It was so nice to have my Ricky and my Spliff back here where they belong, but the weekend went by too fast.

We did get to spend the better part of Saturday morning with our little pseudo-Keanu singing at the top of his lungs at the VI over bacon and coffee. He even had fans, although none of them were at our table. And even though we weren’t thrilled about it, it was better than what happened when we got home at 4am.

When C and I walked up to my apartment, being the first to arrive, we noticed a loud beeping, much resembling a smoke alarm. It continued as I searched my apartment for the source of the toast smell, knowing that the smoke detector was not coming from my place but being concerned either way. After a few minutes, I was upstairs banging on the neighbor’s door, talking to a 911 dispatcher and feeling the doorknob for any indication of fire. There was none. But the firemen came anyway, as did the police, the apartment manager, and the maintenance guy. By the time it was all over, a door had been broken down, windows had been opened, and a skinny, fully-clothed heroin chic looking girl had emerged (but not without the assistance of the fireman) from the apartment. Turns out, she had been cooking something and “fell asleep”. Personally, I don’t know how one sleeps through at least an hour of beeping and a door being banged in without having been just a little…fucked up. But you know…maybe that’s just me.

Despite the plethora of people we could have done without running into, we had a good time. Even the Rasta was fairly well-behaved. I decided to just buck up and stop being apprehensive about running into him, after all, it is impossible not to. It is just a sad reality that he is the way that he is, because his potential is obvious. To me, anyway. I did, however, like it better when he was content playing the role of Prince Charming, short-lived as it was.
Now that all of the excitement is over, I can go back to the utterly mundane.