I got a ride home from a friend of mine last night, and we had to carry in two guitars (with guitar stands) into my house.
So far, there's nothing odd about this at all. Just bitches bein' bros. But as it turns out, bros can turn to bitches.
Really makes you think...
As we pull up to the driveway, (not even into.), she carries out the guitar and guitar stand as I also get the other one out from the backseat I was sitting next to it in. Then, she sets it down next to me and tells me "grab it like this, and you can carry both guitars and the stands.
Then she speedily walked back to the front of the car, got in and drove away faster than I could even process the realization that she wasn't going to help me.
So I'm standing there, and I'm thinking like... dude. I still have to get the key out of my purse and unlock the front door, and there are creepy rapists out here like the UPS driver that hit on me last week. I know he doesn't live here, but he knows where I live. I'm fucking terrified.
Anyway. So I carry these things up to the house with my fingers contorted like a fucking octopus with arthritis.
I initially spelled it artheritis, as I remembered that's how it was pronounced by Eminem in the song No Apologies.
I wondered, "did he pronounce it like that to help people remember how to spell it? That's so brilliant. What a nice man."
Then I double checked it in a dictionary, and no. That's not at all how you spell it. Eminem didn't do a fucking thing. God damn it, Marshall. This is the second time you've pissed me off.
Anyway. You hear that sad piano instrumental? That's the exact emotion I was having at carrying these fucking things all the way up to my front door.
The fact that I had to set them down, pull out my key, unlock the door, put my key away, hold the door open with my foot, pick up a guitar w/ stand, carry it in backwards so I could hold the door open with my back, walk the guitar in backwards, slowly close the door with a free hand as to not alert the neighbors of my existence, set the guitar down carefully on the carpet, turn around, pick up the second guitar w/ stand, carry it in backwards so I could hold the door open with my back, walk the guitar in backwards, slowly close the door with a free hand as to not alert the neighbors of my existence, and set it down further into the house to assure nobody walks into it.
I'm exhausted all over again. What in fucknation.
I wish the real world would just stop hasslin' me.