The last time I posted something here everything was going fine. But, well, shit happens. Last fall I had written about the latest one of my too many erroneous, short-term relationships. Now, I’m the type of person who will not check voice mails from someone who keeps calling me every five minutes and doesn’t care if I’m too busy to answer their call, unless it’s my parents, my next door neighbor or Donna Summers (but that won’t happen anymore). I assumed she was just being mildly nuts and not TMZ nuts, so in hindsight I should have checked my voice mail, thus defusing an inflammatory situation and saving myself a lot of grief (and money).
Wendy (crazy broad) trashed my car as I was having a few beers at Cary’s Lounge. A guy had stuck his head in the door and asked who drives a white Honda with Bears bumper sticker. At the time there were only a few patrons in there and most of them looked like a judge had taken away their driving privileges, so I assumed it was mine. Yada, yada, Wendy was keying my car because a friend of hers had recently seen me out with another woman and both of us were wearing wedding rings. I called Five-O from the safety of the bar and she’s arrested. So, she stood there (while handcuffed) calling me mother fucker this, mother fucker that, making sure that everyone within two blocks knew that I was a cheating husband and a dirt bag, but I’ve been around enough handcuffs to know to keep my mouth shut and not fuel the flames, so I just stood there and gave the cops the info they needed.
A few nights before that I was out with Allison. We had been wearing the rings because she wanted to throw some goofball she works with off her scent. Her company had an outing of sorts on the Odyssey and I joined her as her “husband”. Wendy’s friend (whom I’ve never met), also a consultant at company X, recognized me from some photo’s Wendy had posted on her Facebook page. Wendy’s friend then sneaks a pic of me and the Mrs. on her cell phone, texts it to Wendy, who is in out-of-town and who immediately starts wearing out my blackberry.
Luckily, I had several days of PTO, so I booked a place in Puerto Viejo. I’d been there a few times, usually only for four, maybe five days at a time, but this would be for two weeks. I calculated this would be enough time for the courts to do their thing, plus who wouldn’t want to spend two weeks in Puerto Viejo? Unfortunately, I thought it might be a good idea to invite Marty (bad idea). Marty, in turn, thought it would do Jerry some good to get out of town for a few days, so he told him (but not me) to come on down after we’d been there a few days. Jerry shows up, tries to buy some “party favors”, but gets into argument with the seller. An argument bad enough that some fat ass cop intervenes. Marty gets busted, my rental is searched since he’s staying with me and the cops find more “party favors”. So, you know what happens next. The cops bust me as I’m semi-conscience on the beach. So, now I have to call someone to call someone, who can refer me to someone in Costa Rica, yada, yada. Fast forward ten weeks and mucho colones, and I’m finally on a plane to San Jose after paying some hefty fines, greasing a few wheels and with instructions not to come back for two years. In the meantime, since I was already on my employer’s shit list, I was canned due a morality clause in my contract.
Oh yeah, before I forget, I do have to send a shout out to my parents who flew down to lend a hand. That’s if “to lend a hand” is defined by deep sea fishing and horseback rides. I can’t wait to lend them a hand when it comes to choosing a nursing home.
The Wrap Up: Restraining Order against Wendy (who has since moved to NYC), Jerry is wrapping up his sausage fest in eight months, and I have a shit job while I look a career opportunity.