On the plus side, turns out I have some money

Where's Higgins? Where's Higgins? Where's Higgins?

This is why you must never do what your sister wants you to; you just get nagged. For the record, Higgins has dial up at home, is off on Sunday and Monday, and occaisionally is called upon to do some work at work. Higgins stays busy.

Also, sometimes Higgins has nothing to say. Thank God the following tedious incident arose.

Okay, I am going to tell you a story, and I will let you know right now that I want no editorial comment whatsoever about the facts of this story. I deconstruct my own stories for myself, thank you. If there is one thing my life does not lack, it is self examination. If self absorption was an Olympic sport I would take the gold, silver and bronze. So I have already picked this story over for the positive and negative, okay?

Here is the only comment I want: "You know, Higgins, while not revealing you in the best of all possible lights, in some peculiar way this story illuminates your character in a way that is actually sort of admirable, your default position as a person seems to be one of complete dependability, and you are not old and pathetic in any way."

Feel free to cut and paste that right in.

Anyway, I had a drink or two (or nine) at the house last week and I guess suffered a small lapse of memory the next day. I'm not unduly worried about this because how much trouble can you get into drinking with your Mom? I don't drink to excess out anymore, and my blackouts are usually along the lines of "Did I forget to watch Top Chef this week? Oh, wait, I remember, they sent home the other lesbian." Then you get up and go to work. Nothing to get exercised about. So it was an evening where I drank too much and hung out at the house went to bed early and didn't think about it anymore.

On a parallel line, I have been really broke this week. I had to pay a bogus traffic ticket that cashed me out, and when I checked with the ATM it turned out that had about $365 to last me for 8 days, and my car payment was due, which was gonna wipe me out. So I've been staying close to home and not thinking about awesome spring shoes.

Side Note: I also don't want to hear a word about having to ask the ATM how much money I have, my sound financial planning friends.

So, continuing the short novella, I have been putting off the car payment just to make sure nothing comes up. It's not late until the 3rd, and I wanted to have it drafted on Wednesday knowing that my direct deposit hits midnight that night. And I wanted to have some money in case I decided to, I don't know, do something fun.

Well, the week evolved and it turned out I didn't have any fun. Last night is my usual poker night, and for whatever feeling-kind-of-fat-and-the-Atlanta-Braves-need-me-and-as-I-said-I-am-sure-I-am-broke reason I didn't go. And I regretted not going almost as soon as it was too late to get down there because I have been kind of hermit-ty and blue lately, and oh, what the hell ever, I'll just go on and pay the damn car payment because clearly nothing is going to come up.

(I know, GD, this is a long story; get on with it. This is backstory, people; literature students cannot appreciate the full meaning without getting the full context. If you don't know about the boat ride, the Ancient Mariner is just about getting trapped by a boor at a party. And I'm sure you think the Ancient Mariner is telling this tale.)

Long story short (too late): I cannot find my car bill anywhere. Now understand, due to some unfortunate interludes in my past life (the entirety of my twenties) I am religious about putting unpaid bills in the front of my accordian folder and filing them as soon as they are paid. I cannot find this bill anywhere and I am going out of my mind, tearing up the house and generally getting into a state.

You see where this is going, don't you? You know exactly where I found this bill, don't you?

In the paid file. With a confirmation number on it and everything (which was written three times by what looked to be an epileptic with the hiccups). I call the Ford Credit number whereby I pay my bill, and what do you think they told me?

My last payment was made on the night of the Bottomless Cape Cod.

Do we all get that, people? Can you understand why I am feeling this bewildering combination of Whoo-Hoo/Well, Hell/Do I Pat My Own Back Or Kick My Own Ass?

Some people Drunk Drive. Some people Drunk Dial. Some people Drunk Dance, Drunk Karaoke, Drunk Do Something Really Retarded With That Guy From The Bar.

I Drunk Paid Bills.

Even my hideous vices are just as boring as fuck.