Just you wait, people. Just you wait! You�re gonna be�
Okay. Here�s where we�re going to start: Saturday. As you all know, it was May Day�s birthday recently, and for it, I got her a coffee grinder and some espresso beans to go with the coffee maker she got from her parents. To cut right to the chase, if this entry is somewhat disjointed, it�s because I didn�t sleep last night. But we�ll get to that.
Motherfuck this cocksucking bitchass telephone! Stop calling me, you whores! If you truly loved your mothers, you�d have made reservations for your parties of twenty earlier than five days in advance! I hope your mothers slap you collectively in the mouth with a hot poker, you dung-munchers!
Sorry about that. Let�s get to the issue at hand. Yesterday was all Cinco de Mayo, as well you know (if you have a calendar and know what �cinco� means), which is traditionally a day to get hammered and/or siesta. We (May Day and myself) decided to go out to dinner at a nice Mexican place in West Hollywood with some friends. Well, May Day and I had both had a pretty rough day and were looking forward to the margarita-ness of it all, so we dressed up.
I�m going to do a lot more cutting and get right to the part where I about fired up the chainsaw I wish I had and started cutting open some hairlines. To make a long story a little less coherent, we went to this restaurant, and as May Day got out to put our names on the list, I flagged down the valet. Well, he gives me a ticket, and I get out of the car and wait for him to drive off in it. Only he doesn�t. He just walks off and leaves it there. You know, unlocked. And unattended.
So I kind of stand there for a minute, wondering if he�s coming back, and wondering if maybe I ought to say something about the fact that this possession of mine, that is quite central to my mobility and livelihood in general (not to mention buttfucking expensive) is sitting on a busy, public thoroughfare all ripe for the stealin�. I decided not to say anything right away, and just waited next to it so no one would get any ideas. My plan worked all too well, evidently, as the valets didn�t get any ideas regarding my car either, and continued to let it sit there for well nigh ten fucking minutes. It was at that point that I realized those shit smoking cockholes left my fucking car keys in the fucking ignition. Yes, ladies, gentlemen, and other, those vaginaheads left my car a) unlocked and b) unattended, with c) the keys in the fucking ignition!
At that moment, May Day came back out and informed me that the wait was completely shoutrageous, and fuck it, let�s get out. So we decided to fuck it, and she went up to some dude waiting to get his name on the list and she�s all, �How many people are in your party?� and Dude�s all like, �Two,� and she�s all, �Great. Your names May Day. Good luck.� And she gave him our place in line.
So we go to get in the car, and who do you think shows up? The bitchass valet. He�s all, �You owe me $3.50!� and I�m all, �You can fuck yourself with a hot coal, you animal-raping, fascist dingleberry!�
Okay, so I wan�t like that right away, but I let him know in absolutely no uncertain terms that I would not be giving him jackshit. Then he called his valet friend over and they proceeded to get belligerent with me, claiming that because they gave me a ticket, I owed them $3.50. I pointed out that they left my car in the situation as described earlier, and that I wasn�t about to pay anyone any amount of money when they not only left it vulnerable to theft in all its various incarnations, but also didn�t do their fucking job and park it like they were supposed to. Then! Then! They copped a �tude and sputtered at me that my car was, and I FUCKING quote, �in [their] care� and that if someone had scratched it or something, �it would be [their] responsibility.�
Yeah. This was their reason why I owe them money. It was so fucked up and bizarre that I could feel my brain starting to reject the concept like a bad transplant. Like, um, yeah, dipshit, it was in your care, and you didn�t do shit, and you�re lucky no one stole it because I would have kicked your ass till it fit in an ice cube tray. Although I guarantee that if it had been stolen, that whole issue of their liability in the matter would have disappeared faster than Paris Hilton�s shirt at a house party in the Hamptons.
Finally, they just swore at me and stalked away, as if I�d just swindled them or something, and frankly, I laughed. Albeit bitterly and mirthlessly, but I felt both vindicated and proud because a) I was right, b) I�d stuck up for myself, and c) well, I won. So, go me!
But damn was I pissed off. May Day and I were cranky and hungry and I have this zit on my face that�s so big and scary it looks like a fucking conjoined fetus, and�we were in a mood. So instead, we went home and had The Best Pizza Ever -- and I�m telling you we ate that bitch like we were the Yeti and it was the last Sherpa left at base camp -- cracked open a bottle of pinot noir, and watched the finale of Alias. Some more. So it was a beautiful ending to a fucked up night.
The problem was that we decided to christen the coffee grinder afterward, and ended up knocking back a double espresso each at fucking midnight. Believe me when I tell you that our eyes haven�t closed since. I�m still on a caffeine high, y�all. Espresso treats me so bad, but I love it so good.
Now, if you�ll excuse me, I have to jog to Canada.
