End of an era: the longest quarter year of my life. Part I.

It all started earlier this year back in April. It all wrapped up this month, December.

Treaty of Paris was slated to play a show downtown at Columbia, and "all of us" who were planning on attending decided to meet at Sara's house since she lives all of two blocks from the place where the concert was to be held.

Here's the backstory to set the context. It was April 26th. I had planned on meeting everyone at Sara's for a little pre-game drinking and a quick walk to the college.

The guy I was seeing at the time decided that that day, which should have been all fun and dancing, was the day he would slip into his regular episodes of mental madness and take it all out on me. He wanted me to drive the 20 minutes away from Chicago to his home in Oak Park so we could drive downtown to Sara's together around six to get to Columbia in time for TOP's set.

I wasn't ready in time so I suggested he pick me up at my house, which was on the way--and made more sense. He didn't want to and bitched and screamed and cried and finally I adopted the "fuck you" attitude, turned my ringer on silent and drove to Sara's by myself. He momentarily came back to his senses and drove downtown when I didn't answer my phone after 15 attempts on his part.

As I parked my car and walked to the Caribou to get change for the meter, I heard a horn honk and a man's voice holler, "I am going to beat your ass!" He was in his car at the intersection with the window rolled down, smiling as he said that. Sociopath? Yeah, inappropriate.

A cute couple standing nearby gasped and looked at me. I assured them that I knew the idiot and he would do no such thing. He parked and we joined my friends. He was being a whiny baby, wanting me to be nice and cuddly with him but I couldn't stand his ass at the moment.

I dealt with it the best I could, taking copious shots of liquor, and made it a point to have fun with Sara and Angelique and Greg and Brandi and the other lovely, sane people who were there.

There is a point to all this; it's coming later.

Treaty played a super fun set and Ange and I danced a lot. Afterward, we all went back to Sara's and drank and partied more; Danny joined us after packing up his gear and taught us a song he learned on tour. I'm actually a really good singer while sober and in real life, I swear.



No words.

Anyhow, that evening, the dude was really irritating me (and everybody could tell) so I told him to head home without me since we had driven separately (thank God). DW and I were the last people to leave Sara's that night after sobering up.

I stopped for gas at the intersection of Taylor St. and Canal St., I believe. As I pulled out of the gas station I made a left turn when I should have made a right because it sneakily became a one-way street on that particular block.

Long story short, a cop pulled me over and gave me two tickets: one for obviously making a wrong turn on a one-way street, and the second for not having proof of insurance. Go ahead, make your judgments--it is what it is. My policy had expired shortly before that and I failed to renew it.

Much later, when dudeman found out what had happened, he blew up. "How could you be so stupid? Why didn't you tell me you didn't have insurance? I would have put you on a six-month policy with my account! You are so screwed you don't even know."

Obviously, he was so volatile I didn't want to be associated on paper with him for anything. I told him not to call me stupid, and said, "Actually, I know what the deal is. I've been through this before. It's my second time."

"What! This has happened before? God, Charlotte, that is so irresponsible; you're so fucked. This can cost you not only your driving privileges but probably two thousand dollars! I can't believe how stupid you--how stupid this is."

"Dude, this isn't your problem, why are you more upset than I am?"

"Well, this is going to cost you a hell of a lot more money than it would if you'd simply had insurance." No shit? That's why they call them fines and penalties? He continued, "You work three jobs, but I don't know how much money you make. Ultimately, I'm gonna end up having to pay for this, and if I don't have an extra two grand lying around, I know you sure as hell don't."

How patronizing.

"What the fuck? Who ever said that I would expect you to pay for this?"

"Well, how are you gonna come up with over a thousand dollars?"

"Do you know who I am?" I asked his skeptical ass. "When I need to, I come up with money fast. I can model in a trade show and make a grand in three days. I can do some more freelance writing. I'll sell my shit. How else do you think I took that $6000 trip to Africa last year?"

Anyhow, you see where that conversation was going and why I separated myself from that mindset, pronto.

I've been through worse things before--a traffic violation was not going to drown me. Yes, it was inconveniencing and annoying, and yes, it was going to cost me, but sometimes the best way to learn things is the hard way. Hindsight and all that jazz.

You know what they say about experience--it only comes after you need it.


And boy, were the months that followed quite the experience.