Batter Up

I saw the black truck approach as I was walking the Puppy for her morning poopies. I couldn’t tell if it was a Honda or a Toyota. I know someone who drives a black Toyota who lives in the direction that the truck was coming from. As the truck got closer I saw the hand wave. It was the person I thought it was, the same person who not 12 hours earlier was treated to naked pictures of me from the Renter’s computer.

I’m not sure if “treated” is the correct term when talking about naked pictures of me. More like iris burned instead of treated.

The Renter and I had a bet going to see who could lose five pounds first. I figured I’d try to show her up and lose it in a week. I was eating three sticks of string cheese for breakfast, a foot-long sandwich from Subway for lunch, and I’d stick with beer for dinner. This, my friends, did not play out very well. Drinking on an empty stomach meant I was getting fucked up pretty quickly every night. Thank God the bet is over. The Renter won.

Going out for breakfast at a place that serves beer is also not a good idea. That’s exactly what I did this past Saturday. This led to me needing a “time out” around noon. Had I continued I would have been a sloppy mess by 6:00. My “time out” consisted of putting a new CD player in the Jeep. My “time out” ended abruptly at 2:00 when the neighbor kid stopped over, the same neighbor who had to help me stumble home around 10:00. Wish I had video of that.

(Note: shots with Red Bull might have caffeine in them but they also have alcohol which will eventually overpower the caffeine and leave you rather fucked up.)

Sunday sucked. I put the chrome rims on the Jeep but I was feeling like shit. I popped open a beer around 5:00 because I had company coming over for steaks and I wasn’t in a talkative mood being sober. My new friends from down the block are older and I always like to pick older people’s brains; they’ve been there, they’ve done that, they know how to escape and survive with the least amount of cuts and scrapes. That and older people have more years in which to accumulate funny stories and jokes.

Gullum brought over the steaks and handed them to me. I don’t do steaks well. Usually I over cook them. Each steak had a $10 price tag on it so there was a possibility that I was going to fuck up $70 worth of steaks. I didn’t like the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Every time I heard what could have been a flame up I jumped out of my chair to check the grill. Gullum could sense my nervousness. Eventually he got up, looked over my shoulder and said, “I think they’re done.” Finally I could sit down, scarf some food and relax.

Everything was good until the Renter connected her computer to the TV and started showing naked pictures of me. I guess when I drink too much I like to do stupid stuff for the camera. She had pictures of me doing her stuffed animal doggy style. That one was safe for work. The one with me in a thong only had one testicle popping out, almost safe for work. The one with me completely naked (and a bit of a hard on) on my bed pointing to the “Drunk” sign the Renter painted on the wall above my pillows took the cake. “I was getting ready for baseball season!”

And then I see one of the partygoers not 12 hours later as she’s driving to work. I’m sure I’ll hear about it from the rest of the group at the corner bar tonight.