Drunk, Hungry and Icy

(fic-y, but basically true-think James Frey with less Oprah scorn)

I sat on the couch the TV was playing Malcolm in the Middle but I wasn't watching it. Most of my energies were directed toward reading Daily Show fiction and trying to find a Chinese place that delivered.
Dial a random number "Do you deliver?"
"WHere do you live?" in broken English.
I tell them. "That is minimum $25 order there."
"Never mind."
"Do you deliver?"
"Where do you live?"
I tell them.
"I am new to the country-I don't know that."
By my map it's at the end of the street. I try to explain this. We have a communication problem. I give up.
I am drunk. I have been drinking since 3 and it is now a quarter to 7. Half a bottle-three quarters maybe, I wasn't paying that much attention, of wine, and two beers and no Chinese food. I have no thought other than a need for Chinese. When I convince the ghey little dog that it's in his best interest to stay inside I walk out of the door and see the truck is covered with a thin but vision impairing sheet of ice. I come dangerously close to falling on my ass on the ten step walk to my car and set off down the road without bothering to de-ice the windows or warm the car. Honestly, I'm not that drunk. I shouldn't be driving simply because of the conditions and my dark mood but I don't think I would fail a sobriety test. Famous last words. It's hard to say. At that point, I am hungry and cranky more than anything else. $25? What the fuck?
It occurs to me. I'm typing quite well for an intoxicated person. Tho my spelling is probably a little lacking-I am doing better than a lot of sober people I suspect.
I get to the end of the street and realize I have no idea which way to turn. I go left-no take away there...at least not that's open. I go right. I am bored with this and decide to fuck it and go to the Beast that ate the US and buy lousy micro-nese. This is food that, doused with enough soy sauce is discernable from Country Fried Steak. That and the color-it's much oranger. Oddly enough the "sweet and sour chicken" wich could just as well be orange sherbet is satisfying my craving. I couldn've saved a lot of time and energy by just drinking a bottle of soy sauce.
Earlier today, when I had aspirations of creativity, I was at Kroger when I ran into a couple of acquaintances. This always throws me off, my silent revelry shattered by recognition I become nervous and wonder if it is necessary to speak every time we pass in the store aisles. IT's a small grocery store. This is unavoidable-see someone a the start of shopping chances are you'll be shopping in tandem the rest of the trip. This nerve racking scenario has been known to have me contemplating running out of the store to do my shopping down the street rather than deal with this problem. I am socially inept.
Mum and I were shopping in Hillsboro Village the other day. Shop keepers spoke to us and pushed their wares as we browsed the racks. Mum took it in stride, talked and bought what she wanted if she wanted things, didn't if she didn't want somehting. She casually and effortlessly carrying on conversations. The whole trip I wanted to fade into the concrete worried that one of the clerks would direct a comment at me. Whenever someone spoke to us my immediate reaction was to walk quickly but politely toward the door and exit before we made some sort of eye contact that I feared indicated a promise of commerce. I am poor and embarassed.
I stood in line at WallyWorld with my egg rolls and sweet and sour chicken. The woman behind me tried to cut around me with her cart. "Are you in line?" I was standing between two check outs-what else might I be doing there? I nodded. "Then," she motioned forward.
"I thought it was polite to not push forward. Like reasonable space in line at an ATM." The hurried woman did not agree. I scanned and finished and left.
On my way home I listened to This American Life and reminded myself that I should make a point to listen to that more often.
Home, I checked my phone for messages. Sis had called at 1 in the afternoon and I wondered how I'd missed that-must've called during the one song that had managed to creep in between the pledge begging on WKYU when I was out driving around. Called her back and several phone calls were tossed back and forth as we tried to figure out how to send a file. I am not as technical as I fancy myself to be.
At WalMart there was a Xerox'd hand written sign:
MISSING
Piglet
Jack Russel mix
Black and White
Please Call
This is not my dog. Tho they share certain characteristics he doesn't answer to the name. Also-why would there be a sign on the East Side for a dog found wandering around on the far West Side of town. There are hundreds of such dogs-besides, the dog in the picture had a black nose and Coupland has a white snout. Coupland will be staying with me. He is my faggy little dog-whether either of us are particularly comfortable with the idea or not. When I walk him, I feel the need to wear a disguise for fear that someone recognizes me as having gone from a DOG to a dog. I'm also ashamed it took me so little time to get another dog-that doesn't seem right. Necessary for me, but not appropriate. He's a good boy tho-why just today we went for a ride and he spent the trip looking out the window being very small and then when we got home he took a long nap. When he woke up he whined and I fed him and now he is napping again-in between waking up and whining. He's tons of fun. Mum thinks he got lost because he's stupid. While I would not trust him with government secrets I get
the distinct impression he isn't as dumb as his inability to find his Baby would seem.
I need another egg roll. I should read more fanfic it distracts me from my internal dialogue. Which is far too derivative and NPR.