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.

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.

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 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.

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?

How’d I get here?

11pm.  I’m in bed.  The beeping signals a text.  It’s not the tone that signals a message from Junior.  His is customized.  This way I always know when and if to answer.  No this is the sound I’ve been waiting for all week.  It’s Hurricane.

What u doing

Her lack of punctuation and spelling makes me realize she doesn’t play by societies  rules. 

Nothing.

I figure that’s a better response then I’m lying in bed choking on the ashes of regret and untapped potential.

Come ovr -  wanna drink

11:23 pm.  Showered, dressed and on her doorstep.  It’s nice that she lives so close.  It’s nicer that I’ve scouted out six different ways to get to her house.  It’s not nice that the shower didn’t take.  I’m sweaty.  Got dressed very quickly.  Shouldn’t have done that. 

11:31 pm.  Drinks are flowing.  I should have brought a movie.  Six years of dating in college and I never left the apartment.  Drinks and a movie.  Trademark move.  Wanna come over for left-over Keg beer and watch Armageddon?  What girl could resist that?  Well several of them actually.  But that’s not the point. 

Hurricane wants to watch Kenny Powers.  So we’re watching Kenny Powers.  Not sure if that’s going to set the mood. 

1:00am. Drinks are still flowing.  Now we’re watching Dirty Dancing.  She’s mocking it.  I’m mocking it as well.  On the outside.  Inside?  I love this movie.

3:07am. Work in a few.  I don’t care.  She’s close.  She grabs my drink.  She thinks it’s hers.  It’s mine.  No it's not.  Yes it is!  I embrace the fact she’s double fisting.  Time for my move.

I lean in.  I kiss her.  No free hand to push me away.  Another trademark move.  Invented my first freshman year while doing laundry with Rebecca.  I made sure her hands were occupied with clothes and laid one on her.  The laundry mat was disgusting.  She didn’t want to drop her clothes and push me away.  There’s a very good chance she was a gay.  Just checked Facebook.  She’s into chicks.  And I’m totally cool with that. 

Hurricane kisses back.  She’s good.  She’s done this before.  I kinda wanted to be her first.  Granted she’s 23.  Might be a little weird if she’s never kissed someone. 

No.  She should have waited.  Psycho Johnny taking over.  This can be bad.  I think she’s drinking out of a straw.  That could be worse.  I’m thinking too much.  I open an eye.  She is drinking out of a straw.  Watching TV.   

I don’t care.  I’m not doing this for me.  Well that’s not true.  Of course I’m doing this for me.  And Monty.  And Snuggles.  And Pudding.  And The Consigliore.  Basically my friends back east that are married.  They like it when I send drunken text messages detailing my adventures.  I like to remind them of my single life.  I actually hate texting.  I think it’s rude.  Especially when girls text.  Unless it’s about me.  It’s never about me.  Texting sucks.  But sexting...

We’re kissing with no whiskey spills.  I sneak a peak.  Both her eyes are open.  She probably just wants to look at me.  This is weird because she’s staring at the TV.  She’s licking my arm.  Actually she’s not licking my arm.  Her dog’s licking my arm.  Sweat residue from the shower that didn’t take.  Won’t have to shower for work – got that going for me.  She pulls away.  Hurricane – not the dog.  Her smile says it all.  She’s hammered. 

Thank you. 

For the drink(s) or the kiss?  I like kissing you.  Nice.  Psycho Johnny takes a step back.  He’s still around.  Just not necessarily in the room. 

Don’t thank me.  Thank Nicole.  Thank Maverick and Charlie.  Thank seventh grade camp.  Those three things taught me how to kiss.  I don’t tell Hurricane any of this. 

I have an audition tomorrow.  I should get to sleep.  Hurricane’s an actress / bartender.  That means she actually gets parts.  If it was bartender / actress that means she wants to be an actress but is better off going the service industry route. 

Me?  She thinks I’m a writer.  I might have told her I’m a writer.  I did tell her I’m a writer.  I wrote a poem in high school.  To an ex-girlfriend.  Trying to get back with her.    I didn’t even write it.  I just copied the lyrics from an obsolete Australian band.  Thank  God they never made it big.  I think I even wrote guitar riff during the third stanza.  I might have also sent her a card emblazoned with the lyrics of a Police song.  I had no idea it was about a stalker. 

She’s tired and we made out.  Good enough for a drunken text in my book.  You can stay.  An even better text presents itself.  I take off my shirt.  Head to her room.  On the couch.  Oh.  Of course.  Probably better.  Haven’t quite taken care of the Magnum, p.i. chest hair for a few days (weeks).    

The joys of being Italian.  First guy to hit puberty.  Only kid in four basketball leagues with underarm hair.  Championship game and Darlene’s there.  The Colonel approaches.  What’s wrong?  Nothing.  Why you running up and down the court with your arms above your head?  Here’s a man who has spent over 20 years ensuring the Russian’s don’t attack.  I can’t lie to him.  I shaved my armpits before the game.  You’re going to be hairy.  Deal with it.  Tough way to learn about razor burn. 

This isn’t going to happen.  Oh.  Tonight.  I might have added that tonight part.  I did add the tonight part.  Her dog barked and it kind of diluted what she was saying.  I have no idea if that’s what she said.  Probably better.  I’m not even close to being mentally prepared.  I head to the door.  I go for the hug.  She leans in for the kiss.  We kiss.  Actually she went for the hug.  I went for the kiss.  But the end result was the same.  She smiles and tells me she needs to ask me something.  Can I ask you something? 

I’d love to move in.  Psycho Johnny is back.  She thinks I’m joking.  You’re so funny!  I’m only half joking. 

Do you feel how I feel?  Yes.  Of course I do.  We’ve known each other for six days.  Two dates.  And yes I’m counting the time we ran into each other at 7-11.  I bought a big bite.  You bought a lottery ticket hoping to make this months rent.  I love your lofty aspirations and lack of a savings account.  You’re so sexy.  Basically what I’m trying to tell you is I love you.  There I said it.  I’m not scared. 

I don’t tell her that.  I might have told her that.  I did tell her that.  You’re so funny!

I just feel we make a good team.  Team’s good.  Teams have fun.  Teams shower together.  You can be captain. 

What I’m saying is I’d really like you to write me something I can film.  It’s for an acting class.  We have to film a scene and present it to everyone.  So we’re not in love?  You’re so funny.  We’re not dating?  LOL (yes she said lol but she said it with such force - I capitalized it in my head).  Seriously will you do it for me? 

Let’s be honest.  She’s hot and we made out.  I’m buzzed (hammered) and have a meeting in three hours.  I’m about to send a mass text (sans the last two minutes) and am pretty sure I’d agree to anything she asked right now.  I agree.  I even clapped twice and said I’m excited.  I didn’t foot stomp.  Which is a good thing.  I would have hated for her to label me gay. 

I get masculine again and give her the – Johnny likes this - thumbs up.  Nod my head.  And tell her it’ll be great.  We hug.  Oh I just need it tomorrow.  Just give me anything you’ve written.  I leave.  I go home.  I don’t even text.  I tried to sext.  But I think I sent it to my cousin.  I did send it to my cousin.  He wasn’t impressed. 

8:45am. I’ve loaded up on Red Bull and Jolt Cola  I’ve got a scene to write.  I’m at work.  Unlimited long distance, internet and an office door that closes.  This shouldn’t be hard.  I’m a writer.  Not going to lie.  I’ve got nothing.  I call The Consigliore.  It’s times like these he’s needed. 

He consults.  I listen.  We’ve got nothing.  Just give her something you’ve already written.  I’ve copied the lyrics of hack bands, stalkers and quoted Shakespeare for a Hallmark competition.  I’m awful.  That’s not true there’s something else you’ve written.  Something that did get published.

He’s right.  My synopsis of our football team senior year.  Over 2000 people read it.  Well anyone that had a yearbook read it.  I ensured this by only signing that page.      

That’s not what I was thinking about.  You know - Johnny Plus Two.  It had everything.  Love.  Deceit.  A WWII prison escape.  Passion.  Revenge.  Gamorrean Guards.  Heartache.  Twins.  Triple kisses.

Think about it!  Triple kisses between Johnny and the twins!  Everything an aspiring actress needs to learn and embrace.  I wrote that for craigslist.  Erotica.  It was blocked in twenty minutes.  Blocked because it was so good.  It wasn’t good. 

It was great.

You’ll get to kiss her again - twice.  And she’ll be in a bikini.  That’s two items away from nude.  True.  Very true.  I like where he’s coming from.  Filming the triple kiss won’t be that hard.  We’ll kiss each other and a mirror.  Just edit my reflection out.  She’ll nail it and get a huge part.  She’ll be indebted to you forever.  People - that’s why he’s The Consigliore.

9:46 am. I email it to her. 

10:58 am. Text arrives.  I love it. 

11:36 am. Another text.  I’m filming it tonight.  Thx.  Hurricane. 

12:37 pm. Third text.  Please stop sexting.  I’m your cousin.  Damn fat fingers.  Always hit the wrong buttons. 

1:30 pm. Lunch time.  Employee cafeteria menu states pizza.  They bring down chicken and mashed potatoes.  I don’t ask for a lot.  Just the menu to be followed.

2:00 pm. Lunch ends.

2:15pm. I run into my boss and tell him I haven’t gone to lunch.  I go to second - lunch.  Still no pizza.

2:45pm. Second lunch ends.  Facebook begins.

2:46pm. Facebook ends. 

3:01pm. Facebook begins II.  Gotta make sure nothing has been updated in the last fifteen minutes.  A friend is now single.  Her girlfriends are consoling her with comments.  It’s pretty embarrassing. 

Even more embarrassing is when a girl broke up with me and didn’t update her status to single.  After a few weeks I sent her a message saying she could update her status.  No.  She said.  I’m in a relationship.  We’ve been dating for six months.  The timeline in my head allowed me to realize they were dating while we were dating.  Information I could have used before I bought her that necklace. 

3:08pm.  Facebook survey.  Actually had to take the survey four times until I got the result I wanted.  I’m declared Han Solo.

3:30pm. State mandated ten minute break turns into me sleeping in my car.  I actually have no idea whose car I’m in.  I live around the corner and walk to work.  This car smells of cigarettes.  I leave a note.  Quit smoking.  For both of us.

4:15pm. I head to the liquor store for food.  I’m dehydrated and shouldn’t be eating jerky. 

5:01pm. I drive home.  Double park.  It’s not my car.  I smell like cigarettes.   

5:11pm. I pass out.  It’s glorious. 

8:32pm. Text arrives.  Come say hi

8:41pm. Cold shower.  Ensure it takes.  It does.

9:03pm. I’m knocking on Hurricane’s door.  I don’t know why I don’t just enter.  We are two shades from dating.  I’d let her wear my letter jacket.  And that’s sacred. 

She answers the door.  She hugs me.  This scene is perfect.  I love it!  Dog needs to stop barking.  I think she might have just told me she loved me. 

9:04pm. Strange guy with an amazing head of hair approaches from the kitchen.  My kitchen.  Well soon to be my kitchen.  This is Danny.  Oh he must be the camera operator.  Makes perfect sense.  I extend my hand.  He’s playing Johnny.  Come again?  Hand retracted.

Danny speaks.  I refuse to listen.  I stare off into space.  A space being occupied by Danny’s amazing head of hair and lack of razor burn.  I don’t think the shower is taking at all.  He continues to speak.  Shower didn’t take.  I’m sweating.  So we changed a few names and a couple of items but think it would be perfect.  We just wanted to thank you for writing it for us.  We?  Danny’s my acting partner.  Sweet.  I don’t know why I said that.  It’s not sweet.  It’s numbingly painful.

I head for the couch.  Not sure why I want to watch.  But I’m curious as to how someone is going to play me.  Johnny Newman.  Oh we changed the name.  Danny doesn’t think he can be a Johnny.  Of course he doesn’t. 

They’re whispering.  She asks me to walk with her to the door.  Walk with me to the door.  We walk.  She talks.  I try not to listen.  I listen. Look Danny is a little embarrassed as the scene calls for him to take off his shirt.  No it doesn’t.  I would never write a shirtless scene for myself. Have you seen me with my shirt off?  Oh we added it.  Thought it would work well.  An added comedic element.  He wants you to leave.  Who’s going to operate the camera?  I was in AV in high school.  Actually I wasn’t in AV.  I stole lunch from the kid in AV.  But something had to rub off on me.  Danny has a tripod.  Of course he does. 

9:17pm. He’s glancing out the window.  I try and mark my territory.  Lean in for the kiss.  She pulls back.  No.  I can’t.  I don’t want to rush things.  But we kissed last night - which was technically this morning.  You’re so funny.  No we didn’t.  Yes we did.  Stop.  Seriously I’m laughing and I need to get ready for this scene.  Yes we did.   We didn’t kiss.  Yes we did!  Well maybe I blacked out. 

Blacked out?  You can’t play that card with me.  I’m the king of the black out.  Got me out of every college argument and miserable drunken hookup for six glorious years.  Sorry I was blacked out.  Magical words.  The excuse ladder: 1) I was drunk 2) I was blacked out - or if you want to admit blame but with no repercussions 3) My bad. 

No one blacks out on me.  That’s my move!  Well I did.  But you remember wanting me to write this for you.  Weird isn’t it?  Danny coughs.  I turn to yell.  His shirt’s off.  I gotta work out.  I walk away.   

9:18pm.  Hey.  I stop.  Thanks.  Kiss?  No kiss.  I don’t want to ruin anything.  We’re a good team.  Team?  I feel like I just got cut - for amazing abs boy over there.  Who, let’s be honest – lives in Hollywood and wants to be an actor.  And the only time a man wants to be an actor is because he couldn’t play high school sports.  This explains why everyone is 5’7” out here.  So if you want your kids to be medium height – that’s on you.  I want champions.  Stallions.  You see the price of tuition these days?  Academia is overrated.  Athletics.  Now there’s a future.  I don’t tell her any of this.

Just give me some time.  Time?  Just some time.  We high-five.  I leave. 

9:36pm. I’m back.  I don’t knock.  I don’t pop in.  I’m watching from the window.  I have to see if Danny Ab’s has the chops to play Johnny.  Hurricane’s bikini is flesh colored which makes me think she’s nude.  She is nude.  They’re not triple kissing.    

9:37pm. I remind myself that it is only acting.  She’s not even enjoying it.  I can tell because her eyes are closed.  I leave.  Again. 

10:58pm. I’m in bed.  Replaying the last 24 hours.  Hurricane’s words echo in my head.

Just some time. 

I smile. 

Time?  I’m Shawshank Johnny.  All I’ve got is time. 

11pm.  I got this.

She’s into me. Granted I think every girl is into me. Actually I have no idea. We work together. But I’m pretty sure she likes me. So in a span of twelve seconds I concoct a plan to see where I stood. I told her Thursday was going to be my last day and I’m leaving. That was the plan. Now I’m waiting for her reaction.

Slight problem.

She didn’t cry. I’m not crying. She didn’t need a tissue. I don’t need a tissue. She didn’t ask me to reconsider. Please don’t reconsider. She didn’t ask me to kiss her. In fact you should step away from me.

She did ask me for something. Think you can put in a good word for me? Chick wants my job. I tell her I might reconsider.

I could blame myself for being in this industry. Or I could just blame it on the beer.

It’s my first freshman year. I’m a Communications major. One night I went to a party and hit on this senior who was taking my class as an elective. Next morning I was embarrassed from crashing and burning so I skipped the class. This went on the next day as well. A pattern developed. Eventually I dropped the class. It was a prerequisite course for everything else. Had to change majors. All because of a few keg stands at a party that sucked anyway. Hotel Management had no math or science. Sounded good to me.

Two years later – the senior showed up at my bar. Well it wasn’t really my bar – but it was my Peach Pit. She pulled me aside. Do you remember me? Yes. You disappeared that semester. Changed majors. Why? Long story. You asked for my number and never called. You wanted me to? Yes. Can I call you now? No.

Think I learned my lesson? Next year Homecoming. Sharkey’s Super-mugs and Bruiser’s in town. I point out the reigning Homecoming Queen. She’s hot as a Vulpes.  She comes over.

Hey. Hi. How are you? Good. Back to pass on the title? Yes I’m back. (Awkward moments of silence as I chug from my mug) You know you never called me. You wanted me to? I gave you my number. I thought you wanted to study. Why would I study with you? (Awkward moments of silence as I chug from my mug) You’ve been here for six years. That’s why I didn’t call – figured you were kinda dumb. Oh. So you wanted me to call. Yes. Can I call you now? No.

And that’s how I ended up working in the hotel industry and not dating the Homecoming Queen.

The secret to any job is to always look busy. I start with a large key ring that would make Carl the Janitor excited. Granted I was never Man of the Year. Didn’t even get Athlete of the Year. That went to Lucky who lettered in Cross-Country, Indoor and Outdoor track. As Kenny Powers would say I’m not trying to be the best at exercise.

Sometimes if I really want to look official – I twirl my keys lifeguard style. I learned that from years of gawking at my own Wendy Peppercorn. I never kissed her long. I never kissed her good. I so would now. Even after I saw her on Facebook

.

Lifeguards then are like bartenders now. So hot. So powerful. I will wait forty minutes for a beer if it means getting served by a hot chick. There can be male bartender waving me over – offering me free shots - I’ll wait for the girl. Especially Hurricane. Junior wants to know what she’s mixed with. Half hot. Half outta my league.

If you really want to be official. Carry a clipboard. People think I’m a CEO because I have a Trapper Keeper. Mine has a picture of Sam Micelli. I always wanted to play center field for the Yankees. I still do. In reality it’s only so I could date her. We’d be great together and I would never ask her dad to vacuum the curtains.

The call on the radio informs me of kids drinking at the pool. Illegal party = confiscated alcohol. I’m the first to the scene.

When need be I can move through the hotel like John McClane through a ventilation shaft. Welcome to the party pal! They don’t get the reference. I break up the drinking. I threaten to tell everyone’s parents. We’re 21. I call B.S. They show me ID’s. They might be 23. We’re 23. I tell them no glass is allowed at the pool. We’re drinking cans.

I’m running out of options here. Think man, think. Six years of Hotel school. I had to learn something. Didn’t I take Kicking People Out of the Pool 101? Of course I did. Went once. First day I received my syllabus and saw the TA. We made out the night before and my head bob to her signified I would be back in three months for the final. Stuck around until break time. I had to learn something those first ten minutes. Come on man think. Think pool. Think party. Think Vegas. What’s better than a credit card in Vegas? A Hotel Key.

I ask for keys. They have none. We have none. They snuck in. We didn’t sneak in. You invited us yesterday at the bar. That was then. This is now. You’re a buzz-kill. Maybe but you didn’t come correct (pathetic LA term meaning you didn’t bring enough girls to off set the awful ratio of dudes in your party). This pool is my own Velvet Rope. You were all about partying at the pool last night. That was before I saw you talking to Hurricane. You should know she’s mine. She’s listed as single on Facebook. We haven’t had that awkward conversation yet. But we will. One day. Or won’t. It’s completely up to her. She’s way too hot for you. They’re probably right.

They fail to provide a hotel key. Busted. I confiscate the remaining beers as evidence. They tell me I suck. You suck! But free alcohol is free alcohol. And we are in the midst of an Economic Global Meltdown. I grab the remaining six pack and throw it into a black plastic bag. I’ve come a long way since the first time I was drunk.

I’m fifteen and at my Aunt’s. It’s crazy hot and I ask my brother for a soda. He brings back two. Said we’re going to race and see who could drink fastest. Chug it and see who is faster! We chugged. My soda tasted funny. Flat almost. He calls for a refill. You cheated let’s go again! This goes on three times. I’m the winner. So I think.

My head starts to spin. I’m hot. Sweaty. Feel sick. I tell The Colonel. They put me in the bedroom. I start to sleep. Room’s spinning. I puke. I sweat. I shake. I pass out. No one knows why I felt so bad. No one but my brother.

Fast forward and I’m visiting him in college. My brother not The Colonel. I’m with the Consigliore. My brother teaches me the finer things of college. Shot-gunning beers. How to construct a beer bong. The fact that everyone can dance in a strobe light. And all girls look hot under a black light. These are the things you need to know when choosing a school. Who cares about meal plans.

He hands me a soda. Tells me to drink it. Drink it! He wants to see who can drink the fastest. Chug it and see who is faster! We chug. My soda tasted funny. Flat almost. He calls for a refill. We do this three times. Says he wants to get me drunk for the first time. I call timeout.

I’ve felt like this before. I call him out on it. His laugh is my answer. First time I got hammered I didn’t even know it. He had me chug coke and vodka. Wasn’t even Cherry Coke. That’s how he entertained himself at my expense.

That night he slept in the Frat House and left me in the dorm room. Consigliore got the floor. Middle of the night I’m woken up by a half naked – scantily clad - college girl asking me to move over. So I move over.

Did my brother set this up? No he’s not that nice. Football has ended and in my own cocky mind I think she’s heard of me. I was First Team All State. Granted it was high school.

She tells me to put my arm around her. Put your arm around me. She tells me I’m cold and to hold her close. I’m cold. Hold me close. Her head nestled on top of my arm. Five minutes later my arms asleep. I refuse to move. I didn’t care. I was staring at college side boob. I didn’t sleep that night. Some would say I haven’t slept since.

Morning comes. My brother walks in. Gives me the well done head bob. His roommate walks in. Gives me the well done head bob. Consigliore wakes up. Gives me the fucking awesome head bob. The head bobbing has woken her up. She does a triple take. I’m staring at her. I don’t want this to end. She opens her mouth. Our first sober conversation.

Who are you? I was First Team All State. You’ve probably heard of me. I don’t know what that means. These are minor details. She looks around. Checks her surroundings. Oh No. Think The Geek oh no.

I can’t lose this. I shift my body and bust out my sexy pose. She asks me to stop leaning on her hair. Can you stop leaning on my hair. She tells me it hurts. It hurts. I go for broke.

Will you go to Prom with me? No.

My brother’s dorm shared a bathroom with another dorm room. She was sleeping there. Got up in the middle of the night – used the bathroom – got turned around and walked into the wrong room. She asks for a towel to cover up so she can leave. I tell her I love her. I wasn’t lying. You spend five hours staring at beauty and side boob and you will fall in love. Consigliore speaks. I think we’re going to like college. Did we ever.

I grab the confiscated booze and head for the stairs. It six flights down, but the elevator is too risky. I’m dodging cleaning ladies, skipping stairs. I’m almost at the bottom. Now for the exit strategy. Nuts. Something grabs my attention.

I hear sobbing and high pitched screaming. It gets louder. I stop and get my bearings. I’m close to it. I take a step.

I do what anyone would do. I pretend I don’t hear it and continue on my way. I turn around and head back up the stairs.

Crying is louder. No I can’t do that. Damn conscience. I go back. I turn the corner. There it is.

There’s a guy passed out on the floor. His head is wedged against the wall and he’s got a nasty gash on his forehead. His daughter is screaming – panicking – and screaming some more. I drop the plastic bag and Boy Scout training takes over. I diagnose the scene. I was never in Boy Scouts. But if I was I would diagnose the scene like this. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

Actually I read that once on a T Shirt. But that’s the Marines. Which I was never in either.  But I did give campus tours in college. Figured it was a good way to meet incoming girls. It worked. To think of all the parents who sent their kids to my school based on the 45 minute – hung over - tour I gave.

I notice he’s moving his legs and arms. That’s good. I have no idea if that’s good. Never watched ER and Scrubs hasn’t been funny since season two. I tell him not to move. That’s what they do in the movies. He shifts his head. It’s not pretty. I beg the daughter to stop crying. I tell her it’ll be alright. I have no idea if it’s alright. But she’s gotta stop. My head is killing me and I haven’t even cracked open a beer. I glance over. They’re five feet away. Safe. For now.

Guests are starting to gather. I stare at hot quasi Coachella girl. Hemp has never looked so good. I tell her to go to the front desk, explain the situation and call 911. I point to very annoying French Canadian dude wearing the mankini and tell him to get me a glass of water and a pillow. I scream at retired woman to keep away from the plastic bag.

Coachella runs to the front desk and does her duty. Mankini brings the pillow and water. He goes to give it to Forehead gash guy. I snatch it from his hand. It’s for me! I place the pillow under contorted head. I chug the water.  Always hydrate before going out.

Retired lady needs to stay away from my bag! I will throw you out of the hotel immediately. So glad I didn’t make out with the TA in How to throw a guest out of the Hotel 201. Stuck around all semester.

Coachella girl returns and tells me the paramedics are on the way. The paramedics are on the way! She’s brought company. My boss. I brought your boss. I give him the situation. I’m providing basic first aid. Running the scene. I remind my boss I was once captain. He doesn’t care. No one cares.  He wants to know why I didn't tell him Thursday is my last day.  I tell him I've reconsidered.   

He see’s the bag. Walks over. Wants to grab it. DON’T. He looks at me. Probably a bit upset that I used that tone. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. I tell my boss the guy puked and luckily I had a plastic bag on me. I didn’t puke. Boss hears this.

I motion to his head. He hit himself pretty hard on the wall. Doesn’t remember. The boss shakes his head tells me to make the bag disappear. Make the bag disappear. It’s making the hallway stink. I can smell it downstairs.

Paramedics are here and they want him to go to the hospital. No. They think he should go and get checked out. No. His daughter begs him. Please Daddy. His wife begs him on the phone. Please go. He thinks he’s fine. Just fainted from all the sun. Hit the wall when he got out of the elevator. My boss looks at me. I know what this means. I’ve got to get involved. I really don’t care if he goes or not. It’s his choice. I kneel down next to him and whisper in his ear.

You’ve got to go. Don’t do it for you. Don’t do it for the really annoying - granted she's scared - daughter of yours.  Don’t do it for your wife who didn't make the trip and is talking to you on your cell phone.  Making me wonder if evertything is alright with the two of you. 

He looks up at me.

I pull him closer.  If you stay I’m going to have to do boat loads of paperwork. I’ve got a six pack and a date with Hurricane tonight. If you go with the paramedics, I only have to check the went to hospital box on the incident report. It’s really going to save me a lot of time. Please. Do it for me.  Do it for Hurricane.

The paramedics took him away. I had the kitchen send cookies to the daughter. I delivered them. I ate one. It was great. Peanut Butter and Chocolate.  I grab the bag of heaven and throw it in my trunk. If my boss was watching the security camera’s he’s probably wonder why I threw a bag of puke in my trunk. I have my reasons.

Strange how life has it’s different paths. I grabbed the confiscated beer – not because I like to drink. But because I’ve always been chasing my college side boob girl. That first night of visiting my brother could have ended with me hunched over the porcelain god. It didn’t. It ended with a girl getting in my bed and letting me stare at her for hours. That’s all I’m looking for now.

Maybe Hurricane will be my new side boob girl. Whatever she is I’m going to see her tonight. Granted a lot of people will see her tonight. She is working. And maybe it’s not really a date. But she smiles at me and calls me doll. That’s all I need.

I polish off the Tall Boys and head out. It’s packed. She motions me to the front of the bar. No forty minutes today. She winks and hands me my Jameson's. Here this one’s on me. She grabs a piece of paper and scribbles on it. And this is for you. She hands me the paper. Here’s my number. She tells me to call her later. Call me later. I remind myself not to pull a Mike Peters or start high fiving everyone in the bar.

A free drink and a number from Hurricane has become my own version of kissing Wendy Peppercorn. Maybe this time I actually will call her.

You look good-been losing weight? She gets me excited. I smile and nod. I could tell right away. She pulls away and leans into the other ear. What’s your secret? I tell her self induced depression. She’s waiting for an explanation.

Self induced Depression (SID) is the ability to make one’s own self feel miserable. This in turn assists with weight loss. Basically even if I feel wonderful, I will still latch onto something upsetting to make me curb my diet. It’s way easier than counting carbs.

You been lifting? Your arms look so good. She rubs my bicep and strokes my forearm. This is pretty nice. Does the mind well. What’s your gym routine? I pack a bag every day and maybe go three times a week. Not bad odds if you ask me. But since I’m not eating - I have no calories to burn. It’s a win – win situation.

How’s your kid? Kid is fantastic. They grow up so fast. They sure do. What’s his name again? Syd.

I’ve realized something. This woman has no idea who I am. I don’t have a child. In all fairness I’ve never seen this lady before in my life. I just popped in to get my haircut. I received a coupon in the mail and have been trying to save whenever possible. Damn Economic Global Meltdown. Granted I could have stopped her when she asked me if I was losing weight. But I’m a compliment whore.

Seriously you are looking great. She makes me smile. I’ll hit up SID later. I feel good for not only myself but my LA clone. I’m sure he’s pretty cool – and there is a great chance that he’s losing weight as well. I’m happy for both of us.

She runs her hands through my hair. She opens up to me.

I have an ulcer. I hope it’s not contagious. I have to take medicine and it makes me lose my hair. That sucks. I know where you’re coming from. Balding and all. She pulls away and gives a ¾ head tilt / bob. My smile is gone.

Have you heard of this? We’re going to try it out today. She holds up a bottle I’ve seen many times before.

There are three things I have no control over. My height. My hair. The size of my package. You can blame the DNA strands of my relatives for all of that. However I have unlimited internet access – and yes I’ve looked at increasing all three. So when she showed me the hair re-growth formula I allowed her to proceed. It’s popped up on my Google searches many times.

Do they like to be called Gay’s or Homosexuals? Not going to lie I thought we were talking about male pattern baldness. That said I think they prefer to be called Gay. I have no idea. Does she think I’m gay? I cough. I don’t know why. I’m not sick. I make sure it’s a hetero cough.

Gay males in Los Angeles are very metro-sexual and often come to me looking for help while dealing with hair loss. I am a stylist you know. She’s title dropping.

I fail to remind her she’s working the skank shift on a Tuesday afternoon. The store consists of me, Ulcer Girl and Clown Face working the cash register. Not sure where all these Metro guys are waiting to be consulted. I have officially tuned her out.

In high school Lucky went bald. It was so bad people assumed he was just shaving his head. He wasn’t. He had no hair to shave. Lucky going balled must have sucked for him. Not for us. He’d buy cases upon cases of beer. Never got carded. How could he? He had the hair line of Yoda. Since it benefited him / us - it really didn’t bother him until we all turned 21 and realized he wasn’t needed anymore. Haven’t seen him in some time. I heard he wears a lot of hats.

College my second senior year. T was losing his hair fast. It was a race to see if he could get a job before going completely bald. He read an article that stated people with a full head of hair are more likely to receive job offers than those that are bald. Then he got his pilot’s license and now he walks around like Frank Abagnale.

T was the man behind the wheel that drove us six hours in the wrong direction on Spring Break. I was passed out in the back seat. Waking up in Tampa was not a highlight of the trip. If I ever get on a flight that he’s piloting – I will disembark immediately. I don’t want to end up in Reykjavik.

Monty was my first post college friend to lose his hair. I was his roommate back East. The hair loss was tough on him. It was tough on me. Like watching an aging prize fighter get punch drunk. Finally Monty decided to take it all off. He went to his high priced Salon and had them shave his head. He came home in tears. I reminded him that plenty of woman like bald guys.

That’s not the problem. Damn bitch charged me $75. Plus tip. What a punch in the nuts. I would have done it for free. Two weeks later I’m doing it for free. He lowers my rent. I never kick him in the nuts. But I might have bounced a rent check or two.

I have no idea how long I’ve tuned her out. What I do know is I’ve been sitting in this chair for over ten minutes and she’s still cutting my hair. I have very little hair. This shouldn’t take more than six minutes. I should just throw in the towel, buy some clippers and do it myself. But then I’d have to figure out something to do every three weeks to fill the void of driving around looking for discounted barbers and salons. This could be the SID talking or maybe how I feel. I haven’t decided yet.

Ulcer girl is barking at me. I should listen. 

Single? Huh? What? Oh. Yes. Single. But you’re so handsome. Nice. SID can wait.

You have such nice features. White and Asian. Thank you. I appreciate it. That’s really in. Super.

I’ve realized something. I’m not Asian. I'm Scottish and Italian. Whisky and Pasta.

What part of Asia are you from? Korea and Japan. My father, The Colonel, was stationed in both of these places. Maybe it rubbed off on me and my kids. Ulcer girl has had enough disappointments in her life. Why should I contribute?

You should date someone that’s mixed with Asian. My hesitation answers her question.

What was she? I break down the genetic code of my ex-girlfriend. Not something I enjoy doing. She gets crazy eyes and steps back. She’s holding scissors and a Diet Coke. In fact I don’t think she’s cut my hair for fifteen minutes. She’s on her third soda.  I wonder if that's what lead to her ulcer. 

How could you ever let her go? You two would look amazing. And your children. Wow. Seriously how could you let her leave? Not too hard. She left.

Oh.  She could have left it at that. She didn’t.

Well were you some sort of psycho? Jealous - wouldn’t let her do her own thing? You know holding her back? Are you a drunk? Do you have some sort of dark side that only comes out around her? I don’t know. No. Maybe. No. Definitely not. Why is ulcer haircut lady making me question my life? 

Well maybe that’s God’s way of saying don’t spend all your money on her. You know get out while you can. She has such a nice way of putting things into perspective. Fact is I have no money. I’m only here because I have a coupon. If I was wealthy I’d go to Amazingcuts for triple the price.

Of course she’s probably the one you’ll be chasing for the rest of your life. Phenomenal.

So tell me why it is when a man beats a woman he goes to jail, but when a woman beats a man she’s applauded for her efforts? Huh? Oh that’s right. I forgot she’s crazy. Men should fight back. It’s only right. You’re lucky you’re getting stronger. Does she think I’m getting bigger because girls beat me?

I don’t know what’s going on here. I’m a little concerned. Clown Face girl is staring at me. I hope she doesn’t think I’m getting attacked at home. Is this why Ulcer girl was excited for my fitness regime? I’m worried about my LA clone. Is his wife beating him up? Well better him than me.

So have you ever punched a girl? I’m no Ray Pruitt. But in seventh grade Nicky Greene kicked me in the groin for no reason. I wanted to fight back. But I didn’t. Instead I waited until picture day and poured my chocolate milk all over her. Best dollar I ever spent. We were living oversees and with the ridiculous exchange rate it only cost me 46 cents. So it was actually the best 46 cents I’ve ever spent.

Ulcer girl isn’t listening. Clown Face is. I think she’s into me. I think everyone’s into me. That might be a problem. I’m taken around the corner. I’m told to sit. I sit. She’s massaging my scalp. She’s talking. It’s always about her. She’s washing my hair.

Close your eyes. Relax. Think of happy thoughts. I follow her instructions.

My wife, my Asian children. I’m thinking of all of them. I have to remind myself that I’m not Asian. Either is my wife. I’m not married. My happy thoughts are now centered on my LA clone. I hope he’s happy and safe. My head is minty and tingles. She’s done massaging.

Now I’ll apply the conditioner. It will tingle in a different sort of way. If you know what I mean. I don’t know what she means.

You know you can use this to shave as well. I use it - on my legs of course - not my face. But if it re-grows hair – wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of shaving with it?

She washes it out. I wonder how it looks. Prom ’95 I had to use a blow drier for twenty minutes on my hair. It was the single greatest hair day of my life. Now it’s dry before I’m out of the shower. I make a mental note to stop at Target and pick up a new Conair.

I sit up and prepare for the moment of truth. She hands me the mirror. Not going to lie. I went from feeling like this to this.

It’s only the first day. Don’t worry you’ll be alright. She hands me the treatment. Clown Face hands me the bill. The coupon isn’t valid. My very own punch to the nuts.

I’m home. It’s time for the second treatment. I read the directions. The fine print isn’t so fine after all.

9 out of 10 people perceive a thickening effect. I’d prefer it to say 100% of people get an afro.

I grab my keys and head out. I have to go coach my kid’s soccer team. I don’t coach soccer. I don’t have kids. I don’t have hair.

There is a silver lining to all this. The self induced depression is out the window. We’re heading for full blown depression. The last ten pounds are going to come right off.

I’ve been the new kid many times.  I know how to improvise, adapt, and overcome – shouldn’t she?  She wasn’t even new - she was third generation townie.  She was hot.  Talented.  Smart.  I guess I wasn’t looking for those things in high school.  Wouldn’t mind it now.

I met her in Health class.  She sat behind me.  She’d serenade me during Driver’s Ed.  I’d request Crazy for You.  Poor girl probably thought I was implying it to her.  I just like(d) Louden Swain.  I didn’t make a move and I’ll pretend it was because she was dating a senior.  Fact is he was in Chorus so it’s not like I couldn’t break that up.

She wrote call me and you’re super sweet in my yearbook.

This was not a memory – but confirmed over Christmas break when I found my yearbooks.  I was getting too many facebook requests from people I forgot.  Not to be a dick.  If we didn't talk in high school.  We didn’t go to College together.  We’ve never hooked up.  We’ve never worked together.  We’ve never exchanged cell phone numbers.  We’re not family.  Then I don’t think you should request me.  If you’re married and I don’t know your new surname and all you have is a picture of your child - I’m not going to add you.  Now if you’re hot.  Or you think I’m funny.  Or you think I’m sexy.  Request away.

Tenth grade summer and I never called.  I played golf and ate ice cream every night.  If we were really crazy we’d break into the neighborhood pool and go swimming.  Yes that is exactly how I spent my summer.  It wasn’t even real golf.  It was Putt Putt.  I even entered tournaments.  I never won.  Somehow I was deemed cool.  I should have called her.

Junior year Chemistry class.  The teacher begins every lesson writing Chem-is-try on the chalkboard.  That’s really all I ever took from the Chemistry class.  She sat next to me.  The girl not the teacher.  The teacher was in the front.  I was in the back.  I was a distraction.    

She got me through Chemistry.  She didn’t tutor me.  We were in Chemistry for people that were never going to work for NASA.  Our biggest experiment was lighting the bunson burner.  That Asian exchange student – the one that couldn’t speak English – he got me through by letting me cheat off him.  I even wrote his name on my final.  I thought it was part of the periodic table.  Teacher didn’t care.  She was aiming for retirement.  I was trying to stay eligible.  Passed with flying D’s.

Back to Chemistry and she’s writing me notes.  She’d tell me I was handsome.  Her use of grown up words was phenomenal.  We’d play MASH.  She’d list me as a potential husband and I’d rig it to lose.  I don’t know why.  It was funny the first time but by second semester it had to be annoying.

She brought me a Cootie Catcher.  The penmanship was breathtaking.  Her use of multiple colored pencils alternating the colors of each letter had to keep her up all night.  It was block scheduling and we had 90 minutes to kill.  We played.  A lot.  

I knew she had something planned for my fortune.  (My father The Colonel was Military Intelligence son the Russian’s can’t fool me – what makes you think you can?  Made sneaking around very difficult.  However it gave me great intuition). 

I knew her secret.  So I’d pick random colors and numbers.  They’d tell me I stink, or have cooties (hence the name of the game), a harsh one said that I was ugly.  Her laughter soon turned to anger as I refused to pick the perfect combination.  She got upset.  She was going to torch it on the bunson burner. 

I asked for one more shot.  Blue then Eight.  The perfect combination.  She counted the letters.  Then the numbers.  My fortune unfolded.  Not quite what I expected. 

She asked me to the Winter Dance. 

I thought about this for a moment.  In the past I only attended Homecoming and Prom.  While this was a school sanctioned dance - I had a social status to think of.  I remember the debacle Zack went through hoping Kelly would ask him to the Sadie’s dance.  Damn you Slater why did you have to be the new kid?  Wait I’ve been the new kid.  I loved it.  Did I just become a fan of AC? I’ve always been a Preppy kind of guy.  Even had the same swimsuit.  SBTB has provided wonderful guidance throughout my life.  If it was good for Zack – it was good for me. 

I said yes. 

We doubled with another couple.  By double - we all went to Chemistry Girls house and ate Chinese.  Her parents were out of town.  DC I think.  It doesn’t matter.  She paid for dinner.  I wore my Letter Jacket.  We went to the dance.  I kept the jacket on.  We danced.  This is before I discovered drinking.  So we didn’t drink.  It was fun.  I was sweet.  She told me a few times.  We left early and went back to the house.  It was beginning to rain.  I wouldn’t let her wear my jacket.

We were alone watching Ren and Stimpy.  I never thought they were funny.  Curfew was nearing and the Colonel was a stickler for punctuality.  She walked me to my car.  I gave her a hug.  She told me she liked me.  I told her she was sweet.  We hugged again.  This time a bit longer.  She leaned up.  Her arms wrestled under my jacket and around my back.  She leans in.  I lick my upper lip, lean down, and kiss her.

On the cheek.

I have absolutely no freaking idea why.  She was amazing.  Talented.  Smart.  But we all know where she sat.  At seventeen that meant a lot.  Now not so much. 

Chemistry was never the same.  She moved a couple of desks away.  The semester ended and she didn’t sign my yearbook.  I didn’t invite her to Putt Putt or late night swims.  Senior year we had no classes together.  I started dating someone that sat in my section.  The year passed and I said very little to the Sadie’s girl.  We both headed off to college. 

Years pass.  I’m in California.  Sadie’s girl?  She’s in Europe.  She didn’t tell me this.  The internet told me.  I found her.  Wasn’t hard – myspace took care of that.  I entered her name.  I sent her a message.  She didn’t respond.

I find her high school friend and send her a message.  It read Tell Sadie that I had a blast at the dance and I’m sorry that I didn’t let her wear my letter jacket.  She doesn’t respond either.  I can’t imagine why. 

A few months pass and I join facebook.  Because that’s what people do.  They get tired of myspace and they move onto facebook.  I set up my account and let the friend gathering begin. 

I’m not a big requester.  It feeds my ego by letting people request me.  This one guy always pops up in the people you may know section.  I can’t stand him.  Well I can’t stand the 18 year old him.  No idea how he is now.

I'm curious if he still holds a grudge from high school – seriously she chose to sit next to me in English.  There were three guys in the class and I had just gotten my braces off.  Not my fault.  And then challenging me to a fight because she asked for a ride home?  What were you thinking?  True I bought her a Slurpee and might have had my shirt off - but still.  Yep just decided I still don't like him.

I login and it’s not him that pops up.  It’s her.  The Health Class / Chemistry Class / Sadie’s Girl.  According to facebook we have 20 mutual friends.  I click on them and I'm pissed.  Staring at me is the Consigliore, I’m giving his best man speech in a few months and he’s flaunting his friendship with Sadie’s girl.  Unbelievable.

I email / text / facebook him to get the lowdown.  He doesn’t respond.  So I call him.  I’m surprised he’s using such archaic technology.  After hours (minutes) of deliberation he lets me have his login and password. 

I begin the stalking.  She’s single.  She’s back home.  She’s still beautiful.  Realizing I’m three fingers deep on a glass of whiskey - I log out and clear the cookies.  There can be no chance of drunken messages. 

Three times a week she’s on my you may know section.  I figure it’s the same with her.  She won’t budge and request me.  After the myspace debacle I refuse to request her.  I email facebook to see if there’s a problem with her account.  I get no response.  I’m in social networking purgatory.    

********

It’s Christmas.  I’m home.  I’m looking for my brother.  I’m not wearing my letter jacket but it still fits. 

I can’t find my brother.  I don’t care.  I’m distracted.

I see her.  Walking towards me. 

She’s flanked by her mom and sister   She’s a bit older.  Well all three of them are older, but I’m focused on the Sadie’s girl.  She's wearing a scarf that only enhances her Euro look.  Shoulder length hair. Perfect on her.  Perfect on me. 

Our paths are about to intersect.  I suck in the belly and straighten out the hat.  I just want to say hi.  That’s my in.  I’ll tell her it’s me from school.  I’m still sweet.  Who wouldn’t melt at that?

I lick my lips.  I lick them again.  Time’s running out.  She’s laughing with her mom.  We’re moments from eye contact.  I open my mouth to say hi.  I try and remember my in.  If only I had my letter jacket.  It’s emblazoned with my name.  A giant billboard of me.  That would have been perfect.  I’d let her wear it.  That’s what I'll tell her. 

She’s in front of me. 

I don’t say a word. 

No eye contact is made. 

I turn around. 

I watch her walk away. 

I didn’t even do that. 

I refuse to blame myself.  I blame my Chemistry teacher.  If she wrote Love-is-try on the chalkboard I might have gained some motivation.  Maybe she's the one that got away.  I think I’ve let nineteen get away. 

I realize something.  I start to smile.  I have another shot.  It’s only six more years until our twenty year reunion. 

I’m sure we will (not) talk then. 

She’s waiting for a response.  I stammer.  I’m picking my brain for an acronym she won’t know.  I gotta go old school.  ROTJ.  Huh?  Is that a new one?  I haven’t heard that.  I’m stealing it.  K?  It buys me a few seconds.  I drop ninja dust and disappear.  Actually I just spin a highlighter on the table.  She’s easily entertained. 

Her head’s in her hands and I ask her what’s wrong. When I think too much my head hurts.  This is awesome.  

She doesn’t understand taxes and why some people have to pay.  She’s probably not the only one – but I explain.  The word Escrow is on a sign.  Ooh that sounds like a fat French lady.  Again I explain.  I don’t think she was listening.  I don’t care.  I probably made up the answer.  I did make up the answer. 

She watches Lost religiously.  But is clueless to what’s going on.  I think she keeps me around to explain everything.  That and I know how to spell discombobulate.  You’re a great speller!  I explain the Space Time Continuum.

I get bored and start telling her about Flux Capacitors and their ability to make time travel possible.  I quote Doc Brown.  Was that your professor in college?  She doesn’t question anything I’ve said. 

If you were born in Germany and moved away when you were two – why don’t you have an accent?  My father was in the Army and we were stationed on an American base.  I guess I really didn’t have time to develop my linguistic skills while living abroad.  You’re making this up.  No I’m not.  You’re like foreign.  Yes in a way I am.  What do you think I am?  Hot.  Smoking hot.  I don’t tell her this.

She asks about politics but doesn’t wait for the answer.  She’s cutting out dresses from a magazine.  She has a glue stick and pastes them onto construction paper.  She loves the texture.  I’m attracted to her ADD.  It’s like dating a puppy.  A SBTB marathon keeps her in check.  She asks about Tori.  Where did she come from?  I don’t get it – Kelly and Jessie just disappear and here comes this leather wearing biker chick going after all the guys?  Years of watching TBS have allowed me to develop various theories.  I bounce them off her.  She doesn’t care.  She’s just upset that Tori wore a leather jacket to Prom.  In a way I am as well.

I go for the truth.  I tell her Tori is living in SoCal and does photography for weddings.  Can you imagine her showing up to your wedding and taking photos?  But I don’t remember her ever taking a photography class in the show.  No in real life she’s a wedding photographer.  I remind her that Mr. Tuttle never taught photography. 

O-M-G. She’s mastered most three letter words.   Her head’s back in her hands.

We’re drinking beer.  How did we meet?  I remind her that she was there.  Huh?  It was at a party a few months ago.  Oh.  I thought we went to school together. 

This conversation is going on while we are at a sports bar cheering on the college I went to - while I’m wearing a hat with my school logo - and I’m wearing a T Shirt with my school mascot flexing.  Turkey's got some muscles.

My burger arrives and she’s eyeing the bacon.  You want some?  No I gave it up for New Years.  I think you’ve got it mixed up.  During Lent you give up something.  New Years you just make a resolution to improve yourself.  Umm I am.  I gave up bacon because I want to improve my thighs.  It all makes sense. 

Through her I've learned the joys of a six day weekend.  I’ve never seen her actually work but she assures me of the stress that waiting tables involves.  She gets scheduled five shifts a week, but enjoys giving them away.  It’s her version of people helping people.      

She’s allowed me to realize that I can stay up on a work night and still make it to my desk on time.  The trick is to shave right before you go out and it won’t grow back until after the meeting!  I follow the plan and my boss says nothing.  Success.  Now I’m tired.  I spend lunch taking cat-naps in the bathroom stall.  I bunch toilet paper on the handicap bar and put my head down.  The stall and knock-off red bull are the only things that get me through the day.  Her text message awakens me. 

OMG lol i can drink alot huh!  Awesome.  Her excitement can be a bit contagious.  This hangover - not so much.

She wants me to make more money.  You’re so smart you should be on Jeopardy.  Tried out twice and didn’t make it past the first stage.  I don’t tell her this.  Or maybe a Lawyer because you like to argue.  Loved LA Law but once it went off the air I lost all interest.  Ooh how about a Chef because you like to eat?  Not going to lie that one stung a bit. 

She went through a phase (she’s still in it), where if I told her something she would speak the emotion.  Example: I got off the phone with my friend who told me he was in a car accident.  I relay this information to her.  Oh sad face.  She doesn’t make a sad face.  She tells me that she has a sad face.  My brother gets engaged.  I tell her.  Oh happy face!  She had confused face but that was un-intentional.  

I enjoy teasing her but most of it gets lost on her.  In actuality I’m doing it for me.  I have to keep myself on my toes.  I decide to reverse words.  What did you have for lunch?  Jelly and Peanut Butter.  What do you want for dinner?  Meatballs and Spaghetti.  Where did you get those boxers?  Fitch and Abercrombie. 

A five minute game turns into an evening challenge.  I work in the following: Clark and Lewis (Jeopardy answer – my decision to watch), Juliet and Romeo (I actually rewound the previous Jeopardy question and changed my answer),  Ernie and Burt (feeding my goldfish),  Brothers Righteous (Ghost on HBO – thank god Sam found the light), Jerry and Tom (she likes cartoons), Oates and Hall (I was singing Private Eyes just to set her up for this), Chong and Cheech (discussion on immigration), Dryer and Washer (faked a load of laundry hit the sticks for an hour at my neighbors place). 

The head is back in her hands.  I feel slightly responsible.

The Bitchapedia (he’s the Wikipedia of Girls) see’s a change in me.  It’s not the droopy eyes from going out all the time.  He’s cool with that.  He claims I’m getting dumb.  He blames her.  I think he might be right.  The other night I realized I forgot all of eleventh grade history.  I loved that class.  I’d stare at Bex in her field hockey uniform and ponder what could have been.  Now I barely remember her legs and couldn’t tell you what Congress does.

I can’t do this anymore.  She’s sweet and has shown me a whole other world I thought existed only on The Hills.  But I’m better than this.  She’s nice, but part of me is just worried I’m going to forget all of high school.  And I loved high school.

Umm wanna come over and watch Idol?  I’m there and contemplating the break up.  Do I wait for the show to be over?  Do I wait for a commercial?  I’d hate to break up with her - have her cry during her favorite singer and not get a chance to vote.    

She chimes in during the third contestant.  So this isn’t working.  Ya I was thinking the same thing.  This guy sucks.  I just don’t think we have any of the same interests.  True.  So it’s been fun and I guess I’ll see you around.  Wait.  Are you ending this?  I-D-K.  Why?  I don’t know. 

Wait do I like this girl?  Did she pull some half-wit Jedi mind trick on me?  I can get by without high school.  I still got college. 

Why do you like me?  I hate that question.  I don’t know.  Because you’re hot.  When we go out people comment on how hot you are.  You’re hot.  The reasons are numerous.  They really aren’t.  I’m only dating her because she’s hot.  Is that wrong?  I tell her none of this.

Why do you like me? 

When I kiss her she tastes like college.  A cocktail of shooters, champagne and half a cigarette.  It takes me to a happy place.  This I tell her.

ROTJ I didn’t even go to college!

You can’t fight logic like that.  I leave.  She asked me to leave.  Now I have sad face.