Still sick of overtime. It’s fucking with my free time, obviously.
It fucked up my plans for Friday night slightly, but it was alright in the end–after work, I picked Terra up and we trucked it an hour to see Rachael in a little community theater show, All Shook Up, which was a very cute and very funny retelling of Shakespeare’s As You Like It in the form of an Elvis Presley musical with some Footloose undertones. Rachael was great in it, and Terra and I found ourselves drawn to a socially awkward, nerdery character, played by Rachael’s boyfriend, who we kept privately calling a baby. Terra says, “We can’t call him that to his face,” then blurts out, “Baby!” the second she sees him. He does look incredibly young, though. He’s 20. And they’re a cute couple, and it was nice to chat briefly. Chelsea was there, too, so it was cool to talk to her for a little bit.
Terra and I hit Taco Bell on the way home since working late meant all I had for dinner was a peanut-butter sandwich, cookie, crackers, Twizzlers, and some green tea. And then she found penicillin in our bag, which we jokingly said was disappointing that it wasn’t say, ecstasy. Especially for five bucks. And then were were concerned that some poor soul was gonna be short a round of antibiotics.
I took some time at Terra’s to apply for a tiny paid writing gig–similar to what I do on occasion for Examiner, except better money.
One of the many perks of Paul moving out is that he now lives closer to Terra than I do. Now, going to this show with Terra was a logistical pain–due to medical issues, she’s not allowed to drive at the moment. And with the location of the theater, going with her basically meant driving about an hour to get her, then another hour to the theater. That said, I don’t really mind doing it, especially if that’s her only chance of going. But one major convenience now is that rather than the whole hour back to my place (although Terra would’ve definitely let me crash), I made it to Paul’s place instead in about 40-ish minutes.
His gecko, Eddy, has moved in now, and while I won’t hold her, I’m obsessed with peeking in her tank to see what she’s doing, partly because she’s usually hiding in her little rock-cave sanctuary and I want to see her out doing stuff. And she normally wasn’t.
Paul’s birthday was Sunday, so I had his gifts in tow–a couple Lawrence Block books, Cowboy Bebop the movie on DVD, cologne (mostly for me), a tee shirt and nice black jeans, chess-piece salt and pepper shakers, and some Magic the Gathering cards. And an adorable dinosaur card. He enjoyed them all and declared I did a good job.
On Saturday, we went out book shopping so he could spend the Barnes and Noble gift card a got him a birthday or two ago that he lost in his bedroom until he found it while packing to move, and then we had dinner for his birthday at El Patron, which was delicious.
I’d say things are great now that he’s moved out, but I fear I’ll jinx it.
Sunday morning, we got up and he headed to his parents’ while my car got hit at a gas station.
I was mid-turn when I felt and heard something hit, and when I looked behind me, there was another car backed into my car.
Now, the other driver was nice about it, but he did make a comment that I did it see him, which has me second-guessing who’s at fault in this whole thing, but after second-guessing my second-guessing, I’m pretty confident he is. I mean, I drive a Corolla. I was turning away from him. There’s no way the back end of my car somehow swung around and smacked into his–he had to have not seen me and backed into me. I’m kind of wondering if he thinks I sort of sped up out of nowhere, wasn’t paying attention, and he suddenly hit me, but given that I was going at a reasonable speed trying to leave and I was partway turned, this isn’t the case.
So now I’ve got a real nice dent in my car, along with a pretty scrape since I was moving at the time. Now we wait to see what his insurance company says.