5-23-99 Su 6:55 PM
Bernie wanted us to come to Rockin' Taco last night, but I was too tired, and Shirelle was too drunk. She was talking at the dinner table in front of my mom and our guests about how she only gets sex once a month.  I could have punched her.  Then she insisted on driving back to LA.  She was in that drunk state whey you won't listen to reason.  Instead of punching her, I decided dying was better than trying to reason with the dumb bitch and just got in the car.  Dumb is dumb, but a person can't help being dumb, so you have to let it slide, and a bitch is a bitch and there's been nothing a guy can do about that going back to Adam and Eve, and the two together, a dumbitch, will drive a man fucking insane.  She drove like a complete moron.  I was wishing she would get pulled over and thrown in jail.  I didn't say anything.  She spent the night crying drunk.  I pretended to be asleep.  She told me she was going to Demona's.  I said okay, but she didn't go.  I woke up at five this morning.  I read a Ring Lardner story called "Hurry Kane," another baseball story about the behind-the-scenes tricks players pull to get a lovesick teammate to perform, told I that loquacious Lardner voice.
I read chapters fourteen through twenty-one of Luke.  Rich men go to Hell.  A trip that religious conservatives also tend to be money-hoarders.  I read the newspaper.  I typed fifteen minutes.  I returned to my baseball team today.  I booted an easy double-play ball at third that would have gotten us out of the inning, and the opposition went on to score five runs.  Doh.  I flew out to right, had a pop-up drop in for a hit that should have been an infield-fly-rule out; no one touched it.  The ump didn't say anything, so let's call it a hit.  I grounded out to short and flew out to center.  We lost seven to two.  Shirelle and I are at Noonan's now.  We're going to grub.