Zach Nie and Jon Mace dropped by last night, and we hit Conor O'Neill's (far and away the best bar in Ann Arbor) for a few pints. We were joined by the lovely Sarah Kline, Zach's beloved (yes, they love the song "Zak and Sara"). Much fun was had by all. Jon came up with the perfect title for Zach's new Newsletter column, which means it's fucking awful and completely inappropriate. Hmmm, Guinness, the only beer for me. That's not the point, though. After Zach and Sarah split (back to Lansing), Jon and I went to get Slurpees. Of course, this entails driving all the way to B.F.E. (you know, Ypsi) because Ann Arbor is full of bleeding-heart liberals who won't allow twenty-four hour convenience stores within the city limits because they attract the wrong crowd (God, I hate the hyprocrisy of this fucking city). Don't worry about me driving after two Guinnesses; I'd nursed them both over the course of the evening, and I am, as near as we can tell, invulnerable to libations. So, we drive all the way out to the 7-Eleven, and they are out of Coke Slurpees. The machine was recharging. Damn it! I settled for orange; Jon got a blue/vanilla mix. We approach to counter to pay (my treat), and find a woman buying two 40s with nothing but change. She's counting it out slowly and incompetently. She counts out $2.47 in dimes, nickels, and pennies, even though the display clearly show her total as $4.47. The clerk tells her she is two dollars short; the woman pulls out a wad of bills. She has bills?! That bitch. So, she hands the clerk $2.00 and then demands a paper bag. Paper bag in hand, she says, "Go ahead, gentlemen." I step around her and set our Slurpees down on the counter. I pay the clerk.

As I'm getting my change, the woman asks me, "So, how are you doing this evening?" I tell her the truth.

"Actually, I'm a little bit gassy." The clerk almost burst out laughing, visibly restraining herself; the woman acts as if I've said the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, that's you business. Have you ever been to Deja Vu?" Have I ever been to Deja Vu (a chain of strip clubs)?! Why in the hell would she ask me that? Old drunks don't go around asking college kids if they've ever been to Deja Vu, do they? At this point, things took a decided turn for the bizarre. (And see, here I thought I'd thrown her a curve with the gassy bit.)

"No, actually I'm a bit prudish." And I am; hey, if you'd grown up with my mom, you would be, too.

"Well, where are you guys headed." I look over at Jon. He's stiffling a laugh; no help there.

"We're just going to drive around a little bit."

"Looking for trouble?"

"I'f we can find any." Why in the hell did I say that? I stay in most Saturday nights. The last thing I want is trouble. I guess I thought I was still in control. Yeah, I'm an idiot like that.

"Where're you from?" By this point, I've got my change, I've put my wallet away, and I've started for the door. Bear in mind that I'm from Grand Blanc, Michigan. I've lived there my whole life (except for college).

"Originally? I'm from Texas."

"Yeah, where?"

"Houston." I'm walking toward the Mousemobile, keys in hand. Jon's heading for the passanger door, eyes aimed straight ahead.

"Hey, where're you going? Can you do a girl a favor?" A girl? Lady, you're forty-five if you're a day. I unlock my door. "Can you do a girl a favor?" I get into the car and reach over to unlock Jon's door. The Mousemobile is an '86 Chevy Celebrity; powerlocks would fit in as well as a flux capacitor.

She knocks on my window. SHE KNOCKS ON MY WINDOW! "Hey."

I start the car and pull away as quickly as I can. As soon as we hit the road, Jon and I burst into uproarious laughter. "What the fuck was that?"

"Dude, the clerk almost lost it when you said you were gassy."

We laughed all the way back to my house, where Jon crashed on the couch. It was hilarious, the prefect way to cap off the night. Zach would have loved to have been there. We just kept reciting the whole scene over and over again and laughing until we cried. I had buckets full of fun last night, all of it spontaneous. Aw, man, good times, good times....

Of course, when the woman knocked on the window, a scenario flashed through my mind: We let her into the back seat and gave her a ride and as I drove, she slit my throat.