I went to San Francisco for my friend’s girlfriend’s birthday party. I was two hours late because I had to deliver some scabies cream to a girl I’m sleeping with. She didn’t know anything about the mites breeding on my skin and I was unsure how well she would take the news. I couldn’t get a hold of her so I sit on my floor strumming my guitar for an hour. She didn’t call. I got frustrated and I decided I would just drive to her house and leave the scabicide and some Benadryl on her porch so I could get that obligation off my chest. I did and began the drive from Sacramento to SF. It was somewhere around Dixon when she called. I was listening to a podcast about teen pregnancy. I answered.
“What is it you needed to tell me?” She asked.
“Just that I have ummmmm body mites of a sort and I slept in your bed so you’re probably infected.”
It was clumsy wording.
“Yes. Exactly like that.” I admitted.
“That’s no big deal. I haven’t even felt anything.” She said to my surprise.
“Well, use the cream anyway. You know, so you don’t get it too.
“Yeah, okay. I will. It’s not a big deal really. I have to go. Want to hang out this weekend?”
“Sure. I’ll call you when I get back into Sacramento. Bye”
Satisfied with how well that exchange went, I drove on and went back to thinking about unwanted children and pregnant teenagers.
When I got to San Francisco, I met up with my friend, his girlfriend, and a bunch of girls who’s faces and names all blend together at this point. Except for one, who’s face is nothing to write about but who does have a pretty cool name. The bars were hot and crowded and loud and whatever. We went from one to another via a party bus driven by a Mexican gentleman named Juan. Juan makes something like 700 dollars a night to drive drunk girls in a derelict school bus with a manual transmission and loud sound system and lights and shit. Juan is the man.
The homeliest friend of the birthday girl started talking to me and we sat together at the front of the bus like good white folks. She has that amazing quality where she laughs genuinely at everything funny I say. This encourages me and actually makes me funnier for the duration of the conversation. It puts me in flow, in state. It’s kind of the opposite of someone bitching about my driving, which incidentally makes me drive worse. This one girl was bitching about my driving because of a minor, unsafe maneuver I made and kept saying how scared she was and all this over-the-top unnecessary shit and I got all self conscious and drove over the yellow line into oncoming traffic to make a left turn. I also couldn’t parallel park. My driving went to absolute shit the minute she began bitching. A propos: if you say I do something poorly, I will do it poorly. I can’t be the only one who is like this. They call it stereotype threat when you prime black kids to do bad on tests and then they do. I’m like one of those black kids. So bitching about my driving will only make me drive worse and you will be put at risk for it. Assholes.
So I made out with the homely girl and played with her tits and tried to touch her pussy repeatedly but she had too much boyfriend-guilt and wouldn’t let my fingers slide in. I really just wanted to sleep in her bed because it sounded nicer than my friend’s couch. She said no. I told her with complete honesty that I didn’t want to fuck her and that I just wanted to sleep in a bed. She didn’t believe me. I went to sleep on the couch and it was really goddamn cold and the window was open all night but I was too drunk and tired to close it.