My Drunk Date, and Von's Blind Date!

So I asked a fellow reader of my blog, which post would they rather read...a post about married guy or a post about my crazy night this weekend with Von, Pickle, and another guy...and he picked this post, so thank him. Anyway I am trying to stay more current with what's going on in my life. I realize I haven't talked about Von or Pickle in a while, but they are very much still in the picture. I have a lot of stories to tell about them, especially Von. Let me know if you want to hear those stories. If not I will just stay with, what happens to me from now on, week to week.


It may start off slow, but gets good. Anyway this I can tell is going to be a long one, if you don't like that, kiss my black ashy tail, and move on to another blog...okay Butterfly...I don't know how to tell a story without the details!!!!

I came in from out of town, Sunday night, after visiting family for Labor Day weekend. No need to be in Labor Day traffic on Monday, I actually like sleeping in all day on those Monday holidays, no need being on the road. As I get myself settled, and change in to something more comfortable, if you will, and lay across my bad. As soon as I hit that comfy spot, where you lay like a vegetable, and not want to move an inch; I hear my cell phone vibrate on my night stand. I reached over and pick it up. It was an unfamiliar number, but I answer it anyway. On the other end a female's voice response with a, "Hello, Y?...it's me Trina!" At first I think to myself... Who is Trina? Then she says a very familiar name that brings it all back to me, "...You know Von's friend." Then suddenly I remember who this girl is.

Last week, I'm at the hospital, visiting a family member, my second cousin. Nothing to serious, but serious enough they want to keep them for a week. Well, I was visiting them one night, when I kept getting these calls, from this same unknown number. Well, in certain parts of the hospital, the phone calls would fail. However by the time I get to his room, all calls are okay. After a few minutes of catching up with the family member, I return the phone calls. This girl explains to me that she is a friend of Von's and he was trying to do three-way, with me on the phone. However I didn't answer, so if I call her number back, for me to call him. Von does the stupidest shit in my eyes, I tell you. Well, through a series of events I end up talking to her for a few minutes, while trying to get Von on the phone, because I have a problem calling his phone. He can call me, but a lot of the time, when I call him, I get a "All circuit lines are busy, please try your call later" message. She can get him on the phone easy, however. Anyway at the hospital, I finally talk to him, and the first thing out his mouth it the same thing always first out of his mouth, "Yo son, where you at?" It racks my nerves every time he says it. I respond the same way every time... "Minding my own business...where are you?" Knowing full well where he is at...at home doing nothing. He tells me his line, that he THINKS makes me weak at the knees... "Yo son, I want to chill tonight with you." Yep doesn't that just makes you libido roar, with desire? This is Von language, for "I want to get freaky with you!" No matter how much I trick him and act like I have not a clue what this means, I can never get him to say literally what he wants to do, which is have sex. The most I have ever gotten, was a few weeks ago, "Let's do what WE do, and there is no need for your draws." Anyway, nothing happen that night. By the time I got to his house, after leaving the hospital, he had fallen asleep from two wine coolers. We actually haven't gotten down sexually in a while. Every time he is in the mood, I'm not. Every time I am in the mood, he's not. When we both are, he falls asleep, and nobody can wake him up.

Anyway back to my main story, this is the Trina from a week ago. After a little chit chat, I ask her, what's going on...why is she calling me. The next thing out of her mouth stuns the hell out of me. "Uh Y, can you come over to my house and pick me up?...and take me to Von's house?" I was so shocked that this Bitty, that I have never know and has spoke to all of a few minutes a few times on the phone, is asking me to become a taxi service. I had to ask her to repeat her question, just so I got it right. She repeated the same thing. In my mind my thoughts was roaming...this girl has a lot of nerves asking me such a request...she don't know me...why doesn't she ask one of her simple head friends to take her...then it hits me. I asked her, "Whose idea was it for you to call me?" She gets all what do you mean, and all flustered and whatnot. I press harder, I know who put her up to this foolishness. She only gives me, that all her friends and family was busy, so I came to mind....me a person she spoke to for literally, a hot two minutes in her life. I tell her I need to call her back. I call up the source for this nonsense...Von. He tells me the same nonsense, but I know he is lying. I know he put her up to calling me. He finally ask me, "So are you going to do it?" I just hang up. However I think about it for about several minutes. I mean as crazy as it sounds, I really ponder going over there to pick her up. I mean there isn't anything on television. Shark Tank is replaced with the Jerry Lewis Telethon...Hung, Entourage, and my other HBO love True Blood is on a weekend break because of the holiday...why not go? I call Trina up, and tell her my decision. I then call Von up and tell him, some reality. I tell him, "I going to pick Trina up and bring her to your house...However Von, when I pick her up, we are through. Don't ever call me again with a 'let's chill' or 'I need to see you tonight' Once I pick this girl up for you, we are through." He acts so confused by this statement and keeps asking me what do I mean. I explain it further, that I have done some pretty stupid things when it comes to him, and he has pulled me into some stupid situations. This is just one episode of the Von Nonsense show. He finally says in his most little boy hurt voice, "You mean we can't even be friends anymore?" Here is the thing I think Von really thinks we are friends. I mean I think most of the time he puts the sexual stuff we do out of his mind. At times, to him, it never happens in his mind. To me however, I really don't consider him a friend. Perhaps an acquaintance, that's relationship was originally based on sex. However not friends. I simply respond though, "I don't even know if we can be friends."

I get dressed and hit the road to Trina's house. She lives about 35 minutes away. Von lives about 25 minutes away and Trina lives about a little less than 10 minutes on the other side of Von. Trina calls me about 10 minutes after I leave my house. As I am getting the directions to her place, I see a man on the side of the road. As my car approaches him I can very well notice, that he is walking unsteadily and almost in a wobble. Right as I am about to pass him, I see him fall to the ground out of site. I pass him and in my rearview mirror, I don't see him getting up. I tell Trina I have to call her back. I make a U-turn and I go back to see where he fell, and I still don't see anything. I pull into a business parking lot by the area where he fell. Although this is a busy road in the daytime, tonight this seem to be a very quite night. I get out of my car and like a white person in the movies I go to investigate, what happen. I quickly stumble upon this man very unsuccessfully trying to get out of this ditch. It wasn't exactly a hole but deeper than your average ditch. He is trying to walk up, and keeps falling back. I reach out my hand and he looks at me. He grabs my hand and I pull him up. I ask him if he is okay, and he mutters something with his head down. The alcohol however hits me like a brick. This fool is drunk on the side on the road, at what now is like about 11:30 at night. I ask him if he is all right. He then starts muttering to me again, except now I can understand that it's Spanish, he is muttering. He's Mexican, from what I can tell. Not trying to be racist or anything, but I can tell he was Mexican...not Puerto Rican, not Dominican, nothing but good ole' south of the border Mexico Hispanic. I let him walk, and he is doing this heavy swaying back and forth walking, and steadily stumbling around. I think to myself, I can't let this fool continue to walk around out here like this. He was close to the road, when he fell. What if he fell the opposite direction?...I could have hit him. At this point, I'm not sure what exactly what I was going to do with him. My thoughts were to find out where he lives and take him to his house. I figure I could find someone who spoke Spanish, to ask him.

I guide him to my truck. When we get to my SUV, I notice all this dirt on the back of his wife beater. I assume it happen from when he fell. I brush it off and open the passenger side door. I help him up into the vehicle, however we are unsuccessful. Even though I have siderail, his drunk ass can't manage to get up into the car. On one last attempt, he is on the siderail, and I push his hip with my hand, when I feel something gooey on my hands. I panic and look at my hand, to see what's on it and accidentally let him fall to the ground. he yells something in Spanish, when he hit the ground. I look at my hands, and freak out. I instantly think I have this man's blood on my hands. It's almost grainy, so I figure its blood and rocks mixed from when he fell into the ditch. I rush to the back of my truck for a roll of paper towels I keep back there. I soon discover it's not blood, but mud and gravel. I go back to the short Mexican man...he's about 5'2 or 5'3...and he has this gravel mud all over his shorts, legs, and shoes. I think to myself I can't let this man up into my car like this. He's a mess. I stand there and think, he just looks at me without saying a word, the whole time I am thinking. I make a brash decision, and decide to take his shorts off. I take off his buddy shoes and socks, unbuckle his belt and slid his shorts off. The whole time he says nothing he just looks down at me. I put his muddy stuff in a plastic grocery bag from my trunk, and I help him back into the SUV. I get back into the drivers seat, and he is just sitting there in his bikini hip briefs and wife beater. Here is the thing, why is it most Hispanic men, where those bikini like hip briefs?...You know the kind you saw white men wearing in movies in the 80s. I use to work in the men's department at a department store and they were the biggest consumer of these types of underwear.
I once again ask him where does he live. Not mumbling anymore, he speaks loud and clear in Spanish. I think to myself, maybe it's in his wallet. I reach into the plastic bag, and find his wallet in the pocket. No ID and nothing with an address, however Jose over here, had a bunch of 20s up in that wallet. I drive off, and I decide to call one man, who might be able to help me, and happens to live about a few minutes away from where we are at.

As I am driving I call a familiar number from my contacts, and the phone rings and rings. Hoping that not only does he pick up, that he is in town, because he is always out of town on the weekends. Just when I am about to give up, I hear that voice I was hoping for, say, "What's up man?...what's good with?!" Happiest I think I have ever been to hear Pickle's voice I cut to the chase. Now I haven't talked about Pickle much since the,Call of the Booty post, but we have become quite regular hook up buddies. I ask him if he is home and busy. He tells me that he has a "friend" over and about to go to bed. I tell him that I need a favor. That I need to borrow an old pair of pants. He laughs and without asking me any further questions, except what size and to stop by. I question him about not asking me, why I need to borrow his pants. He simply reply's "Haven't we all been in a situation, where we need to borrow someone's pants late at night?" I think to myself, not me! I explain the situation to him, and once again he asks like its all in a day. I tell him, I will be there in a couple minutes. I pull up to the curb of Pickle's house, park behind his car, a couple houses down. He has a driveway in the back, but he doesn't like to use it. I get out of the car, and leave the Mexican there. I walk down the sidewalk to his house. I call him and tell him I'm outside. I see movement in the house. A minute feels like forever. As I am waiting I look back at my car, and notice the passenger door is open. I run back to my car and the Mexican is behind the wheel...turning the wheel, with his foot on the gas, making "Room Room" noise with his mouth. Thank God I have the habit of always taking the key out the ignition, where ever I go. This fool might have tried to take off with my car. I say 'No!" and open the door for him to get out the driver seat. He shakes his long curly hair head back and forth, and continues to make car noise. I yell to him, "I'm going to take you to Su Casa!" During this whole process I have been trying to use any Spanish I could recall from my one year of taking it in high school. I guess it's just human nature to think the louder you speak the more likely they will understand you. Like hearing is the problem, and not language. After a minute he jumps and crawls back into passenger seat. I shut the door and run back to Pickle's front door.

A minute later he walks out with a cigarette in his mouth. I once again explain the whole situation to him, and tell him, what the Mexican just tried to do. Pickle just casually puffs on his cigarette, and blows. He points the direction of my car, and ask, is that him. I look to where he is pointing and the Mexican is walking down the street towards us in just his draws now. Now Pickle house is on a street that is much busier and lighted. So you see everything in view. The Mexican goes off on us in Spanish. Pickle just casually looks at him, and blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. He hands me the pants. I try to help the Mexican put them on, but it seems to be going not as easy as taking them off was. He puts his hands over his crotch, and just says, "Nooooo!" Not sure what he thinks is going on, I just hand them to him. He then proceed to put the waist of the pants over his hand and run around me and Pickle, like a 3 year older. Pickle still all nonchalant, casually puffs and blows smoke out of the side of his mouth, but says to me, "What kinda mess did you bring to my house?" I ask him since he is a teacher, does he speak Spanish, and he tell me no. As he grabs the pants off of the Mexican, he tells me, this is how you speak Spanish. He snaps at the Mexican, and yells "Put these on right!" Oddly enough the Mexican realizes that he must put the garment on, but he still put it over his head. This time though he tries to put his arms through the legs of the pants. I yell out "Blaco!...Blaco!" Pickle asks me does that mean pants, I respond either that or shirt, or the color white. I couldn't remember. He looks at the Mexican, then says, "Well that could be why he keeps trying to put the on over his head like a shirt." The Mexican finally gives up and throws the pants on the ground and storms off. Pickle casually says, "Let him go, good riddance...you want something to drink?"

Just standing there I look at the Mexican walk down the street and cars honk at him. I tell Pickle can't just let him go, I have his clothes and wallet in my car. He tells me well give them to him, and let him go. I tell Pickle I better call the Police. He ask me "Why?...what did the Mexican do to me?" I look at him and point to the Mexican who is in his bikini briefs, who is in the street hitting cars at the stop light, and explain I can't just let him walk around like that. I jump on my cell phone and call 911. I go back to my car and take off after him. He is way down the street from Pickles house now. As I am on the phone, I pull up to the Mexican, and he gets in. The operator, says the police is on its way. The Mexican is swaying back and forth in my car, and has that look on his face. Just talking out loudly I tell him, he better not vomit in my car. Not really expecting a respond back or him to understand. However he says "Okay." I nearly get whip flash from doing a double take. I say, "You speak Engless?" He responds "Si, take me home" I can't believe that he has been able to understand English this whole time. I ask him how do I get here. He makes a block chop move with his arms forward. Then says a street name. Right then the police show up, where I told the operator for us to meet, near Pickle's house. I explain the whole situation to the Police. He jumps out the car, and starts speaking his drunk Spanish to the police. I hand them him the bag with his clothes, shoes, and wallet, and tell them what he finally told me. They ask me how did I find his clothes. See this is perhaps where I might be totally in the wrong. At this point I am really ready to be done with this situation. I may have led the Police to think he was already naked when I found him walking drunk. I told them that his clothes were near by were I found him, and they excepted that, and commended me for my civilian duties and let me go. I left him there.

As I drove off I noticed several missed calls, and it hits me among all this chaos I was supposed to pick up Trina. As I get back on the road heading towards her house. Pickle calls me to tell me about all the drama I brought to his street. When I left The Mexican there was two police cars there. Pickle informs me, that now there is 7 or 8 cars there. I ask for what reason, he is just one drunk naked man. He tells me they are all standing around laughing at the Mexican. I tell Pickle with all the crime in the city, this is the best way they can see to use their time? He tells me that they have gotten the clothes back on the Mexican. However now they have him cuffed and on the ground. Every time he gives me an update, I feel worse about the situation. Thinking to myself did I make the situation worse or better for him by intervening and picking him up.