Piggybacking off the "my brother caught on fire" entry, thought I'd lighten up the mood with this little anecdote.
During the time my brother was in the hospital, my parents were living in a hotel in San Diego and I was drinking a lot in HB. I knew they had a few things on their plate, so when I crashed my Jetta into the side of my boyfriend's house one drunk afternoon, I decided not to tell them. What they didn't know wouldn't kill them. See how thoughtful I am? Besides, my boyfriend was in construction, and he was more than capable of repairing the hole I put in his house. The hole in the bumper of my car was another problem, entirely.
You see, on weekends I would drive down to UCSD Burn Center to visit my fam and the crispy critter. In a futile attempt to hide the damage I had done to my rear end, I was always careful to back into parking spaces. I played it off as being "so LA." I thought I was pret-ty clever, until one day when my mom asks me if there's anything I want to tell her?
That's the LAST question I'm ever answering truthfully.
I lie and say of course not; I play dumb - whatever could you mean, mom? I'm an Angel… And that's when she whips out her cell phone and plays back a saved voicemail, from me, to the effect of:
Holy shit! I hit his house! Oh my God, I'm so drunk! HahahahahahahahaBURP.
That's right - I drunk dialed my mom after running my car through my boyfriend's house while her other child was laid up in the hospital awaiting skin grafts.
I'm an asshole.
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