remember this update when i kill myself

Because suddenly it’ll all make sense.

I hope everyone who think i have done them wrong takes personal/sexual enjoyment from this.

Because it proves everything
Lets backstep a little bit. Saturday night, the night before the 9k race i’m thinking about doing. I go get italian food. Spaghetti, setup a playlist, drink beer all day. I am ready for the longest race i’ve attempted.

I wake up the next morning, i feel mad and excited. I dress. I go. I stretch, i have the music ready, everything. About 3 miles into it, i start to feel a weird pinch. This makes it tough to run. I’ll wak for a few minutes and strech it out. Hmmm, still hurts.

I’m more then halfway done and if i finish i can get beer. Beer is worth not turning around. I walk on, finish in a time that would make most grandparents shudder. I finished behind a really old couple.

Leg really hurts.

It gets SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much better, hold on.

So i have a few beers at the finish and i head with the rest of the herd to get on one of the school buses that was ferrying people from the french quarter back to the start line out in lakeshore. I miss the bus along with like 50 other people. Suddenly, a white truck pulls up and honks. A bunch of runners run up and jump in.

My ankle causing this cool blinding white pain, still says i should get in the truck too. I hobble up after the strangers and jump in while it’s already taking off. I make small talk with the 2 couples who tell me that drinking is part of the new orleans track clubs. They tell me about races that involve running and alcohol. I drink my tallboy and thank the universe for the luck i have. Instead of sitting for the next sweaty disgusting schoolbus back to the start line, im riding like a king in the back of a truck with a tallboy. I feel like i fit in for once.

We stop for gas and the guy driving the truck(a runner drinking beer) asks if anyone wants more beer. Yay, a 32oz of bud ice, drinking with my new friends. In the back of a truck, flying down Esplanade, in running clothes.

Okay, we get to the start line. I can get in my car, drive home with a great story for Ashley and crackhore.com

All thats left is to bend down to my shoe where the key is and…

Hmm, thats strange. No key.

*looks around*

Reality sets in.

Okay, universe, this is where you usually take over and i get some more amazing luck like the truck ride here.  I ask a few fellow runners getting off at the schoolbus stop that the rest of the people were taking. I get no offers.

Fine, i’ll fucking walk. Walking, the fine art of drunken losers without cars. Worst part is i know exactly where i am and i instantly picture every step and every hill.

Now, i’ve had some “sour times” before.

But walking in the rain, up and down a course that you already ran most of, then failed because it “hurt when i put pressure on it”, then WALKING back, it sucks.

In retrospect i should have broken a window on my car and got my phone. It would have been $200 something more then the price of just getting a new key/ignition, etc.

Just imagine it for a second. Walking down some stretch of road, totally exhausted from the run/stumble/crawl, listening to Alice In Chains on the headphones. The fucking faggot piece of shit ipod was actually probably pushing me more towards suicide then helping. But i guess the music gave me a sense of humor about it.

This sucks. Leg hurts, raining, cold, defeated, tired. And of course after the 4 beers you had at the finish line and the tall boy, you have to pee.

Not even going into that part of the walk home.

I get home, knock on the door. Ashley is surprised with me knocking on the door instead of using those keys i usually carry with me. I come in, lay down the floor and  curl up into the fetal position. I shower, pour a huge glass of whiskey, finish 3/4 of it and pass out.

I wake up, eat and pass out again. Think i drank a beer or two, anyway.

I wake up, it’s monday, my favorite friend from work ******** is coming to pick me up. He laughs as i hobble down the steps in intense pain. People laugh at me at work all day long with my pathetic “i lost my key cuz im teh dumb lolz” story. ******** drops me off at my car at 4pm to wait for the locksmith.

Now i don’t know what you heard about me, but a bitch can’t get a dollar out of me. I call all the dealerships, get my VIN from the insurance company and find 2 dealerships that have my vin key combination. But none of them can cut keys. One doesn’t even have the little tool, the other one won’t have one for a month. This is stupid, why do people live here.

They tell me it’s better off to call a locksmith. I call around like i do with anything. I find the first people in the phone book, Liberty Locksmith, and i use their full name, because i hope no ever makes the mistake of using them.

****** drops me off at my car at 4pm. I’m panicked since im afraid they might have come early, not seen anyone next to the car and roll out.  He drops me off and i chill. And i chill. Finally i go “okay, gonna get a cop to open a door so i can get my phone and wallet, can use phone to call locksmith, get car faster, life get better”.

I flag down this cop in a white pickup truck. I swear, the fucking spitting image of Mackey. Shaved head, attitude, everything. I tell him thanks. He’s got this hot brunette in the police truck with him. I tell him he’s probably off duty and this is really cool, etc. Keeps telling me “it’s cool brah”. As he opens my car i try to emphasize and say “man you got shit tough down here now, i appreciate you helping me out since the city is kinda falling apart”. He tells me it’s no problem. He breaks out the slimjim from his cop bag, opens my car up in about 20 seconds, i shake his hand and drives off.

I’m sitting in my car and it hits me he didn’t even ask for ID after he opened my car. I’m sitting in here in my car but he had no idea it was my car. I look around the street and think “i should have made him open up that mercedes”. This blows my mind for a hour while i use my phone to search google for locksmithes. Yay no one is open!

After 2 hours and a few calls to Liberty Locksmith, who says their tech that was “on his way to fix my lock”, has all his phonecalls going straight to voicemail.

I ask him, “so i should start walking?” “walking where sir?” “home, because i need a ingnition key”.

Finally i just give up, call ashley, give her directions to where i’m located, she picks me up, takes me to my interview. The interview goes well, i fell in love with her and think she might be the next new p2p employee. We’ll see. 1 down, 4 to go.

Lessons learned:

spare keys and lots of them

never give up