You Were Wearing What?

Popped that vicoden pretty late. Things didn’t really get started until later in the evening. Drag shows are fun, but the best part is how many broad spectrum butch types come out to play. Lots of eye candy. Yum yum. I think we all get the point, the girls are hotter when the kings are out!! Everyone is drinking around me and I start to get thirsty. “Ok Andy, just two Kamikozes.” ($1.50 shot special) The first one goes down nice and fast, the second is touching my lips when my ass starts vibrating.

It’s K, my sis. She never calls when I am out at the bar, so I know it must be something. I’m not prepared for what is about to unfold. She’s sobbing. Her car was hit from behind, the other driver fled and she’s hurt and confused. B drives me to help her. I called my mom on the way and my mom called my dad.

When we arrive, she is out of the car and shaken. The car is a total loss, the ass is dragging on the ground. Two hot cops, like ten not-hot cops. The chic cop standing with K was blonde and way cute. Being as I was not sober, I may have said rather loudly that the cop was super good looking. The Blonde Cop (BC) asked K for her registration and and proof of insurance. “In the glove box,” K said, “I’ll get it.” BC explains it is her job to get that stuff and for K to stay put.

K turns to me, fear in her eyes, “I left a blunt in the car.” Shit, K! K’s shaking in her boots now. BC opens the car door, goes for the glove box, then sniffs, keeps sniffing, then the flashlight starts roaming. Seats are being pushed forward. Compartments opened. Ah-ha!! Bingo, BC finds what she’s looking for. She also pulls out the paperwork. She calls her Sargent over for a sniff.

“Hello? Hi, Mom.” “Was she holding?” “Uhhhh...yes...” “Shit, how could she? Shit, why? Shit, Fuck, Dammit K[‘s whole first name]. I have told her time and again not to drive with that shit!” (What we should all understand is that, just like the old PSA of the early 90’s, we learned it from watching you Mom. Both my folks are pot smokers. My mom is more functioning than my dad, who is a giggler. “Uhh, hang on Mom, Dad’s on the other line.”

“Hello?” “J, it’s your dad. Was she holding?” “Ummm....yeah.” “Shit, J, why was she doing that? Doesn’t she know that this kind of arrest could ruin her life?” “I’m sure she does, Dad. Listen, Mom’s on the other line, can I call you back?” “Call me as soon as you know what’s happening...”

“Mom...?” “I’m here.” (Yucky, stern, “her” voice.) “What’s happening? Is she getting arrested, I have told her time and time again, Do Not Carry That Shit Around. Tell her I said that.” “I can’t really mom, she’s talking to the cop.” “Oh my god, oh my god.” I can just read her thoughts, ‘How will I explain this event of my white trash children to my sisters and brother? How did I fail my girls? They are pothead, lesbian whores. How could my girls fail me. I brought them up to be ladies..’ “Uhh, Mom, I’ll call you back.”

“They let me go. BC said she and the sarge would let it go, pretend they didn’t see it, but no more smoking in the car.” Ok, does this shit really happen in real life? I guess so. (Unless they’re about cockroaches, my stories are non-fiction. Who knows why some people get off and some people blow .01 over the legal limit? It’s a mystery.)

“Hello?” “Well?” “Hi Dad. It’s all good.” “What do you mean, It’s all good? Is she getting arrested?” “No...., it ok.” Seriously, I don’t know how much more clear I can be high on Vic, adrenalin and alcohol. I don’t know how much K told the BC about what she was really carrying. Hang on Dad, Mom’s ringing in...

“Hello?” “Well?” Jesus, maybe I should just three way. “She’s fine. It’s all good.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, they let it go.” “How is that? They just let her go? Well, why?” “I don’t know, I don’t think I should ask.” Shit I forgot about Dad on the other line. Hang up, hang up, call you later when I have more info.

BC- “The tow truck is here, you want to get any thing out of the car?” K needs her CD’s out of the center console. I get them...the blunt is still there!! They left it. They really did pretend not to see it. The luck of the Mexican-German-Dutch, I suppose. “K, do you need your coats?” I yell across two lanes. K thinks about it. Before she can answer, Sarge, says “Ask her if she wants her blunt.” I almost peed my pants right then and there. “I’m not gonna yell that in front of you, besides, I already know, Hell Yeah she wants it. She just got rammed in the backside!”

I am not sure if B will ever hang out with me again, but I am sure he laughed his ass off this night. We get what we can out of the car. On the way to B’s car, Mom calls..again. She’s asking me all sorts of questions while K is trying to tell us what BC said. Then, K, not knowing Mom was on the phone, says, “The best part is, when I got hit, all I was wearing was my panties, high heels and my coat.” Holy fuck!! “I don’t think you want me to tell Mom that.” “Shit, that’s Mom on the phone?”

Mom, “Blah, blah, blah, bla....What was she wearing? Tell me she did not just say only her panites...."