A roadtrip, Vinny, and Turkey Sandwiches.

I talked to my buddy Reno for the first time in probably three years the other day. He saw pictures of my head following my recent surgery and decided it would be a good time to call and check in. We conversed for several minutes and ended on the conclusion that I need to make a road trip to Boston. I'm half tempted to go up in the spring and see a baseball game in Fenway Park. Ross wants to go. The last time Ross and Reno were together was the first and only time they ever met. It was a few years ago when I got some random urge on some random Saturday morning to go visit Reno and some of my other old friends from my freshman year at Hofstra. So, before I left I grabbed my phone, ran down the entire phonebook and thought, "Who would be most likely to go to New York with me and go if I called them and said were leaving in ten minutes, I decdided on Ross. So after about 5 hours and after taking the greatest piss of our lives and also killing a pigeon, Ross and I finally got to the campus. Next thing I know, I'm sleeping in my car with a boatload of Whitecastle and Ross and Reno are almost getting arrested. Stilling is still pissed he didn't get the last minute invite for that roadtrip. Needless to say, the next one should be equally entertaining.

I just read Damon's blog a few minutes ago and he said I have no charm. Fuck him. I define charm.

A few hours ago, I got the great joy of going to my alcohol treatment class. Now, if you know me or have read any of my blogs, you may have noticed that I'm not a big fan of alcohol treatment, at least in my life,yet. I'm there because people with power say I have to go there and I have to listen to those in power. Nevertheless, the only thing I really think it's good for is making new drinking buddies. I've seen probably 80% of this class, drunk off their asses in bars in Towson. However, every week were all sitting in a circle again, talking about how much better we feel and how much more productive we are since we have quit drinking. It's basically an endless revolving circle of lies. Tonight, we talked about "defense mechanism's." We went into numerous different defense mechanisms that someone may use to cover up their alcoholism, basically it was a way to spend an hour of your life listening to a load of bullshit. Although, I was disappointed to find out at the end of the class, that Shiloh was finished his time. Now, Shiloh is a guy in my group who wears makeup, has black fingernails, hair that goes down to his waist with a few blue strands, and always wears a purple fur coat. I don't think he wears this fur coat to support the Ravens. He often tops off his unusual dress by wearing some sort of childish police hat. However, he is an awesome guy and entertaining as well. I actually spent two weekends with him in the Baltimore County Detention Center. Anyways, thats it for alcohol group.

On the way to alcohol group, I was sitting at the red light at Warren Road and Beaver Damn road. Several years ago, I was sitting at this red light, driving my father's 1982 Chevy pickup truck, that had over 200,000 miles on it. It was around 3:00 p.m., traffic was fairly steady, and all of the sudden I notice the check engine light come on. No sooner does that come on than the engine stops. Townsend, who is in passenger seat, snaps a look of concern my way. The truck had finally bit the bullet. It was done. There was no faint little kick of a battery running, and now the light was turning green. Horns are honking, profanities are flying at a loud rate, fingers are being flipped and quite simply there is nothing in my power that I can do. To make things worse, neither Townsend nor I had an actual license at the time, they had both been suspended for various reasons. Than from behind the midst of the long line of angry drivers, comes a hero. A hero by the name of Vinny. Vinny, drives his truck over the curb along Warren Road, and eventually pulls in front of me. He introduced himself and started with some awful joke about helping out a fellow truck driver. As we would soon find out, Vinny was kind of like Steve Buscemi. A short, funny looking, Italian guy who you probably wouldn't want to introduce to your mother. Except Vinny was also on crack. Anyways, Vinny has a large chain on his truck and ends up towing us to the gas station right down the road at Warren and York. He tried a bunch of different remedies that not even a fourth rate mechanic would try and tell you to get the truck to start, but all efforts fell short. He parted ways with us, but if it weren't for him I probably would have ended up being arrested, so I'm glad he came, plus I wouldn't be writing write now either.
With Vinny gone and the truck now in a parking spot, one issue remained. Townsend and I, were stuck in Hunt Valley without a method of transportation, besides our feet. Now, besides neither of us having a license in our possession, we also didn't possess as cell phone or a single dollar to our name. So we dug around my dad's truck and managed to scrape up $1.50. The first person I called was my father, no answer, and it went to voice mail so we were down fifty cents. Next, we called Corey, he picked up but was in Washington D.C. This did not help us, we were down to our final fifty cents. We decided to call Mike Fick constantly hanging up on the third ring, until he picks up. After about 6 times he finally does but says he has to do something but he does offer us a solution. His mother is about to get off work, she works on Beaver Damn road and she will pick us up. Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Fick is pulling into the gas station and the two of us are saved. However, her only condition was we had to go to the Amish market with her. This turned out not to be bad because she bought us each a soda and a turkey sandwich and the Amish market in Hunt Valley quite possibly has the best turkey sandwich I have ever had.

I read some article on Yahoo today that said the mayor of Pittsburgh's last name is Ravenstahl. He is going to get his name offically changed to Steelerstahl. That guy is a dumbass. I hope his grandmother disowns him.