Archive for the ‘golf’ Category

Just Wednesday

September 13, 2007

So, dear readers, last night I golfed. Although our league is officially done, we still head out there each Wednesday. Last night, though, since I was the last to arrive I had no fellow league members to golf with. As luck would have it though, one of my barfriends, D.R.–who I think I’ll start to call ‘The Gangster’ based on a comment made by a colleague of mine about him–showed up with a friend of his so we three golfed together. And an interesting time it was.

Both of them spoke passionately about the need to keep score–which I was doing for myself anyway–so they could determine who had “bragging rights” at the end. That’s all well and good, but it became hilarious after the first hole. The Gangster hit a good drive, but then hit his second, third and fourth shots directly into a stream. He then picked up his ball and moved it the seventy or so yards to the hole, putting it down on the fringe. He then chipped and putted. And without out a hint of irony turned to me and said: “I got a five.” His buddy didn’t seem to mind, so that’s what I gave him. (For non-golfers, I’m thinking there’s seven strokes there–eleven if you’re counting the penalty strokes) As the round went on, it became clear that they were both shaving strokes. Their implicit agreement seemed to be: I’ll count the shots I’m happy with. The rest are all practice.

One other thing became clear during the round as well. On the third hole the Gangster says to his friend: “I don’t think I should’ve taken that last ‘bean’. My legs are getting rubbery.” And it was then that I noticed that his friend was a bit glassy-eyed himself. The friend for his part couldn’t put his finger on the reason his drives were all slicing. And yet it was pretty clear to me: umm, maybe the painkillers are, perhaps, shall we say, interferring with your swing mechanics? Just maybe? Hmmm…

All and all it was fun though. As the Gangster told me, he learned right away that you shouldn’t golf if you’re ever going to get tense when you play. Just enjoy it. And I did notice that neither of them had a care in the world out there on the course. I suppose though that that’s easy to do if you’re all perked up and you’re only counting about two-thirds of your strokes.

Ahh, I (heart) golf.

Afterwards I stopped down the bar for a short while, mostly because I knew JetBlue was going to be there with her new vehicle. We hung out a while and then she took me on the briefest test drive ever. But it was fun.

Not much else to say. Well I have one other story, but I’ll either save it for later or totally forget to write about it here…

See ya.


Nothing Much

August 14, 2007

Well, not much time to do an update but I’ll let you know that the past two nights I’ve had perfect opportunities to talk to K2 and managed to blow both of them. Way to go!

Let’s see, what else? Oh, Afternoon Girl has suddenly disappeared from my planet. I have no idea what’s she been up to the last four days, though I did get a smiley face icon for a text message this morning. At least I can stop worrying that I did something to scare her completely away. Partially away? yes. Completely? Not yet. 

Oh, and I golfed on Sunday with some of the crew from the secret bar. It was a nice afternoon AND I played well. Can’t ask for more than that. I had a birdie putt on the first hole and managed to four putt my way to a double bogey.

And, I’m off to go to the pool with the boys. It’s kind of a cool day for swimming but it’s perfect for watching the river flow. I finished reading Harry Potter, so go ahead and try to spoil it for me spoilers! And I’m in the home stretch on Belly of Paris. What to read next?

Sorry to be so brief, but at least I cared enough to write something!!

Not Much

June 28, 2007

I had a busy day yesterday but not really too much to write about. I spent the day with the kids. While with them, I tried to get some lesson plans written, but I’m still resisting that. I’ve still got one more day for that. Then we went to the pool/tennis club in the afternoon and had a relaxing swim. Nice, but nothing really to blog about.

Then I golfed despite the 95 degree heat. It was pretty miserable but, you know, when you’re in a league you gotta do whatcha gotta do. I started off very slow and, except for two or three decent holes, never really got in any way consistent. The weather certainly didn’t seem to affect our opponents though. I guess some people aren’t quite so bothered by humidity as I am.

In the evening I went to the bar and ran into JetBlue. I was going to sit somewhere else in the bar, but the only empty seats were all around her. So I decided to take the risk and sit there. Ever since the weekend’s incident I’ve been fearing that she’s going to continue berating me, but maybe not. Maybe the apology did take. Last night we talked about a number of different things. I got to hear a few interesting stories I hadn’t heard before. But, being the open, honest, sharing people that we are the two topics we totally avoided were sorting out our feelings after the weekend and the clearly dubious status of any relationship that we might have had. But, maybe that’s for the best. Being open and honest and communicative is perhaps over-rated. And, not knowing anything about what your good friend is thinking–that’s perhaps for the best anyway. No one wants to tap too deep into the dark recesses of either of our minds.

Well, in between our surface conversations I also got to talk to Afternoon Girl a couple of times on the phone. As I’ve said before, by far the better part of such an evening. Always nice to actually talk to someone who cares enough to ask you about your day instead of just talking about hers. Go figure. Anyway, I just hope that our schedules work out for this weekend. I’m missing my AG something fierce.

The second time we were on the phone last night was shortly after JB left the bar. And not much was going on, so I told AG that I was headed home shortly. But, the best laid plans…, as I was getting off the phone M. came around the corner with K2 in tow.  So, I ended up staying and talking to then for an hour or two and at some point I did a Tur’bo with K2–that was sweet. Even sweeter, the Jilted One gave me a free shot–not sure what it was but it was fruity good. And sweetest of all–my bar tab consisted of only two beers and the Tur’bo. Ahhhh, why can’t the Jilted One work every night?

So, as I was saying, not much to write about. It was pretty low energy all around at the bar, but I guess that’s to be expected now that it’s summer and it’s hot and humid and all. Tonight, back to the secret bar… 

What You Up To?

June 18, 2007

Well, my weekend started promptly at 2:45 on Friday with some drinks with co-workers. Nothing much to report there other than it was a really cool time. I’ll miss some of them over the summer–and hope to get to hang out at least a couple of times over the break. It’s been a crazy year here. I lost my best work friend back at the end of March. My other best friend is leaving for another job–in part because she’s having trouble coping with our loss. Several people I know are retiring. It’s going to be a whole different place next year. Luckily I’ve come out of my shell and have been making new friends and being more active around the school so I hope I can survive all the shitty stuff that has happened.

But anyway, I headed home after that to nap a bit before going out for the evening. As I was getting home I received a text message from JetBlue–and that doesn’t usually happen–“What you up to?” So I responded with my plans and asked what was up with her. I was certainly intrigued that she was writing me, but, you know, I knew better than to let my heart go all aflutter. And I didn’t hear back from her. Even after my nap. Even after I headed out. Yep. Glad I didn’t get my hopes up. So, while I was out I spent time wondering why the message and why the no response. At that point I was figuring that she either sent it to the wrong person (believe me, that happens to her) or she sent it to lots of people and a better response got back to her. But I didn’t think about it too much.

I spent some time at the bar with D. and the gang. There were a lot of random women there–including a couple that I recognized from browsing Myspace. Heh–that freakin’ Myspace. But I was all tired and stuff from my afternoon drinking so I retired to the secret bar to relax outside. I wonder how you can market the place? “Nestled between the factory and the mosquito-plagued river…” At any rate, Friday night is apparently ‘biker night’ there now. Which is fine, most of them are dead nice people. Cool and non-judgemental and all that. But no JetBlue–okay, okay, I went there hoping. I talked with my friend who runs the place and his girlfriend whom I adore. Crazy artist guy was there–and, man, the more I hear him talk the more I realize that my nickname for him is spot-on. I ended up leaving relatively early–one or so–because I had some early golf to deal with Saturday morning.

Remind me that spending a whole day with D. is clearly a mistake. Okay–I’m supposed to meet him at his house at 9:15. He calls at 9:05–“Where the hell are you? Let’s go golfing!” “Um” I say “I’ll be there in ten minutes, like I said.” Okay,so I get there and then I have to wait ten minutes for him to clean his golf shoes! Hurry up and wait. And he was completely hyper the whole way there, whooping and shouting, and driving like a nut. And, you know, I kinda figured it was a mistake to get a ride from him rather than taking my own car, but he didn’t know how to get there and I figured I could save some money on gas, etc. But, of course, it turned out to be a mistake.

The golf went fine, except that D. decided to spend the whole day driving the cart like a madman–sort of a controlled version of the time he nearly killed me with the golf cart. None of us golfed all that well, though D. did win for having the longest drive on a particular hole–yes, the longest of anyone playing in the tournament. After the tourney there was time for dinner and more drinking and music. D. was, of course, trying to hit on women left and right. What’s new. It was getting later and I was wearing down–the sun + drinking = sleepy J.

But then, around seven thirty I get a text message–“What you up to?” Wha?! Yes, JetBlue sends me the message again and I’m thinking to myself, how the hell do I respond? Should I be rude and ask her why she’s asking me this again? Should I ignore it because I’m busy? or should I respond? Well, I decided a normal, vague response would do. Something like “What’s up with you?” But instead of silence I get back an immediate offer to meet me for dinner and drinks in Northampton.

Remember, dear readers, several weeks ago I told you that I would hold out on JetBlue until she asked me out? (Operation “No Mo’ Rejections”) Well, it actually worked. Are you as surprised as I am? Unfortunately, I had to tell her that I had eaten, and worse yet was relying on D. for a ride, but that maybe I could convince him to head downtown within a half an hour or so. And she was cool with that, though she and D. fight like crazy.

But it gets better. Then I notice I have a phone message from Afternoon Girl. Her plans fell through and maybe I could head down to the whip city to hang out. Oh shite. If I had my car with me I would’ve been headed there in a flash–hey, JetBlue has made me wait a long time, I could easily call her and tell her I’m too tired or too drunk to go out–she’d certainly believe that. Anyway, my phone was not working well where we were–which is why I hadn’t realized that AG had called until after the message showed up–so I couldn’t even call her back until D. and I were at the place we were meeting JetBlue. So, there I was with D. and JB calling AG to apologize for not being able to hang out. Now, D. tells me that it’s a good thing that JB knows about AG because the competition will keep her interested in me–and so far it seems to be working out that way.

Anyway,we had a couple of outdoor drinks on the deck and then I insisted on heading back to get my car. JB and I made plans to meet up at the secret bar and D. and I headed home. When I got my car, I headed home to change and clean up and stuff. D. said he was going to the ‘Dump and I made the mistake of telling him where JB and I were going.

Yes, dear readers, I know this blog entry is dragging on and on but I’m enjoying trying to recall the weekend. Okay, so there we are down at the secret bar–D. of course showed up there instead of up at the Dump–me and JetBlue and D. and some other guy who’s friends with JB. And there were others there too for a while at least. So anyway, JB got pretty drunk and started flirting with the three of us and then she and I started dancing to the music–interestingly she insisted on leading–and it was a sweet time. Oh yeah, I could get used to that.

But of course D. had to keep harassing her and they got into several arguments. And, of course, she had to mention her guy that she’s been pointlessly pursuing for some time–even mentioning that he blew her off (again) on Friday–ahhh, I though, that’s why she called me. And then she heard a song that reminded her of her father and started to cry and I got to talk her through that. I understand exactly how loss feels to her because I feel it the same way–and I also know that the drinking just compounds it all. And the night went on and at some point I realized that the bar sort of forgot to close at 2 and it was now nearly 3 AM. And, yes,I had to be up at 8. And, well, D. said one final stupid thing to JB that made her decide to leave immediately so I followed her out. And she was crying again–yes, a drunk D. is an asshole D.–so we talked a bit. I offered her a ride home–no, not to be all skeazy–because she had been kinda sleepy drunk earlier on before D. got her re-riled. But she said she was fine and said she wanted to see me again, but only if it didn’t involve D. No problem there. And I drove home a happy clam.

And after I got home I sent her a text–just making sure she was home safe. And she was there and we texted it up for a while, being all flirty and happy and she told me I was a good dancer (yeah, she must’ve been pretty drunk to think that) and we talked about meeting up on Sunday. And she asked “Don’t you have plans with your ‘friend’?” And I was smooth and said I’d rather spend time with her. Oh yeah–sober she would’ve thought that was cheesy–but drunk she loved it. Oh, and by the way dear reader, Afternoon Girl and I had already decided on meeting up on Monday instead of Sunday so I knew I wasn’t creating any chaos.

It was rough waking up early on Sunday. But the kids and I had a fun Father’s Day together. We played mini-golf and went to Taco Bell, oh yeah that’s getting to be a weekly thang. We hung out with my dad and brother for a while too. So that was a fun time. Afternoon Girl invited me to meet up with her and her sister at some club in Hartford that evening, but I knew I’d be too tired by then–in fact I decided to take a nap just to make it through the end of the afternoon.

Just around then I get a text message “What you doing later on?” Oh boy! Three days, three messages. Now, earlier in the day I had decided that I needed rest and I wasn’t going to do anything Sunday, regardless. But when it came down to it I realized that I had waited for eleven weeks for a second real date with JetBlue and I wasn’t going to say no to any offer. So, JetBlue and I went out for dinner and drinks out on the deck up on the hill. The weather was beautiful; the sunset gorgeous. And yet we both felt and looked like a couple of junkies hanging out at the bar at the methadone clinic. We were still exhausted from our late night Saturday. But it was a lovely time. Just not the most inspiring conversation ever heard. We talked about D. being an ass. We talked, yet again, about her guy who’s been blowing her off–you would think she’d save that conversation for another time–but she did add that she has a better time hanging out with me. So, it wasn’t entirely annoying. Just somewhat so. And anything else we talked about was nothing consequential. Really, not at all. But that’s okay. It was a nice, happy, quiet night. And I hope the start of at least occasional nice, happy, quiet nights together.

Top of the Line

June 7, 2007

Wednesday was certainly a long, busy day for yours truly. After a, ahem, grueling day of work, I went out to golf in my regular Wednesday night golf league. And, though a bit cool, the weather was perfect. And my game was on fire! For me, that is. Oh sure, a lot of golfers would be disappointed with a 50 for nine holes, but it was by far my best round of the season. Two pars and several bogeys! Except for a couple of snowman holes, it was a great round. Had I not had those two glitches I would’ve been in the mid-forties. But I always bring the glitches.

I had to cut out right after my round because I promised some students I would definitely make it to their graduation. And also to make sure that their diplomas were signed, sealed, and delivered. Hey, I like all of my students but it’s always good to have them move along. Anyway, I made it up there, merely an hour late–but don’t worry, that still left me with an hour and a half worth of ceremony. And it was all nice and happy and a bit rowdy–both students and audience alike. All I can say is I’m guessing there’s a shortage of air horns in stores today.

Anyway, after graduation I went to a teacher party for a while. It was nice and everything, but kind of quiet so I slipped out after a half hour or so. Way too much conversation about students and school and education in general. Oh well. And, as you may recall, Wednesday is the night that things seem to happen, so I decided to stop by the bar and see what was, yeah, happening.

And guess what I ran into: the potential perfect storm.

First of all, I was getting there at about 11:30–which was about the time that I could start expecting a call from Afternoon Girl. Secondly, I had seen JetBlue’s car outside, so I knew she’d be there and would probably be talkative because she’s rarely out late mid-week. Well, when I went in I saw her first, sitting near D.R. I also noticed R. walking by me as I headed over to JetBlue–he once again had that grin on his face. Anyway, I started talking to D.R. and JetBlue for a minute; then, as I was headed to the men’s room I noticed M. at the corner of the bar. As I started to say something to him who do I see right next to him? You’d better believe it! Hello, K2. She put a hand up looking like she wanted a high five. As I sent my hand over she gripped it instead. That was sweet and unexpected. But right now it’s time for an aside…

Man, one thing I’ll never get is handshakes. So many times I think someone is going to do one thing and they go off and do something else. Get beyond the regular handshake and I’m in the weeds. The worst for me is the one that starts with the finger grip followed by the interlocking thumbs. After that, lord knows what the other person is going to do. Will it be the mutual pat on the shoulder? Perhaps the pull yourselves together for the mutual pat on the back? Or, you get the people who freestyle after that–which of course completely loses me. I might as well be trying to do the Kid n Play dance. (I would find what I’m talking about here on YouTube but that’s a forbidden website here at work). There are of course other handshakes to deal with to. You’ve got the fist-to-fist one–which comes in especially handy if you’re playing sports. I got one of those from my golf partner yesterday after we both hit the green. But, of course, even that simple “shake” has a variation taught to me by D. After you press fists together you throw your hand back and open it up at the same time while making a little exploding sound. Heh, I even used to share a secret personalized celebration handshake with the X. If I remember, it was a variation of one the Red Sox did in the glory days of Kevin Millar. Alas, that’s just a memory now.

At any rate, there it was. JetBlue–who’s usually gone by eight on a Wednesday–and K2–who’s never there before ten–and they were sitting maybe ten feet apart from one another. Going back and forth wasn’t going to work for me. And, if I had tried to hang around with K2 her attention would’ve wandered anyway and JetBlue would’ve been pissed at the same time. Besides I know that K2 is, in the long run, more likely to be just a buddy–but a boy can dream can’t he? So anyway, I sat with the very chatty and very flirty JetBlue. Top of the line conversation–but not too much I’m going to blog about. I did notice M. and K2 both glance over at different times. M. is in many ways the heart and soul of the bar. He oversees all that is happening. And I’m guessing is that his expression when he was looking at JetBlue and I was saying something like: “The fool. The fool. Has he learned nothing these past months.” At any rate, I had a nice time with Mo. I hope my choice will pay dividends this weekend, but we’ll see.

Meanwhile, Afternoon Girl unintentionally saved me from that perfect storm. She didn’t call until after JetBlue had left. That would’ve been an interesting choice for me to make. I’d much rather be talking to Afternoon Girl, but do I want to piss off JetBlue just as she’s coming back around to me? At any rate, we had a nice little conversation. She’s always a spirit lifter. She brings on the heavy flirtation with no drama attached. It sucks that we’ve both been busy and haven’t been able to coordinate schedules, but maybe at some point this weekend. Who knows? Of course, that too will be a balancing act because I’m fully hoping to get some more quality JetBlue time. But we’ll deal with that storm when it brews.

For now, I’m just appreciating all of them and the unique craziness each brings to my life. It’s top of the line kind of turmoil for me right now.

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.

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.


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.

My Guide to Life, part 17 (now updated)

May 21, 2007

Man, I am exhausted. Still riding high from Friday’s date, but freakin’ exhausted. Okay, so here’s the Sunday round-up for you, dear readers…

Okay, so last night I knew I was going to be running into the X (as well as her new boyfriend and her father whom I know well) at a show I was going to. So, you know, the thing to do was to find some hot chick to go with me, dress my best, and look and act like I owned the fucking world.

But, of course, here’s what really happened…Let me take a step back for a second and say that the only reason I ended up going to this show in the first place was that one night at the bar D. and I were playing pool and I played the song “Sweet Jane” on the jukebox and D. started going on about how much he loved Cowboy Junkies. So I told him about the show and he totally wanted to go. Okay, so for the last week I’d been suggesting to D. that we find some people to go with us, you know, for the reasons stated above. I didn’t really care who–you know, former junkies (real ones, not cowboy ones), psycho bitches from hell, and chicks with jealous boyfriends were all on the table as far as I was concerned. But my efforts at suggesting people to D. generally led to no action on his part or a negative response. The worst was when I suggested K2: “What the hell? She’ll freak out and start screaming and crying during the show.” Okay, so it’s true that I’ve seen her angry and/or crying more than once, but that was always because of something stupid that D. said to her. But, anyway, that never happened. One person I didn’t ask was JetBlue. And you know what? I’ve been rejection-free for something like two weeks now. And I wanna keep it that way. At times, I kinda feel like I’m in some sort of JetBlue AA. “My name is *** and I’m a Mo-oholic. D. did mention the show to her yesterday afternoon, but mostly so he could say “In your face!” one of his favorite expressions.

Oh, yeah. Yesterday afternoon. So I was supposed to go golfing with D. so I headed into town to get cash at about the time we were expecting to go out. As it turned out D. was going to be late so, since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to stop by the bar, mind you, it was around 3:30. I figured a half hour there couldn’t hurt anyone. Of course, JetBlue was there along with five or six other of the usual suspects. This was all fine–I talked with the other usual suspects while I was there and left JetBlue at the end of the row of people, trying to get everyone’s attention with her random comments.

So, anyway, D. arrived a short time later and we headed off to golf. I did great–apparently the coupla beers I had at the bar actually improved my game. The couple I had during golf, I’m not so sure about. So anyway, straightaway after golf we headed out to Luna pizza and then back to Ho’yoke. D. found a couple of deer ticks on himself so I spent the rest of the night with the heebie-jeebies, wondering what I would find at the end of the night when I took my pants off.

We met up again at 8:45 at the bar and, guess what, JetBlue and the whole crew were still there! So, I had yet another couple of drinks and we headed up to the show.

So, instead of the cool, confident guy with the babe on his arm, I arrived at the show wearing a shirt I had found on the floor of my room, with D. and his “heelies” and with a long day of drinking behind me. Psyched–way to go! Now, mind you, I wasn’t drunk. I just had that tiredness, sluggishness, and slight tipsiness that long drawn out days will give you.

Okay, so the first thing I saw was the X, a couple of people ahead of us in line. As I crossed the street I kind of waved and really couldn’t tell if the X acknowledged me. I knew one thing though–I was too chicken shit to walk over to her, the BF and her dad. Way to go.

Once inside, D. and I decided to hang at the bar. D. figured that that was where the action was. His attempt to draw the woman behind us in line over to the bar was not in the least successful–perhaps because while we were in line the two of us were reviewing the sordid details of our respective weekends. So, anyway, I had seen the X get up from her table, I presumed to go downstairs to the bathroom. We went to the bar and D. stepped up to get us drinks. Suddenly the person standing at the bar turned around and I realized that it was the X. O my god, I was fucking shocked. I hope I hadn’t said anything stupid right before that, but, hey, what you don’t recall can’t hurt, not too much at least. Now mind you, the whole time we were walking to the bar, I had been working out in my head what cool and casual thing I would say to her when she came up the stairs, but all that was out the window. I stammered something, introduced her to D. and then the bartenders gave us all attitude for coming to the bar and she was gone in a flash. She muttered “jackass” as she walked by, but I was reasonably sure that she wasn’t aiming that at me. Oh, and as she walked away, D. was all like “Hey, who was that?” in his slick way. And I gotta admit, the X is looking even more beautiful than ever. What can I say? I could be all rude about an X and say nasty things to boost my own ego, but, hey, that’s not how I roll. At any rate, I told D. and he dropped his lounge lizarding…

Anyway, the show was great. Oh–X, if you’re reading this, if your service was ever slow last night, it’s probably D.’s fault. He was chatting up your waitress all night long. In between sets, I spoke briefly with the X’s da. He was sitting alone at the time so it was a good chance to say hi. I kept it brief because, you know, it’s a bit awkward. I was kinda surprised I did do it at all, considering my chicken-shitted start to the night. And I even refrained from mentioning the Yankees. I usually like kicking them around, but you know,Yankees fans know their team sucks. No need to remind them of it. Not right before a series with them at least.

At any rate, as I was saying, I thought it was a great show. At some point in the night, D. told me this story of a guy who was out with a woman, brought her home and eventually passed out cold. When he woke up the next day and went to pee he found that the pee was coming out as a spray. Okay–so this is freaking gross and bizarre–while he was passed out she had inserted a toothpick into his–well you get the idea. I’m grossing myself out re-telling this story. Now, in addition to fearing that I have ticks crawling all over me, I’m feeling very vulnerable down below as well.

After the show we stopped back down to the bar. Yes, JetBlue’s car was still there, though she had just left. Man, nine plus hours in a bar on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. You can see why I was all about her. D. and I stayed awhile, but nothing much was happening.

And that, dear readers, is why I’m freaking exhausted today.

I Lost My Balls

May 3, 2007

I figured that would get your attention, dear readers.

So, anyway, yesterday A-Dawg and I started golfing in a league here in town–meaning my town, not the town we work in. It didn’t go so well for either of us; we both totally had some double digit holes. The one thing worth noting about the evening: I discovered from our opponents last night–and maybe I should have already known this–that sixty year old men are no different than forty year olds or even twenty somethings like D. They are dawgs; they will take any opportunity to be near young, beautiful women and then will say the funniest, most inappropriate things afterwards. And of course, on the golf course, that humor involves lots of references to your clubs, your balls, and–as you may have guessed–putting it in the hole. Oh my.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, I’ve been slowly getting acquainted with more and more of the regulars–people whom I’ve seen about frequently but hadn’t yet talked to. More opportunities for stories no doubt. Last night, D. decided to try out his skateboarding skills in the parking lot. Apparently he used to be a crazy-assed skateboarder. And having seen his ADHD self in action before I don’t doubt that he was. So, while J. and I and M. watched, D. tried to do some tricks in the parking lot using M.’s board. He didn’t quite pull any of them off, but it was clear that with a little practice he could have. And now he and J. want to get some rollerblades. Yes, rollerblades. Hehe…anyway, nothing too exciting to write about except that the Red Sox won, booyah! And I’ve once again sworn off JetBlue.

Until the next time.

Your Tuesday Morning Update

May 1, 2007

Serious Injuries: First of all, I seriously screwed up a muscle in my right arm on Sunday. I was on about the tenth hole of our round when I first felt it–a sharp pain close to the bend in my arm. Being the trooper I am I kept playing, but each time I made contact with the ball the same sharp pain rifled through my arm. That made for a long second nine. Luckily I was able to ice it down between shots using the cans of frosty beverages that we brought with us.

Secondly, also while golfing, we came close to serious injury when D. gunned the golf cart down a bumpy hill, hit a tree root and started to slide sideways. Not only were we on the verge of tipping, but he had to negotiate a sharp curve, otherwise we’d be down a tree-filled gully. He managed to stay on the path but not without me whacking my head on the top of the cart, slamming my side into the arm rest, not to mention spilling quite a bit of beer all over my shoes. And I’m not exaggerating at all when I say that we almost flipped over. Though I was laughing I was pretty pissed at him. Crazy-assed bastahd.

Well, in the interest of posting this in the A.M. I will stop here–the next part of the update is a long one. A long wait on a frozen runway.