Sorry for the massive delay between posting times. I know my fans (ahem, that would be Sara) really wait with bated breath for the posts. And for the skeptics, yes, “bated” is spelled right. Consult my source: http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-bai1.htm By the way, you should all know not to question my knowledge about a word that is encapsulated inside one of the worlds favorite pastimes (in the past tense in this case) – – – MASTURBATED.
Now. I’ve promised a blog about Vicodin Stealing Derek. Here goes.
Derek lived in my old apartment complex in Rockville. He used to try to talk to me when I was walking the dogs, but I wasn’t really having any part of it. After he moved out, I bumped into him at Hard Times Cafe. The girls were drooling over him and no one believed me when I said I knew him. But then he came over and we started talking. As the night progressed (meaning: We Got Drunker) I started showing everyone how to do a striptease from the rafters on the balcony. Why I was doing this when it was under 20 degrees outside, I have no clue. (I pay dearly for this blatant disregard of the weather later on in the story.) Anyway, Derek caught me, literally and figuratively, and that was that. We exchanged numbers and started dating.
But then I got sick a couple weeks later. Massively ill and my throat closed up and I couldn’t talk or eat. So, I drag myself to Shady Grove ER, check in, and promptly black out on their floor. They dragged me to a bed and put me on IV fluids. Derek is calling and calling, but I’m in the ER, and they don’t want you on your damn cell phone.
The hospital releases me in the middle of the night with an Rx for Vicodin, which can’t be filled until the morning, obviously. I stop at Mobil on the way home to grab a breakfast bar because I’m STARVING, but the one Vicodin they gave me to take hasn’t kicked in, so I can’t eat it yet. Then I go home, sleep for a few hours, wake up at 10 and drag my poor malnourished body to Target to fill the Rx. I am in so much pain that I can’t talk. On the way home I buy popsicles because it is all I can manage to eat. Even Peanut Butter and Jelly scorch the crap out of my throat. Derek calls and wants to know why I didn’t answer his calls. He feels bad (or so he says – evidence of how “bad” he feels is coming soon) and he asks if he can do anything. I ask him to walk the dogs.
He comes right over and walks Sammy and Thora for all of 15 seconds. Then he comes in, and tries to mess with me, and I’m like, “Damn! I just got out of the ER. Cut me a break.” So then we start talking about my health insurance and the imminent hospital bill and he calls for information on Cobra for me…even though I didn’t ask him to. Well, in the process of this useless phone call, he spills 22 ounces of coffee on my rug. He makes no attempt to clean it up. Then something tells me that I’ve left the Vicodin unattended and I am having a flash of how interested he was in the Vicodin. So I ask him if he took any. He said he put 2 in his pocket. We have an argument, I tell him to put them back because I want them. He wants to trade for 2 Percoset. What is this – The Flea Market? So I’m cleaning the coffee, recovering my Vicodin and he asks if he can eat my much coveted breakfast bar!!! Well, there it is. Like I always say, Sometimes the Straw that Breaks the Camel’s Back isn’t a Very Big Straw.
The words “Get out” come out of my mouth. He leaves, but he calls non-stop. I don’t answer his calls and figure he’ll eventually get the hint. He doesn’t. Hello to all the men out there. When she doesn’t return your calls, she’s no longer interested. Move on.
Derek tries to trick me by calling from a different number a month or so later. I fall for it, pick up, realize it’s him and quickly get off the phone with empty promises to call back. I never do. Until, that is, a drunken night with Sara weeks later. She wanted to prank people. I offer up Derek as a prime target. First number: Disconnected. Second number: The person who answers says, “Montgomery County Penitentary.” That fucker called me from JAIL. Damn that Horny Non-Dog Walking Coffee Spilling Breakfast Bar Mooching Vicodin Stealing Derek.
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