Homeward Bound, I Wish I Was

I had pizza and a few beers with a couple of co-workers last night, then headed home at midnight. Got on one of the last share-taxis and this drunk 50-ish woman got on at the same time; she was completely drunk.

The taxi stopped suddenly and her overweight drunk ass flopped on the floor of the share-taxi like a dead moose.

I wasn't sure if I should offer to help; she eventually managed to get back into her seat.

I arrived at my bus stop and started the five minute walk back to my house; I heard hysterical bloodcurdling screams even from a block away.

Carefully heading down the street, I soon saw the cause of the screaming, a drunk young man in an orange hooded sweatshirt lying flopping on the ground screaming hysterically -- "Olya! Olya!" (That's a woman's name, by the way.) I carefully made my way around him as he got drunkenly to his feet and got his mobile out and dialed and began screaming into it -- "Olya! Please! Please! Talk to me!"

It reminded me a little of that scene from THE BASKETBALL DIARIES movie where Leonardo DiCapprio is screaming outside his mother's door.

Got safely home and watched a bootleg DVD of the movie KNOCKED UP -- my experiences with accidentally impregnated girlfriends of co-workers kind of prevented me from enjoying it fully.

Then I slept surprisingly well, and had a very interesting dream that I was part of a group of super-heroes -- fancifully named the "Super Secret Squadron Bureau" or somesuch -- living in the Colombian jungle in a cool bungalow complex, where I was literally swinging from the rafters while laughing hysterically.

Woke up feeling really good. . .