Thursday, April 13, 2006


I'm so tired that I'm sitting here at my computer, willing my eyes to stay open. I only got about five hours of sleep, filled with sexually graphic, inappropriate, upsetting dreams.

S. came over last night for the first time since he helped me move in two weekends ago. I assembled my dining room chairs in honor of his visit. I only have one living room chair, two dining room chairs, and tv sitting on the floor in my apartment. Zac's chair (a rolling highchair) is one of the nicest in the place. His chair rolls around with me from room to room, which delights him to no end.

Last night, after work, Z. and I were in the kitchen, just waiting for S. to arrive, and I reached into the pantry for a rice cake. I pulled out a package that I had opened yesterday and took a bite. When I set it down on the counter, I realized that the entire package of rice cakes were crawling with ants. I immediately spit out the piece of rice cake that I had in my mouth and rinsed with water. I looked in the pantry and saw ants (the small, brown kind - not the fire ant kind, which would have been a travesty in the making if I had eaten those) crawling throughout my pantry. Ants disgust me. They are by far my least favorite insect, ranking somewhere between spiders and cockroaches. Damn I hate ants. I hate that where there is one, there are two hundred.

S. finally got to my place and we cook shrimp gumbo together, I bathed Zac, and we all watched "Lost". All and all a good evening until about an hour later we heard a car alarm. I jokingly asked if it was his car alarm going off. He listens for a moment and says, "I don't know. It sounds like mine, but then again, a lot of car alarms sound like that." We talked and kissed some more and around 11:30pm he goes to leave. He has his car keys and leftover gumbo in hand and walks out the door. Z. is screaming because he accidentally scratched himself in his sleep and can't figure out how to go back to sleep. I'm holding him, trying to get him to take a little bottle when S. knocks on my door. He said his car had been stolen. It is gone.

Even at 11:30pm, I managed to string together enough coherent thoughts to know that we should call HPD Towing before we called the Houston Police. Sure, enough. His truck had been towed about an hour earlier. S. was fuming, but had to quickly calm down when I thrust Z. in his arms and asked if he could feed him his bottle while I went upstairs to put some clothes on. Z, S, and I all pile into my small Saturn and drive to the impound lot. $185.89 later, S. got his truck back. I finally got back into bed around 1am, exhausted. Zac woke up two more times in the night. This alarm went off this morning way, way too early.


wildflower said...

Oh, the impound lot. I know thee well. HD must have had her truck toed 37 times during our first year in Denver. How fondly I remember the evening drives down to the 7-11 to get cash for the jerk-off Tow-ers who never seemed to be able to make change.
Hang in there, B. It’s almost the weekend. Almost time for sleep.

Anonymous said...

Oh that's awful! But being towed is much better than stolen! --V