The Trials and Tribulations

Katie Kite ruined me. Permanently.  For all time. She gets an assist from Ashley Sullivan.  But on the scorecard Katie gets the points.

Katie lived down the street.  She was skinny, blond, and the best tan a pre-pubescent boy could ask for.  Her sister Rachel was my babysitter.  If babysitting meant throwing me in front of a TV while she hung out with my older brother.  They had a thing for each other.  But they never did anything about it.  They were Ross and Rachel before Ross and Rachel became common lexicon for two people that needed to be together but weren’t.  But I guess in the end Ross and Rachel got together so I can’t compare Rachel and Robby with those two.  Regardless Rachel hung out with my older brother a great deal.  That meant Katie was around.  I was fine with that.

A few weeks ago I bumped into Rachel at a bar.  After she asked about my brother she said this:

We always thought it was cute to see you and Katie flirt with each other.  You know in that innocent way that two elementary school kids can. 

I didn’t know I was flirting.  I certainly didn’t know Katie was.  I thought we were just hanging out.  I taught her how to use a straw in the bottom of the Capri Sun and drink it.  If that’s what dating was, I was cool with that.  As a precursor to my future relationships, this one ended quickly. 

Katie and her family moved.  Devastated.  I didn’t know what I would do.  Granted it was three miles away and we were still going to the same school.  But we wouldn’t see each other.  Why? 

Two reasons:

1) Enter my mom.  She had just seen the TV movie Adam and was enforcing a strict four block radius for me to play.  Hence I was a prisoner in my own neighborhood. 

2) I saw her school schedule.  No classes together.  No shared lunches.  She might as well have moved upstate.

Enter Ashley Sullivan. Her name still sounds hot.  She was hot.  While Katie stimulated me intellectually, my thing for Ashley was pure superficial.  Ashley was the head cheerleader for the Pee Wee league.  Me?  I played soccer.  Since I was no Pele and often on the sideline, it allowed me to stare across the fields at Ashley. 

Eventually my disobedient ways caught up to me and my coach forced me to run laps.  I didn’t mind so much.  Every ¼ of a turn brought me that much closer to Ashley.  I wanted to say something but I never did.  Some lineman named Jeff beat me to it.  After a few walks home, they started holding hands.  The grade school equivalent of a make out session. 

A few weeks pass and there’s a knock on my door.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It was Katie.  She stopped by with Rachel.  Katie pulled me aside. 

I miss you. 

I was too young and stupid to actually comprehend / say it back.  I just stood there.  Rachel broke the silence.

Do you and your brother want to go to the High School football game? 

My mom waived the radius rule and we headed to the game.  Katie and I split from our siblings and we walked.  Walking turned into laps.  Around the track.  I didn’t care about the game.  It didn’t matter.  By halftime we were holding hands.  My first public display of affection.  It was delightful. 

Towards the end of the game, a group of middle school kids approached us.  Jean jacket, knock-off Metallica patches and the smell of cigarettes.  Everything my mom warned me against but I would later appreciate.  They had the audacity to question Katie and my relationship.  They wanted us to prove our love for each other.  All we had to do was kiss.  I wanted to lay one on her, but I was a gentleman / scared.  The group got bigger and the chants louder. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.  Not our first time.  Not with a bunch of punk kids chanting and egging us on.  I was a latch key kid.  Raised by VHS.  They never did this in any of the movies.  We needed romance.  Not the antithesis of every kiss John Hughes wrote about.  This depraved group of kiss vulchers swarming us was not how it was going to go down.  Not on my watch.   

Katie and I looked at each other, awkwardly.  She leaned in.  I leaned in.  Our eyes met.  And I hugged her.  We turned and walked away from each other.  Opposite directions on a circular track.   The crowd ruined it for me.  I didn’t need them to accept me.  Just Katie.

I ran into Rachel.   I confessed everything. 

You were sweet to wait.  Katie will appreciate it more.  Just think of what you’ll tell her Monday at school. 

For the first time I couldn’t wait for school.  I planned this out all weekend.  It had to be perfect.  I jumped out of bed.  Full of hope and happiness.  A boy on a mission.  I would kiss Katie.  But on our terms.  I had it all planned out.  Even had a friend pass a note to her.  My bases were officially covered. 

After school.  You and me.  By the coat racks.  Alone.

I didn’t leave a box for her to check.  I wasn’t giving her an option.  This was how it was going to be done.  It was full proof.  The hordes of kids would be anxious to leave and we would be alone.  I stared at that clock.  When the hand hit three and my watch chirped I knew it was go time.  Nerves had never been a problem before but looking back I realized that the massive amounts of sweat were not caused by the outside heat. 

Everyone was gone.  I was alone.  Waiting.  The rubbing of corduroy signaled someone was close by.  I looked up.  It wasn’t Katie. It was her friend.  She approached me. 

Katie says you can sit on this and rotate. 

Her friend stuck up her middle finger and walked away.  Part of me wanted to grab the hall monitor and tell her what I just witnessed.  But I was too dejected.  I lowered my head in shame.  Defeated and confused.  Not sure what I did to bring on the middle finger.  Embarrassed, I walked the lonely, long walk down the hallway.  Alone. 

Hi.  You’re on the soccer team, right?

The angelic voice couldn’t have been talking to me.  I looked around.  I’m still alone.  I looked up from my sad stupor.  There she is.  Ashley Sullivan.  In all her glory.  Smiling, she was staring at me.  She broke the silence.

You’re always getting into trouble.

I nodded a yes as I tried to play it cool.  I was still concerned Ashley had me confused with someone else, so I looked around.  It was just me and her. 

I’m Ashley.  What’s your name?

I whispered my answer; Johnny. 

I wasn’t trying to be sexy or seductive that would come years later.  I was just really nervous I’d get the answer wrong.  She kept asking questions.  I gained more confidence in my answers.  We ended the talk with plans to attend the game Friday night.  I would break the radius rule for Ashley.

As the days passed, I didn’t see Katie.  I didn’t need to.  I had other plans.  My pre-game routine consisted of showering, dressing and placing healthy amounts of aftershave on my body.  This was going to be my coming out party, and I was going to make a statement.    

I could care less that team was in the playoffs.  What I did care about was finding Ashley.  I spotted her and headed over.  We talked.  Held hands.  I decided then and there the best way to get over your first girlfriend was to date your first crush.  We did our laps around the track.  Things were going great. 

Until the kiss vulchers appeared.  The chants intermixed with clapping.  No amount of Cool Water could help me with this.  I’ve screwed this up once this month.  I wasn’t going to let it happen again.  I turned to face Ashley.  Thinking I was playing it cool.  In reality sweating and turning a healthy shade of red.  I shrugged my shoulders and let her know my intentions. 

I’ll do this.  If you want to do this?

A phrase that I would carry for decades.  Thankfully only ever used with a female.

Ashley shrugged. 

I wouldn’t mind kissing you. 

I coated my lips with chapstick.  I placed my hands on her shoulders.  Eyes closed.  I leaned in.  My mouth approaches her.  Suddenly a shriek from the crowd forces us to stop.  

TEACHER!

Can’t believe I was cock blocked by a teacher. 

Meet me behind the Snack Shack after halftime.  She whispered to me.  I was at Ashley’s mercy.  The Snack Shack it would be. 

Can you say?

Longest

Halftime

Ever.

Seriously I think they added additional time in there somehow.  I wasn’t even excited for this.  I just wanted to get it over so we could start planning next semester’s class selection.  Home room with Ashley would be phenomenal.

I snuck around the Snack Shack.  Just Ashley, me and apparently everyone else.  I turned the corner and there was already a new circle formed.  Seriously do these people have nothing better to do?  I was pushed into the middle and Ashley followed.  Six feet apart we walked towards each other.  My hands went back on her shoulders.  I closed my eyes and leaned in.  A two second kiss with no tongue became the single defining moment of elementary school.  I was officially a man.  At least for this day.  We pulled away and Ashley turned and left. 

The long walk home went a little easier.  A certain extra hop in my walk assisted me along the way.  I ran into Rachel.  She wasn’t too happy with me.

Why did you kiss some girl tonight that wasn’t Katie?

Was I developing a reputation?  While this would have normally made me feel great, I couldn’t face Rachel.  I looked up to her.  I was embarrassed, shocked and stunned.  How did Rachel know?  The simple answer was not so simple. 

Katie told her.  Katie saw me.  She was part of the crowd.  I was too blinded to see her.  She ran away and cried to Rachel.  I attempted to defend myself.

Katie broke up with me.  Why would she cry and even care?

Rachel couldn’t answer my question that night or any other night. 

My moment in the spotlight was short lived.  Ashley dumped me soon after.  She wanted to get back with Jeff and try and make it work.  It sounded weak then.  It sounds weak now.  To this day I despise him.  I despise all Jeff’s. 

I never knew why Katie dumped me.  I never knew why she sent her friend over to give me the finger.  I never found out why she cried that day at the game.  In a short time I lost the two most important girls in my life.  Ruined.  My own versions of Winnie Cooper and Kelly Kapowski gone.  The girl next door and the head cheerleader. 

No girl will ever come close to those two.  No girl ever has.

 

-w.g.

 

 

 

Vacuumed.  Dusted.  Cleaned the bathroom.  Mopped the kitchen.  Changed all passwords.  Deleted internet settings.  Cleared cookies.  Shredded credit card statements.  Yes The Colonel is arriving.  My apartment is in shambles and I don't need a lecture. 

Hours of cleaning have lead me to the closet.  It becomes the final resting place for the crap I want but no longer need.  A carton of Playboy's.  VHS tapes lining the wall and in the back corner a box.  Worn.  Tattered.  Covered with yards of moving tape.  I'm not eco-friendly - just too lazy to place these items into a new holding cell.  Besides this box has moved with me from town to town to city to city.  It’s been years since I opened it.  Yet I knew what I’d find.  

My 11^th grade yearbook sits on top of notes, letters, and MASH games.  This history of my life and love collected since fifth grade.  Brushing away the dust.  I open the pages to 1994.  Scribbles from classmates - most of which I haven't seen since graduation.  I could go on facebook and see what these people are up to – but that would mean I’d have to get off the floor.  Besides I can only hear about taking the kids to get their flu shots so many times. 

There’s a trend in the notes my Peers wrote.  Several of them claim they are the reason I passed Algebra II.  That surprises me.  I’m pretty sure I only passed because of that Finnish Exchange Student.  I copied off him verbatim.  Might have even used his name on my quizzes.  I had to.  He was 19 and only over here so he didn’t have to do mandatory military service back home.  In my mind he owed me.

Johnny-

Thanks to you I didn’t die for boredom in algebra II and thanks to me you passed it!!  Anyways I enjoyed knowing you and even though I don’t think we’ll ever meet again you’ll never know.  It’s a small world.

S.K.

Over the last fifteen years we have not seen each other.  Hasn’t bothered me.  And I have no use for algebra.  But he kept me academically eligible and I've been eternally grateful.

Another thing I noticed was the amount of times (7) Kelly Kapowski was mentioned.  While I did have a thing for her (still do) – I figured I would have moved on by now (haven’t). 

Why should I?  This is a girl who worked her way through high school - saved money for a Prom Dress - only to give it to her dad because he got laid off.  That’s an important lesson especially in these tough economic times.  I wouldn’t mind seeing her.  Then I could justify living in Los Angeles for six years.  I’d even buy her a dress.  And if I ever see that Jeff guy - I’ll punch him in the face for cheating on her at The Attic.  I hate Jeff.

There were several references to hitting it and getting some.  Now you don’t have to write those in a yearbook – instead you can send me those words of encouragement via text and IM.

I stumble upon her photo and remember my crush.  I flick through the pages searching for her words.  I know she signed it.  I would have never let her not sign it. 

It’s on the back.  Bottom left.  I read it.  Twice. 

Johnny,

Well it’s been fun in Algebra with LJ.  I hope you don’t have to go to summer school.  :)  I hooked you up with some good quiz / test grades.  So when are you going to take me out?  And when are you going to start returning my calls?  You had better call me this summer; I really would love to go out with you sometime.  You’re a great guy.  I’m glad I got to know you better and I’m really glad you danced with me at prom.  :)  I’ll miss seeing you everyday this summer.  You are always more than welcome to come by my pool once in a while to see me. 

Have a great summer.  Don’t be shy about calling (leaves phone number).  I love you!!!

Love me

xoxoxox

PS  I was just kidding when I told you you’d never hit it with a girl.  YOU WILL!

I've dropped the ball a couple times in my life but NEVER like this. 

There was a time in college during summer break when I went to visit a friend.  His parents were out of town and he and his sister were having friends over.  I was one of them.  The brother passed out and in the end it was me and the sister.  On the couch.  She told me I should sleep in her bed.  Judging by her motions I think she was going to join me as well.  The she confirmed it by saying that's where I'll be.  I told her I’d be better off on the couch. 

A few weeks later we’re back at school.  She avoided me and took another friend to a Sorority function.  He kissed her and touched her boobs.  He told me they were spectacular.  In an even bigger/cruel/ironic twist of fate, she gets married to some guy she met on Spring Break. 

I got a facebook request from some hot girl (East Coast Girl-Next-Door-Hot, not LA hot) seven months ago.  After several workplace hours staring at her picture it dawned on me that it was the girl that offered her bedroom to me.  The one I declined.  The girl with a spectacular chest who drove me around in her Mustang (Late 90’s edition, not that crap model from the late 80’s) is now married, living in Delaware, with the last name Titter.  She's a school teacher.  Mrs. Titter is hot.

But here I am.  On the floor reading page 278.  I have written proof that my crush wanted me. I don’t feel well.  It’s not from the cleaning.  I break down what she wrote.

Well it’s been fun in Algebra with LJ.  I hope you don’t have to go to summer school.  :)  I hooked you up with some good quiz / test grades. 

I guess Finland's off the hook for helping me pass.  It's better.  I’d rather claim her.  I think she invented the smiley face.  I don’t remember seeing anyone else add the smiley’s to their messages.  There are several hearts and a few J/J.  But no smiley's.  She was a trendsetter.

So when are you going to take me out?  And when are you going to start returning my calls? 

She asked me out and I did nothing.  We talked on the phone and even went out to the movies in groups.  But I just didn't pull the trigger.  I like to think I was too busy.  But if I was it was only doing this:

This summer better be the best, a lot of nights at Putt-Putt and days at your neighborhood pool. 

That was taken from page four.  I was best man at that guy’s wedding a few years ago.  That’s how we spent our summer.  Playing mini-golf and going to the pool.  I could have been with her at her pool and played mini-golf with her.  She’d think I was amazing because I knew that course like the back of my hand.  I'm not ashamed to admit I entered tournaments that year.  She could have caddied for me. 

Now I’m stuck hearing my friend talk about tiles and hardwood floors.  He’s really excited though.  He just got a Wii.    

You had better call me this summer; I really would love to go out with you sometime.  You’re a great guy. 

There are bits of vomit forming in my stomach.  If you polled people from my high school and gave them an option of Johnny being a nice guy or an asshole.  I think asshole would win.  She saw that there was more to me than that rough exterior.  She wanted to prove it by dating me and calling me a great guy.     

I’m glad I got to know you better and I’m really glad you danced with me at prom.  :)

My Prom date had an unfortunate accident the day before during a Physics outing.  This rendered her useless on the dance floor.   I’m an amazing dancer.  Won the Workplace Christmas Dance Competition and $500 in prize money a few years ago.  I won my crush over at Prom.  This is emphasized by the smiley face.  I was a modern day Ren McCormick. 

I’ll miss seeing you everyday this summer.  You are always more than welcome to come by my pool once in a while to see me. 

Another open invitation that I failed to pursue.  Her pool wasn’t the neighborhood pool I frequented.  No hers was a private pool.  In her backyard.  At her house.  A house owned by her parents.  Both parents worked full time jobs.  That's a lot of alone time.

Have a great summer.  Don’t be shy about calling (leaves phone number).  I love you!!!

Love me

xoxoxox

I’m feeling awkward and nauseous.  I'm all alone.  Then there’s this:

PS  I was just kidding when I told you you’d never hit it with a girl.  YOU WILL!

Post Script and underlined.  Double whammy.  While it was never about hitting it with her - I’m sure I would have enjoyed it.  And if we dated I’d let her wear my letter jacket – changing the entire power structure at lunch.  

Freshman year.  Crush.  Sophomore year.  Hankering.  Junior year.  Infatuation.  And I did nothing.  Here I am.  Reminiscing.  Bothered by something that I haven't thought of in years.   

Senior year my crush got a boyfriend.  I don’t blame her.  I showed zero interest and went a different route.  We danced at our Senior Prom but it wasn’t the same.  It had never been the same since junior year.  Now I know why. 

She's married.  Good for her.  No better yet.  Good for him.  No screw that.  I feel some level of resentment towards him.  I should call him Jeff.  I need a hobby.  Or motivation.  Or a flux capacitor.  I hate the Jeff's.   

The box is packed and covered up with towels and rags. 

I’m not hiding it from The Colonel. 

I’m hiding it from me. 

 

 

 

--I should mention Whyte Gold. But I'm not. 

Instead I need to mention my favorite LA friend Leonardo (2003 - 2009).  Most nights he would sit in his aquarium, peak his neck around the corner and see me type away at my computer.  I'll miss hearing the rocks rumble at 3am and the looks of terror on the little faces of the feeder fish as they entered your domain for an impending death.  I'm better off for knowing you my favorite trionychidae.  Enjoy Pet Heaven.

 

 

It’s reported that fantasy football costs the workplace over one billion dollars a week in productivity.  If it’s good for the masses it’s good for me. 

Allow me to briefly explain fantasy football (mainly because my mom will read this).  You manage a “team” of real-life players who generate points based on their performance in that week’s game.  The most points accumulated win that week.  It concludes with a playoff and a Championship.  If it sounds nerdy – it is.  

I actually think Fantasy Football has ruined the NFL.  While it’s been great for them on a marketing standpoint – it allows the casual viewer a reason to watch.  It does not value wins or losses.  You stop cheering for the team you grew up with and start cheering for one person and what he does.  It’s made a mockery of the sport - and the sport only embraces it because it has generated millions of dollars for the nerds.  It’s taken the fun out of getting drunk at Sport’s Bars.  Well that’s still fun.  But now there are annoying people that don’t know when to cheer and when to cry.  They yell run it when it’s an obvious passing situation. 

That said.  I am all about wasting time at work and this seems to be the leading culprit.  I decide to join a league.  Several random people and myself – all bonding over the lack of work-place production.  I need a team name.  Shock Value.  But that’s only because someone grabbed Soulja Boy.

For a moment albeit brief, I was going to take this serious.  But I also feel workplace humor is important.  I decide I’m going to assemble the worst team in fantasy football history.  Look you have to realize that I’m the guy that hopes to get on Jeopardy only to register the lowest score in history.  I want to have the pleasure of risking a true daily double only to answer San Dimas High School Football Rules.  I go to the Dollar Store and ask for price checks on all items.  I do this strictly for entertainment purposes.  That’s how I want to leave my mark on society. 

I turn to the Internet to help select this rag tag team of players.  I search for How not to draft a fantasy football team. 

Didn’t work.  Google got a little too smart.  It allowed me to type in How not to and then decided to complete my search.  It went with - How not to get pregnant.  This bothered me because that’s pretty simple.  If you go by the following rules nobody will ever get pregnant:

• Don’t have sex
• If you have sex use contraception.  The more the merrier.  Condom + Pullout + Pill = little clean up / no baby.
• If you don’t have contraception and you still feel the urge.  Talk to her about fantasy football.  No one got laid by drafting DeSean Jackson in the fourth round and then bragging about it.  No lay.  No baby.

I break for lunch because they are serving Chimichanga’s in the cafeteria.

Breaks over. 

I decide to trust my instincts on putting together my team.  My draft position is #8.  Nice.  My old number.  It dawns on me.  The last team oriented / athletic event I participated in was coaching the ACO’s to the sorority powder-puff championship my second senior year.  Ten years ago.  A freaking decade.  On the flip side I hooked up with the QB.  How many coaches can say that?  I might have felt her boobs as well. (Doubt I’ll send this to mom now).

The draft begins and the players selected follow a predictable order.  I’m up. 

My initial pick: Shayne Graham Kicker. 

No slight to Shayne.  He’s a ten year veteran and one heck of a kicker.  But you would never ever select a kicker in the first round.  So I did. 

The following is the conversation that appeared in the chat room:

747: wowowwwwwww

JJ: nice!

747: phuck you

pb: i agree

JJ: why waste your time SHOCK?

TEX: R U FULKIN KIDDING ME

HOBGOBLINS: nice pick retard

JJ: dik

747: really?

pb: jack off

JJ: nice 1

JJ: drugs kill

747: fu.ck you

CHODE: I GUESS HIS GAY PORNO IS STILL UPLOADING

SHOCK VALUE: Gobble Gobble!  Make sure you watch Hard Knocks on HBO Wednesday nights!  

NOTE:  Great show.  A must for any football fan. 

pb: replace that pick with fitz or something a little more reasonable

TEX: WHAT A smurfING IDIOT

TEX: smurf

leiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii: do you really have nothing better to do than smurf this stuff up

SHOCK VALUE: Sorry leiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii or is it leiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii? - this is my first draft and I'm a tad nervous.

TEX: smurf

SHOCK VALUE:  I was always a Gargamel fan.    

NOTE:  No idea how the Smurf’s got involved.  Urban dictionary clears it up for me.  Not what I expected.  This is information I could have used before the draft.  I would have chosen the team name The Smurfing Gargamel’s.   

clownshow: can I be Papa smurf

clownshow: haha

clownshow: slutty

TEX: A S S SH O L E

SHOCK VALUE: There’s a great deal of hatred on here.  Just trying to make new friends. 

TEX: SLUT

CHODE: GOOD BURN IN HELL

TEX: GAY

JJ: i could care less. just got a top 5 pick @ 13

pb: seriously, why are you here...do you really have nothing else better to do than to waste the time of 11 other people

JJ: on the edge of my seat for her next pick!

TEX: U WANT THE DRAFT TO BE AT LEAST CLOSE TO BEING REAL

CHODE: You soul-less whore sucking goat

After having my soul questioned I decide to keep it in the kicker family.  Afterall Graham’s groin has been acting up.  I select kicker Nick Novak.  He’s not even on a team.  But I have faith he'll get picked up.

CHODE: HAHA

SHOCK VALUE: ACC represent!

JJ: scum of the earth b-otch

SOULJA BOY:  ur loser

SHOCK VALUE: I’m a loser? You people take this seriously and are just plain rude.  Open your hearts to others and learn to love all that is around.  See I’m teaching you valuable life lessons. 

JJ: this isn't the place to make social commentary  

JJ: whore

SHOCK VALUE: Maybe - but aren't you excited to see my next pick? 

NOTE:  Couldn’t find that Sorority QB on facebook.  Bit of a bummer.

JJ: maybe she's picking all homo kickers...

I need someone who will bring fans to the seats.  With my third pick I select Mike Vick.  Controversial yes but he’ll fill seats and as an owner we need revenue.      

SHOCK VALUE: Hide your Beagle’s - Vicks’ an Eagle.  Ruff Ruff.  And this is coming from a dog owner!  It's a cute one.  Fits right on your lap!  

NOTE:  I don’t have a dog.  I have a turtle.  His name is Leonardo. 

747: What happened as a child to u?  Where you not loved?  Beet up?

JJ: both

SHOCK VALUE: Is there any form of spell check for you to utilize? I feel you have several grammatical / spelling mistakes.  This goes for everyone.  We are in the midst of a recession and no one with lousy spelling will ever get hired. 

NOTE:  Another life lesson. 

JJ: ass hole

SHOCK VALUE: Oooh I'm up! 

JJ: have fun playin with yourself

SHOCK VALUE: But we're all in this together! 

Vick will need a receiver.  Plaxico Burress it is.

SOULJA BOY:  idiot hes in prison for two years.

SHOCK VALUE:  I’m building for the future.

JJ: ha.  That was pretty good. 

SHOCK VALUE:  See JJ there is good in you after all.  Like Vader at the end of Jedi.  I could sense it but we have to get all that hatred out of you. 

NOTE:  ROTJ still makes me cry.  Darth Vader: Luke, help me take this mask off. Luke: But you'll die. Darth Vader: Nothing can stop that now. Just for once, let me look on you with my own eyes…

TEX: c ya

pb: i'm out...cut my losses 

Two people have left the draft.  This allows me some extra time.  I’m searching for that proverbial sleeper pick.  I wonder though.  Has anyone ever described me as a sleeper pick?  I think it would be pretty cool if a girl walked up to me at a bar and said I wouldn’t normally take you home but I feel you have great potential and could really surprise everyone.  Then I go home with her and BAM I’m an All-Pro.  Of course I’ll follow my rules from above and there will be no baby. 

I’ll have to keep hoping for the bar scene another time.  I need my sleeper pick.  I take Marcus Vick.  I am well aware that he is not in the league anymore.  In fact I’m pretty sure he’s in jail.  But I don’t think he ever officially retired.  Besides I have my reasons. 

7:wtf

CHODE: phuck you

SHOCK VALUE:  He was better then Mike coming out of high school.  I figure the two of them just need guidance and an owner that is willing to nurture.  Here at Shock Headquarters we offer that.

7:ass

I wait a few moments. 

A few more.

Sadly I’m now all alone.  The Computer moderator has informed me that everyone has quit the draft.  I’m now competing against eleven simulations.  I should be disappointed.  But I’m not.  This allowed me some great picks in the later rounds.  I really think this team has potential.  It’ll take a few years for everything to gel but I already love the team’s chemistry. 

I’ve decided to play this one through.  Maybe I’ll win.  Maybe I’ll get that nerdy girl at the bar.  But it will certainly get me through the work day.  And that’s something that everyone needs.

I’m scrambling to get cash. I can’t see anything else. Except booze. That always gets me sidetracked. The judge said I might have a problem. I think he’s wrong. I need $327 to pay a fine. My unemployment checks just aren’t kicking it. The lady at the Temp Agency doesn’t care. She just points at a computer and administers the test.   

I’m all tense and that might be for the lack of ass on my part. I haven’t hooked up since Nikki and haven’t talked to her sober since way before that. I’m dumb-founded by technology. Booty texting and sexting are two things I would have really loved in college. Back then I had to remember every girl’s phone number. Now I can’t even remember their names. Their faces just memories as I lay in bed. Sweating because I don’t have air condition.   

I remember Nikki’s name. She always came over. She even brought donuts. The little chocolate ones that come six in a pack. I liked Nikki. I should have told her. I should have called her. But I sent her a text. Late. Like real late. Even after she told me stop sending me texts. I want a relationship. It took a few days but I willed myself to read my drunken outgoing messages. My last ditch effort at a relationship - sent at 4:18am. 

Great news! My schedule freed up. Come on over. I’m ready to play.

Surprisingly no matter how drunk I am – I still find the need to place apostrophe’s in the proper location. Nikki never came by. I haven’t had donuts in ages.

The Standard Downtown had a Pool Party. I went. Made-out with an Asian chick. Five minutes after I met her. Some douche was yapping about Goldman Sachs and I’m three cocktails deep. I walk up to them and say Fuck Goldman Sachs. I might have had an air of arrogance / confidence on the subject. I did take a finance class in college. Even passed.

My ex was in the class. She broke up with me for a guy with blonde hair. The day she dumped me I went to The Balcony. Got drunk with a friend. Didn’t tell him she dumped me. Didn’t tell him he was a friend. He pointed out the ex kissing her new beau. I then told him that she dumped me. He ordered shots. I then told him he’s a friend. Didn’t see her again until last month. Ran into her at the airport. We hugged. It got awkward. Probably because I wouldn’t let go. I smiled. The contours of her body still fit mine. I told her call me the next time you’re in town. She responded with Alright! At no time did I offer my number nor did she request it.

The Asian girl was into me. Until I asked her if she could let me borrow $337 (this would pay the fine and allow me Pinkberry). No she insisted. Then we kissed. But I got a little upset. Not because she’s Asian but because I really don’t want to work.

I drove around town filling out applications. Some guy wanted to kill me for driving too slow. So I gave him the finger. It wasn’t even an aggressive finger. More like a – yes I’m aware I’m wrong but this will make me feel better finger. It was even left handed. Then he called me a stupid ass white boy. Which I thought was really racist on his part. Then I gave him an aggressive right handed middle finger and quickly got off the highway. Probably should have stayed on it. Only bad neighborhoods are populated with King Taco’s. I stopped regardless. The guy at the counter thought I was a cop. I didn’t tell him I wasn’t. He kept saying 5-0, 5-0. I took it as a compliment. He could have said Unemployed Cracker – Unemployed Cracker. I prefer both of those over Stupid Ass White Boy. That implies I’m dumb.

I’m a lot of things. Apathetic. Dull. Everyday. Humdrum. Indifferent. Lazy. Old hat. Ordinary. Prosaic. Stale. Unambitious. Uncreative. Unexciting. Unimaginative. Uninspiring. Uninteresting. Unmoved. Basically any of your Un words. Those I am. But not stupid.

I’m disappointed by life that I find self gratification over-rated. I have to make it exciting. I scour the sites looking for people I know. Someone from my high school had to leak a tape online.

I’m sidetracked when I receive an email notification from my old boss. I sent him a message about getting my old job back. He initially said yes. Then I read the latest message which read the owners have decided to close the club and open it in a few months better than ever! The owners don’t need the money. Me? I applied for a job at a deli. And the owner is hesitant about hiring me. Even though I have work related experience from college. He reminds me that was ten years ago. A decade. I never thought of measuring my life in decades and I’m in my third one. Four is closing in. I should have listened to Mom and The Colonel when they told me to get a real job.

If and when the club re-opens I’ll get to see my work wife. We’re always together.  Often ending our nights dining on late night food.  She calls me her work husband and tags me in photos as such. Then she goes home to the bartender’s house and I go home to my couch. It’s a great relationship.

Lucky for me I didn’t buy her a ring. An engagement ring is supposed to cost two months salary. That logic was started by a Diamond Company hoping to increase sales in the early part of the 20^th century. And people listened. Good luck to my future wife. Hopefully one day I’ll get a job where I don’t work for tips. But what little paycheck I do get will be withheld by the credit card company. I can’t complain. They’ve been coming after me for years and that little piece of plastic got me through Spring Break 2001.

Ah Key West. I fell in love. With Alison. I can’t believe I dated a girl I met on Spring Break. And she went to my school. A double whammy. I should have stayed on campus and worked the deli counter. At least there I went home with rumps of ham and roast beef. I’d take a spoon and dig in whenever I was hungry. That was good living. Now my fridge has seven different bottles of water. I refuse to drink tap water but I will make out with any Asian girl at the drop of a hat. Even with a swine flu epidemic.

Alison’s married. She requested me on facebook. She posted pics of her honeymoon. I was never into spelunking. I constantly search the girls listed as friends on my facebook page. I could give two shits about the guys. I only joined so I could find my old hookups. And old crushes. And an old hookup of my friends but it’s been long enough for me to now have a shot with them. I’m sure my friends are the same. They can go after all my old hookups. I don’t care. Except for one. She wasn’t a hookup. She was Captain of the girls that mattered.

A psychic told me I will have my heart broken by twice as many hearts as I’ve broken. She might have read that on a poster. But I listened. She also told me I’d meet someone in six months or to come back and see her. It’s been five. I’m still holding out. When I do meet her. I hope she has coupons. Because I don’t think I’ll be dining out anytime soon.

I ace that Temp test.  She said they'll place me when something comes open.  It's not looking good for this fine. 

The slope I’m on is getting more and more slippery. It’s almost a 90 degree angle and I’m somehow laughing at it all. It could be worse. I could have gotten that real job. I could have been working in an office. Now I’m living the dream. One bad job at a time.

 

Special thanks - w.g.

I work with a guy who tells amazing stories. They are completely bogus – but I feel it’s better to just ride them out. It gets me through the work day.

The bogus work story guy is Cuban. Well he says he’s Cuban. He says a lot of things. He knows I have a thing for the Catering Girl at work. I told him months ago. He tells me he’s already slayed that dragon. I choose not to believe him.

It’s Burger Day in the cafeteria. I normally wait for Catering Girl to go to lunch so I can bump into her. But I’m hungry and love can wait. I get my seat and prepare for my state mandated break. The Cuban show’s up with Catering Girl. He leans over and bums a dollar off me. He says he’s tapped out. He buys her a soda.

The President’s on CNN giving a speech about Guantanamo. The Cuban reminds everyone that he’s from Havana. He proceeds to tell us the story of his arrival to the United States.

I’m seventeen and I’m trapped in Cuba. I hate it. Can’t do anything. So I made a raft and sail for several days, landing in Key West. It’s the second week of March. I hit some rocks, ditch my raft and walk down Main Street. I’m drenched in sweat and my shirt is ripped. I haven’t tasted food or drink for days. I walk into Sloppy Joes and there’s a Wet T Shirt contest going on. I thought that was natural. I had no idea it was Spring Break. I walk up to the bartender and tell them I’m defecting. The bartender buys me a beer. Next thing you know I’m the house musician.

Catering Girl is baffled. She doesn’t know what to say. She’s gazing at him. I get more fries. I fail to remind him that I interviewed him for his job. According to his resume he graduated from Cuban University when he was 23. That means after he was done being the house musician he took a raft back to Cuba and finished up school.

The President’s speech is over. Biden is providing commentary from Delaware. The Catering Girl asks if he’s ever been to Delaware. I look at The Cuban. I’m waiting for some sort of response. Maybe that’s where his raft landed the second time around? The Cuban says nothing. I speak.

I’ve been to Delaware. You have? Yes. I look at her. I look at The Cuban. I turn off the TV.

It started as a typical Saturday at the beach. Shady had a family condo in Bethany Beach that we had been going to for years. The condo was good to us. Sure we had our run in with those angry parents but we had no idea that they were under age. I mean they were smoking cigarettes and by my account that means you’re 18. It’s also where I met Dukes. She was legal. Amazing eyes. A stripper name and stripper moves to boot.

We had the Condo but that night we were heading to a neighboring beach to meet up with some friends. Mav books us a hotel room for the night. It’s Snuggles, Shady, Mav and me. A good little crew.

We check-in and head to our friends beach house. Afternoon drinking games are in order. To this day Mav blames these early events to what would be a day that would forever change his life. He should have just blamed himself.

I’m social director. We play Chalice. A game very similar to Beer Pong. Each team of two would have 1-2 balls and could fire back in any order at any time. When you sank a ball the opposition drank the cup. Ten successful baskets and you win. The losing team (but when you’re dealing with drinking games – are there every any real losers?) would have to finish the middle bowl (the Golden Chalice) filled with alcohol. Games went quick and beer quicker. Four straight defeats and Mav is chanting Malice of Chalice. The game is quickly renamed.

Now Mav and drinking have had a few run-ins in the past. This is the man who had multiple accidents involving Six Flags and the Chili Cook-off.  Or the time he thought he got a hooker in Vegas. Instead he just hooked up with a really unattractive girl in the stairwell and gave her fifty bucks when it was over.  Then there was the snow storm debacle of ’02. We were snowed in with six random girls. Games and drinks were flowing. It was going to be a real life Forum experience. Until Mav decided to up-chuck in the kitchen sink. The smell alone killed the party. They kicked us out of the house. Alcohol was the key ingredient in all of Mav’s misadventures.

You think he would learn his lesson. But he didn’t. He’d lose a game of Malice and sign up for another. I managed to stay somewhat coherent (as opposed to the time Bruiser and I decided to play one-on-one flip cup) and even tried to slow him down. He wanted nothing of that.

After several hours at the beach house – we headed down to the Waterfront / Starboard with a large group of people. It was time to see Mr. Greengenes – a staple of the Atlantic seaboard. The band started playing. Over time the group separated.

Mav decided it was best to leave. Somehow he managed to get lost in Dewey. For those of us who have been to Dewey - getting lost is a near impossibility. Dewey runs on one main street - Route 1 and is probably about 1.5 miles in length. All the bars are located on one end of the street and we were staying at the other end - 400 yards away. To be clear, one simply needs to walk in a straight line down the main street and you would get to your destination.

Snuggles and Shady head back to the hotel. I had my own adventure with Dukes. Slight problem. Mav had the key and the room was under his name. They were locked out and forced to sleep outside. Next morning my phone rings. Mav is finally back. We all meet at the Rusty Rudder for lunch. There is some explaining to do.

Mav remembers the drinking games. He doesn’t remember the band. He doesn’t know how he got lost. We remind him that it’s a straight line home. It doesn’t register. He remembers climbing over a fence and scraping his leg. He wandered into a neighborhood. He doesn’t know why.

At some point he is so drunk that he gives up on finding our hotel. He stumbles into the backdoor of a townhouse and passes out on the couch. He is awoken by a man. He explains his ordeal. The Good Samaritan gives him band-aids for his leg. He then points to the back room and tells Mav to sleep it off.

Mav stumbles into the back to pass out. He gets into sleep mode. This involves him stripping down to his boxers so he can get comfortable. Let’s face it – no one want’s to sleep wearing jeans. He passes out face down on the bed.

Mav is now awake. This is because the Good Samaritan has decided to become a body pillow and is lying on top of Mav. He kindly asks him to get off.

The Good Samaritan is now sitting on the bed – Mav is standing in front of him. Mav is explaining that he’s not gay. He even uses his private school education to logically explain why this wouldn’t work. And it’s not like I could maintain an erection right now. I’m too drunk!

The Samaritan – can’t really call him Good anymore - decides to call his bluff. After some light resistance he manages to pull down Mav's boxers. See I’m not even hard. The Samaritan realizing this is going no where - allows him to pass out for a few hours. Mav gets back in bed and sleeps. Eventually he wakes up on the inside of a spooning situation.

A few hours later Snuggles and Shady are still sitting outside of the hotel. They witness The Samaritan dropping off Mav.

Mav’s face shows us he’s mortified. He’s still drunk. He realizes that he shouldn’t be telling us this story. The Bloody Mary I ordered him ensures he does. He told us what happened. Maybe he told us a little too much. Shortly after we left Dewey and he swore us to secrecy.

Part of me has always wondered what transpired between the boxers getting dropped and the spooning. I never felt comfortable thinking nothing happened. But I guess sometimes questions are best left unanswered. I’d hate to think that my status as social director might have contributed to Mav drinking himself gay. But I can’t think like that.

So yes Catering Girl I’ve been to Delaware. And so has Snuggles. And Shady. And Mav.

Lunch is over. The Cuban is nowhere in sight. Guess he can’t top this one today. Catering Girl and I head our separate ways. I double back and jump in the elevator with her. I ask her if she can keep a secret. Of course I can. I tell her that The Cuban is actually Mav. He’s not. But I called dibs on her months ago. Besides she’s got eyes like Dukes.

The real Mav? He’s married. Has two kids. He hasn’t touched alcohol since that fateful night. And he’s never been back to Delaware. Would you?