• Regret ever having eaten at Susquehanna
• Count the number of Starbucks within a mile
• Watch cheerleader practice
• Smoke hookah in public because “it looks like you’re smoking pot but the cops can’t do shit”
• Drive around for an hour looking for parking
• Watch the debate team
• Join the debate team
• Get kicked off the debate team
• Go to the wrong class but stay anyways, because fuck it
• Be hungover
• Be drunk… still
• Be drinking
• Go home

It’s a wonder anyone makes it to class these days.

Tonight, the Towson Tigers took on the Central Connecticut State Blue Devils (or something stupid like that) in a game that captivated the eight people who were sober enough to stay past half-time. The nailbiter ended with Towson on top 20-10.
 
Next game: Away @ The Little Giants.

The power went out on our block tonight. In fact the power went out on our entire side of the street for as far down as we could see. Some sort of construction or roadwork was going on at the end of the block and the idiots hit a power line. I called BGE and got a busy signal twice in a row, so I walked down to the work site to get the skinny.
 
They told me that BGE was on the way and that the power should be back by 10:30pm. This was at 8:45pm.
 
Well, gee. What now?
 
I remember power outages being a lot more fun when I was younger. They were exciting and I would build forts and walk around with candles. Tonight I was just bored, sitting outside with Will and my friend Martin… secretly hoping that a group of drunk girls would stumble past from the bars and make conversation with us. And make babies with us. Not necessarily in that order.
 
I did finally get to meet one of my neighbors who lives just around the corner. Her name is Martha, and she came outside to investigate the power outage about the same time that we did. We got to talking, and apparently she’s currently involved in starting up a coffee shop under her apartment. I had heard a little about this before, but she was able to give me some more information.
 
It’s tentatively going to be called The Kind Bean (not unlike the kind bud (funny, they’re right across from J.Friendly’s)). It’ll be on the corner of Chesapeake Avenue and Delaware Avenue, right across from the courthouse. The idea is for them to serve coffee, tea, and light fare; but the catch is that they’ll be open late night (starting in October) to appeal to the drunkies coming home from the bars. The real fucking kicker is that Walter, my crazy-knife-wielding-heroin-addict-but-still-very-nice-guy neighbor, is going to be running it. Martha and another guy Steve are basically just financial backers.
 
That place is going to do so well. There is really only one place to go for late night food in Towson, and that’s the diner. And 7-11 if you count diarrhea as a food group.

A quick article from The Frederick News-Post Online:

State will release inmates closer to their homes

TOWSON — Prison officials say they are adopting a policy to ensure that inmates are released closer to their homes, although a department study showed most newly released inmates return home anyway.

Elected officials in western Maryland had pushed for the policy, citing public concerns that inmates freed from the region’s prisons might settle there, creating a crime problem.

Under the policy announced today, inmates will be transported to their home jurisdictions before they are released. Governor Martin O’Malley said the policy has the advantage of putting the released inmates closer to their families and to post-release resources and services.

 
FINALLY.
 
On more than one occasion, a random person has knocked on my door looking for a ride/bus fare/free drugs/cab fare to get home from jail. Okay, one of those times it was a friend of mine but that’s besides the point. I mean, what the hell man? Do they just kick people out the front door of the courthouse when they’re done with them? Do they go flying through the saloon doors like in old Westerns? I just can’t fathom how that’s a good idea. Hey here’s a convicted criminal, let’s let him wander Towson at night and make him use his street savvy to get home so that he can get a good job and get his life back on track. What is this, a bad reality show?
 
I mean, congratulations on coming up with this policy change. It’s only *looks at watch* about 50 years overdue.

An article from Capital News Online, Memo Ties Tickets to Days Off:

TOWSON - Some Baltimore County patrol officers were told by their supervisor that their requests for time off would be tied to the number of traffic tickets they wrote, according to an internal memo.

The Baltimore Examiner obtained a copy of the May 14 letter, written by Lt. Dean Brubaker. He called on his patrol officers to issue an average of at least three citations, warnings or equipment repair orders every day. Officers who fell short, Lt. Brubaker wrote, would be last in line when asking for days off.

 
It’s ironic, really. Just the other night I was turning onto York Road from Pennsylvania Ave. (at 6am)… if by turning I mean waiting at the light for an infuriating seven minutes while there were no other cars on the road. A friend of mine was also at said light, in the lane next to me. We waited, and waited, and waited… Running the light would have been a no brainer but there was a cop parked directly to our left, just sitting there. All the sudden, my friend gets out of her car, walks over to the cop, peers in his car, turns to me, and says “He’s asleep!”
 
Needless to say, we ran the light, and a certain police officer’s trip to Hawaii may be in jeopardy.

Anyone who says you can’t turn onto Dulaney Valley Rd. from the inner lane of the Towson traffic circle is a damn liar. And you can tell them I said so.

That’s all.

There’s this guy who sits right in front of an ATM on York Road every single day. He’s there every time I walk to work and he’s almost always still there when I walk home.
 
The dude just sits on the wall there and watches people pass by. He used to hit me up for change back in the day, but I think he eventually started to recognize me and realize that I wasn’t going to pay out to him.
 
He’s an older black guy, kind of chubby; usually wearing denim. I’ve seen people stop and talk to him before, so I guess he’s made a few friends. Which is surprising for someone who wears a lot of denim.
 
I don’t generally have a problem with him now that he doesn’t ask me for money anymore, but he does irk me in one unique way. Every time I walk by he initiates small talk with me, which is fine, but EVERY time, the conversation goes the exact same way.
 
Him: “How’s it going, man?”
Me: “I’m good, how are you?”
 
Waaaaiiiit for it.
 
Him: *Siiiiiigh* “I’m okay I guess.”
 
I swear I’ve had this exact exchange with him no less than half a dozen times. Here’s the thing though… I’m reeeeeeally not interested. I don’t care how deeply he sighs or how melancholy he sounds when he tells me he “guesses he’s okay.” I honestly have no desire to stop and talk to this dude and find out his story, so I just keep walking.
 
I guess I can’t blame him for being honest; maybe his life sucks. Doesn’t mean I have to hear about it, though.

I had my first day of training today as a server at the Towson Diner.
 
I’ve been trying for so long to land a serving job, if by trying I mean sitting around hoping one lands in my lap. It’s funny how when I finally go out and APPLY for one, I get one. Makes no sense.
 
At about 4pm I showed up at the diner in my freshly bought uniform (white button down and black slacks). You supply your own uniform there, including the nametag which was news to me. I hope “My Name Is:” stickers are acceptable.
 
I sat there looking through the menu, which is enormous, for about an hour when the manager finally paired me up with a server named Zach. Basically, I was going to shadow him for the night, learn the basics, and take some tables on my own if I felt up to it.
 
I’ll be honest; it’s a little overwhelming. Before today I figured it couldn’t be that hard to remember what was going on with… say… three tables. If I had a penny for everytime I had to ask Zach “where is this dish going again?” I’d have like, well, 5 pennies or so. Not to mention all the menu shit you have to remember, and figuring out how to use the archaic computer. It’s gonna take some time.
 
There was one particularly notable incident tonight though that may come to set the tone for working evenings at the Diner. I had shadowed enough that Zach decided to let me take some tables on my own, as long as he was there to back me up. Around 9 o’clock, this guy walks in and gets seated at our section. He’s a tall guy, kind of lanky, short hair and a goatee. I approached his table and introduced myself.
 
Me: “Hey how are you doing tonight sir? My name’s Evan, I’ll be helping to take care of you. It’s my first day here, training, so go easy on me.”
Him: “Oh, that’s great Evan. You’re doing great.”
 
He was very soft-spoken and had a very friendly demeanor about him. There was something about him though that set off some red flags. The overwhelming gentleness of his voice combined with his using my name excessively gave me the impression that he was a little off.
 
Him: “I’ll tell you what, Evan. I’m just gonna start off with a regular coffee aaaaaaand… a slice of oreo cheesecake. Can you do that for me, Evan?”
Me: “Sure thing. I’ll be right back with that for ya.”
Him: “Oh wait, one more thing. Do you have a phonebook I could use?”
 
I tracked down a phonebook for him and brought it along with his coffee.
 
Him: “Oh great, Evan. Thank you so much.”
Me: “I’ll be right back with your cheesecake.”
Him: “Take your time, Evan. Take your time.”
 
The guy sat there for a while, just eating his cheesecake, drinking his coffeee, and highlighting shit in the phonebook. I came by a few times to refill the coffee for him, and he was continually overly pleasant. After a while, I asked Zach what he thought the guy was doing.
 
Zach: “I don’t know man, we get some crazies here.”
 
I went to refill his coffee for the last time at about 9:35, when he finally answered my questions.

Him: “Say, Evan. I noticed you guys are pretty close to the jail here. Do you ever get guys come in who, say, just got out of jail… for something they didn’t do… and have nowhere to go? No one to call?”
Me: “Uhh… actually…”
Him: “Because that’s what I’ve been doing here, Evan. I’m looking for some place to go.”
Me: “Well you know there’s a lot of really good hotels arou…”
Him: “Evan, generally people who have just gotten out of jail don’t have a lot of money.”
 
At this point Zach jumped in and recommended a few good shelters/hospitals in the area. The guy thanked us and introduced himself as Gary. He went on to tell us his story.
 
Gary: “I used to own a company around here and I was doing really well. Then I hurt my back and everything fell apart. I got my prescription from the pharmacy one day, and I was driving home and I got pulled over. Turns out my bottles weren’t labeled and I got arrested for trafficking narcotics. I spent 2 months in the detention center. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
 
Eventually a friend of his came and met him and they left together.
 
I’m not sure how much of his story I believe. I’m inclined to give people the benefit of the doubt, but if he grew up here, had a family here, owned a company here… would he really have no one to call after just 2 months? I don’t know.
 
I’m sure there will be more where that came from.
 
EDIT: I no longer work there. Creative differences. You know how it is.

People will often remind me how lucky I am to live where I live. I have a pretty cool house right in the middle of Towson, less than a block away from the movie theater and all the bars. Usually, I am inclined to agree with them about how awesome my place is, but occasionally the house comes with its baggage. If you happen to be jealous at all of where my roommate and I live, this might give you an idea of some of the weird shit you have to deal with here… and maybe you’ll rethink things.
 
First of all, there was the non-homeless homeless guy, then of course all of the nonsense with Walter and Rowdy. Well, ladies and gentlemen, there’s a new woman in my life and her name is Heidi.
 
A few people were over the other night, and in the middle of our shindig Walter knocked on our door, it was time for his semi-weekly crab donation. Behind him there was some nasty strung out chick laying on his porch table moaning something about being sick.
 
Walter: “Hey man do you guys want some crabs?”
Me: “Of course.”
Walter: “Cool man, I’m just gonna run to 7-11 to get some vitamin water and I’ll bring ‘em right over. Oh yeah, can you help this lady?”
 
His tone made it sound like she was a friend of his, so I felt a little obligated to ask her what was going on. I asked if she wanted a glass of water. She responded, “Yea… some water or a beer… anything.”
 
Uhh, okay.
 
I brought her a cup of water, only when I came back from the kitchen she was standing on our porch peering through the screen door. She was a middle aged white woman with buck teeth and glasses wearing what looked like just a big t-shirt. As I handed her the cup of water she started mumbling something about her son.
 
Heidi: “I need to talk to my son. I need to see my son.”
Me: “What? Where’s your son?”
Heidi: “Right there!” (Pointing inside our house)
 
Oh Lord.
 
I gave her the cup of water and went back inside, basically waiting for Walter to come back, give up crabs, and make her go away. She made herself comfortable in the meantime, staking out on the porch-couch.
 
Walter came back a few minutes later and handed us a big bag of crabs through the giant hole in the screen door. Heidi tried to ask him something, but he blew her off with a “Nope, sorry,” and disappeared around the side of his house. Apparently she’s not a friend of his.
 
Well, shit. Now my roommate and I have to deal with her.
 
We consulted briefly and then went out to confront her. As we stepped onto the porch she looked up from the couch.
 
Heidi: “Where can I get some pills? I just need some pills.”
 
Props to my roommate here, he was pretty firm with her. He told her we couldn’t get any pills for her and that she needed to leave, and she hit the road without too much of a fuss.
 
The next hour or so went without incident. We saw her walking around outside back and forth, clearly without anywhere to go. But as long as she wasn’t on our porch it didn’t really matter.
 
Eventually the whole crowd made its way to the porch to enjoy the evening air, wary that she might still be out there. Not long after, Heidi comes back from out of nowhere and takes a seat on Walter’s porch right next to us. Obviously it was awkward; she just sat there mumbling stuff and asking us questions that we ignored. Her weirdness peaked, though, with an incident that I will never forget as long as I live, and I’ll do my best to describe it here.
 
Our porch is separated from Walter and Rowdy’s porch by a rail. Our friend was sitting in a chair leaning against said rail, with Heidi sitting behind him on the other porch. Out of nowhere, the crazy bitch gets up, leans over our friend from beind, and PLANTS A KISS ON HIS FOREHEAD. Then she mumbled something and sat down again.
 
Try to fucking imagine that. Some of us laughed, some of us just sat there in utter astonishment.
 
My roommate actually wasn’t on the porch when this happened, and when I told him a few minutes later we decided to call the cops on her. Yeah, she probably wasn’t dangerous, but I’ll be damned if she was gonna spend the night on our porch. The thought of her puttering around outside my house at night, eating children or casting spells or whatever it is that she does, gives me the willies. Better to get her ass out before she tries to slip someone the tongue.
 
I grabbed my phone and realized that I had never called the cops before. My roommate agreed that it wasn’t an emergency and that we should just call 311…. which doesn’t exist anymore apparently. I called it like 3 times and I kept getting a voice that said the call could not be completed. Well thanks for telling me, assholes.
 
I ended up calling 911 and telling them that I had a problem, but it wasn’t an emergency. They gave me a different number to call (410-887-2222 if you’re interested). I’m sorry but I like 311 a lot better. I told them that there was a crazy strung out woman on my porch and that she wouldn’t leave. The operator told me that the next available officer would be at the house.
 
I cleared the porch of beers and waited on the porch for the cops. While I was waiting she asked where the nearest hospital was. Maybe she wanted help but in hindsight she probably just wanted easy access to pills. An officer arrived after a couple of minutes and I walked to the top of the steps to speak with him.
 
He asked me what the problem was, and I basically just told him that the woman was strung out and needed help, somewhere to go.
 
Heidi: “Why’d you go and call them? I’m just out here havin’ a cigarette break.”
Officer: “Where are you staying tonight, ma’am?”
Heidi: “Right here. I live here.”
 
He turned to me and I just shook my head “no.”
 
He kept interrogating her and she tried to convince him that she lived there with her husband (who’s name was Terry McDougle, in case you were wondering). She also told him like 5 times that her son committed suicide. He asked for her name and ID (this is when we found out her name was Heidi), and she said that her ID had been stolen, conveniently. And of course she didn’t have keys to the house that she supposedly lived in. The officer knocked on the door but Walter didn’t answer or wasn’t home.
 
He took me aside and I told him about some of the weird things she had done that night, although I left out the kissing incident. I was 100% positive, I told him, that she didn’t live there in any way, shape, or form. Because she was on Walter’s property and Walter wasn’t home, there wasn’t anything he could do. But he did do his best to be helpful.
 
Officer: “Just go ahead and ignore her. If she gives you any problems, call me back and I’ll run her off. When Walter gets home, if he wants her gone I’ll run her off no problem. I believe what you’re saying, she’s obviously on something, but there’s not much I can do without him home. I’m on duty until 6am, so if there’s any problems I’ll be back to handle it.”
 
While we were talking on the front lawn she yelled out something about me eyeing her up like she was some sort of “tramp.”
 
After the cop left, she didn’t stick around for too long (Thank God) before she ended the awkwardness and moved on herself.
 
Still want to live here?

Wow. It’s funny that I chose to write a little update about Walter and Rowdy yesterday, because last night they added a pretty significant event to their saga. This one, though, is far from funny. More like disturbing, scary, and insane.
 
I was up late last night; just sitting on my computer, listening to music, wackin’ it, whatever. Right as I was about to go to sleep (around 4am), I heard some shit moving around next door. Nothing crazy, just random thumps and whatnot. This isn’t all that unusual when living in a duplex, but once I heard voices through the walls I became nosey and wanted to know if something was going on. I turned off my fan (aka The Wind Machine), turned off the music, and put my ear to the wall. This is what I heard:
 
Rowdy: “… 4 in the morning, you God damn heroin addict. I gotta work tomorrow. Get the fuck out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!”
 
**Silence for a few seconds**
 
Rowdy: “If you don’t get out of here I’m gonna beat your ass. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! STAY AWAY FROM ME! AHHHHH!!!!!!!”
 
My heart was flying the fuck out of my chest. I didn’t know what the hell was going on next door. I was right about to call the cops when I heard Rowdy say, rather dismissively, something again about “God damn heroin addict.” So I figured he hadn’t been murdered or anything.
 
It was silent again, but for a few minutes this time. I sat on my bed waiting to see if something would develop. It looked like the episode was over at first, and right as I was about to call it a night, the voices and thumping started up again.
 
Rowdy: “Put that fucking knife down. Stay away from me you God damn heroin addict. STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME WITH THAT KNIFE!!!!”
 
I grabbed my phone, ready to call the cops. But through the wall I heard that Rowdy had the same idea.
 
Rowdy: “…… 21 East Chesapeake Avenue. My roommate’s coming after me with a knife, he’s fucking wasted. Please hurry man. Please hurry.”
 
Honestly, I feel like an idiot now. I should have done something, maybe gone over there and knocked on the door or something. I really didn’t want to get involved with a crazy man on heroin wielding a knife, but it was really just luck that Rowdy didn’t get stabbed.
 
The cops showed up pretty quickly, three cars strong. And that’s where the story ends. I couldn’t fucking believe it. When they got there no one was yelling, no one argued, no one got arrested. They were there for like 15 minutes, and as they were getting ready to leave they stood outside and were shooting the shit with eachother, laughing and whatever before they left in their separate cars. It was so bizarre.
 
Guess that answers a few questions about Walter.