The Story Of My Fucking Life


Posted by ilbebe on January 5, 2012

During the summer of 2009, my mother and all three of my siblings took a trip to Greece that achieved a dream my mother had been holding onto since seeing the Disney movie “The Moon-spinners as a young girl. A mere forty some-odd years after first seeing the Haley Mills picture, which “follows the adventures of a young girl and jewel thief around the island of Crete” (thanks Wikipedia), she was able to swing some vacation-club deal, and started planning the trip she had been waiting for nearly all of her life.

I had been invited along, but sadly, I had been pretty broke for the past six months, and couldn’t afford to take the time off. I explained to my Mom when she made her last plea for me to come that even if she paid my rent for the month we were going be gone 13 days of, which she had offered to do, it wouldn’t be enough. She would need to give me the money I would have made working full-time, since I had been getting full-time hours since the beginning of the summer. 40 hours a week for ten bucks an hour, plus commission, minus all the standard deductions. I was twenty-eight years old, and after taxes I was pulling in around $390 a week. It was embarrassing, and I couldn’t go to Greece because of stupid money worries. It sucked.

It was against this backdrop that I was awakened one weekday morning while my family was overseas around 9AM to a call from a number I didn’t recognize. I let it go to voicemail, and went back to sleep. I was kind of depressed. I hoped at least one of my sister’s would come back with a tale of making out with a swarthy Greek teenager who had a mustache that made you want to cry.

I awoke again about four hours later, and checked the voicemail. It was my youngest sister’s roommate Tely, calling from where I would later find out was Barstow, California, out in the desert on I-15, the road to Vegas, and other parts of Hell. She needed to know if I had any copies of the paperwork on the car she was borrowing from my youngest sister while she was out of the country. She provided no other information, and asked me to call back as soon as possible.

It was about 1:30PM at this point, and I was feeling reasonably guilty for sleeping in as late as I had when Tely sounded like she was in some sort of trouble. Tely answered on the second ring and said “Hey, can I call you back?” I said okay. She called me back about forty minutes later.

“Whooooooey, we got the car back!”

“Huh? Where was it?”

“Well, haha, I guess I owe you an explanation.”

As the story unfolded, two things became clear: Tely liked to party, and Tely could not be trusted. It seemed that my youngest sister had left her the keys to her car with Tely so that she could move it for street cleaning days, and also if she needed it for errands. The unexpected arrival of an old friend to town had led Tely to start kicking back more vodka drinks than she would on an average Tuesday evening, and things got really interesting when the “diet pills” the old friend had recently been prescribed were introduced to the scene. Once the effects of the dexedrine kicked in, the topic of jamming ass to Vegas was broached, and they acted upon the decision to boogie-oogie quickly.

Before they knew it, they were outside of Barstow being cited and arrested by the CHP after being stopped for weaving all over the road going in excess of 100mph. Tely was booked on a DUI and held in the drunk tank. Her old friend with the BS weight problem that allowed her access to prescription speed stayed up all night drinking coffee at an all-night diner. The two of them were not of particularly sound mind when Tely was released from the drunk tank around nine in the morning on her own recognizance, and the call to me resulted from their initial brainstorming session regarding how to get the car out of impound. They had to prove they had a release from the police, and also ownership of the car. Their complete lack of ownership documentation, a condition arising from the fact that the car was not actually theirs, would preclude getting a police release.

“Wait Tely, back up. You were drunk off your ass and tweaked to the gills and you got a DUI outside of Barstow in my youngest sister’s car?”

“Yeah, but I got it back, and we’re heading home to SD now.”

“So how in the world did you get it back”

Identity fraud involving a shady local traveling notary public had been involved, as had feminine wiles and a surprisingly little amount of cash.

Suddenly Greece sounded tame to me. Perhaps Tely could be seduced to come up my way with an invitation to go to Reno. I could imagine my line:

Oh, if you like Vegas, yr gonna LOVE Reno. It’s fucking SLEAZY.

Tely is now married to an Australian firefighter and lives a life of comfort Down Under. I’ve still never been to Europe. Note to self:

Diet pills.


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