Here’s the rules. I’ll start. I’ll tell a story. If you respond to my story, you have to write a story of your own. Or just write a story of your own anyway. It has to be true though, 100%, no made up shit whatsoever. I’m kind of drunk, but you don’t have to be. CAuse I know most of you don’t touch the stuff any way. You also don’t have to write it at 6AM. Just tell a story. No reply only threads. If you reply, you have to tell a story. If not, I’ll make SK change your MB name to xxx_loves_zeppelins_weenis. So unless you want your name to look like that, tell a fucking story. This story happened to me tonight! how appropriate.
I met this girl Christina Wednesday night at Ashbary’s Coffee House. For those of you who don’t know, I live in the Chicagoland area. I used to live in Chicago, but after I got back from Paris, I had no place to live, so now I live at my parents’ in Schaumburg, a suburb to the NW of Chicago, by the airport. Anyhow, Ashbary’s is a coffee house on the SW side, about 40 minutes from downtown. She’s a pretty hot latina, though SG says she has no ass. But I like ‘em skinny. I’m not a big ass kind of guy. I like em tight. Anyway, we talk a bit, but she has to go a bit after I arrive. She tells me she usually hangs there Wednesday’s though, cause of open mic night. So cool, I’ll meet her next Wednesday I guess. But I’m sort of impatient. I haven’t gotten sex in a month in a half, and god damn, I wanted to fuck this creature. Well, she was a friend of my friend Don, and Don is one cool ass motherfucker, so any friend of his has to be cool by association. So I get her number from him on Thursday, and I give her a call. She seemed decently happy to hear I took the effort to contact her. She tells me she is busy this weekend, but wants to get together anyway, so she invites me to her parents’ house on Saturday. She has to visit them, you know, some crazy latina thing, where they still care about their family or whatever. She was born and lived in Mexico City for a while, though she is pretty damn American, but I guess she still carried over some of that shit. So I agree to go. Why not? I have no better plans, and plus, free homecooked mexican food. Rock on my bitches.
So I meet her today. I give her a Parisian greeting (two kisses on each cheek), she thinks that’s cute as hell. She speaks French too, so we parlez-vous a bit on her way there. She lives in Chicago, in the Pilsen neighborhood. IT’s a mexican community just west of downtown, like 5 or 10 minutes. It’s sort of well known as a bad neighborhood, gang-infested, but undergoing gentrification at the moment. IF you don’t know what that means, go read a sociology text book. Or google it. So I take the train into the city and meet her there, and she drives down to her parents’ place, in another mexican community further south, around 55th Street. In case you don’t know, Chicago has a very large Mexican population. About 25% of the city is Mexican now, and over a million Mexicans live in the Chicagoland area (including the suburbs). So yeah, there’s a lot of mexican neighborhoods. Blah blah blah. We stay there many hours, til about 10PM, we eat food, I drank at least a bottle of cheap wine by myself, Christina had maybe half of one. I’m feeling pretty good. She’s feeling pretty good. I got on well with her parents. I was sort of scared, cause I didn’t know how to act around Mexican parents, but they spoke french too, so I didn’t have to speak my broken-ass Spanish with them. The more wine I had, the more french I talked, and they thought it was cute. Needless to say, 10PM comes around, Christina offers me a ride back to her place, with the obvious look of “hey we’re gonna fuck when we get back to my place”, so I follow to her car like a good boy. We get back to her place. I foreplay as much as my wino, drunk ass can, and we fuck a couple of times. Sans condom. First time for me that way. Probably not a good decision. She says she takes the pill though. Whatever.
We fall asleep. My cell phone ends up on her bedside table. About 3AM, my phone starts ringing. I don’t know why I answered it, but I did. It’s my acquaintence Stan. I say that because he isn’t really a friend, more like a friend of a friend. He sounds frantic. “Thank god you picked up dude. No one else would. I’m in county [he means the jail]. I got busted for possession. I bailed myself out, but I need a ride.” I’m just like…what the FUCK. I barely even know this guy. But what a coincidence. Cook county courthouse, and the associated jail, is at 26th Street and California, about 2 miles from Christina’s flat. So despite the fact that I’m naked in bed and probably going to get wakeup head (oh man I love wakeup head), I say fine, I’ll come get you, but I don’t got my car. I’ll find a ride." So I call my friend from high school brian, he moved to the south side, around 95th Street. A twenty minute ride from me, but the bastard owed me big time, for reasons I won’t go into. He agreed to come, since he knew Stan also. So I leave this girl’s place without even saying goodbye at 3:30AM, and we go to goddamn cook county jail in the fucking ghetto in the middle of the night. He’s standing, waiting outside. He hops in the car. Apparently he got busted with over 100grams of the ganj. That’s like a quarter of a pound. That’s a lot. He’s facing up to 5 years in prison. So of course, the only thing on his mind was, “let’s go get fucking drunk as hell.”
But first…he pulls some blunts out of his pocket. Apparently the 100 gram bag was such a big find to the cops, they didn’t even search his pockets. He had some blunts in there. And he was sitting in jail with them all night. So there we are, in the parking lot of cook county jail, and we each light up a joint. The car is looking like fucking cheech & chong. We finish them, then we head out to copper kitchen, the only 24 hour place we can think of that will serve us beer at 4AM. So we go, Brian puts in some punk rock shit called Anti-Flag. I haven’t listened to this kind of stuff in years. It was like listening to Bad Religion in junior high or something. I was just high enough to find this entertaining while we go there. So we go, order some pints, bitch about fucking cops, I tell them about how I’d gone to Amsterdam and smoked 5X as much shit as we had that night, and it didn’t mean a god damn thing. I haven’t ever felt so anti-establishment. Stan is going on and on about how he’s just going to show up to court and plead guilty, but I’m like “god damn man, at least get a public defender. most of those guys are pretty good actually, and looking to go into politics or get a judgeship or something like that.” So I think I at least convinced him to take a smart move. 5AM rolls around, I’m starting to get buzzed on the alcohol again and still buzzed from the weed. The trains start again at 5, so I hop on, I’m back to my car at 5:45, and I drive home.
When did I become this kind of person? The kind of person who has sex with a girl he just met, leaves her at 3AM without saying anything to go pick up some guy I barely know from jail, get blitzed in the parking lot, and drink beer at an old-folks 24 hour restaurant at 5AM? When did I make these life decisions? The strangest thing is, I had the time of my life tonight. Now I just need to figure out whether or not I call this girl when I wake up. I think I should. I think I should…
Edit: 666th Post. How appropriate.