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poot · 03-02-2004, 01:10 AM

I had to walk home at 4 a.m. this morning. It was a short walk, maybe half a mile, during which I thought of a many brilliant things to write down. Such as, the explanation for why I had to walk home at 4 a.m. this morning.

But now I am tired and about to pass out.

I couldn't sleep for a few more hours, but end up passing out sometime around 7:30. I wake up around 4 p.m. and my mom laughs at me and feeds me some chicken and some slices of this new "low-carb" sliced bread. Low carb, possibly because of some wonderous new baking process, but more likely because each slice is about the size of large cracker. This is the future, people.

After a raucous, bloody night with the crew (translation: getting boba and then going back to Dave's place to watch The Empire Strikes Back), it was 2:30 a.m. and all were tired and getting dropped off at their respective houses by Dave in his dad's car. I'm the last. We have a little keypad on the outside of our garage door. You punch in your little code, and voilà, garage opens and you can conveniently stumble inside and collapse next to the piles of clothing on your bed. Alas, tonight, when I punched in the code, this was not to be. Tonight, I had deeply offended Boofoobu, the small but powerful gnome-god that opens and closes my garage, by falling asleep at the part in Empire Strikes Back when Yoda lifts the X-wing out of the sludge, proving once and for all that Luke Skywalker ain't the hizizzle bizzle.

Boofoobu takes such considerations very seriously. The garage wouldn't open.

So, I ran around to my front door and hit the doorbell a few times. My little sister is the only person home right now, and she's notorious for being a heavy sleeper. So, when the doorbell and repeated phone calls warrant no response from within the house, I try something so bold, so insanely daring, that I am crushed when it ultimately fails:

I mash the hell out of the doorbell a few hundred more times, and groan, possibly for the first time in my life, "Well that's fuckin' rich!" Who says such things?

Dave, who has been patiently waiting in the driveway and probably wondering if this is my punishment for wetting the bed, graciously takes me back to his place and I crash in his guest bedroom. It is now three in the morning. He mumbles something about 9:30 a.m., turns off the light and heads back to his room.

But I couldn't sleep. The downstairs kitchen light was on when I had peeked into the window. Bonnie wouldn't leave the light on. She always bugged me about turning the lights off. Fuck. She was passed out. Choked on a Lego or something. No, dead. The robbers that had been watching my house, waiting until the one night I slipped up and stayed out until 3 a.m., they made their moved and rappeled in through our roof with nightvision goggles and they killed her with knives and bricks and hung her upside down just like I saw in Predator 2 and fuck, fuck, if she's not okay I'm sending myself straight to hell but if she is, if she's just fine I'm going to shave her head with a potato peeler.

That is it! What am I doing here, resting comfortably in Dave's guest bed when I should be at my house, breaking into windows, making sure not to slip on any bloodstains so the police can accurately record the case and maybe the paramedics can see if her blood type matches so they can donate her--

My cell phone rings.

"Come home," my mom says.
"How'd you get in?"
"Your dad climbed up to Bonnie's bedroom window and knocked on it. She woke up and opened the garage."
"What? She's okay?"
"She fell asleep wearing her headphones." Call Ended.

Guh.

I poke Dave and tell him everything's okay and I'm walking home, 'cause driving is a bit too much to ask of anyone at four in the morning. I'm walking, kind of appreciating the cool night/morning air and then I remember how I used to make this walk every day, this walk between my house and Dave's, how I'd go over and we'd watch TV or play Magic cards or Starcraft and I'd try to get him to listen to techno and he'd try to get me to listen to punk rock and we were so goddamn keen man. Heh, I guess he won that music fight. This was before girls, before bands and colleges, before subtlety and worry and impression. Most importantly, before cars.

Sometime around 4:20 a.m., I arrive at the top of this story.

03-02-2004, 01:10 AM	#1 (permalink)
poot Upright	Getting back into my house. I had to walk home at 4 a.m. this morning. It was a short walk, maybe half a mile, during which I thought of a many brilliant things to write down. Such as, the explanation for why I had to walk home at 4 a.m. this morning. But now I am tired and about to pass out. I couldn't sleep for a few more hours, but end up passing out sometime around 7:30. I wake up around 4 p.m. and my mom laughs at me and feeds me some chicken and some slices of this new "low-carb" sliced bread. Low carb, possibly because of some wonderous new baking process, but more likely because each slice is about the size of large cracker. This is the future, people. After a raucous, bloody night with the crew (translation: getting boba and then going back to Dave's place to watch The Empire Strikes Back), it was 2:30 a.m. and all were tired and getting dropped off at their respective houses by Dave in his dad's car. I'm the last. We have a little keypad on the outside of our garage door. You punch in your little code, and voilà, garage opens and you can conveniently stumble inside and collapse next to the piles of clothing on your bed. Alas, tonight, when I punched in the code, this was not to be. Tonight, I had deeply offended Boofoobu, the small but powerful gnome-god that opens and closes my garage, by falling asleep at the part in Empire Strikes Back when Yoda lifts the X-wing out of the sludge, proving once and for all that Luke Skywalker ain't the hizizzle bizzle. Boofoobu takes such considerations very seriously. The garage wouldn't open. So, I ran around to my front door and hit the doorbell a few times. My little sister is the only person home right now, and she's notorious for being a heavy sleeper. So, when the doorbell and repeated phone calls warrant no response from within the house, I try something so bold, so insanely daring, that I am crushed when it ultimately fails: I mash the hell out of the doorbell a few hundred more times, and groan, possibly for the first time in my life, "Well that's fuckin' rich!" Who says such things? Dave, who has been patiently waiting in the driveway and probably wondering if this is my punishment for wetting the bed, graciously takes me back to his place and I crash in his guest bedroom. It is now three in the morning. He mumbles something about 9:30 a.m., turns off the light and heads back to his room. But I couldn't sleep. The downstairs kitchen light was on when I had peeked into the window. Bonnie wouldn't leave the light on. She always bugged me about turning the lights off. Fuck. She was passed out. Choked on a Lego or something. No, dead. The robbers that had been watching my house, waiting until the one night I slipped up and stayed out until 3 a.m., they made their moved and rappeled in through our roof with nightvision goggles and they killed her with knives and bricks and hung her upside down just like I saw in Predator 2 and fuck, fuck, if she's not okay I'm sending myself straight to hell but if she is, if she's just fine I'm going to shave her head with a potato peeler. That is it! What am I doing here, resting comfortably in Dave's guest bed when I should be at my house, breaking into windows, making sure not to slip on any bloodstains so the police can accurately record the case and maybe the paramedics can see if her blood type matches so they can donate her-- My cell phone rings. "Come home," my mom says. "How'd you get in?" "Your dad climbed up to Bonnie's bedroom window and knocked on it. She woke up and opened the garage." "What? She's okay?" "She fell asleep wearing her headphones." Call Ended. Guh. I poke Dave and tell him everything's okay and I'm walking home, 'cause driving is a bit too much to ask of anyone at four in the morning. I'm walking, kind of appreciating the cool night/morning air and then I remember how I used to make this walk every day, this walk between my house and Dave's, how I'd go over and we'd watch TV or play Magic cards or Starcraft and I'd try to get him to listen to techno and he'd try to get me to listen to punk rock and we were so goddamn keen man. Heh, I guess he won that music fight. This was before girls, before bands and colleges, before subtlety and worry and impression. Most importantly, before cars. Sometime around 4:20 a.m., I arrive at the top of this story.