Caligula and Caesar's American Adventure

The Pick-Up (Cali)

So I picked up Cae at the airport today. Her plane was late, which supports my thought that British airlines are shit- and not like “the shit,” in a good way, but “shit,” in an “I hate this goddamn airline” way.

I pulled up in the van, and got out to help her with her bags. I asked how Britain was- she said it was rainy and boring. I said that it was still better than Wyoming. I fucking hate Wyoming.

As I loaded her stuff into the van she said that she loved the choice of vehicle. I said it was good that she did, because even if she hated it we wouldn’t be getting another van anyway. She would just have to deal.

So yeah, now we’re just sitting in the van deciding where we want to go. That’s hard to do in New York, since there’s so much shit around. Like, we just had this conversation two seconds ago:

Cae: “Do you want to go to Saks Fifth Avenue?”

Me: “I don’t have the money to walk in Saks Fifth Avenue, let alone shop.”

Cae: “What about just shopping at other places?”

Me: “Don’t we need to buy food or something?”

Cae: “Okay, well, what if we buy food and then shop?”

Me: “Are we planning on only eating once across all fifty states?”

Cae: “How much money did you bring?”

Me: “Well, I have my credit card, but it has a limit. It’s not just a magic money card. Do they teach you that in Britain?”

Cae: “Shut up.”

So now I guess we’re going to Saks Fifth Avenue or some shit like that.

I’m sorry, credit card. I’m ever so sorry. I loved you, in life and in death. Blame Cae for all the bullshit that will go on you.

So yeah, Saks Fifth Avenue later.

Fuck my life.