Fish Gotta Swim, Birds Gotta Fly...

...this is a thing I say to Aaron sometimes. The end of the sentence started above goes "...hustlers gotta hustle." It's a thing I say when I've got a girl I'm flirting with, but haven't quite closed the deal. (I think you all know what 2 Jay-Z lines from the Black Album he gets to see in his phone when I got it.)

Anyway, with work today I make deliveries. Despite it being grayer than CBS programming it's my favorite aspect of the job. I pretty much get to do in the day what I do Friday & Saturday nights, except sober and no bumpy grindy. But they pay me. I'm out in the van, looking around as is my wont. And then two girls on the corner are behind a table, and they see me look at them (go figure) and wave. We pull up right in front of them, coincidentally, and I get out. I say I got to go handle work, I'll be right back. TCB. They say, "You came back!" and I'm like "Of course I did, I said I was." So we flirt a little but I have my eye on the van. My partner's the old overbear of the department, and I know he wasn't going to cotton to being held up on account of skirts. So I say I'll come back again later, since I swing that way when I do the walk solo. They doubt me, but not after I point out I held my word just seconds ago.

Did I veer 2 blocks off course to see them again? Yes.

So we're standing and flirting, and yes, I'm flirting with both of them. Emily, the Puerto Rican just slightly shorter than me, and Marisa, the Latina with the little gold nose stud. (Usually, I don't like nose stuff, but it was unobstrusive enough to look good on her.) Now I mention when I find out Marisa's Marisa if her friend's name is Summer I'm outta there. They find me hilarious. (I keep forgetting I have the capability to be smooth and hilarious until I actually have to display it.) Anyway, I mention how nice it is they're working on a Friday in such ugly-ass conditions to help find missing kids. Emily says she's not a saint. Me (wheels starting to turn): Pfft. Whatever. What're you doing tomorrow night besides getting ready for church? Healing swans? Walking on water?

Emily laughs. Tomorrow night? I am so doing nothing.

Ever hear a rat trap spring? That would be my brain.

I casually let slip to the girls I do happen to have VIP at a preeminent club downtown (I know, how uncharacteristic of me) tomorrow night if they're of drinking age. And, oh, how their eyes lit up. Marisa's ahead by a few months, 23 to 22.

I ask for a business card, and they whip one out, and I affix Evey's number onto it and tell them to call me later so I can put it on there. And then I donated to charity.

I know what you're saying: you're the awesomest person alive, Butch. Maybe you're right.

I immediately went and saw my old friend Liz at Fumari, slinging from behind a desk now. Met the new director of operations at Red Circle, and her cute little blonde self saw fit to sling me some VIP passes. Saw Abby again at the Yard House and made sure her liver was OK. Then saw my friend Matt at the Bitter End and he hooked me up with a shitload of VIP passes after I thanked him for the last ones.

I was able to pass some of those savings on to my boss. And everyone seems astounded I went out in work gear and not only dared, but got something, too.

"You must be smooth," is what one of the bosses said.

Oh, if only I'd said to him what I knew about birds and fish...

Wonderwall/Seasons Of Love (from "Rent") DJ AM