Various Artists '1970's FM Hits'

I was invited to come hang out on Friday night with Beaverhausen and some of her friends. She wanted me to meet someone. She thought that the two of us could possibly hit it off. And if not, then perhaps make a new friend. You know the drill, don’t cha?

I sure do. It’s loads of fun going in blindly not knowing what to expect and not knowing how to act. Since I usually act like myself, it’s not usually a good thing. Unless I’m wearing a monocle, I tend to be me and I’m nowhere near the suave and debonair border. I’m slightly on edge and afraid to speak my mind on subjects being discussed around me. My views, you see… Aren’t exactly within “normal” parameters. And people either don’t get my jokes or maybe I’m not as amusing as I think I am.

But over the two days leading up to the little get together… I heard nothing from Beaverhausen. All I knew was the general location within an 4 mile stretch of road known as Battleground Avenue.

Friday afternoon, I was getting the sneaking suspicion that I was developing an eye infection. I won’t go into the details, but I couldn’t wait to get to my contact lenses out and call it a day.

I met some friends at Natty Greene’s for a few drinks simply because I haven’t seen them in a long time. I hung out for a couple of hours and went home. On the way, I got a text message from Beaverhausen asking if I were on my way. I called her up and asked just where they were… She handed the phone to someone else. He gave me the address and I was only a mile or so away. The phone was handed to Beaverhausen again and she asked, “Can you pick up something at the liquor store for me? I didn’t have time to pick anything up.”

Sure… I can deal with simple requests. But I was a little irritated that the liquor store was a few miles in the opposite direction. Being the kind of guy that I am, I said that I would do it. Then she started talking like an auctioneer with a grocery list of items that I had never heard of. I said, “Hold on. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m going to have to write this stuff down.”

So when I got to the booze shop I called her back up to go over the items again. She was telling me about things like “pucker” and tequila. Two things that I know nothing about. I didn’t know what “pucker” was and to top it off… Beaverhausen was giving me the metric sizes of the stuff! I don’t know nothing ‘bout no metric system, Miss Scarlet. So being the metric-moron that I am (and I don’t know anything about kilobytes, gigs, and computer crap either)… I asked for measurements using pints, fifths, and gallons. You tell me 1.75 liters and I’m scratching my head to get rid of the confusion itch. But the itch immediately starting turning into a rash and Beaverhausen was starting to sense that. She said that they’d call the hooch house and have them gather the items to leave at the counter for me. She’d call me back to let me know when it had been done.

After about 5 minutes, I called her back. She still hadn’t called them so I decided to go ahead on my own.

I found the “pucker” crap near the front of the store and then ventured around for the tequila. I never drink the stuff (I detest it) and had no idea what I was looking for… I only had the name and size… 1.75 liters of something called “1800”. After looking around the parts of the store that I had never ventured through, I found the tequila section. I found the “1800” on the top shelf, checked the label for metric size, checked the price tag underneath the bottles, and nearly dropped a kilo in my pants! That “1800” sh*t was FIFTY BONES!

No way I was picking that up, so I started looking on the bottom shelves for Senior Vladimir who resides in my price range. He apparently doesn’t venture outside of Russia. So I sent a text message back to Beaverhausen as I searched and priced Smirnoff Red Label vodka. She wanted the 1.75 liter size which translates to the gallon size for me. For what they wanted, I was looking at spending $80 on something that I had no intentions of ingesting. The message I was sending out was “Who is paying for all this?”

I felt like I was being set up and footing the bill. I was unsure and I didn’t like it. The reply I got was a simple “?”.

With my eye bothering me, the unsure feeling of going into an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, and possibly getting stuck with purchasing $80 of liquor without repayment… I sent a message to Beaverhausen saying, “I am out. Goodnight.” I put the “pucker” back in it’s place, left the store, and pointed Roxy to the way home.

I didn’t answer her calls and I didn’t answer her text messages. I felt a little angry and didn’t want to talk. Because when I’m angry, I tend to say hurtful things that I don’t mean. The Scorpio in me really comes to the forefront when I’m angry. I can be extremely precise with a furious scalpel and get to your weak points very quickly. And over the years, I’ve learned to control it by shutting down and no longer expressing myself or emotions. I will walk away and allow myself some time to calm down. And it’s best to let me do that.

Then I got a message from Beaverhausen that I had to respond to… She asked what grade I was in and told me that I was acting like a child. To which I responded with “You send Opie to do Otis Campbell’s shopping. I didn’t know what I was looking for and I didn’t like the price tags. If it was that important to have all those items, you should have made time to get them yourself. G’nite.”

And that was pretty much the end of my evening. You tell me this by leaving a comment… Was I wrong?