5:21 a.m. - 2002-01-28
What A Fucking Unbelievable Night: Part One
Okay, let me tell you about tonight. And, keep in mind, I'm mildly drunk while writing this. I know it's going to be a long entry, so I'm breaking it into two parts. It will be continued. I should go to bed right now, but I need to tell you about tonight before I forget about the important details. I don't think you, Dear Reader, know what I have to go through sometimes in my life. I don't think you, Dear Reader, know how much of a fucking joke my life can be sometimes. Like a fucking plot from a Three Stooges movie or something. Like I'm a regular fucking Charlie Chaplin.
Let me tell you about tonight.
Let me tell you how much of a slave I am to the female vagina.
To make a long story short, I went to a rock n' roll show tonight at the Casbah in downtown San Diego, and I got drunk off my ass. While I was there, I ended up talking to this really cute blonde girl from La Jolla named Bridget. Now, brunettes are great, and redheads are fine by me....but let me tell you something about blondes. I would lick bloody feces off a blonde's toes. I would voluntarily drink a quart of urine from a blonde girl's vagina, and THEN I would catch a bullet for her.
I'm a sucker for blondes.
Bridget and I ended up swapping phone numbers, which to me seemed wholly amazing, because it was HER idea. So help me god, she asked ME for MY number. And, in return I asked for hers. We wrote our numbers on bar napkins, and traded.
For the rest of the night, I was happy knowing that Bridget's number was written on a napkin tucked safely within my pants pocket.
My roommate was drunk too, and later that night, we drove home drunk, and we managed to make it back to our house in Oceanside alive, a half hour drive from the Casbah where we had seen the show. When I walked into my room, I exclaimed to my roommate, "Tonight was a good night, old chum, tonight was a very good night. For behold, in my pocket lies the key to happiness. In my pocket is a napkin. And on that napkin is a phone number. And, that pho.........uh........where's my napkin?"
Frantically, I checked every pocket. I checked the pockets of my sweater too. I ran out to my roommate's car and checked his seat.
There was no napkin.
Quickly, Edgar, think.....think.....what the fuck did you do with Bridget's number?! I remember fondling the napkin at the show, I remember being so proud of it, feeling it inside my pocket. I wouldn't have thrown it away.....I don't remember throwing ANYTHING away the whole night, in fact......EXCEPT.....after the show at the Casbah, we went to Del Taco and I got some food.
Maybe....just maybe....I inadvertently threw away the napkin with Bridget's number written on it, along with my Del Taco trash. Maybe somehow, without thinking clearly, I wiped my hands on Bridget's napkin, and tossed it in the trash at Del Taco.
But, the Del Taco was in downtown San Diego, and here I was at home in Oceanside, at least 40 minutes away. The time was 2:10 a.m.
But, I thought to myself, how often do you get a girl's number? How often do you get a CUTE blonde girl's number? Surely, a 40-minute drive to downtown San Diego, to rummage through Del Taco trash is worth it, isn't it? To get Bridget's number back?
So, I took the drive.....alone.....while my roommate went to sleep in our warm apartment.
It was raining.
And I was drunk.
And I had a 40-minute, rainy, drunken drive ahead of me.....my destination was the Del Taco trash can. When I got there, I would rummage through wrappers and napkins covered in sour cream and assorted filth, hoping to maybe find Bridget's phone number.
There was a possibility....a very good possibility....that all my efforts would be for nothing. There was a good possibility that my voyage to downtown San Diego, in the middle of a rainy night, while I was drunk, would result in NOTHING.
Chances were, in fact, that Bridget's phone number was lost forever.
But, it was too late....I was already on my drunken way down there.
To Be Continued
