Okay, where was I? Right, right. Back at the party. So, since the boys were moving the following day, and this house is going to be demolished in a week’s time, well, you can imagine the things we were able to do to it. It felt so wrong at first, the idea of extinguishing cigarettes in the carpet, of utter negligence in so many ways. But before the sun came up, I did indulge in a little naughtiness, and took the gum from my mouth and placed it on the wall, spreading it out like silly putty into an abstract design. God, it felt good.
Sunday, Easter. I slept a LOT. Teacher (the guy I ran into at Nunu’s on Friday night) called, we were supposed to meet and do coffee on Melrose, because he was also in LA for the weekend. Didn’t happen. I was a mess, tired and hungover, just wanted to sleep and disappear for a day. Stand-up man (you know, Mr. Purr) stuck around for most of the day, coming into the room where I was wrapped up in blankets, checking if I needed anything. And Irishman, the ultimate in chivalry, always right there when I opened my eyes. What a good guy. I called my family. I told them that even if I did make it back to San Diego in time for dinner, there was no way I wanted to drive again all the way down south to my mother’s.
I was very stressed about this. But the truth is, I didn’t want to be there for Easter. When I was 12 years old, I convinced the family to miss church on Easter for the first time in our lives. A persuasive and annoying little bitch, I persuaded them with this argument: Don’t you think God would much prefer us to go to the lake and thank him for its beauty in our own way? He doesn’t care where we worship, as long as we do, right? Then we can actually spend quality time with each other and God and his created beauty, and I KNOW that none of you really want to be in church.
Wasn’t I brilliant? I still can’t believe it worked, because most of them still go. But it did, and yes, at 12 years of age, I did use the phrase “quality time”. There’s growing up in group for you. But I digress. The family was disappointed, and I was feeling bad, but a bit relieved at the same time. I went to sleep, and didn’t wake up until 9pm! I popped up, drank some water, said “fuck” a few times, gave some hugs and hit the road. Oh, sweet home. My bed never felt so good, and my body tingled all over with gratitude when I snuggled into sleep.
Yesterday, with the day off, I went to spend the day with my sisters and my nephew. Aside from the usual drama of Jen and Mom fighting for no reason, it was nice and relaxing. Oh, but you want to know about the attack this morning that I alluded to in Part I, yes? I went to get coffee this morning, and was followed into the parking lot by a vagrant on a bicycle. He pulled up right next to my window and stopped a foot away, staring at me. I locked my doors and proceeded to apply my lipstick, hoping he would go away. He did FAR from go away. He started tapping on my window, screaming at me that he’d beat my like a man, yadda yadda, many aggressive slurs and threats. Hmm. No coffee for me. People walked by as he was harassing me, no one intervened though. Turds.
I started my car, and he kept blocking me from moving with his bike, still screaming. A bit unsettling, I must say. But I just smiled at him with pity in my eyes (how sad it must be to be so angry that any target is sufficient) and maneuvered around him as best I can. I wasn’t expecting him to follow me into traffic, but that he did, and until the long light changed, many cars around just saw a man walking a bike, screaming at a person in a car - me. Interesting. Okay, that’s all you get for today, I’ve actually got a lot of work to do, believe it or not!