I just got pulled over.
I was probably going too fast and did not sufficiently stop at the stop sign.
"Well officer, I did stop! I would've just paused briefly at the stop sign and rolled through, but seeing you at the intersection, I did actually stop." And yes, I did say that full sentence to the cop.
I was in the midst of experiencing one of my incredibly giggly/uncountrollable bouts of laughter moments. I was blasting some loud hard music, and kind of still bopping to it in my seat throughout the first half of the interrogation. I was also working on a Ben & Jerry's ice cream bar in my left hand.
I had atleast three different bags in the passenger seat, any one of which potentially contained my license. The vehicle belongs to my parents, so the location of the unexpired insurance and registration was kind of a mystery.
As I begin searching, the cop says "You really need to watch your speed, and stop eating Ben & Jerry's."
I was on the verge of agreeing that my body weight and fucked metabollic rate were not suitable for allowing even the very rare treat, when he said "they're against the police."
My bewildered looked provoked more comentary: "if you support cops, you shouldn't buy it."
Now, I certainly don't consider myself anti cop, but I began this experience while stifling laughter and it just came bursting out.
I manage to ask why and he goes off on B&J's support of a cop killer's "framed" defense.
Meanwhile, my one handed information rummaging is getting rather messy: I'm flinging things from the bags into the backseat, explaining why I still have an Arizona license. "Two months after moving here I was cast in a touring company, supposed to leave for a couple months, intended to move into Manhattan upon its completion, but it was cancelled, except now I'm leaving once again in two months to go live in Pennsylvania for a few months, after which time I expect to move into the city....blah blah blah...."
At this point I've already handed over three expired insurance cards, can't seem to find my license anywhere (no shock there!), I've dripped ice cream all over my sweatshirt and effectively strewn every item in my bags all over the car. Now the officer and I are both laughing, and I just forfeit. I put my head on the steering wheel, hysterical, look up pathetically and say "I'm sorry. I just can't do it. I give up. I don't have my license with me."
He says "Don't worry; I'm not giving you a ticket. Drive safely. Oh and - boycott Ben & Jerry's." And he returned to his car laughing.
It was great. I've made many cops smile, and even a few give a little chuckle, but this was the first time one walked away shaking his head after an extended period of laughter.
Oh wait! There was the time I the told the officer he was so cute I just wanted to pinch his cheeks, pinched them, then returned minutes later to take a picture.
Just plain silliness.
I'm glad I can get such a kick out of my daily blah life.
In slightly more humorous news:
Glor & Mel (two of my best friends from high school) celebrated their birthdays at Bar 13 in the city. Someone got Mel a blow up doll. He was about 5 feet tall with a hairy chest and clad in a speedo.
Blow Up dolls make fabulous bar companions.
I expected that I'd adopt him as my date for the evening. I'm the only seemingly eternally single one in the group, and I've often been known to dance with a pole, chair, or other inanimate object during the cheezy slow songs...unless of course a beautiful gay boy was available! But...well it was an interesting evening.
I've mentioned before how literally I get swept off my feet when a guy physically picks me up, spinning, tossing and dipping while dancing. So there were two guys doing just that. I was dancing with both, often at the same time, and very shortly after kissing one, I was making out with the other. These guys being Glor's co-workers, I went to ask her if that was a terribly bad thing. She said "No. My boss is pretty cool."
Moi: "That's your boss!? Wich one?"
Later, one said, "we're leaving soon. I hope you're coming with us." It was my first invite for a male dominated manage a trois. And both guys are straight. And cute. And I declined the offer. Can you imagine? I mean, how often does such an opportunity come along!? I'm becoming such a goody goody in my old age. Either that, or I just am not that rude, and much prefered to party on that rare evening with old friends.
You'd think I'd learned my lesson to stay away from anyone with that title after my radio station saga, but ya know - Dylan was just psycho.
My current boss rocks. She is my age, hot, and when she kissed me while we were out a few weeks ago, it didn't really seem to phase anybody.
Speaking of kissing girls, Summer's lips were nice to experience again. It's been at least 7 years.
Funny that as I'm typing this another Coors "Rock On" commercial plays in the background. I hate that they've stolen my phrase. But this commercial was a salute to the "wing guy." The guy that's sucking it up, hanging with the looser just so his budy can score with some hot chick. That's pretty much how I felt by the end of our party night Friday/Saturday AM. While Sum was getting it on with one guy and I was "entertaining" his buddy...but entertainment obligations are decidedly a crock of shit; that boy could take care of his own needs (besides, "wing guy" had his hotel porn), Sum and her boy could get it on, and I could hang out with the friends I adore and haven't seen in so long. (Did I say "getting it on"? Twice? It really has been too long since I had sex.)
I told my parents and sibling about this blog. And gave them the address. Why?
Oh well....
Many guys from high school I haven't seen in years made an appearance at the party. With many of them, it brought great joy to see again, and those I didn't care to see certainly didn't bother me. There was a time when running into old acquaintances was nerve-wracking; fortunately that time has passed.
Being in a bar where no smoking is allowed makes you feel infinitely more sober than you actually are. Perhaps because things aren't as hazy.
I'm incredibly tired. By the way, when this blog thing says the time the entry was posted, that's West Coast time. Add three hours, and you'll know my computer time is typically a late night venting experience.