Remember that whole “Born Lucky” thing I had going on a few months ago, and how I got some mail that made me laugh and think that life was funny and that living the correct way meant clearing up my mistakes from the past in order to move forward? In my best Chris Farley voice:
“Remem…um…remember when…um…when you wrote that blo…that blog? Um…B…Born Lucky?”
“Yes, Chris. I remember Born Lucky.”
“Um…that was awesome. Um….were you…um….were you really…um…were you really born lucky? GOD, I’M SO STUPID!”
“You’re not stupid, Chris. And well, I don’t know if I was really ‘born lucky.’ It’s just something I say to be funny and ironic.”
“Iro..um…um..ironic? That’s awesome.”
Here’s some more irony: Yesterday, I received yet another piece of mail. A reminder that I wasn’t always the law-abiding citizen I am now. And, of course, a bill. It seems I was arrested in New Jersey in 1997. I have no recollection of this event. And of course, there is a bail amount of $130.00; if I “DO NOT POST BAIL THE COURT MAY ORDER THE REVOCATION OF (my) DRIVING PRIVILEGES.” Are you fucking shitting me? Let me tell you right now: I have a strong urge to drive to the Jersey shore and freak the fuck out. How crazy is this shit? Everyone’s broke and trying to get paid. Fuck this. I think I sold a bag of weed back in ’93 that was a few grams too heavy. I need to start sending notices to that guy, informing him that he owes me $25.00. If he fails to remit payment, I may order the revocation of his walking privileges.
14 fucking years ago, I probably pissed on a stop sign and got a citation. The arresting officer probably made some comment to the effect of “the real crime is that those women across the street had to see that little thing.” I probably laughed, shook the excess tinkle onto his rented shoes, and caught a pube on the zip-up. But I simply can’t recall. Seriously, I do not remember ever getting arrested, detained, cited, pulled over, nothing, in Sea Isle City. Ever. Not in 1997. Not in 2010. Not in 1986. Never. But here we are, a-fucking-gain. My license being threatened and I scrambling to figure out what the fuck and send these fuckers money I simply don’t have .
There’s a possibility, however, that this was not me….hear me out now…. It was NOT the one-armed man… Huh? Huh? You like that? Decent reference, right? Anyway, here’s hoping I’m not the fugitive…..
I just got a text from my boy, now this is becoming one of those “holy shit, the universe is speaking to me” moments!!! ….
…..Several years ago, a friend of mine asked me if I could lend him my information so he could enjoy a fine cocktail or two in respectable adult establishments. I obliged, and everyone was happy. Well, it never occurred to me that this could lead to trouble. I mean, shit, how could a minor ever get himself into a pickle while drinking underage? It never happens. All those teens on Maury are clean, upstanding citizens. Ok, so, I later learned that my friend had a little run-in with the law in East Falls, where the cop looked at his ID, read the name, and said, “This ain’t you. I know this guy, and you have two hands.”
So, anyway, I thought there was a chance that my young friend had gotten arrested in Jersey using my ID and never went to court, etc, etc, and here we are today. First thing I did when I opened the notice was text him, just to be sure. I think he’s innocent. Which would mean that I’m guilty. I just have no idea of what, other than Grand Stupidity, which carries a lifetime sentence of having plenty of funny shit to write about. If I plead no contest, your honor, can I still write about it in Dabutcha’s Blog? The text I just got was from the same friend, asking if I really got a warrant. Yes, I did. From 14 fucking years ago. Persistent motherfuckers, ain’t they?
So, here I am all lucky and whatnot, trying to piece together what happened. The reality is, I will “post bail” and get on with my life knowing that I will not be getting locked up by some douche bag meat head rent-a-cop the next time I’m enjoying the beach with my girl. That might be fun, huh? Hey babe, I’m going to grab some sodas, be right back. Then, the poor thing has to sit in the sand, all thirsty and shit, watching me get pummeled by two dirtballs with zubaz pants and veins where their faces should be. I think I’ll take the path of least resistance and pay the fine, to avoid any further repercussions.
It has been a long, brutal winter. The erratic weather has pretty much mirrored what’s been going on inside me. I feel weary, drained, beat down, let down, used up, chewed up and spit out. I’ve punched things, turned red, given up, laid in bed all day, and damn-near shed some tears. My jaw has clenched so many times I think my teeth are filed down to nubs. But you know what? The Spring is coming and I can just feel the hope welling up within me. Things are always getting better, and I have to keep a positive outlook on life. Shit, this IS my life! And mine alone. My buddy just told me that yesterday and it meant a lot to hear it. Life can be brutal, yes. But the reality is, it’s so sweet, so amazing, so unpredictable and wondrous that I simply can’t wait to see what happens next. Born lucky? Fucking A right. Fuck. I might cry NOW!
It’s funny that I was recently saying that I need to head to the beach to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. That used to make me feel so connected when I lived in St Augustine. Nothing like the sun rising over the majesty of the vast ocean to make you feel so small, tiny, yet so safe, so loved. Perhaps this is yet another sign pointing me toward communion. Shit, maybe while I’m there, I’ll post bail and buy a mesh T-shirt that reads: 1997 Luckiest Summer Ever!
Much love. Keep reading.