Archive for May, 2007

Wednesdays are the New Friday

May 31, 2007

I’m realizing more and more that Wednesday is THE night to go out. Weekend nights are for amateurs. That’s just one guy’s opinion of course, but I’ve been doing a lot of research into this. And Wednesdays always turn out to be the most fun–and, even better, you never know ahead of time exactly what is going to make it a great night.

So anyway, last night I had my golf league in the late afternoon. It was a beautiful night for golf but I wasn’t feeling a hundred percent so it wasn’t as enjoyable as it should have been. The one highlight, though, was on the fourth hole when I chipped one into the cup from about thirty yards out. It saved a par on a hole that saw me hit the middle of another fairway, that saw me hit a tree, and that saw me pitch one up the hill way off target. Sadly, it was my only par of the day. My driving was off. Way off. I’m blaming the shirt I wore for weighing me down. Bad apparel choice. On the fifth hole, I can also cast blame on the fact that they were running their women’s golf clinic. Thirty women–oh yeah, many of them hotter than hell–all standing there practicing their drives while we teed off. And, hehe, the pressure was too much for each of us. A ball in the woods, a nasty slice, and, for me, catching the ground rather than the ball, shanking a short, short drive. But, to the girl in the skin tight jeans (how DO you golf in those?) I can only say “Thank you.”

Okay, so once we were done golfing–and that took awhile because we were following the slowest group evah–I left right away because, as I mentioned above, I wasn’t feeling all that well. So I headed home and freshened up, though I was unsure if I’d even go out.

Well, after a little rest at home and a shower, I, of course, was feeling restless and decided to head down to the bar for at least a few innings of the Sox game. It was quiet, but R. and JMc and Tattoo guy were there. Tattoo guy is a new character here on our little blog. I’ve met him a few times and to be honest still don’t know his real name. But he’s the sort of guy who gets annoying real fast, let me tell you. Or, as JMc put it, “that guy is a tool.” Funniest Moment of the Evening: R., who previously has randomly knocked over his beer several times, was going to take a sip from his pint while he was talking and watching the game. Not quite sure how he did it, but he began to tilt the glass before it got to his mouth and he ended up spilling his beer on his arm. Too fucking hilarious. And the thing is, I tried not to laugh too much or keep bringing it up–even though it was the fucking funniest thing–because I know R. is sensitive and I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him. But it was a classic R. moment.

So anyway, the Red Sox game wore on and got a bit ugly. D.R. showed up, freshly tanned. He apologized for not making the meeting last night–because he was golfing and drinking. Please refer to yesterday’s blog entry for my opinion on that one. At some point in there, M. showed up, eating some baked beans from that famous hot dog place, which apparently is now open late. Note bene: nothing beats hot dogs and beans at ten o’clock. And, also, D.R. and R. took off to the bar down the hill. I was a little pissed they didn’t invite me, but in reality, I was happy where I was. The Jilted One was bartending and that always means a few free drinks on the ol’ tab.

So, anyway, at some point I called Afternoon Girl. I had spoken briefly with her Tuesday afternoon and had thought she was going to call me back that night, but that never happened (which is probably fine because I was all consumed with my meeting and the post-meeting and all). Alas, I had to leave a message and return to watching the baseball game. Okay, around this time the ‘guy who lost his job from his drinking’ (I’m too tired to come up with a nickname right now) showed up next to me. I’ve mentioned him here before–his son and my younger son are best friends. Anyway, he starts drunkenly talking to me about all his woes and how he’s not really a drunk, blah blah blah. Funnily enough, I couldn’t hear half of what he was saying because he was talking quietly and the Jilted One was blasting her MP3 player. But I nodded and did all the other things one does to indicate you know exactly what the other person is talking about. At some point he invited me and the boys up to his family’s beach house and added “you can even bring your girlfriend. I don’t care.” Hah! You see, his mother is good friends with the grandmother of my boys. So he’s got the now years old story in his head.

Anyway, here was where the night really kicked in for me. First, I feel the ol’ phone vibrating–psyched! it’s Afternoon Girl. So I was able to get out of the conversation I couldn’t hear AND I got to talk to the sweet one. When I answered in the bar “Come On Eileen” was blasting on the MP3 so I couldn’t really hear much, except that she was saying something like “let me guess where you are…” So, I went outside and had a sweet ol’ conversation with her. If you know me, you know that I’m generally not a talkative guy–I mean, keeping up a conversation can be a chore when you’re talking to me. That’s how bad I am. But, for some reason, I can just talk to Afternoon Girl forever. Things flow from one idea to the next. We both have similar senses of humor. One minute we’re being serious and talking about heavy shit; the next we’re riffing on the ‘guy who lost his job from his drinking.’ Throw in some heavy flirting and you’ve got a sucessful phone call going.

At any rate, during the course of the call, I noticed that pretty much half the bar, including the bartender at one point, had gone outside. When I came around the corner I noticed R. looking at me that way he does–you know, like the other day when JetBlue and I were talking at the bar, R. came up to the bar behind where she was sitting and was looking at me with the Cheshire Cat grin of his. When it happens, I still don’t know if he’s thinking “what is that fool doing?” or if he’s thinking “get ‘er done.” But, at any rate, people shuffled in and out of the bar as we talked and talked.

And then I noticed that K2 was pulling in. Her car’s back on the road, looking not too much the worse for wear. And, man, she was wearing the cutest sun dress ever and as she walked in she waved to me nad gave me a sweet, sweet smile. So I mentioned her to Afternoon Girl–and that’s the cool thing about her is that both of us can talk about other people and there’s no jealousy–and she asked me all about K2. I told her a little bit, though I decided to save the seedy background part of the story for later. At any rate, the conversation wound down and we said our good nights and made our plans and all. When I hung up I realized that we had been talking for nearly an hour. Yikes. The Sox had long since lost. My old beer was gone and a new one was in its place–though it too had been sitting there awhile. When the Jilted One saw me she was like “Phew, I thought you had skipped out on your tab.”

And so I got to talk to K2 and M. for a while. To be honest, I hardly even remember what we talked about. I do know that K2 spent quite a lot of time trying to remember the name of the drummer for U2, though several of us had the correct answer right away. Although we were getting on well, I did notice once again that conversations with her are quite different than the witty repartee that Afternoon Girl and I have going. K2’s conversations are often seemingly stream of conciousness monologues on her part, with the occasional quirky body movement thrown in. Anything that I (or anyone for that matter) add to the conversation may or may not be accepted and processed. But that’s okay. Well, whatever the hell we talked about, it was a nice conversation. She even let me bum a cigarette off of her to keep the conversation going. Anyway, around 1:30 I knew I was beyond my limit both in time and in drinking so I paid my tab–thank you Jilted One for not charging me for half my beers–and said good night to K2. She hugged me and said she had a nice time. That was sweet. I said goodnight to the gang–D.R. asked me why I was leaving so early.  Heh. Oh–and did I mention that, when I was talking to K2, R. was once again giving me the look he gives me when I talk to women. But, at any rate, I headed home. I thought about calling Afternoon Girl, but had a vague recollection that she was going to bed three hours earlier when I had talked to her. So, um, I thought better of it.

And, well, the amazing thing is is that much more happened throughout what had started out as a quiet drink or two. I just recalled that I had talked to the Sunday bartender. She had been drinkin’ so she was in a talkative mood. She pointed out to me who the stiffs were. “That frickin’ guy over there left me 50 cents for two beers. I know bartending isn’t rocket science but fuck you buddy!” She pointed out how she makes a point of giving someone a fresh beer before they quite finish the last one–both because that’s the kind of service she likes and because you get people to stay a little longer that way. Yeah! And, though I was tempted, I didn’t make a fool of myself and try to chat her up or anything. Don’t want your bartenders thinking you’re a creep. That’s my motto.

So, there it is. I’m sure there’s more I’m missing–you know, like most of what I talked to K2 about. But that’s what afternoons are for: remembering the details of the night before.

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2 Days

May 30, 2007

Welp, in just two days–actually just about 35 hours–I can start writing my “Script Frenzy” screenplay. I have a vague idea for it mapped out in my head. I doubt it’s going to have much of an exciting plot, but, who knows, maybe one will develop as I keep writing. For now, look for it to be “My Dinner with Andre” meets “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” with a “Pretty Woman” meets “Trainspotting” undercurrent. I should also reference “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” just because I made that reference here the other day.

I believe I will be putting it up online on a blog. Not sure how it’s going to look there, but if you want to watch it come together, just email me and I will give you the address. My email for this project is no.setback1 (AT) gmail (DOT) com. Please note that there is a period between the no and the setback. If you know my real email, you can of course reach me there too.

If you do read the blog, please note that some of the later scenes will be written first, so it will be chock for of spoilers. Not that anything interesting is likely to happen in the story. You’ll just know pretty quickly how it turns out.

See you at the Oscars, suckahs!

I Won’t

May 30, 2007

Well, last night my son D^ got his first start as a pitcher. I was able to see him pitch the first two innings but had to go to an important meeting so that was all of the game I caught. He pitched well, though in the time I saw him he gave up five runs. His team still has some serious fielding problems, but what are you gonna do about that. At any rate, I was proud of him and sad that I couldn’t see the whole game. From what I was told, he pitched into the third and then was pulled for another pitcher and after that the game got out of hand–again, some bad fielding going on. Oh well. If losing builds character I can show you twelve kids who are now chock full of character.

I’m not going to talk about my meeting. If I were to I would get emotional both about knowing who my good friends are and about the chicken shits of the world. But after the meeting, a bunch of us visited everyone’s favorite downtown bar–at least their ads tell me it is–and had a rare old time. JetBlue was there, D. was for awhile, and a bunch of other people who haven’t appeared as characters in this blog previously. Oh, and the “guy formerly known as the #1 man” was there too.

As I said, D. was there only briefly and he spent a good bit of that time trying to give directions to his new woman. With his ability to give directions, I do believe that she went around both of the rotaries at least three times. In the end he left to go find her and, of course, never returned. I talked mostly with JetBlue and PD and much of the conversation revolved around the meeting we had. So, I’m not going to get into it. Afterwards, PD told me that JetBlue seemed “all over the place emotionally” and I told her that that was a politically correct way of saying what everyone tells me about JetBlue. I won’t go into any quotes here; I believe I’ve blogged them previously.

At any rate, I need to get my arse into work mode. I’ve wasted enough of the morning already.

I Know I Know

May 29, 2007

I know–second post already today. Yikes. And I know I really should be correcting papers but I’m not. I was. But I’m not. There’s always time for that later.

Okay, Friday after work I went out with a couple of co-workers, C-pet and Sassy. (I know, the nicknames I come up with are getting worse and worse). We talked a bit about Sassy’s relationships and her relationship rule–“three months and out.” And we talked a little about my relationships–Afternoon Girl and, um, JetBlue. Anyway the one highlight I remember from the whole conversation was when C-pet asked if anything were still going on between JetBlue and I. And I said no, that we had just agreed to be friends. She asked “Are you friends with benefits?” to which I replied: “Yeah, but the benefit is that I get to go home alone and not with her at the end of the night.” Booyah! That one came right out off the top of my head.

Then, later on I stopped by the bar to watch the Sox and meet up with D. He was exhausted, as I was, from Thursday, and he kept talking about going home early. Well, he stretched the night until ten and then we were thinking of going for one last nightcap down the hill. We paid our tabs and as we were about to leave, in comes K2 and M. And apparently it was her birthday. I must’ve missed that memo. So after a few minutes of talking, D. decides he’s just going straight home and, foolishly, I decided to stay.

So there I was hanging out with M. and K2, which should’ve been the most wonderful thing for me–quality time with K2 has been hard to come by. But instead, I was exhausted and wasn’t really do well on my end of the conversation. Nothing witty came to mind; I couldn’t think of anything to talk about. I fucked it all up. Of course, the thing is, it’s kind of hard to talk to K2. Her mind goes off in all different directions, random thoughts pop out as words. She routinely points out that she looks like a 15 year old boy. She even does the occasional interpretive dance instead of using words. Oh, and she’ll curl and uncurl a lock of her hair obsessively and say “I can make you curly. I can make you straight.”Hehe…and she did talk about how she remembers different events in her life as numbers, e.g., “When I went to my friend’s graduation party I remember it as the number 15 because that’s how many chairs were in the room.” I have to hear more about THAT sometime soon…that’s all I’m gonna say there. So, at any rate, Friday was a nice but tired night and I pretty much did not impress my K2 at all.

Saturday, I went up to a Irish fest in New York State with the boyz. It was a great time, but not much to offer about that. After I got them home at like 12:30 I decided to stop by the bar for a quick one or five. Most of the usual suspects were there and it was a good ol’ time. D. had come up from Nick’s with K2 in tow, which kind of surprised me because he always slags her off. Anyway, shots were done, last call came and went and I left M. and D. and K2 and the Saturday Girl and went home, exhausted once again.

Cue to six hours later when I’m awoken by a call from D.: “Hey–wanna go golfing?” Once I was conscious, I was all about that. So, though, in talking to D. I find out that K2 went home with him. Prick. Not that it effects my wanting K2 or my chances or anything like that, but he knows that I like her and all. He could’ve at least not told me. He even went into vivid detail, but I won’t share that with you, except for the funny part of it: “The trouble is, when you’re with her you sometimes feel like you’re with a fifteen year old boy. that’s creepy.” Anyway, it was going to be awhile before we could get on the course so we stopped at the bar at–and I knowthis is scary–11:30. Yes A.M. No, not my idea.

After golf, D. and I stopped by a different bar, where he was going to meet some woman for Pina Coladas. I only stayed a short while but got to hear a funny story about one of the bartenders there, who is a very old school, downtown-style bartender.

Customer: Could I have a Long Island Iced Tea?

Bartender: We ain’t got that.

and…

Customer: Could I get a Jaegerbomb and a “Grateful Dead”?

Bartender: (opens two Bud Lights and gives them to the customer) There ya go.

So, anyway, I went home, napped and headed back out. I ran into R. and a few other people including one of the bartender’s mother, who is the hottest 53 year old on the planet. But, anyway, I’ve mentioned before that R. is a nice, sweet, sensitive guy. You know, of all the “pharmacists” I know, he’s the one I’d set my sister up with–if I had a sister, that is. But, anyway, at some point he points out that there were a lot of women in the bar and I replied, in my sly dog voice, “And they’re all here for you, R.” The kind of joking thing I say to D. all the time. And R. was all upset. He says: “Oh man, was I being conceited? Why did you say that?” And I had to reassure him that I was just joking and it didn’t have anything personal to do with him. And he added “I really worry what people think of me.” I felt so bad. R. is the last person at the bar that I’d want to say something rude to. But I guess the point of this little anecdote is that that’s how sensitive he really is.

Monday, I took little D^ golfing for the first time to a par 3 course. It was a great time. I taught him creative score keeping, showed him how to use his “boot wedge” and we gave each other golf nicknames: he is “ball loser”; and I am “tee breaker.” Hey, he’s ten, did you think we were going to come up with “Jock-itcher” and “Mr. No Balls”? At any rate, he discovered the greatest joy of golf–that two and a half hours can feel like ten minutes when you’re playing a nice relaxing round with a buddy.

The rest of the night was inconsequential. I went out to watch the Sox. D. showed up with some girl he had met the night before. She was 21 but looked 17. I ended up heading out early, to have my weekly date with Tony Bourdain.

Off to see what tonight will bring.

Bits of Whatevah

May 29, 2007

Well, I know I still haven’t blogged fully about Thursday. And I know that there’s also the whole long weekend to write about. Yeah, um, not sure how much of all this I’m going to be able to get through.

So to finish up Thursday for now: When we were down at the secret bar the conversation got onto relationships. Hey–between D. and JetBlue there is plenty PLENTY of material there. And JetBlue questioned D. about one of his last girlfriends whom he claims to have dumped because she was a “nutcase.”

JB: Well, what happened?

D.: We were taking a shower and I pissed on her leg. I thought it was hilarious but she fuckin’ freaked out about it.

JB: That’s so disgusting.

D.: Whatever, some girls like that anyways. How was I gonna know she’d be a freak about it? She wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t told her about it afterwards.

JB: Some people do like it, but you gotta ask first.

And yeah, that started the whole golden shower discussion. I won’t go into the gory details of the whole episode. I’ll just conclude with the words of CG when he joined in near the end of the debate: “Golden showers? That’s so 1980’s.”

The whole “relationships” talk–and this was in part initiated because of JetBlue’s recent problems–led to a “who got the best action in the last week?” contest. Although I’m not generally one to talk about any “action” that I might have gotten, I was just the right amount of tipsy to be willing to spill. And, despite D.’s legendary pick-up skills and JetBlue’s notorious carrousing (not to mention CG who in front of his girlfriend admitted that his action has sucked lately), I did manage to be deemed the winner. It was a quality over quantity victory for me. Yeah, okay, enough of that.

So, since JetBlue and I have agreed to just be buddies for now–while she drifts through her bad non-relationship relationship–we’ve been getting along much better. She actually returns many of my text messages and even sends some to me unbidden. That’s new. But anyway, Thursday, after the secret bar, D. and I headed up to our usual haunt. He was looking for a change of venue and I was looking for K2. JetBlue had gone elsewhere with some other people, but after I sent her a message she stopped up the hill. And, man, she was ripped. Apparently the vodka drinks kicked in over the hour we were apart. At any rate, she didn’t drink anything and at closing time we all headed out. Well, as I was driving home I noticed that she hadn’t made it home (she lives right on my way; I’m not stalking, honest!) so I sent her a message asking if she was okay. A little while later I got a response that she had driven to Spifffield to get something to eat! Afterwards even she saw how crazy that notion was.

Anyway, to make a long story end, after a text or two back and forth I got this message–a sure sign that the night was finally over: “Yup gotta od not fall bikedlyie bait” Yes, indeed, JetBlue. Yes, indeed.

Yeah, Um

May 25, 2007

Well, yesterday was a long day and an even longer night. After a busy day at school, I picked up the boys and hung out with them for a while, then brought D^ to his baseball practice. Then I had two back-to-back committee meetings. So, that took another three hours out of my day. Nothing too exciting to report there. I guess I just mentioned to explain what I mean by busy. Or something like that. And let me tell you I was exhausted. After Wednesday night’s too late night out I knew I’d be in bed by 10, 10:30 at the latest.

So, as I was leaving the meeting D. called–he was down at the bar. So, of course, the auto-pilot kicked in and I found myself hanging out with D. It was beat and a not-so-good band was setting up so we decided to one more-no more it and head out.

Around then I noticed that Afternoon Girl had called so I stepped outside to call her back. And we talked and talked for quite awhile and it was all happy and jokey and smooth and natural–and if you’ve ever been on the phone with me you’ll know that that is not a given. Eventually D. came out of the bar and was like “I thought you left, motherfucker.” and then he asked me whom I was talking to and I mouthed to him that it was last Friday’s date. Then he asked to talk to her. I paused for a moment, not sure if it was a good idea. What was he going to say? I wondered. Probably something nasty about me, but I gave him the phone anyway. I knew that Afternoon Girl could handle anything D. had to dish out. Well, I was wrong about his intentions. He, instead, started asking her if she had any cute friends and how we should double date. Heh! So funny. And after he was done talking, she asked if all of my friends were 18 years old! Double heh! She’s so funny.

Meanwhile Dr. B had arrived with his clearly gay (but way in the deepest part of the closet) friend. They were going to go to a strip club. Triple heh! It was great to hear a man who looks and sounds gay shout out “We’re going to look at some titties!” While D. was on the phone with Afternoon Girl, Dr. B walked up to me and was like “What is D. on the phone with some slutty whore?” in a really loud voice. And that’s one of the two thousand eight and fifty six annoying things about Dr. B: he hates women. He has no respect for them. Certainly no respect for D. either, who could’ve been on the phone with, I don’t know, his mother or something. On the plus side, I’ve never seen one in his company, though he talks incessantly about how to pick them up.

The second half of the evening will have to wait until I can get back on the computer…

But I will say it will include an extended discussion of golden showers, incomprehendable text messages, and who’s gotten the best “action” lately…

Chomping

May 25, 2007

I’m chomping at the bit to get started on my Script Frenzy script. Unfortunately, according to the rules I can’t start it until June 1. Now, I haven’t looked carefully at the rules, but I assume I’m allowed to pre-write in my head for the next week or so. If not…oh well. Can’t stop that from happening.

Meanwhile, my Seniors just took their final exam. Gone already. It’s hard to believe. I had many of these kids for three or four years. It’s going to be hard to adjust to life here without them.

One of the best ideas I ever had was to have them, as part of their final, write about their favorite memory from our classes together. It’s great, some of the things they remember. It’s also interesting to read their writings as they wax nostalgic about their high school days–even some of the ones who truly hated school.

One of these days I’ll start to share some of their writing with you, dear readers.  For now, it’s back to correcting.

Utterly

May 24, 2007

As I write this I’m looking at a picture that Afternoon Girl sent me. It’s a very sweet photo, reminding me of our whirlwind week and of the possibility of more crazy days soon. I meant to call her last night, but ended up getting caught up in a pointlessly long evening with D. and JetBlue. Talk about screwed up priorities. Heh.

Okay, the main reason I was out–and stayed out–was a vain hope that K2 would make an appearance. But that never happened. Of course I ended up getting dragged into a JetBlue and D. argument, and later a JetBlue and Dr. B. argument. And after that there was even a mini argument between JetBlue and me. I will say one thing: as I’ve seen her do with OCE, JetBlue is really able to pounce on people when their stories or arguments aren’t strong. You don’t want to try to bullshit her. And I believe Dr. B quickly came to realize that he was outmatched. She picks up on faulty logic quickly and can be relentless in tearing arguments apart.

Anyway, our particular argument stemmed from the fact that, while she was talking to “#1 man”–whom I’ve previously discovered is not The “#1 man”–I was talking to D. about what I feel, well what everyone feels, is a really unhealthful relationship that she’s in–and one that JetBlue had been talking about to both of us on Monday. After D. and #1 man left she was pissed at me–at first because she thought I was making fun of her with D. (I wasn’t) and then because I was talking about her personal life with him. (which I was, but he knew all about it from her anyway) I apologized and tried to explain that I just thought she could have a real relationshiop elsewhere and that she was a good person who deserved to be respected. I also did my best to make it clear that I wasn’t saying all that because I wanted to date her. Because I don’t. The advice was all given, as I told her, because I really do care about her and I really do consider her a friend.

Well, the night stretched on until closing time–yeah, closing time on a Wednesday. That’s sick.–I had long since stopped drinking, but JeBlue bought me some seltzers and kept the conversation flowing. I told her the ‘OCE talking about us’ story and about how lame he is. And, as I’ve said before, I do like talking to her, even when she can’t seem to get out of the ruts that she digs for herself. It was funny: as we were leaving, we paused briefly outside to say goodnight. I don’t know if she was expecting a “moment” or maybe fearing that I might try to create one, but after she said good night she half-ran, half-skipped away to her car. It was all very cute.

And, well, the interaction didn’t end there. We ended up texting back and forth for an hour or so after that. (And, yes, I’m exhausted now). I reiterated that I just liked her and didn’t want to date her and was just giving her advice that was in her best interest. And she reiterated that she thought of me as a friend and that was all and she knew what she was doing in her relationship. Nothing like parallel drunken conversations to end off a useless night. At one point she felt I was being sarcastic because after she said that she was fine with the nature of her relationship with the a-hole–you know, frequently getting blown off and ignored and lied to–I responded that we all choose the relationships that we want to have. But I wasn’t being sarcastic; I wasn’t even trying to be rude. I was thinking about my own choices and wondering where they will lead me in the next few weeks and I was acknowledging that she didn’t need anyone’s advice. She already knows deep down that she’s spinning her wheels; she has said it herself so many times and she doesn’t need that pointed out to her again and again.

So, anyway, I’m happy with where things are in my life. Even though I wish I could’ve had those conversations at midnight instead of up until three, I’m glad I was able–even with the spectre of drunken texting hanging over my head–to maintain my dignity and not only not ask her out or say something fawning to her, but also to reiterate that I have no interest in her beyond our friendship. Looking back at it, the texts were all crazy and parallel, and obvious and, well, poorly typed. But they also established our mutual acknowledgement of the change that has happened over time. Ahhh, good stuff. Now it’s time to go back to focusing on K2 and the Afternoon Girl!

Final Notes: I spoke with “#1 man” (he’s going to need a new nickname, as we were all way off on that one) for a while last night. As I think I’ve mentioned before he’s such a nice person, so easygoing. At this point, I almost wish he were JetBlue’s #1 man. We talked about the Red Sox and about the Ho’yoke Giants–you know, how much fun the games were to watch but how perfect they would be if only they served beer. At any rate I found out that he lives right next door to the X. or maybe two doors down. Something like that. And though I didn’t say it, I thought it was strange that we could’ve still been neighbors–and probably wouldn’t have ever met as a result.

But anyway, I also thought about getting some people together to go to a game–you know, D. and “#1 man” and JetBlue and K2 and R. and M. and all the rest. It would be funny–we’d look so “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest!cuckoosnest_05.jpeg

Hehe, consider it a plan!

I Am So Going to Do This

May 23, 2007

Okay, folks, I’m going to give it a go. Beginning June 1 I will be writing a screenplay…in one month. That’s right kids, I’ve gotten caught up in ScriptFrenzy. And you should too.

Thanks to Beancounter Daydreams for the link…

Big Bombs

May 23, 2007

So, last night was, um, uneventful.

I spent a few hours with the boys. We played baseball in the park for over an hour, not to mention some basement baseball and 2K6. It was a basebally sort of evening.

One interesting note there: when I showed up there, my children’s beloved mother asked me if I knew someone on “the committee” nicknamed “(so-and-so)”–no, I’m not using the nickname here on the blog. I honestly answered “no.” I had never heard that nickname before. Then she added that I had been seen in “(so-and-so’s)” presence recently and it all clicked. “Oh, JetBlue!” and I had a good personal laugh over the nickname. A couple of things here: good to know that OCE is still spying on me and reporting back. What the? After I finished laughing about the nickname, I just said that OCE shouldn’t be saying shite about me because there are a whole helluva lot of shite I could spread about him. And, hehe, that piqued her interest. But I left it at that.

Okay, so what’s really interesting about that is later that night at the bar I heard both D. and JMc use the same freaking nickname! I’ve hung out with D. for months and talked about JetBlue many times and this is the first time I’m hearing him use “the nickname.” Talk about synchronicity!

Let’s see, what else? Well, it was a quiet night in terms of people. A lot of the usual suspects, but no one I was hoping to see. Ok, no K2. JetBlue was also absent, but, who knows, she may have been there earlier. The big event of the night was that at around 10 o’clock someone threw a rock through one of the side windows. It broke through the double pane AND cracked the big mirror in the pool room. D. and JMc and some other people ran out to try to see if they could find who did it. Me, I looked at the damage and continued watching the Red Sox. Hey, I didn’t go out tonight to be a hero in solving a crime that’ll be covered by insurance. So, that’s last night’s excitement.

Early in the night I was asking D. where he had disappeared to the night before. I had seen him talking to some woman and, next thing I knew he was gone. Which is fine. I was just curious. He answered that he wasn’t going to get sucked into my conversation with JetBlue and K2, or, as he put it, “the wackos.” And, though I ‘ve heard lots of things already I figured I would see what he had to say on the issue:

Me: What’s wacko about K2?

D.: Trust me, she’s crazy. Way too much drama there.

Me: But what kind of drama?

D: You’re gonna have to find out for yourself.

Well, as you can see, that was a useless exchange. It’s pretty much the same thing he said to me when I had asked him about JetBlue some time ago. And it’s not like I don’t know plenty of the K2 history stories already.

Anyway, but then later when several of us were talking about K2’s accident, D. says: “Has anyone seen her car? I still don’t believe she was in an accident. I think her pimp gave her a left hook.” And, you know, I was so pissed at D. at that point. Of all people to be bringing out the big bomb on someone. You know, D., I’ve never heard anyone throw your big bomb in your face, though anyone easily could. You think K2 is a joke and a drama queen and you think you can throw shit in her face? You fucker D., someday it’s going to land back on you. It won’t come from me because I’m your friend despite the way you treat other people, but it’s going to come back at you. Anyway, I can’t say that to him so I’m saying it here. Man, I’m still pissed at him right now.

Anyway, the other excitement of the night–and you can see how unexciting it was despite the window breaking–was D. and JMc and a couple of other people throwing coasters across the street, trying to get them into D.’s truck. A very low success rate. But a fun diversion nevertheless.

Welp, that’s all for now.