdown of my eating habits and lack of family or really any social structure. Then the conversation takes an unexpected turn.
"So, where should we go out on a date?" she asks me, smiling. I sort of freeze and smile uncomfortably. "What?" "Yeah, where are you going to take me?" She asked. "Uh.. I don't even know where I would go that I could actually eat anything around here," I replied, honestly. Her eyes get sort of wide for a second. "No, I meant that literally. I really don't even know anywhere around here that I would be able to go and eat food I like... unless you like pizza?" "I don't like pizza," she quickly replied - of course. "It's the sauce." "Oh you don't like tomato sauce?" I ask. "Not unless it's the really meaty kind," she says - to which I start to laugh while she looks puzzled til I inform her that's the exact type I dislike.
A little more time passes by and just as the conversation is beginning to completely fade my sister comes back down, nodoubt curious of her friend's whereabouts and if she is ready to start watching some movie. She starts talking about her kid and how impressionable it is and we begin to talk about memory and I mention that children really won't remember anything before the age of 3 anyhow. She disagrees of course and we begin to talk about genetics. Of course the conversation thereafter mostly entailed me telling her she had no idea about genes, and then asking her if she knew what DNA stood for. Neither she nor Whitney did of course and when I told them it was acid they both agreed I was talking about something different, although neither wanted to consult Wikipedia. I then made a snyde comment directed at my sister about gene expression to which she said she was glad she didn't have my genes because Im not social enough. I replied that people are stupid and I was comfortable with my level of sociability. Just then Whitney asks if I thought my sister was stupid. I immediately replied "yes," much to her dismay and then my sister proceeded to say she didn't care. Then Whitney insisted upon me giving them both grounds for my claim. "Are you serious?" I replied. "She didn't even graduate from highschool." "Yes, I did," my sister informs me. "That doesn't count." The that I'm referring to in this case was her 'special' highschool where people who drop out of real high school go to make up time at their own pace. "What do you mean that doesn't count?" Whitney exclaimed. "I mean it's not even real high school," I said. "I graduated from that school too," she informed me. This was something I had not anticipated. "So are you calling me stupid too?" "Hey I didn't call anyone anything." I said. "You kind of threw yourself under the bus on this one." Having clearly had enough of this discussion, my sister got up and walked back upstairs, leaving both of us alone once again, lying on my couch.
Somehow the tension of the previous moment had evaporated. Part of this was no doubt due to the fact that I took another GB break at this point. So I continue to play music while she shoots down most of my song selection. At this point I was getting bored and I no longer felt like putting forth any effort whatsoever into entertaining someone. "Well, what do you want to do?" I ask her. When she says she doesn't care I suggest we watch a DVD and ask her if she likes "Sunny" to which she replies that it was "gay." Provoking a brief subsquent discussion of the usage of the word "gay" as a general pejorative. As one would probably guess the conversation did not involve the actual use of the word pejorative. It was at this point I got up the courage to just blatantly suggest we should just make out instead. A suggestion which unfortunately never came into fruition as she laughed and never replied. Slightly tired, annoyed and no longer willing to attempt to make any further conversation I slowly start to overtake the portion of the couch we're sharing in an attempt to encourage her to leave. In a minute or so she relocated to my computer chair, subsquently telling me it was uncomfortable as she tried to lie down in it akwardly. She then informed me that she was going across the room to my leather couch, where she fell asleep almost immediately and remains now. Once again I remain both the victim and author of... yet another,
Reality Check.

April Fools

That's right. All of you who actually believed that I would ever be pulled over are the real victims of yesterdays Reality Check. My Tercel is indomitable, unimpoundable and I will never be pulled over. Reality Check, faggots.

Tercel: Impounded to Hell

So early today I was on the way back home from a veterinary appointment with my dog Yago in the back seat when I decided to reward myself for no particular reason with a Sunkist slushy. I had also been hoping to see the new slushy machine Cashions had purchased - over two months ago - up and running. Predictably upon entering I immeditately noticed it was still empty and looked like no had even touched it. I was dissappointed but not so much that I didnt intend to fully enjoy my Sunkist slushy anyway. So I get in line to pay my special VIP discount price of 50 cents and walk toward my car to see Yago eagerly awaiting my return. As I'm getting in I notice a Huntersville cop pull into the Cashions parking lot. Given that I am riding dirty, literally, at any given time I am in the Tercel, I decide to wait to see what he does before starting up my car. He proceeded to park his car on the other side of the gas meter from me, with his car facing inward so that he would have to back up first to get out if another person was in front of him. Since another person was I decided it was safe for me to pull out of my spot and head toward the light that takes me home to my beloved basement. Upon pulling out of my gas spot however my chance to turn into the straight/left-turn lane at the light was obstructed by some retarded bitch who had just pulled in from highway 73 and was trying to turn left into the CVS parking lot. In her defense there were cars blocking her immediate passage into the parking lot, however if she had merely pulled a few meters foward she could've simply gone into the parking lot further back. I noticed the cars in the lane directly accross the street beginning to turn which meant that the light would cycle to my lane of the intersection next. As always, I had my driver's side window down and I start to motion for the woman to continue driving and that she could get into the parking lot further back. She was totally oblivious to what was going on of course, and upon noticing my probably frantic hand gestures, proceeded to look more confused. Luckily she took that opportunity to do absolutely fucking nothing. She continued to sit there, blocking not only me and anyone else trying to get out of the Cashions parking lot AND all the people trying to pull into the shopping center entrance in back of her. FUCKING IDIOT. At this point the little patience I had was completely gone and I lose it and start screaming at her out the window. "Go you fucking stupid bitch!" "Get the fuck out of the god damn way" She looks like she is panicking inside the car and flicks me off, all the while continuing to sit there, not moving a damn inch. By this point the light had gone to yellow and I knew I wasn't going to make the light. Finally after all the cars from the lane I had been seeking to enter and which had been partially in her way had gone through the light, she makes her left into the CVS parking lot. At this point I'm really considering following her into the CVS parking lot and flipping out on her but I did have Yago in the back seat, so I decided it was best just to stomach my anger and take him home; where I could relieve my temper with a more natural remedy; rather than raging out on some dumb bitch. So I proceed to turn into the straight/left-turn lane; I'm the first car in the intersection so I know I'll make the light this time with no worries. Just about this time, I glance behind me to see all the cars who had been blocked behind me all had gone into the right-turn lane beside me. I also notice the cop who had parked next to me - like 10 minutes ago - backing up his car. I immediately look to my right to see if I can switch lanes and just make a hard right and get the fuck out of the parking lot because I did not want to take the chance of him - or any cop - pulling directly in back of my car and finding some excuse to pull me over. Predictably I am blocked by a person who is just sitting there waiting for the light to turn green before he will make a right-turn... "God damnit," I think. I see the cop turn his car around and is clearly coming to my lane of the intersection for if he wanted to turn right he wouldn't have turned his car around after backing out and left the parking lot from another angle. I see no one coming up in back of me and at this point I know there is nothing I can do but sit there and try to look innocent - one of the few skills I seem to totally lack. I thought to myself at least I had Yago in the backseat so that would probably help my chances of not being pulled over because usually people don't like to bother drivers with large intimidating animals in the backseat. So I start to pet his head and excite him slightly, so the officer in back of me will clearly see he is present. I'm watching the officers face to see if I think he is relaying any kind of information to anyone and I notice him clearly communicating with someone, however I don't panic because I'm sure police officers have lots of really stupid things to discuss. The intersection accross the street is cleared to go so I know my time sitting in front of this cop will soon come to and end. My light turns green and I proceed to go and drive the speed limit toward Babe Stillwell. The officer seemed in no hurry at all to keep pace with me so I was relieved, temporarily. Then about a half-mile later right as I'm approaching Blythe Landing he flicks his lights on. Fuck. He's still a good ways in back of me so I hope maybe its for another reason, despite the fact that knowing my luck, that was probably not the case. I pull over to the Blythe landing entry turn lane, hoping he will pass me. He doesn't. He slows down and pulls right up to my bumper. I know I'm about to get told somehow. So I calm myself and go through my usual list of excuses in my head. Roughly 7 minutes later this fucking faggot finally gets out of his car to come talk to me.
"Do you know why I pulled you over today sir?" He asks. "Well, I know I wasn't speeding... so no," I respond. "We've received several complaints about a red car from people in the Birkdale area that matches your cars description." I stare him down doing my best to look like I have no idea what he is talking about. "Well first of all, this isn't even my car," I inform him. "This is my dad's car. I'm only doing him a favor and picking up his dog from the Vet. Look at how dirty this car is; no one drives it." Given the fact that I have literally NEVER cleaned my car I thought this was about as good as an excuse as I could've mustered. He seems to believe me. Then the inevitable shitty part comes. "Let me see your license and registration," he asks. I know the car is registered so I go to reach for that. I find it and hand it to him, then proceed to try and give him an excuse why I didn't have my license. "Listen officer, I don't even have my wallet on me. I actually lost it the other day.. I normally don't drive at all - I was just doing my dad this favor." "So you're driving without a license?" He asks? "Yeah... I guess," I reply sheepishly. He doesn't look annoyed at this point so I'm still hoping I might get off with a warning. He asks me my full name. Instantaneously I cycle through all of my various aliases in my head trying to decide if I should tell him the truth or not. I decide to let Roger McCormick sit this one out and I tell him my real name. Whether or not that was a good decision is a fact that will perhaps never be known. He tells me to wait and returns to his car.
Another 5 minutes later he returns to me window. "Well Charles... it looks like you're driving with a suspended license," he tells me. "What?!" I reply, genuinely trying to sound as suprised as possible. "How is that possible? I just paid my insurance! - knowing full well this has nothing to do with anything. Why would I pay for that if I didn't have a license?" "I don't know what to tell you," he replied. "But your license is suspended. You shouldn't be on the road. I can take you to jail right now." The fact the he used "can" instead of "going to" was at least a glimmer of hope for me to grasp, so I try to stay positive. "Now listen, here's what's going to happen," he continues. "I see you have your dog in the car and I believe you that this isn't in fact your car," he says. "But since you were driving without a license there has to be some kind of penalty for that. I'm going to impound this car so you need to make sure to tell your dad that. And since you have your dog here and I see you live close by, I'm going to let you leave your car here and walk home," he says. "A tow-truck is on its way now." I start to walk away when he shouts at me to stop. "Hey! That's not it, get back here son!" He actually called me son. "This is for you. And you'd better show up for this one," he exclaims as he hands me a ticket for a court date. Although this completely sucks ass it is better than me spending a night in jail and Yago being taken into animal control custody. Unfortunately it results in the poor Tercel getting a much underserved...
Reality Check.