Aaron4 hasn’t returned my calls in three days. I’ve drank all the beer and smoked most of the weed. Chaz let me nig a few bowls but now he’s running low, too. We don’t know what to do. I mean, if Aaron4 was going on vacation he’d tell me, right? And you’d think he would text or email me his new number if that changed. Do drug dealers even have business email? I’ve never seen one, come to think of it.
Groupon for weed would be great, too. I’d murder a person to see groupon for pot— Groupot, if you will. Hell, I’d murder somebody to see groupons for murdering somebody who could make groupons for weed a thing. Maybe there’s a kickstarter just for me out there.
And now all I want to do is talk to Katy. I’m getting worried about her and the things she could be doing with that rockin’ body of hers.
She was already signed on Skype when I finally got my laptop set up. Her most recent status update on Facebook was, by the way, “tired of all the mexican food in Argentina”. Katy worries me sometimes.
We were having some incredible sex in her car once and she whispered into my ear, “I want you to cum inside me” and I was like
“Sweety, I’m wearing a condom. Do you want me to, uh, cum through it or…” And taking off the condom was going to be so unsexy in the back seat of a dark car that it would have involved me being in the unsexy position of having to pull the condom off of my uncircumsized penis as if it were some kind of diseased leach and then disposing of it and then getting back into the moment where she’s interested in me coming inside of her.
Katy started today’s Skype session in a familiar way: I couldn’t see a goddamn fucking goddamn thing.
“Take the sheet of paper away from the camera and just tell me what it says,” I said. Katy’s visage flooded my bandwidth.
“It’s a wedding invite,” she beamed.
“Who’s getting married?” I asked.
“Sure you want to know?”
“Sure you want to hear about my Saturday?”
“Nothing— just tell me.”
“It’s your ex,” she said, “Your ex-girlfriend Samantha.” This was indeed news. Sam was my ex-girlfriend, sure, but she was also— or is also— friends with Katy. They have nicknames for eachother. Even Katy and I don’t have those for each other. This was serious.
“I’m so happy for her,” I lied. What a slut. How dare she find true love before me? “Who, I said, “Who is the lucky guy?”
“Some guy named Sam. I think he was her rebound from you.”
Seriously? Who rebounds to marriage? And she’s been dating her rebound for five years? And her rebound has the same name as her? Come on. That’s not fair at all.
“Good for her,” I said. So happy for her. Just tickled. Glad somebody finally wanted to lock it down with Milk-Breath. She, by the way, had milk-breath. That’s why I we broke up. I mean, that’s why I broke up with her.
Update: In a fit of relative sobriety I let Katy know I’m moving to Truckee.
“I’m moving to Truckee, I think,” I said. I knew but let her think I was only thinking of it.
“What’s a truckee?” she said.
“Cold place in Northern California.”
“My parents called me today,” I lied, “and offered to send me to college up there.”
“Really?” she said.
“Yeah, I really wanna do this,” I lied again.
“Good for you,” she said, starting to balloon up like her old self.
“We’ll find a way to work this out,” I continued to lie.
“Sure we will. This will just turn out to be another adventure.”
“Yes, an adventure where I go somewhere and you stay in the same place doing the same things every single day.”
“Day in, day out.”
“No, I didn’t hear you.”
And that was that.