Yep, Japan is getting sued today. Gonna call someone with a J.D. and sue their asses off! So I drive an Infinity, because I make money and want people to envy me. If I were a guy I would have a tiny weiner, I know. I got this car in August and I still can't work the damn navigation system. It's this giant screen in the middle of the dash that says shit like "wear your seatbelt" and "make sure your coffe isn't too hot" and "that guy last night may have seemed like a good idea, but he has crabs." It speaks in that mildly erotic robot sex voice too. But really, I usually know where I'm going and if I dont I mapquest it. Why did I sped an extra $5000 on this? Dunno. Maybe because both Ramz and Josh drive infinity's with Nav systems and I can't be a pussy. Speaking of my pet idiot, Ramz called me this morning like he does every moring btiching about his communte, as if I'm not in the exact same hell just going East instead of West. I fucking live close enough to the damn Metra station to take the train and not contemplate the millions of yen I will win in my Japanses lawsuit, but Trains stink and weirdo's ride them. I also like the freedom that having my auto affords me. If I have a bad day and want to drive it straight into lake michigan I have that luxury. I don't have to hail a cab and draw a crowd while I standon the edge of Montrose Harbor. Nope just point and drive. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to update that letter..
Whatever. So pencil dick phones in with his requisite whining and such. So get that visual of me on the Edens flipping of the nav screen and listening to some man-childs whining. Today was about Jage, as it usually is. Jage is Ramz love of his life and he figured it out about 6 months too late. Like right around when she and her husband recinciled and we haven't heard of seen her since. He's been stalking her since about that day and when you get caught up in that vicious cycle of losing someone then idelaizing them because you want them so badly and then spiraling down into the shame of stalking and whining about it to your friends for months on end, the only thing that's going to cure you is finding someone else.
"Jage's car has been gone since the last time I drove out there and Jeff says she met with him last week."
"So fucking what? What the hell are you driving past her house for? Why is she meeting with Jeff?"
"He won't say. Lawyer client privliedge or some shit lie that. I have a client like 4 blocks from her house I HAVE to drive by it."
" Well, maybe she is divorcing Rumplefugs. Why don't you get out of your car and go knock on the door if you're so concerned. I would have gotten an email or a phone call if she were leaving him or if something was up. She always calls me first."
now insert about 35 minutes of blah blah blah. They deserve eachother because they are both equally frustrating people. Ramz is one of those tenderhearted souls that acts all wild and frat boyish to hide the fact he's John fucking Mayer on the inside. And Jage is one of those insanely smart and beautiful people that have zero self esteem so pig vomit follows them wherever they go. She's married to some fugly abusive douchebag, lives in a crappy ass house in a crappy ass town, and doesn't get that she is worth more than that. She separated from Rumplefugs last summer, got an apartment, and was getting on with her life only to go back to the fuckhead when he got all sad and missed her and balls like that. Nauseating. And Ramz loves her and wants to be the white knight. Excuse me while I dry heave on this one.
Enough about them and more about me...
So that serial killer Jim guy is getting on my nerves. Now he's Ambien dialing me and freaking out all the time. There is a whole lotta crazazy involved there that I am not about to entertain. Steeerange. This guy came in as some kind of IT consultant. He's cute in the drunk and lonely so maybe I'll hook up with him kind of way and so we exchanged myspace info and such. Now we all lie on our MySpace page. Like my pretend life socially is so insanely different from my real pay the bills life that I HAD to lie on that shit. I was 27 5'9" and 117lbs. We all know I'm 30, 5'3" and like 92lbs. but whatever. So his douche-tard Jim is all like I'm clearing 150k a year I have my own consulting business blah, blah, blah. So we go out, and he takes me fucking mini golfing. Like I'm 15 or some shit. Pulls up in a god damned Honda Civic. hmmm. Not exactly clearing 150k, but maybe he's cheap. Mohandro drives a 10 year old beemer and he's got more money than god and jesus together. So I reserve judgement. Maybe this guy thinks I'm a good girl since he met me at work. Whatever.
We go up to pay for our 18 holes of snoring good times and the little monster inofrms me he's outta cash.
"i left my purse in the car" I am SO not paying for mini golf with a douchbag...no way.
The little dweebie CHARGES it! hahahahahaha! I'M like putting the damn balls into the lake because I so want this PG-13 experience to end. After the longest game in my life, he's going to take me to this insanely awesome Italian joint somewhere in boo-foo LaGrange or some shit like that. There wasn't anything good on TV that night so I went. I never turn down free food. Well said restaurant is CLOSED. WTF??? We ended up at Motherfucking Chilis. I pounded somehwere around 17 margaritas while he blabbered incessantly about nothing. And Natch the drunker I got the cuter and less annoying he got so I missed the red flags of
Psych Issues
Ron Paul for Prez
A sane and non-inebriated person would be running for the door at this point but I was happy to finally get some booze that I stayed close to it. At least I'll get laid I thought.
Went back to a crap-tastic apartment. (Where's this 150K he's pulling in?) I at least have a HOUSE!!! and made out. I totally gave this loser the green light because I was at least going to get some and what did the douche do? FINGER BANGED ME. So let me repeat...minigolf, chili's, fingerbang. Like I'm fucking 15. Here's the kicker...he is 37!!!! What the holy fuck is that?
Beth pointed out that he didn't take me to bed because he didn't want me to discover the bodies rotting in the closet.
Oh yes, it gets worse.
After that night of nonsense I quit talking to him. No emails, no texts, no calls. This freak called the FUCKING POPO to make sure I was ok. Cops fucking knocking on my door at midnight. This cop was like, who is this Jim guy?
A serial killer who is now freaking out because I won't call him.
So this morning I get a voicemail,
"Krys, I'm sorry I didn't hear from you for like three days and I took an Ambien and freaked out."
OM Freaking G. This shit only happens to me. I am convinced.
S'pose I should be getting on with paying the bills and working and such. Gotta find a new IT consultant...LOL.
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