Tuesday, Jun. 07, 2005 - 12:38 p.m.
You know you can't stay mad at your dealer...
You find yourself waiting over three hours before you finally admit to yourself that he's not coming.
"Five minutes" he had said. "I'm right down the street".
That turns into, "You don't know the mission I'm going thru, but I swear I'll be there - ten minutes, I promise".
Didn't your parents ever teach you not to believe a single word out of your dealer's mouth? No, well then, your parents really tried keeping you in the dark about important shit like that.
Now you're left with forty dollars in your pocket that will have to be spent at the salon tomorrow. Can't get high? Oh hell, go cut your hair.
The only idiot calling is the one person you don't have patience for, and you're angry at yourself because the nipple piercings you got almost a year ago still hurt (only the left nipple actually) Why you? Ouch.
The worst part is you're trying to compensate by drinking two glasses of Ecco Domani Merlot and three Amber Bocks (not working).
Nope, that isn't it. The worst part is that after waiting over three hours for your week-end pick-me-up you know you've been anticipating it SO BAD that if your guy were to call you THAT late and show up with the goods you'd manage to smile real wide and say something along the lines of...
"Ah man, I didn't mean to put you through such a 'mission'. If you couldn't have come through I would've understood. I wouldn't have gotten mad...blah, balh, blah. Where's the stuff"
Dealers are just like moms, kind of, they don't get days off. (3-18-05)
