Part 1: “Ohmigod, he looks like Don Knotts!”
Do any of y’all know how the Serbs make their green beans? I covered Slerb Fest tonight over at St. Sava’s, and I don’t know what they put in them to make them so tasty, but damn! Or could it just be that it’s been that long since I’ve had real home-cooked grub, because I totally inhaled the whole meal.
Speaking of Slerbs, I guess I should tell you about the utter debacle that was Mer’s visit. On one hand, I’ve gone over and over and over it so many times in the last week that I really would just kind of like it to fade away, not to mention I don’t want to waste any more energy on fucking Zook, who’s officially proven he truly is the most worthless, useless waste of flesh on the face of the planet. But like most things in my life, you just can’t make this shit up.
Day 1: Mer’s arrival
Picked her up from O’Hare after a trip that took her six hours from LaGuardia. She was exhausted, and I was unshowered after my marathon crib-cleaning, but we stopped for Long John Silvers (one of her staples while she’s here) and a case of beer and went home. The plan was, I was going to cover my assignment, and then we would meet Zook and whoever at the bar he now hangs out at when I was done. We got out there about 10-ish, just as he was walking outside the bar to call us yet again. Now, Mer had been warning him—and I heard her do it—from the time they’d started making plans that he’d better not be an ass toward me, because after last time’s bullshit, I wasn’t going to put up with a whole lot from him. And to his credit, he did behave ... for the first three hours or so. But the drunker he got, the more obnoxious he became, and I soon took my leave of the situation, but not before using the can in his new crib. Being in a high-rent neighborhood on the beach and all, you’d think he’d keep it nice. But you’d be wrong; it’s a shithole, with one whole wall covered by self-portraits and his dirty laundry sprawled everywhere. (At least I keep MINE either right outside the bathroom or in my room, fer chrissakes.)
I missed the part where, after they did it, he takes her up into the rest of the house (trying to pass it off as his, of course), opens his landlords’ fridge, takes out a pot of stew and EATS IT WITH HIS HANDS. So sorry I missed it.
Oh, whatEVER.