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Tuesday, June 13, 2006 

Envy: I want that truck

Can you seriously believe that Sinner gave me, trouble, the keys to this place? I know he expected that I would talk nonstop about sluttiness, boobs, and partial nudity the entire time. I'm not right. I have no problem doing quite a few thing that decent polite people avoid like the plague.

For instance, I talk to crazy people. It drives the chef nuts. He worries about my safety, but I'm almost never worried.

I suppose that inside my head, crazy is kind of a spectrum. I know I'm not on the right end of the spectrum, so I tend to be rather non-judgemental about other people's mental health issues. As the chef always says, "everybody got their somethin'."

On Sunday, the chef and I were in a convenience store in the hood (where the chef and the rest of the other half lives) and I, of course, wine connoisseur that I am, had to comment on their broad selection of cheap wine, including Boone's Farm and Wild Irish Rose. I hadn't seen those brands in years, since I was a college girl, during which period of time I used to drink every single brand represented in front of the counter. The chef clearly wasn't into the conversation, but I felt it warranted further discussion, so instead, I struck up a conversation with a freaky black chick in a leopard print mumu who was in line behind us. We talked for a little while about the weather, Boone's Farm, and the approaching hurricane. It was a pleasant, innocuous discussion with a stranger.

The chef glared at me out of the corner of his eye the entire time I was talking to her. When we got outside, he said, "Why do you always have to talk to the homeless crackheads? It's not safe."

"She's not homeless," I said, "She has a nice truck," and I pointed to a new, white crew-cab F-150 pickup that had been left running next to the door.

He said, "How do you know that's her truck?"

"The leopard seat and steering wheel covers match her mumu. Oh, and the pink hubcaps, seem to fit her, too."

He replied, "Oh. I guess when she pulled a wad of cash out from under her titty to pay for her drink, it threw me off."

Hey, nothing says class like keeping your assets under your assets.

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