I’m going to make like the Israeli army into Lebanon and invade Indianapolis for a few hours this weekend to see Stu. Erik and I had an ingenious plan for both of us to be able to drive over together, but we have been foiled by my moving homes and a birthday party for some little shit. Looks like I'm going solo. I weep because Erik will never get the chance to see Stu’s bachelor pad. Stu’s bachelor pad (even though he’s married) is right above his work. In the morning, he rolls out of bed, walks down the stairs, and starts churning out the million dollar ideas. This last bit was probably his downfall as the owner is moving the office to an upgraded facility. That’s why when I roll into work, I churn out the thousand peso ideas. Wouldn’t want to jeopardize my 20 minute drive to work. There’s a 500 sq. ft. deck that is perfect for holeyboard and a couch that has all ready been broken in by my drunken farting. Sorry Erik. Have fun eating cake.
Now, I’m not home free either. We have to start packing up our house. Miss Sally has been having Braxton-Hicks contractions and if I’m three hours from home, drunk out of my hat and Sally’s water breaks, I’m (well, SHE’s) fucked. The issue is that if I am away, Miss Sally might stress out which would cause labor issues. I need a plan…
Here’s the plan: On Friday, we sign papers to sell our house. That night, we’ll begin packing for our move the following week. I’ll start to drop hints Friday night that we are running low on tape and boxes. Saturday around noon, I will casually mention that I am running out to buy boxes and tape and moving blankets and beer. Out the door and take 70W for three hours. Every half hour I will call and ask Sally if she needs anything from the store. Repeat 48 times. Sunday morning I will walk in the house and say that I left the boxes and tape and moving blankets and beer at the store. Genius. I’ll have puke on my shirt and my pants on backwards, but it’s still genius.
That’s all that I have to say except that I am sorry Lia! I thought I was going to head to St. James Tavern tonight, but Miss Sally’s womb said no way.
Next week… and I’ll get some material together. Really. I promise. Unless I need to run out for tape. And boxes.