I don't write here as much as I should or write long posts like I did. So indulge me as we take a trip down memory lane and I repost some of the better (read: unsucky) posts from my old blog. I may add a prologue or a post script, but probably not because I am lazy.
I just posted a long-ass tribute to my girlfriend, of which I meant every word, but this edition of my greatest hits relates to when I was not so lucky in love. Or, more accurately, when I was quite loved, but had no idea that such love even existed. So join me, as we reminisce about my love life, as it existed nine years ago.
There are probably several stories from my younger days that are worth telling. However this is the one I want to tell. Just as Mike from Barely Legal Blog worked at Kroger, I did so too. However, I do not have ten stories to tell, just one (though I was wearing the polo that Mike instituted).
It was so long ago, I cannot even remember what year it was. I think it was the fall semester of my sophomore year in college, when I came to be employed by the Kroger in my college town. A friend of mine had recently begun working in the Deli there, and told me it was an easy job and they were hiring. Me needing money to pay those older than me to procure beer for me, decided that the Deli at Kroger’s was the perfect job. I quickly set about filling out an application and was hired (I think there may have been an interview, but who knows). I naively figured that this would be a good chance to hang out with a friend of mine, and getting paid to do so. This assumption turned out to be erroneous quite quickly. We both worked at night, but since we were both part-time, we were generally paired with a full-timer, and thus worked on different nights. Apparently there were some people in town who felt that working in the Deli at the Kroger was a career. After all, there were Union benefits (biting my tongue).
I generally spent my three nights a week working with Bertha. Bertha was a regular townie. She looked the part and acted the part. She was maybe a hair over five feet. She also had a nice pair of coke bottle glasses. In other words, the three-month old honey ham was more appetizing than her. While we worked together, she talked incessantly, not really to me (or so I thought), but at me. I usually grunted a reply, but because I was too nice a guy I could not tell her to shut her hole. She would yammer on, and I would say things like “yup,” “MMM-Hmmm,” “that’s interesting,” “wow,” “huh,” and “cool.”
To this day, I have no idea what she was talking about 90% of the time, but in the three months I was there, she told me one story twice; How she found her husband. From what I could decipher, one day Bertha decided she needed a husband. To accomplish this monumental task, she set up three dates. The details of the first date escape my memory, but it probably involved the guy seeing her, excusing himself from the table, and fleeing through the bathroom window. At the second date, the guy did not show up, even though Bertha was to pick him up at his home. But, as Bertha told me, she had a great time with his parents. Apparently, this guy still lived with his folks, and then skipped out to prevent meeting her, and his parents were forced to deal with her. According to Bertha, they were very nice folks (which I do not dispute, there were some folks around these parts that are salt of the earth), and she proceeded to hang out with them for a few hours.
Fortunately, on the third date Bertha struck gold. She met her soul-mate, Billy. Three dates was all it took to find love. If only that could work for us white-collars. Anyway, when Bertha met Billy sparks flew and they each knew that the other was the one. After all, Bertha worked in the Deli and Billy worked in the Meat Department, both at Kroger. It was a match made in heaven, or at least a recipe from the Kroger Bakery. After what was probably an exciting and eventful courtship, Bertha and Billy got married.
However, shortly after I began working in the Deli with Bertha, they began going through some problems. Unbelievably the marriage began to fall apart. This of course, was completely unknown to me, because I never listen to what people have to say. Had Bertha said something to me, I probably would have grunted. Of course, that may have happened, and Bertha found my grunt to be the sexiest thing ever. Because I came into work one day, and Bertha was scheduled, but no where to be seen.
With Bertha gone, a kid my age, (but not in school, though a cool guy nonetheless) named Tom was forced to stay late and work with me. As I recall, I was scheduled to come in an hour before Bertha, so after about an hour and a half of hard Deli work, the word began to trickle down. Bertha and Billy broke up. They had a huge fight the previous night, and no one knew where Bertha was. I, of course, did not care, I was more concerned about who would help me close up the Deli that night. I spent the better part of an hour convincing Tom to stay and help me close up. I talked him into staying until closing time, though not until closing procedures were completed, but that was good enough for me. Then the bombshell came.
To be continued….
********************************************
I heard it moments before the manager called me into his office. Tom had been walking around, and heard the gossip, soon to be confirmed by the manager. He informed me that Bertha and Billy had had a big fight the night before, and Bertha informed Billy that she was in love in with me. SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH ME!!!
I was floored by this revelation. A wet noodle could have knocked me over. A feather duster, a sombrero, a dishrag, hell even a drop of water could have knocked me on my ass. I did not even like this woman. All I did was give her a passing acknowledgment when words passed through her lips. Not to mention the fact that she was a solid 15 years older than me. I would not have given her the time of day had she passed me on the street. I don’t think that I was even that nice to her. I just said the occasional, “yep,” “uh-huh,” or “that’s great.” Was she so starved for attention that this was all she needed to fall in love with someone?
As I said, moments after I found out that I had unwittingly broken up a marriage, the manager called me into his office, and basically confirmed the rumor. Bertha had broken up with Billy because she was in love with me. The manager then proceeded to tell me that what I did on my own time was none of his business, just so long as it did not interfere with work. Had I not been so shell-shocked, I would have made it clear that I never so much as touched Bertha (OK, so maybe I brushed up against her tits once, but it was an accident). Still numb, I left his office with the knowledge that it does not pay to be nice.
The story is not done there though. All this happened within the first two and half hours of my shift. I still had half of it let to go. The rest of the day was filled with Kroger employees from every department casually walking by, peering into the Deli to see who had caused the latest drama. I wanted to hold up a sign saying, “I HATED BERTHA. SHE IS AN IDIOT. I NEVER DID ANYTHING. SHE IS READING INTO THINGS THAT ARE NOT THERE.” I did not get a chance however, as there were a lot of people asking for Lorraine Swiss Cheese that day.
The coup de grâce came about 20 minutes before closing time. A man and woman walked up to the Deli counter. Trying to put the whole thing behind me and be a cheery Kroger employee, I asked if there was anything I could help them with. They said, “Do you know [lawschoolrules]?” I said that was me. The man said, “Well its nice to see who that bitch left my brother for” and walked away. “Oh Fuck,” was the only thing I could think. That brief exchange taught me a very important lesson.
The next twenty minutes were anxiety ridden. The only thing I could think about was how many guys would be hiding behind my car waiting to break my legs. Would it just be Billy? Billy’s Brother? Both? Does Billy have more friends or brothers or uncles or nephews or bothers-in-law? They knew what I looked like. I had one saving grace though, Tom. I figured Tom would be there to help me out, he was a good guy, he would certainly escort me to my car.
Nope. As soon as the clock hit 10 he was gone. I don’t think he even said goodbye. Just punched out and left. As I wrapped up the corned beef I began thinking about how much a tire iron to the knee would hurt. I wondered if I had the balls to scream, “RAPE!!” But I sucked it up; I left the store with no escort, no gun, no brass knuckles, no nothing but my own fear. I walked out of the automatic doors and saw no one waiting in the shadows. I pressed on, my fists clenched ready to start swinging at anyone who came near. I made it to my car without any trouble, but knew that there was still a chance for violence. I got, started the car up, and drove away without incident. I was relieved, after all it had been the second time in my life I had been presented with the fact that I might get my ass kicked in a parking lot (the first time required sweet talk since the angry people were actually there).
The repercussions of this day were few. I quit shortly thereafter, partly because of this, and partly because of something else, which I cannot talk about (the Bar would have my ass). I occasionally ran into some of my other co-workers (at the time this happened my friend had already quit), and learned that Bertha and Billy had worked things out. So, officially I did not unwittingly break up a marriage, I just nearly unwittingly broke up a marriage. It was close I am sure, but God has plenty of other reasons to send me to Hell. I did see Bertha about a year later. I was doing some late night shopping at the Kroger and she was working the register. She did not acknowledge me, and I did not acknowledge her. But she looked pretty much the same, and it was at that point that I decided to never be nice to anyone ever again.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
An Epithalamium to My Woman
Last Thursday, I was talking with my girlfriend over Skype and I mentioned a post that I wanted to do involving Filter, Tipper Gore, Robert Gates, and libel. She was excited for me to write it, and sadly, I never got around to it. I hope this suffices (and yes, I know it is not a poem, as the title may suggest, but whatever. I am still working on that sonnet though).
As I write this, it is our 9 month anniversary. If you do the math (or grab the 2008 calendar out of the trash), you will see that our first date was on Election Day. It truly was a historic day (though oddly enough, neither of us voted for the same person and neither of us voted for Obama).
The odd thing about our relationship (I might use "odd" a lot, my apologies) is that we have spent about half that time apart. She is a law student (rising 2L), which means lots of nice long breaks from DC. There is Thanksgiving, a month for Christmas, spring break, and of course the place we are mired in now, the three month summer vacation. If you had the first few weeks where we were just casually dating (which I do, because everyday with her is better than my best day without her), one gets to about 4.5 months of away time. Which sucks.
But it is also good. I will not say great, because it sucks so much, but one could say that it has been great for our relationship. Kind of. Well yes, it has. Beginning around Thanksgiving time, we have had some epic g-chats (though before this, we had marathon text messaging sessions (on of the reasons I had to upgrade my phone plan (and eventually went with a blackberry so I could email her while I was working (except I dont get service where I work so I just use my work e-mail (I am sure the all-seeing eye thinks I am hilarious)(gmail blocked at work (bastards!)))))). So over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, with finals between them there was not a lot of quality "us" time, we talked about lots of things. We really got to know each other.
But I think that my nature is one of the reasons this really helped our relationship. I am not much of a talker. I fumble words; have trouble getting thoughts out; feel the pressure of having to talk and can not come up with the words (for instance, I have spent about 45 minutes typing what you have read up to now. If you read it, it would take a minute, said it, maybe three). But with the typing, I am fucking Casanova. All the sweet things that my brain cannot communicate to my mouth, my brain has no trouble sending to my fingers. It was through this forum that I could really convey to her how much I really liked her. She recently read through some of our old g-chats (after I mention some really cute parts of them to her) and said to me that she could not believe how much I liked her and how she did not pick up on it.
I understood how she did not though. I am generally a very guarded person, and even though I was attracted to her from the moment I saw her standing in the King St. metro parking lot, I was still quite keen on protecting my feelings. She is much like me in this respect. But to her credit, she made the first move. Well, really the first and the second. She knows the first move, I might tell the rest of you about it sometime. But she made the second. And I am glad she did, because I am a wimp.
After our lunch date (oh yes, I called in sick to work on Election Day to have a lunch date with a girl I hardly knew), she suggested we take a walk around Olde Towne Alexandria. During lunch, we mostly discussed law school (read: me explaining to her why law school sucks and no one should repeat my mistake (although I am glad I went, odd right?)). But after lunch, we took a walk, which shocked me that she suggested it. I am not the most entertaining lunch guest. But we walked down to the Potomac, down where the anchor is on King St., and I made one of my infamous "smart-alec jokes." She laughed, and she would later tell me this when she stopped thinking of me as crazy possible stalker rapist, and started thinking of me as a sweet guy she could use for his law knowledge (operative word being "sweet").
If pressed, I would say that the definitive point in our relationship for me was the night I had to spend in the hospital. It occurred sometime in January (yay two months!). It was a Friday or Saturday night when my body began to revolt. My stomach clamped down on me, shrinking itself to at least 1/1,000 of its size (I assume). Anything I tried to put in came right back out. Anything that was there, would not come out. Bent over in pain, I refused to do anything. "This shall pass," I said. My girlfriend thought otherwise and agreed to stay with me that night. Around five in the morning of a sleepless night, me writhing in pain, she insisted we go to the hospital. I said I was ok. She said HOSPITAL! I said, lets call the nurse hotline on my health insurance, see what they say. Damn nurse said hospital. So I let my woman drive me to the hospital. I tried to be calm with her driving my car, but between the gut-wrenching pain and her inability to begin stopping 18,000 yards before a stop sign, I was a little freaked out. Miraculously, she got me to the emergency room in one piece (that was sarcasm dear). But I would later learn, that this was a test for her.
Most people do not like hospitals. I know I hate them. I have hated them ever since my little sister was born. It had been a difficult pregnancy, and when my mom was recovering, only my dad was allowed to see her. My two older sisters and I were left in the waiting room. For a six year old, I was pretty fucking pissed. All I wanted was " TO SEE MY MOMMY!!!!" I do not think that I threw a tantrum. I tried to be tough. I understood what was going on. But in that moment(s), I hated my dad because he got to see my mom and I did not. It was an early lesson that life is not fair.
I am still not sure why my sweetie hates hospitals, though I can venture a few guesses. And all of those guesses make me understand why she hates them. But she parked my car and came into the waiting room with me. I think she had her laptop or at least a casebook or two with her. It was a good chance for her to do homework. Bleeding guys are not that much of a distraction.
Eventually, they called my name and I got to go in the back, where they make ER patients wait even longer. They did a test or two (I was most worried about appendicitis), and then made me drink liquid cum. It was a huge glass of yellowish liquid, viscous, but flavored with powdered lemonade (still gross). I got about 3/4ths of it down before throwing it all back up. They still insisted on a scan of some sort (damn kick-ass health plan), to which I submitted. But when I got back, they stuck me back on my cot in my "room." I say room because I was in the hallway, surrounded by a couple curtains.
But during this, and this is the part my girlfriend does not know, was that all I wanted was her. I wanted her next to me. I wanted her to hold my hand. I wanted to hear her tell me everything was going to be ok. After three hours, and the doctors not being able to figure out what was going on with me, I broke. I tried to be tough. My girlfriend made it into the waiting room, a big step for her. Getting her in the back room, with all the sick people, I did not want to do that to her. But I had to. I needed her there. I told the nurse that my girlfriend was in the waiting room, and could she (nurse) please get her (gf) and have her (gf) sit with me. And she came. It is a little strange to say that one of your happiest moments is to have your girlfriend walk into the emergency room, see her eyes light up when she sees you, and just be so thankful that she came, even though the pain you are in still throbs in your temples.
I am not exactly sure when I first asked for the pain medication, if I had to guess I would say it was shortly before my girlfriend showed up, though it might have been shortly after. I just know, that lying there, in the hallway, my ass hanging out (damn hospital gown), the only thing I wanted was to see her.
The hospital eventually kept me overnight, and my girlfriend agreed to stay with me. I was hooked up to an IV and the hospital required me to piss into a jug. So I pissed in a jug in front of her. And I was ok with that. I even made jokes about that (though that may have been the drugs). But she stayed with me. In the hospital. All night. We even tried to watch a movie on her computer (old and black and white), but I fell asleep after five minutes. But she was there. All night. We laid in the hospital bed together until 6 am when the nurse said the Doctors might not be too keen on such relations (its not like we did anything, I was either too doped up or in too much pain to say or do anything remotely sexy).
But the girlfriend thinks that the night we spent in the hospital was when I thought I could fall in love with her. But in reality, I fell in love with her when I was laying in the hallway cot, only wanting her by my side, but understanding (I am not sure if I understood then, but i respected) her disdain for hospitals, hoping that I would be in and out of the hospital, and when I understood that I was not, asking the nurse to get her, and then my girlfriend walked through the doors. If there was a drug that could preserve what I felt when I first saw her walk in there, I would be an addict. I was so happy. The pain was momentarily gone. All I wanted to do was reach out to her and hold her and feel her against me. And know that when she is close, everything is gonna be alright.
So that is the story of when I knew that I loved my girlfriend. The story of when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her is much more mundane. She had recently left for the summer, so I had not seen her for a couple of weeks. I was sitting on the couch, hand down my pants Al Bundy style, when this odd feeling washed over me. I became disconnected, but completely connected to myself, electricity ran through my body, I became numb, my jaw felt like it was no longer attached to my face, my eyes could not focus on anything, I was completely and totally stunned. It just hit me. I was gonna marry her. I knew it. One day, she is gonna be my wife. One day, we are gonna be old, sitting in rocking chairs watching the sunset in Greece, and be even happier than we are now. I just knew it.
If you watch TV, you have seen the e-harmony commercials. In them, the bride and bridegroom talk about how much they had in common and how great it was that e-harmony facilitated that connection. Thats great. My best friend from my younger years met her husband on e-harmony. And that is great. Its just not for me.
My girlfriend and I have a lot in common. I am a lawyer, she will be a lawyer. Family is very important to us (though more so for her, I define family as mom, dad, and sisters, she defines it as everyone who may or may not be related to me). We both like reading. We both love Arrested Development (ok, she had no clue what it was before I made her watch the DVDs). We both think building the Lego DeathStar together would be a good relationship test.
And we have a lot more that is not in common. She is a people person. She loves meeting new people. I hate people. They annoy me. She can walk up to anyone and make friends. When she moves to a new city, her first task is to make friends with bartenders, which she does quite well (our second "date" involved me meeting her at her favorite bar. When she ordered drinks they were alcohol fueled and cheap. When I ordered drinks (and she was not around) they were alcohol light and expensive). Alright it may not be her first task, but if it is a task for her, she does quite well.
Whenever we talk about the proper way to raise kids, we disagree. Whenever we talk about a political issue, we disagree (or I take an ad hoc position and she shows me the light until I agree with her). Religion: disagree. Cigarettes: disagree. Buffy: disagree. Watching movies: disagree (I prefer TV shows. I like the development involved. Fact: In nine months, we have never had a date that involved going to see a movie). Jefferson v. Hamilton: Disagree. Going out v. Staying in: Disagree. Relationship with cousins: Disagree. Enjoyment of eating seafood: Disagree. Enjoyment of eating any quasi-exotic food: Disagree. Section of the used book store to browse through: Disagree.
That is just a sampling. But that is perfect for me. I spend all day with me, the last thing I want is someone who is exactly like me. I want someone who challenges me. Someone who makes me try new things. We agree on the important things: Marriage; Yes, Kids; Yes. But everything else, well that will take some work. And I want someone who is going to disagree with me on things like how to raise the kids. All the great bands made their best albums when the members were at each others throats. Example #1, #2.
I know that we are not a band. But we have a thing called compromise. As of right now, my belief in God is lacking. But I want my kids exposed to it, but not brainwashed, so that they can make their own decisions. I will be married in a Greek orthodox church, so long as it is understood that I do not believe that Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, though I desperately wish I could believe that. What I feel everyday with my woman, how much I care about her, how much I want to be with her, how great and happy she makes me feel, is real, the idea that a benevolent or unmerciful god is out there, is not. Its an issue, I do not deny that. I do not think it is insurmountable because we love each other, and we can find a way.
And I think that way about a lot of issues. We have different thoughts about many different issues. But I do not want someone like me. I want someone that sees the world differently. That can enlighten me, that can teach me things. Not a day goes by when she does not provide some new insight into some sort of issue.
And I don't want to spend another day of my life without her there to guide me. We have had dumb fights in person, we have had serious fights over IM, and vice versa, but not a minute goes by that I do not love her. Sorry for the double negative. I love her all the time. She has been in Greece for the last three weeks, and I think about her constantly. She has been away from me since the middle of May and I miss her terribly. She is the piece that completes me, and with 4.5 months of having her with me, I have spent the other 4.5 months lost. I just want her back so that I can feel whole again.
There is no doubt in my mind. I am going to marry her. The future is what it is. Maybe we will face obstacles we cannot overcome. I do not think we will though. Everyday since I have met her has been something special to me. I find myself amazed that I have met, and fallen in love with someone so fantastic. And the kicker is that she loves me too. I can be my nerdy, dorky self in front of her, and it still makes her laugh. And the sound of her laughing is the one sound that I could listen to for all of eternity.
So baby, on our nine month anniversary, I did not get you any presents. i did not write out the post I promised to. I wrote this. I hope you like it.
Because I love you so much, you are my Thumper, you are the most perfect thing that has ever come into my life. When you come back in sixteen days, I cannot imagine ever letting you go again. I know I have to, for thanksgiving and such things, but you are the one for me. I love you. When I talk to you on skype and I have to say that I need to hang up because it costs too much, it breaks my heart. I wish I had the ability to give you everything you ever wanted, to talk to you whenever you wanted, for as long you want. And I am sorry I cannot do that yet.
But, the one thing I can guarantee you is that you have my heart, you have my soul. Baby, Aug. 21 is going to be the best day of my life because that will be the day that I know that I get to spend to the rest of my life with you.
As I write this, it is our 9 month anniversary. If you do the math (or grab the 2008 calendar out of the trash), you will see that our first date was on Election Day. It truly was a historic day (though oddly enough, neither of us voted for the same person and neither of us voted for Obama).
The odd thing about our relationship (I might use "odd" a lot, my apologies) is that we have spent about half that time apart. She is a law student (rising 2L), which means lots of nice long breaks from DC. There is Thanksgiving, a month for Christmas, spring break, and of course the place we are mired in now, the three month summer vacation. If you had the first few weeks where we were just casually dating (which I do, because everyday with her is better than my best day without her), one gets to about 4.5 months of away time. Which sucks.
But it is also good. I will not say great, because it sucks so much, but one could say that it has been great for our relationship. Kind of. Well yes, it has. Beginning around Thanksgiving time, we have had some epic g-chats (though before this, we had marathon text messaging sessions (on of the reasons I had to upgrade my phone plan (and eventually went with a blackberry so I could email her while I was working (except I dont get service where I work so I just use my work e-mail (I am sure the all-seeing eye thinks I am hilarious)(gmail blocked at work (bastards!)))))). So over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, with finals between them there was not a lot of quality "us" time, we talked about lots of things. We really got to know each other.
But I think that my nature is one of the reasons this really helped our relationship. I am not much of a talker. I fumble words; have trouble getting thoughts out; feel the pressure of having to talk and can not come up with the words (for instance, I have spent about 45 minutes typing what you have read up to now. If you read it, it would take a minute, said it, maybe three). But with the typing, I am fucking Casanova. All the sweet things that my brain cannot communicate to my mouth, my brain has no trouble sending to my fingers. It was through this forum that I could really convey to her how much I really liked her. She recently read through some of our old g-chats (after I mention some really cute parts of them to her) and said to me that she could not believe how much I liked her and how she did not pick up on it.
I understood how she did not though. I am generally a very guarded person, and even though I was attracted to her from the moment I saw her standing in the King St. metro parking lot, I was still quite keen on protecting my feelings. She is much like me in this respect. But to her credit, she made the first move. Well, really the first and the second. She knows the first move, I might tell the rest of you about it sometime. But she made the second. And I am glad she did, because I am a wimp.
After our lunch date (oh yes, I called in sick to work on Election Day to have a lunch date with a girl I hardly knew), she suggested we take a walk around Olde Towne Alexandria. During lunch, we mostly discussed law school (read: me explaining to her why law school sucks and no one should repeat my mistake (although I am glad I went, odd right?)). But after lunch, we took a walk, which shocked me that she suggested it. I am not the most entertaining lunch guest. But we walked down to the Potomac, down where the anchor is on King St., and I made one of my infamous "smart-alec jokes." She laughed, and she would later tell me this when she stopped thinking of me as crazy possible stalker rapist, and started thinking of me as a sweet guy she could use for his law knowledge (operative word being "sweet").
If pressed, I would say that the definitive point in our relationship for me was the night I had to spend in the hospital. It occurred sometime in January (yay two months!). It was a Friday or Saturday night when my body began to revolt. My stomach clamped down on me, shrinking itself to at least 1/1,000 of its size (I assume). Anything I tried to put in came right back out. Anything that was there, would not come out. Bent over in pain, I refused to do anything. "This shall pass," I said. My girlfriend thought otherwise and agreed to stay with me that night. Around five in the morning of a sleepless night, me writhing in pain, she insisted we go to the hospital. I said I was ok. She said HOSPITAL! I said, lets call the nurse hotline on my health insurance, see what they say. Damn nurse said hospital. So I let my woman drive me to the hospital. I tried to be calm with her driving my car, but between the gut-wrenching pain and her inability to begin stopping 18,000 yards before a stop sign, I was a little freaked out. Miraculously, she got me to the emergency room in one piece (that was sarcasm dear). But I would later learn, that this was a test for her.
Most people do not like hospitals. I know I hate them. I have hated them ever since my little sister was born. It had been a difficult pregnancy, and when my mom was recovering, only my dad was allowed to see her. My two older sisters and I were left in the waiting room. For a six year old, I was pretty fucking pissed. All I wanted was " TO SEE MY MOMMY!!!!" I do not think that I threw a tantrum. I tried to be tough. I understood what was going on. But in that moment(s), I hated my dad because he got to see my mom and I did not. It was an early lesson that life is not fair.
I am still not sure why my sweetie hates hospitals, though I can venture a few guesses. And all of those guesses make me understand why she hates them. But she parked my car and came into the waiting room with me. I think she had her laptop or at least a casebook or two with her. It was a good chance for her to do homework. Bleeding guys are not that much of a distraction.
Eventually, they called my name and I got to go in the back, where they make ER patients wait even longer. They did a test or two (I was most worried about appendicitis), and then made me drink liquid cum. It was a huge glass of yellowish liquid, viscous, but flavored with powdered lemonade (still gross). I got about 3/4ths of it down before throwing it all back up. They still insisted on a scan of some sort (damn kick-ass health plan), to which I submitted. But when I got back, they stuck me back on my cot in my "room." I say room because I was in the hallway, surrounded by a couple curtains.
But during this, and this is the part my girlfriend does not know, was that all I wanted was her. I wanted her next to me. I wanted her to hold my hand. I wanted to hear her tell me everything was going to be ok. After three hours, and the doctors not being able to figure out what was going on with me, I broke. I tried to be tough. My girlfriend made it into the waiting room, a big step for her. Getting her in the back room, with all the sick people, I did not want to do that to her. But I had to. I needed her there. I told the nurse that my girlfriend was in the waiting room, and could she (nurse) please get her (gf) and have her (gf) sit with me. And she came. It is a little strange to say that one of your happiest moments is to have your girlfriend walk into the emergency room, see her eyes light up when she sees you, and just be so thankful that she came, even though the pain you are in still throbs in your temples.
I am not exactly sure when I first asked for the pain medication, if I had to guess I would say it was shortly before my girlfriend showed up, though it might have been shortly after. I just know, that lying there, in the hallway, my ass hanging out (damn hospital gown), the only thing I wanted was to see her.
The hospital eventually kept me overnight, and my girlfriend agreed to stay with me. I was hooked up to an IV and the hospital required me to piss into a jug. So I pissed in a jug in front of her. And I was ok with that. I even made jokes about that (though that may have been the drugs). But she stayed with me. In the hospital. All night. We even tried to watch a movie on her computer (old and black and white), but I fell asleep after five minutes. But she was there. All night. We laid in the hospital bed together until 6 am when the nurse said the Doctors might not be too keen on such relations (its not like we did anything, I was either too doped up or in too much pain to say or do anything remotely sexy).
But the girlfriend thinks that the night we spent in the hospital was when I thought I could fall in love with her. But in reality, I fell in love with her when I was laying in the hallway cot, only wanting her by my side, but understanding (I am not sure if I understood then, but i respected) her disdain for hospitals, hoping that I would be in and out of the hospital, and when I understood that I was not, asking the nurse to get her, and then my girlfriend walked through the doors. If there was a drug that could preserve what I felt when I first saw her walk in there, I would be an addict. I was so happy. The pain was momentarily gone. All I wanted to do was reach out to her and hold her and feel her against me. And know that when she is close, everything is gonna be alright.
So that is the story of when I knew that I loved my girlfriend. The story of when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her is much more mundane. She had recently left for the summer, so I had not seen her for a couple of weeks. I was sitting on the couch, hand down my pants Al Bundy style, when this odd feeling washed over me. I became disconnected, but completely connected to myself, electricity ran through my body, I became numb, my jaw felt like it was no longer attached to my face, my eyes could not focus on anything, I was completely and totally stunned. It just hit me. I was gonna marry her. I knew it. One day, she is gonna be my wife. One day, we are gonna be old, sitting in rocking chairs watching the sunset in Greece, and be even happier than we are now. I just knew it.
If you watch TV, you have seen the e-harmony commercials. In them, the bride and bridegroom talk about how much they had in common and how great it was that e-harmony facilitated that connection. Thats great. My best friend from my younger years met her husband on e-harmony. And that is great. Its just not for me.
My girlfriend and I have a lot in common. I am a lawyer, she will be a lawyer. Family is very important to us (though more so for her, I define family as mom, dad, and sisters, she defines it as everyone who may or may not be related to me). We both like reading. We both love Arrested Development (ok, she had no clue what it was before I made her watch the DVDs). We both think building the Lego DeathStar together would be a good relationship test.
And we have a lot more that is not in common. She is a people person. She loves meeting new people. I hate people. They annoy me. She can walk up to anyone and make friends. When she moves to a new city, her first task is to make friends with bartenders, which she does quite well (our second "date" involved me meeting her at her favorite bar. When she ordered drinks they were alcohol fueled and cheap. When I ordered drinks (and she was not around) they were alcohol light and expensive). Alright it may not be her first task, but if it is a task for her, she does quite well.
Whenever we talk about the proper way to raise kids, we disagree. Whenever we talk about a political issue, we disagree (or I take an ad hoc position and she shows me the light until I agree with her). Religion: disagree. Cigarettes: disagree. Buffy: disagree. Watching movies: disagree (I prefer TV shows. I like the development involved. Fact: In nine months, we have never had a date that involved going to see a movie). Jefferson v. Hamilton: Disagree. Going out v. Staying in: Disagree. Relationship with cousins: Disagree. Enjoyment of eating seafood: Disagree. Enjoyment of eating any quasi-exotic food: Disagree. Section of the used book store to browse through: Disagree.
That is just a sampling. But that is perfect for me. I spend all day with me, the last thing I want is someone who is exactly like me. I want someone who challenges me. Someone who makes me try new things. We agree on the important things: Marriage; Yes, Kids; Yes. But everything else, well that will take some work. And I want someone who is going to disagree with me on things like how to raise the kids. All the great bands made their best albums when the members were at each others throats. Example #1, #2.
I know that we are not a band. But we have a thing called compromise. As of right now, my belief in God is lacking. But I want my kids exposed to it, but not brainwashed, so that they can make their own decisions. I will be married in a Greek orthodox church, so long as it is understood that I do not believe that Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, though I desperately wish I could believe that. What I feel everyday with my woman, how much I care about her, how much I want to be with her, how great and happy she makes me feel, is real, the idea that a benevolent or unmerciful god is out there, is not. Its an issue, I do not deny that. I do not think it is insurmountable because we love each other, and we can find a way.
And I think that way about a lot of issues. We have different thoughts about many different issues. But I do not want someone like me. I want someone that sees the world differently. That can enlighten me, that can teach me things. Not a day goes by when she does not provide some new insight into some sort of issue.
And I don't want to spend another day of my life without her there to guide me. We have had dumb fights in person, we have had serious fights over IM, and vice versa, but not a minute goes by that I do not love her. Sorry for the double negative. I love her all the time. She has been in Greece for the last three weeks, and I think about her constantly. She has been away from me since the middle of May and I miss her terribly. She is the piece that completes me, and with 4.5 months of having her with me, I have spent the other 4.5 months lost. I just want her back so that I can feel whole again.
There is no doubt in my mind. I am going to marry her. The future is what it is. Maybe we will face obstacles we cannot overcome. I do not think we will though. Everyday since I have met her has been something special to me. I find myself amazed that I have met, and fallen in love with someone so fantastic. And the kicker is that she loves me too. I can be my nerdy, dorky self in front of her, and it still makes her laugh. And the sound of her laughing is the one sound that I could listen to for all of eternity.
So baby, on our nine month anniversary, I did not get you any presents. i did not write out the post I promised to. I wrote this. I hope you like it.
Because I love you so much, you are my Thumper, you are the most perfect thing that has ever come into my life. When you come back in sixteen days, I cannot imagine ever letting you go again. I know I have to, for thanksgiving and such things, but you are the one for me. I love you. When I talk to you on skype and I have to say that I need to hang up because it costs too much, it breaks my heart. I wish I had the ability to give you everything you ever wanted, to talk to you whenever you wanted, for as long you want. And I am sorry I cannot do that yet.
But, the one thing I can guarantee you is that you have my heart, you have my soul. Baby, Aug. 21 is going to be the best day of my life because that will be the day that I know that I get to spend to the rest of my life with you.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Confidential-ish to My Thumper
Hey sweetie. This one is for you. Just imagine I am singing and all the man/woman's are reversed.
I cannot wait until you come back to me.
(oh, and just focus on the salient parts of the song)
I cannot wait until you come back to me.
(oh, and just focus on the salient parts of the song)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
No no no no no no no
Just before graduating law school, I was talking with a kid who mentioned that he had just gotten glasses and blamed law school for ruining his eyes. I laughed and remarked that law school had not had that effect on me.
I was justing sitting in my office and realized that I was holding a piece of paper quite close to my face as I read it. This is not good. I will now spend the rest of the day trying to read things from far away.
Fuck.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Monday, June 29, 2009
Greatest Hits I
I don't write here as much as I should or write long posts like I did. So indulge me as we take a trip down memory lane and I repost some of the better (read: unsucky) posts from my old blog. I may add a prologue or a post script, but probably not because I am lazy.
We begin this trip with a story from the summer after my first year of law school. I did not get a law related job, and other than going on some OCI's I did not really try. Live and learn right? Instead, my philosophy was to live with my parents for the summer and live off my tax refund (which was about $3,800). Well, that plan worked great for a month. I went out, drank a lot, saw the Cubs, drank some more, went to concerts, drank a lot more, and then suddenly, I was running out of money. I had to get some sort of job, so I took the first one that came along. I spent a month and a half after my first semester of law school putting garbage bags into boxes. But it gave me drinking money.
I cannot honestly say that I was having a good time at this point. I was seriously second guessing my decision to go to law school (major justification for it: It beat actually working). So I did what I did and wandered through life (and shockingly did not do anything that was character and fitness application worthy (though there was the night of the five mile walk)). So without further ado, I present to you A Normal Thursday (originally written in two parts, so it will be long):
I have already mentioned in this space that my summer job decided to make overtime mandatory. You can explore my entries to see the exact specs of my job (except for what I do of course). The company's idea of mandatory overtime is to come in for an entire extra 12 hour shift. This particular week, my normal schedule was to be off on Thursday and Friday, and work Saturday, Sunday and Monday. With mandatory OT in effect, I was forced to work on Friday. This did not please me. This did not please me at all.
Thursday became my favorite day of the week during Undergrad. Going out on a Thursday was infinitely better than going out on the weekend for several reasons. First, Freshman do not learn until Sophomore year that you can get away with going out on Thursdays. They do it occasionally, but they are still naive and do not want to make a habit of it. Thus, the 18+ bars are not packed with a bunch of idiots, sober idiots. Secondly, once you turn 21 you reach the point where you know where you stand. By this I mean you know how much effort and how many classes you have to attend to get the grade you want. At this point, the guys with the 2.0 GPA know that there is not much they can do to improve it, so they just want to have a good time. These are the guys you want to hang out with. They fucking know how to party, and when you go out with them, you never know where the hell you are going to end up.
However, major reason that Thursday became my favorite day of the week is because I could go out. At this time, I had no idea that I would end up going to Law School. This was before the downfall of Enron and Arthur Anderson, and I had every confidence in myself and society, that I could half A's and half B's and get a job as an auditor with one of the Big Five. I had no need to go to class on Friday, and even if I could haul my usually still drunk ass out of bed, all I had to do was take some notes. Easy Peasy, Japanesey.
I should mention, that I tried to change myself. After suffering through the worst grades of my life Sophomore year, I decided I had to curb the partying during the week. My feeble minded solution to this was to schedule a class that met only on Wednesdays and Fridays at 8 a.m., and lasted two hours. The rationale was, it only meets twice per week, so I have to go on Fridays, so I cannot go out on Thursdays. It was a good plan, for about a week. The lure of the best night to go out was too much for me. Halfway through the semester I had used up my six absence allowance. Yet, I continued to go out on Thursdays, I just tried to make sure that when the bars closed at 2 a.m., I went home. It worked, I got a B, probably because of the pounding headaches while trying to take notes. For two fucking hours.
This summer, Thursday still holds a special place in my heart. I bowl on Thursdays (you cannot beat dollar games and $3 Bud Lights). This particular Thursday contained a twist. Before going to the bowling alley, my friend (this guy really needs a nickname. From now on, I dub he EagleMan (and if you live in Chicago, it is ten times funnier)), his girl of the week, and I went to see the local minor league baseball team.
As you know, I love my baseball. As you know, I love my beer. Combining the two, well that is my Field of Dreams. However, the evil specter of Friday work was the thunderstorm on my field. I took it easy. I was sober enough to realize that I would be getting home three hours after my bedtime. I had to take it easy. I had maybe four beers during the game, a new record. It should have been five, which would have tied the old record, but that was not to be.
After the top of the eighth, I went to the concession stand to pick up two beers for the last inning and a half. The transaction was completed without a hitch, and when I returned to my seat, I handed one of the beers to the girl of the week, saying, "Hey, I bought you a beer." Up to this point, she had not had one beer. In fact, the two other times I saw her, she did not drink. In my head, I was making a joke. She, however, readily accepted the beer, and took a sip. Ahh, well, it's not like I needed it anyway. After she finished half the beer, it became apparent that she does not drink too often. Half a beer, and she was slurring her words. Whoops. EagleMan is my full time designated driver, he does not drink at all, for the poor guy is allergic to wheat and such things. Drinking may kill him. It actually almost killed him. He used to drink more than me, then one day, Bam!, his throat swells up and he cannot drink anymore. But, he is a good guy, and is more than happy (well, maybe not happy, willing is a better word) to put up with my drunkass. I was not sure if he was willing to put up with his new girl's drunk ass though.
The Mudville 9 lost that day, but our spirits were high as we headed off to a night of bowling. Dollar bowling starts at 9 p.m., and we arrived at 9:30. Plenty of time. After picking up my shoes, I headed to the bar. The bartender knows me, in the customer sense of the phrase. She looked at me, and said, "Bud?" I had been staring at a lovely honey across the bar, and that snapped me back to attention. "Uhh, Yeah," I replied, and went back to my ogling.
Then, the lovely honey calls out to me, "You went to [Undergrad]?" For a second, I was horribly confused. I have no idea who this is, should I know who she is? I am terrible with faces. Even worse with faces when I am thirsty. Then I realized I was wearing a hat with my Undergrad's name emblazoned upon it. "Yeah," I said. I am smoother than sandpaper. "I graduated two years ago, did you go there?" I asked. "Yeah, but I just graduated," she replied. "That's cool." No, I am smoother than silk. The bartender suddenly appeared, blocking my line of sight to the lovely honey. The lovely honey was there with a bunch of guys, so I probably had no shot with her, and I was thirsty and wanted to bowl, so I took my beer and skedaddled. It's ok. You can tell me, I know. I am a social retard.
I returned to my lane, and put on my shoes. I took a sip of my beer. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Fuck. It was a Budweiser, not a Bud Light. That bitch of a bartender fucked up my order. No wait, I fucked up my order, thinking with the wrong head, and not paying attention to what was going on around me. Whatever, it is time to fucking bowl.
The girl of the week sat down, beer in hand, and we began to bowl. We were in the fifth frame when the GOTW jumped out of her seat like she had been shocked with a cattle prod, and ran up to an older woman who had just entered the alley. EagleMan was bowling, leaving me to think to myself, who the fuck is that?
****************
It is a little harsh to describe her as the GOTW. EagleMan just ended a long relationship, and is getting back into the dating scene (as I described before). He is a romantic at heart, and falls pretty quickly. This was no exception. GOTW was an affable enough girl, more outgoing than the last one, but she fell pretty hard too. He had been seeing this girl for about a week, and at one point during the ball game, while EagleMan was away, she asked me what I thought she should do for his birthday. His birthday was over two months away. I hemmed and hawed as much as I could, but I was pretty uncomfortable, even though I knew he liked her. However, in a moment, I was about to be much more uncomfortable.
With GOTW talking to the older woman, I took my turn to bowl, focusing on not falling down. Throwing it down the right arrow was secondary. This scene would repeat itself 70 more times (I got no strikes that night). I was getting a little buzzed. I am not a fan of Budweiser. I managed to avoid the gutter with both rolls, and returned to the table, seeing the older woman putting on shoes.
"This is my mother," GOTW cheerily slurred. Her fucking mother? After a week? Holy hell. EagleMan did not look shocked, so he must have known that this coming. He neglected to give me a heads up. I have enough trouble interacting in social situations with my best friends, and now, out of the blue, the GOTW's mother shows up. The least I could have gotten was a heads up from EagleMan. I am very regimented, routine oriented, and I do not like things happening unexpectedly. Unless I am hammered. I was not there yet.
I quickly excused myself to go get another beer. Head still spinning, I walked up to the bar. However, I had enough sense to see if lovely honey was still around, but alas, she was gone. "Bud?" the bartender asked. "Uhmm, no, Bud Light actually." A look of confusion briefly wafted across the bartender's face, then dissipated. "I knew there was someone that ordered Bud Light's on Thursdays. Why did you let me give you a Bud last time?" Because I am a sadist. I grabbed my beer and returned to the table.
"You know, I setup a tab, just put your beers on that," GOTW's mother greeted me. Oh great, now I have her offering to pay for my bad habits. Could this get any worse?
"You know mom, he is in law school," GOTW said. "You should check out environmental law," the mother rapidly replied.
It just got worse. Now I am bowling with a hippie. "It is interesting, but I think I am going to have make more than $30,000 a year to pay off my hundred grand in student loans." "Well just think about it." Sure, no problem, I will think about it. When I get rejected by the public defenders office.
I was able to maintain a modicum of socialability with the GOTW and her mother. EagleMan is a social fiend. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. He was having no such problems. But, then GOTW and the mother got up for another round, and EagleMan turns to me and says, "I have been talking to the Ex."
And I am down for the count.
I am not Superman. Now I have to talk to the GOTW and her mother, while knowing that EagleMan has been talking to his Ex, and wants to get back together with her. I was not built to deal with such things. It of course is complicated by the fact that I liked GOTW more after a week than I ever like the Ex after a year. And I am not receptive to meeting new people.
Whatever, I decided to put all this shit out of my mind and focus on bowling and drinking. No more talking for me. I really don't have anything interesting to say anyway (but plenty of interesting things to write, I hope). This caused a chorus of "What's wrong?" from the GOTW. I replied that I was fine, as I do have a tendency to seriously introvert myself. I eventually relaxed (read: was drunk) around 11, and was able to be my slightly sociable self for the rest of the night. The beer flowed freely, in and out, and when the alley closed at midnight, my pump had been primed enough that I could have bowled for another three hours. Unfortunately, it was time to go home.
EagleMan dropped me off at my place at 12:30. At this point, I was faced with two decisions, go to bed or drink a beer and check my e-mail. My alarm clock was poised to go off in four and half hours, and I had to be out of bed in five and half. But going to bed meant that my next conscious thought would be the realization that I had to go to work for 12 hours. I turned on the computer and cracked a beer.
For the next three hours I was lost in the world of cyberspace and alcohol. I kept drinking, proclaiming each beer to be my last, and always finding a new webpage to look at, where I would be halfway through reading an article when my beer went empty, causing me to go grab another. Or, finding that I had to write some irrelevant comment on someone's blog. This could have gone on in perpetuity, but by the time 3:30 am rolled around, I realized that I was fucked.
I am not exactly sure what I did in those three hours on the worldwide web. I know I did a couple stupid things, but I do not think I spent any money, which is always good. Regardless, I absolve myself of responsibility for anything I did. I was in another world. A world fueled by hatred of work, alcohol, and the knowledge that I am who I am. I was able to break my bond with that hell, and reconnect with reality, and stagger to bed and pass out. An hour and a half before my alarm would start going off.
The sounds of staticky country music suddenly filled my ears. I was shocked awake, ripped from my drunken slumber. I looked at the clock. 30 past the hour. Fuck. It takes about 25 minutes to get to work. I hauled myself out of bed. Thankfully, in my drunken stupor I had the sense to pass out fully clothed, so all I had to do was grab all the change in my ashtray (vending machine lunch), and head out the door. Yes, I was still a little (a lot) drunk. I do not advocate drunk driving, and personally have only done it a couple times (and not in a long, long time), but at this time of the morning, with it being the only way for me to get to work, the rules are bent. In short, I was fine to drive. I had to be.
I turned on the car, and was immediately shocked by the radio. I expected Mike & Mike, the morning drive show on ESPNRadio, to come blaring through the speakers. But I heard two guys I never heard. Fuck it, I am drunk and I have to get work. I put the car in gear, and headed out. About five minutes into the drive, the two dumbfucks on the radio mentioned that they were filling in for Mike & Mike. Thank God, I thought, I have not gone crazy. But, five minutes later I looked at the clock.
5:45. The motherfucking clock said 5:45. I was a fucking hour early. Fuck. The only thing I could think was Fuck. I turned around and came home, made a lunch, and went back to bed. And woke up at 6:35. For the second time that day, I hauled my drunk ass out of bed, and left home. I started my car again, and for the second time that day, heard two guys I had never heard before. What the fuck is going on. The local affiliate had pulled the national fill-ins and put in some local fill ins. I figured this out later, but I was horribly confused at the time. On the second drive to work I checked the clock every ten seconds to reassure myself that I was leaving when I was supposed to. I safely got to work at 7 am and began my 12 hour workday.
That is my life. Want to trade?
We begin this trip with a story from the summer after my first year of law school. I did not get a law related job, and other than going on some OCI's I did not really try. Live and learn right? Instead, my philosophy was to live with my parents for the summer and live off my tax refund (which was about $3,800). Well, that plan worked great for a month. I went out, drank a lot, saw the Cubs, drank some more, went to concerts, drank a lot more, and then suddenly, I was running out of money. I had to get some sort of job, so I took the first one that came along. I spent a month and a half after my first semester of law school putting garbage bags into boxes. But it gave me drinking money.
I cannot honestly say that I was having a good time at this point. I was seriously second guessing my decision to go to law school (major justification for it: It beat actually working). So I did what I did and wandered through life (and shockingly did not do anything that was character and fitness application worthy (though there was the night of the five mile walk)). So without further ado, I present to you A Normal Thursday (originally written in two parts, so it will be long):
I have already mentioned in this space that my summer job decided to make overtime mandatory. You can explore my entries to see the exact specs of my job (except for what I do of course). The company's idea of mandatory overtime is to come in for an entire extra 12 hour shift. This particular week, my normal schedule was to be off on Thursday and Friday, and work Saturday, Sunday and Monday. With mandatory OT in effect, I was forced to work on Friday. This did not please me. This did not please me at all.
Thursday became my favorite day of the week during Undergrad. Going out on a Thursday was infinitely better than going out on the weekend for several reasons. First, Freshman do not learn until Sophomore year that you can get away with going out on Thursdays. They do it occasionally, but they are still naive and do not want to make a habit of it. Thus, the 18+ bars are not packed with a bunch of idiots, sober idiots. Secondly, once you turn 21 you reach the point where you know where you stand. By this I mean you know how much effort and how many classes you have to attend to get the grade you want. At this point, the guys with the 2.0 GPA know that there is not much they can do to improve it, so they just want to have a good time. These are the guys you want to hang out with. They fucking know how to party, and when you go out with them, you never know where the hell you are going to end up.
However, major reason that Thursday became my favorite day of the week is because I could go out. At this time, I had no idea that I would end up going to Law School. This was before the downfall of Enron and Arthur Anderson, and I had every confidence in myself and society, that I could half A's and half B's and get a job as an auditor with one of the Big Five. I had no need to go to class on Friday, and even if I could haul my usually still drunk ass out of bed, all I had to do was take some notes. Easy Peasy, Japanesey.
I should mention, that I tried to change myself. After suffering through the worst grades of my life Sophomore year, I decided I had to curb the partying during the week. My feeble minded solution to this was to schedule a class that met only on Wednesdays and Fridays at 8 a.m., and lasted two hours. The rationale was, it only meets twice per week, so I have to go on Fridays, so I cannot go out on Thursdays. It was a good plan, for about a week. The lure of the best night to go out was too much for me. Halfway through the semester I had used up my six absence allowance. Yet, I continued to go out on Thursdays, I just tried to make sure that when the bars closed at 2 a.m., I went home. It worked, I got a B, probably because of the pounding headaches while trying to take notes. For two fucking hours.
This summer, Thursday still holds a special place in my heart. I bowl on Thursdays (you cannot beat dollar games and $3 Bud Lights). This particular Thursday contained a twist. Before going to the bowling alley, my friend (this guy really needs a nickname. From now on, I dub he EagleMan (and if you live in Chicago, it is ten times funnier)), his girl of the week, and I went to see the local minor league baseball team.
As you know, I love my baseball. As you know, I love my beer. Combining the two, well that is my Field of Dreams. However, the evil specter of Friday work was the thunderstorm on my field. I took it easy. I was sober enough to realize that I would be getting home three hours after my bedtime. I had to take it easy. I had maybe four beers during the game, a new record. It should have been five, which would have tied the old record, but that was not to be.
After the top of the eighth, I went to the concession stand to pick up two beers for the last inning and a half. The transaction was completed without a hitch, and when I returned to my seat, I handed one of the beers to the girl of the week, saying, "Hey, I bought you a beer." Up to this point, she had not had one beer. In fact, the two other times I saw her, she did not drink. In my head, I was making a joke. She, however, readily accepted the beer, and took a sip. Ahh, well, it's not like I needed it anyway. After she finished half the beer, it became apparent that she does not drink too often. Half a beer, and she was slurring her words. Whoops. EagleMan is my full time designated driver, he does not drink at all, for the poor guy is allergic to wheat and such things. Drinking may kill him. It actually almost killed him. He used to drink more than me, then one day, Bam!, his throat swells up and he cannot drink anymore. But, he is a good guy, and is more than happy (well, maybe not happy, willing is a better word) to put up with my drunkass. I was not sure if he was willing to put up with his new girl's drunk ass though.
The Mudville 9 lost that day, but our spirits were high as we headed off to a night of bowling. Dollar bowling starts at 9 p.m., and we arrived at 9:30. Plenty of time. After picking up my shoes, I headed to the bar. The bartender knows me, in the customer sense of the phrase. She looked at me, and said, "Bud?" I had been staring at a lovely honey across the bar, and that snapped me back to attention. "Uhh, Yeah," I replied, and went back to my ogling.
Then, the lovely honey calls out to me, "You went to [Undergrad]?" For a second, I was horribly confused. I have no idea who this is, should I know who she is? I am terrible with faces. Even worse with faces when I am thirsty. Then I realized I was wearing a hat with my Undergrad's name emblazoned upon it. "Yeah," I said. I am smoother than sandpaper. "I graduated two years ago, did you go there?" I asked. "Yeah, but I just graduated," she replied. "That's cool." No, I am smoother than silk. The bartender suddenly appeared, blocking my line of sight to the lovely honey. The lovely honey was there with a bunch of guys, so I probably had no shot with her, and I was thirsty and wanted to bowl, so I took my beer and skedaddled. It's ok. You can tell me, I know. I am a social retard.
I returned to my lane, and put on my shoes. I took a sip of my beer. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Fuck. It was a Budweiser, not a Bud Light. That bitch of a bartender fucked up my order. No wait, I fucked up my order, thinking with the wrong head, and not paying attention to what was going on around me. Whatever, it is time to fucking bowl.
The girl of the week sat down, beer in hand, and we began to bowl. We were in the fifth frame when the GOTW jumped out of her seat like she had been shocked with a cattle prod, and ran up to an older woman who had just entered the alley. EagleMan was bowling, leaving me to think to myself, who the fuck is that?
****************
It is a little harsh to describe her as the GOTW. EagleMan just ended a long relationship, and is getting back into the dating scene (as I described before). He is a romantic at heart, and falls pretty quickly. This was no exception. GOTW was an affable enough girl, more outgoing than the last one, but she fell pretty hard too. He had been seeing this girl for about a week, and at one point during the ball game, while EagleMan was away, she asked me what I thought she should do for his birthday. His birthday was over two months away. I hemmed and hawed as much as I could, but I was pretty uncomfortable, even though I knew he liked her. However, in a moment, I was about to be much more uncomfortable.
With GOTW talking to the older woman, I took my turn to bowl, focusing on not falling down. Throwing it down the right arrow was secondary. This scene would repeat itself 70 more times (I got no strikes that night). I was getting a little buzzed. I am not a fan of Budweiser. I managed to avoid the gutter with both rolls, and returned to the table, seeing the older woman putting on shoes.
"This is my mother," GOTW cheerily slurred. Her fucking mother? After a week? Holy hell. EagleMan did not look shocked, so he must have known that this coming. He neglected to give me a heads up. I have enough trouble interacting in social situations with my best friends, and now, out of the blue, the GOTW's mother shows up. The least I could have gotten was a heads up from EagleMan. I am very regimented, routine oriented, and I do not like things happening unexpectedly. Unless I am hammered. I was not there yet.
I quickly excused myself to go get another beer. Head still spinning, I walked up to the bar. However, I had enough sense to see if lovely honey was still around, but alas, she was gone. "Bud?" the bartender asked. "Uhmm, no, Bud Light actually." A look of confusion briefly wafted across the bartender's face, then dissipated. "I knew there was someone that ordered Bud Light's on Thursdays. Why did you let me give you a Bud last time?" Because I am a sadist. I grabbed my beer and returned to the table.
"You know, I setup a tab, just put your beers on that," GOTW's mother greeted me. Oh great, now I have her offering to pay for my bad habits. Could this get any worse?
"You know mom, he is in law school," GOTW said. "You should check out environmental law," the mother rapidly replied.
It just got worse. Now I am bowling with a hippie. "It is interesting, but I think I am going to have make more than $30,000 a year to pay off my hundred grand in student loans." "Well just think about it." Sure, no problem, I will think about it. When I get rejected by the public defenders office.
I was able to maintain a modicum of socialability with the GOTW and her mother. EagleMan is a social fiend. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. He was having no such problems. But, then GOTW and the mother got up for another round, and EagleMan turns to me and says, "I have been talking to the Ex."
And I am down for the count.
I am not Superman. Now I have to talk to the GOTW and her mother, while knowing that EagleMan has been talking to his Ex, and wants to get back together with her. I was not built to deal with such things. It of course is complicated by the fact that I liked GOTW more after a week than I ever like the Ex after a year. And I am not receptive to meeting new people.
Whatever, I decided to put all this shit out of my mind and focus on bowling and drinking. No more talking for me. I really don't have anything interesting to say anyway (but plenty of interesting things to write, I hope). This caused a chorus of "What's wrong?" from the GOTW. I replied that I was fine, as I do have a tendency to seriously introvert myself. I eventually relaxed (read: was drunk) around 11, and was able to be my slightly sociable self for the rest of the night. The beer flowed freely, in and out, and when the alley closed at midnight, my pump had been primed enough that I could have bowled for another three hours. Unfortunately, it was time to go home.
EagleMan dropped me off at my place at 12:30. At this point, I was faced with two decisions, go to bed or drink a beer and check my e-mail. My alarm clock was poised to go off in four and half hours, and I had to be out of bed in five and half. But going to bed meant that my next conscious thought would be the realization that I had to go to work for 12 hours. I turned on the computer and cracked a beer.
For the next three hours I was lost in the world of cyberspace and alcohol. I kept drinking, proclaiming each beer to be my last, and always finding a new webpage to look at, where I would be halfway through reading an article when my beer went empty, causing me to go grab another. Or, finding that I had to write some irrelevant comment on someone's blog. This could have gone on in perpetuity, but by the time 3:30 am rolled around, I realized that I was fucked.
I am not exactly sure what I did in those three hours on the worldwide web. I know I did a couple stupid things, but I do not think I spent any money, which is always good. Regardless, I absolve myself of responsibility for anything I did. I was in another world. A world fueled by hatred of work, alcohol, and the knowledge that I am who I am. I was able to break my bond with that hell, and reconnect with reality, and stagger to bed and pass out. An hour and a half before my alarm would start going off.
The sounds of staticky country music suddenly filled my ears. I was shocked awake, ripped from my drunken slumber. I looked at the clock. 30 past the hour. Fuck. It takes about 25 minutes to get to work. I hauled myself out of bed. Thankfully, in my drunken stupor I had the sense to pass out fully clothed, so all I had to do was grab all the change in my ashtray (vending machine lunch), and head out the door. Yes, I was still a little (a lot) drunk. I do not advocate drunk driving, and personally have only done it a couple times (and not in a long, long time), but at this time of the morning, with it being the only way for me to get to work, the rules are bent. In short, I was fine to drive. I had to be.
I turned on the car, and was immediately shocked by the radio. I expected Mike & Mike, the morning drive show on ESPNRadio, to come blaring through the speakers. But I heard two guys I never heard. Fuck it, I am drunk and I have to get work. I put the car in gear, and headed out. About five minutes into the drive, the two dumbfucks on the radio mentioned that they were filling in for Mike & Mike. Thank God, I thought, I have not gone crazy. But, five minutes later I looked at the clock.
5:45. The motherfucking clock said 5:45. I was a fucking hour early. Fuck. The only thing I could think was Fuck. I turned around and came home, made a lunch, and went back to bed. And woke up at 6:35. For the second time that day, I hauled my drunk ass out of bed, and left home. I started my car again, and for the second time that day, heard two guys I had never heard before. What the fuck is going on. The local affiliate had pulled the national fill-ins and put in some local fill ins. I figured this out later, but I was horribly confused at the time. On the second drive to work I checked the clock every ten seconds to reassure myself that I was leaving when I was supposed to. I safely got to work at 7 am and began my 12 hour workday.
That is my life. Want to trade?
I like my job
So there I was, just after lunch, my feet up on my desk, diet dr. Pepper just to my right, leaning all the way back in my chair, headphones on, listening to some rocking tunes, a highlighter in my mouth, with the code in my lap opened to some random section that I was reading for some background, when my boss walked in. To talk about a fantasy baseball trade we made over the weekend. Life is good.
Sidenote: texting while walking down stairs is not the best idea in the world.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Being Honest About Myself
I used to forget things all the time; but not exactly. I spent a lot of time convincing people that I was the most forgetful person of all time. Not all people, mostly just people who asked me to do things, but did not pay me to do them. Take the chicken out of the fridge at five, mow the lawn before it rains, pick up grandma from the train, I forgot to do all those things. But sometimes, I was asked to do something, and I did not actually forget, I just did not do it.
Today, I got yelled at by one the administrative people I work with. Well, yelled at in a motherly, secretarial kind of way. I had been putting off taking care of some administrative bullshit that I kind of needed to take care of but not really. Back in March I first found out that some action was needed on my part. May came around, and I finally got around to doing it, but tried to do it on my own, without going through her. I failed utterly and miserably, and when she found out I tried to go it alone, she was not happy. So today, when I finally tried to fix it again, I went straight to her, hoping she might have forgotten how annoyed she was with me a month and half ago. Which she had, but still "yelled" at me and extracted a promise from me that I would go to her first for this type of thing in the future.
As I have gotten older, and then even older, I have decided to forgo convincing people of my absent-mindedness because I usually have quite a sharp memory, and be honest with them. I am just very very lazy. Extremely lazy.
So today, I did not make excuses. After all, this stupid form I had to fill out could only benefit me. Not really in an economic way (I never pass up money), but make my life a little bit easier. But I just did not care enough to take care of it. So I put it off and put it off, until finally today, I was so bored, I figured I would just get it done (it took all of two minutes plus a lecture). I am just that lazy.
My hair, more than anything, helps to define my laziness. In the past, I never really cared much about hair. In high school I would comb it, but I never really had a hairstyle or anything. In college and law school, I pretty much wore a hat all the time. This was because I was too lazy to get out of bed long enough before class to shower. On the days that I did (like a 3 pm class), i usually forewent combing or anything like that.
After all, by law school, male pattern baldness had pretty much set in. If I did not give a shit about my hair when I had a decent hairline, fat chance of me caring about it now. But now I have a job, and I assume I am supposed to look respectable (no one has actually said anything, so I figure I am good for now).
So for work, I comb my hair, put gel in it (because I still have a damn cowlick), and try to look presentable. But the thing is, I hate long hair. I much prefer my hair to be nice and short so that after I shower in the morning, I do not have to do anything to it. Yet, I always let it grow real long (and not just because my girlfriend hates when hair is short). So every four months or so, I cut it off. But usually at the three month mark, I start thinking every morning that I need to cut it. I am just too lazy to ever get around to it.
So when I go a week or month without posting, just know, it is because I am lazy. Unless you pay me. Then I will post whenever you want.
Today, I got yelled at by one the administrative people I work with. Well, yelled at in a motherly, secretarial kind of way. I had been putting off taking care of some administrative bullshit that I kind of needed to take care of but not really. Back in March I first found out that some action was needed on my part. May came around, and I finally got around to doing it, but tried to do it on my own, without going through her. I failed utterly and miserably, and when she found out I tried to go it alone, she was not happy. So today, when I finally tried to fix it again, I went straight to her, hoping she might have forgotten how annoyed she was with me a month and half ago. Which she had, but still "yelled" at me and extracted a promise from me that I would go to her first for this type of thing in the future.
As I have gotten older, and then even older, I have decided to forgo convincing people of my absent-mindedness because I usually have quite a sharp memory, and be honest with them. I am just very very lazy. Extremely lazy.
So today, I did not make excuses. After all, this stupid form I had to fill out could only benefit me. Not really in an economic way (I never pass up money), but make my life a little bit easier. But I just did not care enough to take care of it. So I put it off and put it off, until finally today, I was so bored, I figured I would just get it done (it took all of two minutes plus a lecture). I am just that lazy.
My hair, more than anything, helps to define my laziness. In the past, I never really cared much about hair. In high school I would comb it, but I never really had a hairstyle or anything. In college and law school, I pretty much wore a hat all the time. This was because I was too lazy to get out of bed long enough before class to shower. On the days that I did (like a 3 pm class), i usually forewent combing or anything like that.
After all, by law school, male pattern baldness had pretty much set in. If I did not give a shit about my hair when I had a decent hairline, fat chance of me caring about it now. But now I have a job, and I assume I am supposed to look respectable (no one has actually said anything, so I figure I am good for now).
So for work, I comb my hair, put gel in it (because I still have a damn cowlick), and try to look presentable. But the thing is, I hate long hair. I much prefer my hair to be nice and short so that after I shower in the morning, I do not have to do anything to it. Yet, I always let it grow real long (and not just because my girlfriend hates when hair is short). So every four months or so, I cut it off. But usually at the three month mark, I start thinking every morning that I need to cut it. I am just too lazy to ever get around to it.
So when I go a week or month without posting, just know, it is because I am lazy. Unless you pay me. Then I will post whenever you want.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Now that is not something you see everyday
I was driving to the Target today, and I passed something I usually only see in Indiana:
Call me naive, but I did not realize fireworks were legal in VA. They just passed smoking bans a month or so ago!
I did spend a July Fourth in DC once and witnessed quite the amazing spectacle. From the house where I lived (about a mile north of the Capitol Building) I was able to mostly witness the "official" DC fireworks (damn washington monument kept getting in the way). But then, oh, that is when the real party started.
Fireworks came in from all over the district. "Light the Night!" as Electro would say. It was quite the sight. Except for when one malfunctioned and almost hit a guy across the street from me. And then another one burned out right before hitting the roof I was on. But, good times all around.
Still, having grown up in IL, I was quite shocked to see a fireworks shed erected in the middle of a parking lot. Course, a little research indicates why it was just erected and not a mainstay like Krazy Kaplan's just over the IL-IN border.
VA does not allow any cool fireworks. Ah well. Maybe I will just head into the district for the Fourth.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Late Night TV
I was watching some TV late last night and as per usual on a saturday night, there was nothing good on. But it was taking to a new level last night as I stumbled across this movie:
When I first turned it on, it looked like it might be that old TV show on Fox about dinosaurs. But it wasn't. This was something much more disturbing. And THEN Whoopi showed up in spandex. Tired as I was, I had to do some more research into this disaster of a movie. The pertinent facts: Made in 1995 for $35 million. Intended for a theatrical release but went straight to VHS (Most expensive direct to video movie at the time). Whoopi decided she wanted out before filming started, but had signed a contract and eventually settled for $7 million to star in the film.
Watching this movie was just god awful. I cannot begin to explain my thoughts on it. Instead, I direct you to the comments on IMDB and Amazon. My favorite review, a Five Star from amazon:
"Watching this film sober - and even under the influence - is like giving birth out of your ear while simultaneously having a stroke, getting a root canal, and walking in on your parents having sex. In your bed. And as you walk in on them, you step on a rake and it hits you in the face and drives a splinter into your eye. Yet at the same time it triggers a visceral, masochistic response somewhere deep inside, and you can't help but take pleasure in every mind-numbing attempt at a joke, every sudden idiotic plot twist, and every glimpse of Whoopi's gross spandexed rumpus. A real treat."
It is quite accurate, except for that last part.
It would be accurate to call this a career killer, at least for the writer/director. The lucky guy was given the reigns to a $35 million dollar picture and produced a horrible piece of trash. And amazingly, he could not find work in Hollywood again. At least until this year. He wrote a new movie. But I wonder what he did for the last fifteen years.
********
The only thing worse than this movie, was a commercial that ran during it. It was for this thing called Big Top Cupcakes.
The selling point? It is 25x bigger than a regular Cupcake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you believe that? You know what is 25x bigger than a cupcake? A Regular Fucking Cake! It is called a cupcake because it is a cake that fits in a goddamn cup! It is a fucking cake you eat with your fingers! Why the hell do you need a cupcake on steriods when you can just make a fucking cake!
God, what an atrocious night of TV. I don't even want to get into the nightmares this shit gave me.
When I first turned it on, it looked like it might be that old TV show on Fox about dinosaurs. But it wasn't. This was something much more disturbing. And THEN Whoopi showed up in spandex. Tired as I was, I had to do some more research into this disaster of a movie. The pertinent facts: Made in 1995 for $35 million. Intended for a theatrical release but went straight to VHS (Most expensive direct to video movie at the time). Whoopi decided she wanted out before filming started, but had signed a contract and eventually settled for $7 million to star in the film.
Watching this movie was just god awful. I cannot begin to explain my thoughts on it. Instead, I direct you to the comments on IMDB and Amazon. My favorite review, a Five Star from amazon:
"Watching this film sober - and even under the influence - is like giving birth out of your ear while simultaneously having a stroke, getting a root canal, and walking in on your parents having sex. In your bed. And as you walk in on them, you step on a rake and it hits you in the face and drives a splinter into your eye. Yet at the same time it triggers a visceral, masochistic response somewhere deep inside, and you can't help but take pleasure in every mind-numbing attempt at a joke, every sudden idiotic plot twist, and every glimpse of Whoopi's gross spandexed rumpus. A real treat."
It is quite accurate, except for that last part.
It would be accurate to call this a career killer, at least for the writer/director. The lucky guy was given the reigns to a $35 million dollar picture and produced a horrible piece of trash. And amazingly, he could not find work in Hollywood again. At least until this year. He wrote a new movie. But I wonder what he did for the last fifteen years.
********
The only thing worse than this movie, was a commercial that ran during it. It was for this thing called Big Top Cupcakes.
The selling point? It is 25x bigger than a regular Cupcake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you believe that? You know what is 25x bigger than a cupcake? A Regular Fucking Cake! It is called a cupcake because it is a cake that fits in a goddamn cup! It is a fucking cake you eat with your fingers! Why the hell do you need a cupcake on steriods when you can just make a fucking cake!
God, what an atrocious night of TV. I don't even want to get into the nightmares this shit gave me.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Thoughts Whilest I Await Conan's 11:30 Debut
My balls are burning right now. It is because I have officially become old, yet do not have the experience of being old to know how to cope with it right now. I twisted my knee thursday night playing hockey. I was tough, played the rest of the game (and with a busted toe to boot). So after a weekend of rest and icing, it feels much better, but occasionally I will make a a quick turn or stop and it gets weak. So, I went out and got a Ben-Gay sleeve. Slid it on to my knee and let the alternating cooling and burning take effect. Course, then I read the instructions and realized I had it on backwards. So I fiddled with it, and got it on correctly. Then I went to adjust my balls, and hence, now they burn. I am sure I will get it figured out soon enough. Still though, my balls dont hurt as much as the first time my girlfriend spent the weekend at my place.
***************
Speaking of the woman, since she left she has told me a couple times that I have been acting oddly. I, for one, think that I am acting the same as I usually do. So this is not an explaination for me acting odd, but something I realized today.
There are oodles of ways for my girlfriend and I to interact with each other while she is in Chicago and I am in DC. Let us count the ways:
***************
Speaking of the woman, since she left she has told me a couple times that I have been acting oddly. I, for one, think that I am acting the same as I usually do. So this is not an explaination for me acting odd, but something I realized today.
There are oodles of ways for my girlfriend and I to interact with each other while she is in Chicago and I am in DC. Let us count the ways:
- Phone. This is pretty standard. I am sure it needs little explaination.
- Text messaging. Because of her, I have spent too much money on excess text messages. Once I bought my Blackberry, I went with unlimited texts. It was a good idea.
- Twitter. She recently signed up for twitter, so I was forced into it (yes it was a choice, but come on, I had to). I guess the point of twitter is for text messages we don't mind sharing with the public. Of course, I get text message updates when she twits (thats the term right?), so it is essentially a public text message. Granted, I have 1 follower that is not her or some random person, so its not that public (because I have a lot to hide).
- Blogging. She has a blog. I have a blog. I would not say we use our blogs as a roundabout way of making a point to the other, but I do. Her, not so much. To be fair though, I only do it when it is funny. Or I can make a cool list.
- G-Chat. Again self explanatory. Of course, this comes with the added advantage of video chat, so I can see her beautiful smile and gorgeous eyes from 1,000 miles away.
- AIM. I have not downloaded AIM onto my computer, but through the magic of Google, I can log into AIM as though it is gchat. My woman has AIM on her phone, so this is essentially another method of text messaging, but with the added bonus of me being able to type faster.
- E-Mail. Yup, this is down so low because I almost forgot it. We will call this regular, personal email, where she can talk to me about about her friends foibles with butt-sex (not that she would, but she could)
- Work E-Mail. I do not get phone service where I work, so during the day we often e-mail each other back and forth. At least until I realize that I have sent fifteen e-mails in the last ten minutes and take a break so the IT folks think that I am actually doing work.
- Google Reader. We both use the reader supplied by our overlord Google. On there, you can share stories and comment. We use that sparingly, mostly because we rarely read what the other person shared. I am working on it babe, promise! (I dont really understand what google wave is, but I am sure we will use that too when it launches.)
- Facebook. I log into facebook about once a month, but when I do, I am sure to leave a comment on her wall.
- Letters (in theory). She has sent me letters. I have yet to do the same. I am working on it, but hey, my handwriting sucks.
I think that is it. We are not to the point yet where we have ESP. Once she gets a Wii at her place in Chicago we might have Smash Bros. brawls online. Still, I get the feeling I am missing something.
But still, look at that list. Ten years ago, when she was 12, the only communique I had was through phone and post (note: this was 1999, when most you probably had AOL. I did not. I did not have internet access until I went to college in the fall. And even then, I think I was in the only dorm room that did not have a computer). Things have certainly evolved since then. And I am very much apprecaitive of the fact that I could go at least a day without contacting her through one of these mediums and she would not go nuts. I love you babe.
***************
They say bad things come in threes, but come on. In the last two weeks, one of the senior managers where I work suffered a major stroke and passed away. Shortly thereafter, one of my colleagues wife had a mild stroke (he received the call during a teleconference I was invovled in (in that I was there listening), and took off as he should, the odd part was, the rest of us were in his office). Then, my smoking buddy's mother was admitted to the hospital with what may be a mild stroke. Seriously, enough already.
**************
To end this on an upbeat note, I spent $212 at the grocery store tonight. I suppose that is what happens when you go five months without grocery shopping.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Whitey Nachos
My girlfriend is constantly complaining that I am too "white." She is Greek, which I suppose gives her authority to judge my whiteyness. This despite the fact that early in our relationship we took a "How White Are You" quiz on Facebook, and she came out much whiter than me. So babe, this one is for you.
In the same vein as eating chicken plain, lacking any spices (when we met, I did not even have salt and pepper in my apartment), and my total lack of desire to try new things, I give you whitey nachos:
In the same vein as eating chicken plain, lacking any spices (when we met, I did not even have salt and pepper in my apartment), and my total lack of desire to try new things, I give you whitey nachos:
You know that shredded cheese you left in your apartment? When I saw it, I got all excited because I could now make my own brand of nachos. So I bought some tostitos, sprinkled some cheese on top, and nuked it for a minute. They were delicious.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Ouch
Stubbed my toe on my couch Wednesday morning. It hurt like a bitch. Yet I suffered through the walk to the metro, walked around at work all day, and walked home again. Iced it when I got home, but yes, i was worried it was broken, but come on, it was the pinky toe, not much you can do about a broken pinky toe anyway. It looked pretty ugly though:
Yeah, it was pretty black and ugly. I avoided the hospital though. It is the pinky toe, like I just said not much one can do about it (unless I wanted some pain pills). But still, I was not too worried. It did not look nearly as bad as the bruise I got when I was hit by a car:
I was ok after that one, I should be ok after a simple toe stubbing.
(as i tried to upload that picture, my internet went out, so the rest of this post is abbreviated from my original intention).
So I can walk on my toe, although the shuffling sort of walk I had to perform caused my left calf to get pretty damn sore. Nonetheless, I still played hockey tonight.
Part of this post was suppossed to say that my girlfriend -- who just finished up her first year in law school and is back in chicago, and whom I miss very much -- would have flipped out if she saw this and made me go to the hospital or doctor or some other bullshit. The point being that I finally found myself in a situation (its been a long week), where I was kinda glad she was not here. Then I talked to her tonight, and she was all like "Psh, thats nothing." But that is only because she is clumsy. I still think that she would be more concerned about damage to my pinky toe than damage to her toe.
The other part of this post was to prove (to her) that I am tough. I played hockey with a bruised toe! Sure it was the pinky, but still, hockey skates are pretty tight. However, the only pain I really had was when I transitioned from forwards to backwards skating, and during the game tonight the only time I had to do it quickly (and thus, more pain), was when there was an odd man rush and I had more important things to concern myself with (i.e. getting my ass back on D). I am fairly certain that I detailed my hockey injuries on my old blawg, so check that if you need more proof that I am tough.
Yeah, this post sucked, sorry. I joined twitter for some reason, link in the sidebar, so I will use that for my random thoughts and try to use this blog for actual posts. Dont know if I still have the 3,000 word posts in me that populated my old blog (at some point in the last year, I took down virtually all my posts there. But now, lots of them are back, and there are more coming soon. So recheck it out), but, I may give it a shot. I am 28 now, and slightly less stupid, which seriously inhibits my blog material. I might have to write something intelligent.
Anyway, the girl is gone until the end of August. When I am not drinking, I will use this space to occupy my time.
Yeah, it was pretty black and ugly. I avoided the hospital though. It is the pinky toe, like I just said not much one can do about it (unless I wanted some pain pills). But still, I was not too worried. It did not look nearly as bad as the bruise I got when I was hit by a car:
I was ok after that one, I should be ok after a simple toe stubbing.
(as i tried to upload that picture, my internet went out, so the rest of this post is abbreviated from my original intention).
So I can walk on my toe, although the shuffling sort of walk I had to perform caused my left calf to get pretty damn sore. Nonetheless, I still played hockey tonight.
Part of this post was suppossed to say that my girlfriend -- who just finished up her first year in law school and is back in chicago, and whom I miss very much -- would have flipped out if she saw this and made me go to the hospital or doctor or some other bullshit. The point being that I finally found myself in a situation (its been a long week), where I was kinda glad she was not here. Then I talked to her tonight, and she was all like "Psh, thats nothing." But that is only because she is clumsy. I still think that she would be more concerned about damage to my pinky toe than damage to her toe.
The other part of this post was to prove (to her) that I am tough. I played hockey with a bruised toe! Sure it was the pinky, but still, hockey skates are pretty tight. However, the only pain I really had was when I transitioned from forwards to backwards skating, and during the game tonight the only time I had to do it quickly (and thus, more pain), was when there was an odd man rush and I had more important things to concern myself with (i.e. getting my ass back on D). I am fairly certain that I detailed my hockey injuries on my old blawg, so check that if you need more proof that I am tough.
Yeah, this post sucked, sorry. I joined twitter for some reason, link in the sidebar, so I will use that for my random thoughts and try to use this blog for actual posts. Dont know if I still have the 3,000 word posts in me that populated my old blog (at some point in the last year, I took down virtually all my posts there. But now, lots of them are back, and there are more coming soon. So recheck it out), but, I may give it a shot. I am 28 now, and slightly less stupid, which seriously inhibits my blog material. I might have to write something intelligent.
Anyway, the girl is gone until the end of August. When I am not drinking, I will use this space to occupy my time.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Ugh
Four thirty on the friday before memorial day and I just printed out a 100 page brief that I need to read and be prepared to comment on by tuesday afternoon. But that is not the problem. I think I burned my finger when I grabbed the paper off my printer. Ouch
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Sunday, May 17, 2009
This sucks
Came back to chicago for my little sisters graduation this weekend. It was nice, and the name caller called some dude "maximum stupid" on accident. But now I am in a cab going to the airport because my dad would not drive me and I am missing the third period of the hawks game against the wings? Why you ask? Because the radio is broken in the fucking cab and the hawks just scored (text via my bloodthirsty gf) to tie up the game and I am very pissed at everything right now. Except the hawks. I hope they fucking crush the wings
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