Hangover Madness, Drunken Drive-by’s, & Cyber Stalking

I AM AT LIBERTY. i.e. I am an unmanned ship sailing into the shitty swill of mortgage payments, car payments, and an endless array of bills that make me feel doomed. I am unemployed.

My feckless follies and foibles fester with foppish foolishness.

And on that note, I will now share a hangover madness story, for today began with a hangover for me, post-champagne birthday bliss at a friend’s party last night where lobster, wine, and much rejoicing was shared.

Here’s a very short scene where Jacy and Jazhette quibble, quaff coffee, and muse over meanderings of cyber stalking, and other deviant behavior:

Hangover Madness, Drunken Drive-by’s, & Cyber Stalking

Am in Hell. Am in such Hangover Madness today. Had too many Appletinis last night again. Again.

I’m in line at Starbucks, our best hangout place especially in the late mornings (tennish is fine but nine is far too fucking early). As I’m getting my no-fat, no-whipped grande latte, extra soy I see my best friend sitting in the corner, looking luminous and luscious as usual. Supermodel (but I’d never tell her that because her ego is a bad as a bulbous bobcat on steroids) and a bitch-ass to boot (this I DO tell her from time to time).

“Argh!!!” I say and Jazhette glances up from her internet stalking of Satan (her latest ex who has a new website “business” on the internet). I sit down to join her.

The crusty crumb of madness that lay facilating in my head erupts. I sip my soy concoction and hope for a miracle. I wish just to feel human again.

She looks at me and does a blundering double-take.

“Did you catch the name of that train?” I ask. “It’s just insane how badly I feel.”

“The jagged edge of insanity or the crusty edge of insanity?” She asks.

“What’s worse?”

“Probably the Dahmer crumblike edge of insanity. He got sloppy when he was eating his Sloppy Joes.”

“Oh that’s gross, Jazhette.” But what do you expect from someone wearing a “Swallows” t-shirt with a picture of a bird, who still stalks her ex-boyfriend, dumpster diving in his trash can, spams his email account mainly with Viagra advertisments, doesn’t think twice of looting his mailbox to steal his favorite porn magazine, orders 69 combo anchovy (which he’s hates) and black olive (he’s allergic) pizzas to his house on Superbowl night using his credit card number, and who has a picture of him in her gameroom, using it as a dartboard?

“Big nasty hairy train or teeny toot-a-root tot toy train?” She teases.

“Jesus, Jaz, what the hell do you think?”

Pansy joins us just then. “I vote for the big nasty hairy train,” She says. “I think you drank a little too much, huh. I guess you went to that crazy party last night? I showed up later that night.”

“I don’t even remember leaving. But I lost my notebook, which is really freaking me out bigtime. I hope that Hobert doesn’t find it.”

“Why do you care?” Jaz says. “He dumped you on email. That loser. He has no manners.”

“Yeah, that chickenshit. He can’t even do it to your face?” Pansy grimaces.

“I wrote about him in my notebook and I don’t want him to see what I wrote.”

“And NOW you can’t find your notebook?” Jaz grimaces. “Oh boy, that’s bad.”

“So what’d you write?” Pansy says.

“About how I’d like to murder him,” I say.

“Say what?” Jaz starts laughing. “That’s too funny.”

“Yeah, it is,” Says Pansy.

The next day, Hobert was found murdered exactly the same way that I'd written about in my notebook. I WAS TOTALLY FREAKING OUT. I STILL COULD NOT FIND MY NOTEBOOK. I HAD TO FIND IT.

It was then that I asked Jazhette to help me break into Hobert's house where the party had been held, to look for my notebook, especially before the police found it.