Still Crazy After All These Years, Just not Gay Like Paul Simon

Writing stories, deleting, despairing into nothing. I just wrote a blog post, and then said, DOINK! Delete.

Last night, I heisted a car from a lady’s ex-boyfriend. It was her car, under her name, and all this other stuff, and he wouldn’t give it back to her or talk to her. She is a friend, so we went to his work, and I jacked his car. I can’t begin to imagine leaving work to find out your car is gone, and then finding out it was your ex just reclaiming her property, via a Stoney Navy Seal.

To be honest, I had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, my man-law instincts told me not to betray a man of his car while he’s at work. On the other hand, it wasn’t his car, and he is a big fat fucking toolbox.

At any rate, I made it home safe, and was tired the rest of the day. Each day, I get to work around 5:10 AM. It sucks. I’m tired all the time. Worst.

Once we got home from the carjacking last night (it wasn’t a real car-jack, I had a key to the car, title and registration), I sat back and watched our friend go through her ex’s cell-phone, reading all his text messages. It was kinda rough on my insides, on a number of different levels. First of all, I felt like I was the one getting busted, that I was the one getting my phone spied on, even though I wasn’t. Definitely some sympathy going on there. And then, I also felt terrible that the lady was actually going through it. It’s like break up and get on with it, and I was just sitting there, Not Stoned, feeling sorry for the guy who just got his car jacked, and also feeling sorry for the lady who was looking at the phone. It just kind of hurt.

In the end, though, I got up this morning at that special hour, 4:20 AM, brushed my teeth and went to work. I imagine that dude without a car did something like the same, as did his pissed off ex, who spent the night at our place. They were basically married for over 5 years, and now the relationship has been reduced to stealing, spying and general gay shittiness. Last Christmas, they gave us their Christmas card, and I still have it in my car, in the center console. It’s kind of weird.

Anyway, I definitely feel like I learned a big lesson about how not to break up with your girl. Lady T and the lady kept asking me what I would do if that happened to me, and I kept coming back to the fact that nothing like that would ever happen to me. I wouldn’t be driving around my ex-girlfriend’s car, mooching off her payments and shit in the first place. In the end, we all pay for what we get, big time karma style.

The car-jack represents the 2nd time in my life when I have designed and/or implemented a secretive attack mission, with the sole intent of harm, retribution, or outright thievery. In this case, the car was not actually “stolen” in terms of the law, but his cell phone and digicam sure as hell were. The other time I stole some shit was when me, iiiDog and Suityourself robbed our arch-nemesis of a half-ounce of buds, and then did it again less than a week later.

I’m not sure which one I feel worse about it. When I stole that weed, I justified my actions by telling myself that he had stolen my weed, plenty of times before, by selling us short-ass bags and being a bitch. Even though he sold us short-ass weak bags all the time, I kept buying buds from him, and I knew it was going to be short each time. It was a classic arch-nemesis situation, as we fed off each other’s disrespect for each other, until me and Suit reached our breaking point, and we took him for all that he had. He was rich, so it’s not like I stole his lunch money or anything. I stole his weed, his power. I took his nuts, and he knew it, and he couldn’t prove it. Only after a year did we even tell Dank, that’s how big a secret it was, because the dude was in our extended crew.

As time passed, and our relationship did not dissolve, the Great Weed Robbery became a huge, unspoken valley of emotions between me and my prey. I know that he knew that I took his shit, and I know all his friends know I did, too. But still, our proximity and similar interests led us to the same rooms, to the same parties, year after year, and I still have a rock in my chest, from what I did then. Maybe I’ll tell him one day, and maybe I won’t. More than anything, I am embarrassed of my childish selfishness, but then I also put myself in that state of mind, and everything feels right as rain.

As for the dude with the car, I feel much differently. It just happened yesterday, so I don’t understand it yet.

I imagine as time passes, a hypocritical mix of self-righteousness and guilt will blend peacefully on the canvas of my raging emotions.

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