i have to premise this by saying that i started writing this the thursday following what had initially transpired...
if there was ever a reason for me to bitch it would’ve been last night after having had my day of deliverance with the columbia police department. so this particular night i was highly irritated and determined to conduct the necessary research to find the answers i was looking for. after numerous conversations with a handful of people i still hadn’t come to any meaningful or definitive conclusions. subsequently, i decided to quit beating around the bush and looking for answers in places that i had initially suspected i would never find, and was headed straight to the source when the red and blue lights started flashing in my rearview mirror. fuckmotherfuckerfuckshit. apparently i was swerving…NO FUCKING SHIT. i was attempting to multitask...something i have previously admitted at never having had success with when it comes to the dimwitted chores of life. accordingly, beer coupled with driving and texting for an individual who lacks the necessary skills to be a successful multitasker, in almost all circumstances results in failure. i mean for shit sake…i can’t even walk up my stairs stone cold sober without tripping all over myself.
oh and p.s. yes, i do understand that driving while having been drinking is never a good idea either.
however, i have to say that i wasn’t even near drunk. and, yes, plenty of people have seen me at my absolute worst. in fact, plenty of people have seen me before my absolute worst has transpired and while it’s not always a pretty sight (well...indeed more often than not it's hell-a ugly), i am in fact capable of standing up straight and walking in a straight line. so after having explained to the officer that i was attempting to text and drive at the same time…which clearly was not safe, he asked me for my information. as i handed over the appropriate documents to the officer while simultaneously trying NOT to shit my pants, i began to think that this was certainly the end of the line for me – that my luck had finally run out and gotdamnsonuvabitchwhore…i had barely crossed the line of not buzzed and just being slightly so. i was going to get my ass hauled off to jail over seven beers in three or four hours…? fuck that shit. so when the officer finally returned to my car and asked me to get out of my car, i was not only thinking, i’m seriously a fucking block from my destination (i guess that fact is true), but that my luck while clearly having run out did not mean that i was NOT capable of passing a field sobriety test.
the one thing i can say for sure is, i know myself and i know my limitations...i know when i’m shit-faced drunk and should call a cab (not that i always do. hey. i’m just being honest…i shouldn’t be admonished for being truthful), but i’m also pretty aware of when i can stand up straight and put on my sober face and follow instructions versus refusing any test and losing my license. and so, i did what i had to…i pulled out my .45 and capped that cop in the knee and sped off. just kidding! seriously. i’m kidding…i’m not completely delusional. i did what the officer asked me, test after test after test. there was the whole wagging of his finger in my face and follow it in this direction and that direction. so after having successfully passed that test, although, he clearly wasn’t convinced because (he had not only called for back up by that time), but also decided i needed to walk toe-to-heel in a straight line while counting aloud.
can i just say that these field sobriety tests are a bunch of fucking bullshit? i mean…what if you just had a bad knee or one leg was shorter than the other? my point is…is that justification for wasting my tax dollars? granted i don’t have a bad knee and both of my legs are the same length…but asking a person to walk in a straight line with their arms at their sides who is nervous as fuck and trying not to shit their pants and shaking uncontrollably (and who by the way can’t walk straight while sober), just doesn’t seem exactly fair.
oh well for life being unfair. oh well for having had too much to drink while driving and texting…fuck me. i deserve this fate. and, believe me i’m used to having my head shit on by life so i say, bring it on you little piglet! good thing you called for back-up cause clearly you should be threatened by all of my five foot three stature you pussy! and then i did the unbelievable (even by my own standards), and passed the pussy cop’s field sobriety test. but alas, he still wasn’t convinced. gotdamnit…doesn’t that just fucking figure? (oh and i should also mention that this was one of those rare times in which i wasn’t wearing heels – PRAISE JESUS! nonetheless, i elected to take off my flip-flops because not having the ability to walk straight in every other given sober circumstance in my life, i did not want to give the officer or his friendly back-up pig even the most insignificant reason to put me in shackles and haul me off to the slammer).
consequentially, i was then required to stand on one leg (of my choosing…well…isn’t that just nice), while holding my other foot in front of me with my toes pointed and counting in the one-one-thousand fashion until i was told to stop. seriously? i mean fucking seriously?! who in their half-witted mind seriously came up with these sobriety tests? fine. i’ll stand on one foot and count like a mindless and dumbass freak. i can’t WAIT to hear what the next test is. geezusjiminycricket. guess what?! i win. they lose. the pig and his sidekick lose! good thing for my runner’s legs! so after suffering through some asinine lecture about how many drinks per hour that a person of my size should be allowed (when i should be thanking my lucky stars), i'm annoyed and bothered by this whole inconvenience and can only think about punching one particular person in the face and where my next beer will be coming from.
so after being sent on my way with the instructions of not driving again that night at the risk of being arrested, i drove my one block to my destination and parked my car for the evening as instructed by mr. high & mighty - one of columbia's finest officers. yeah. yeah. yeah. bite me. i'm not trying to brag about being an alcoholic (because i'm not), and this certainly is not a cry for help...it's me simply trying to make a point that seven beers in three or four hours (i don't care how tall i am or how much i weigh), is not a big deal for myself. so i'm a lush. and p.s. you're only an alcoholic if you go to AA.
yeah! put that in your pipe and smoke it!
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