archive for the 'friends' category

quote of the day

As the nurse took Sophia’s temperature, I stood in front of the bed and massaged Sophia’s right foot. I was surprised when Sophia, drunk from the powerful morphine, used her left foot to rub my groin up and down. It felt good, but a little inappropriate in the recovery room. Sophia insists this episode never occurred, but I have the nurse as an eyewitness, even though she was very polite about not mentioning the result.

- Neil, Citizen of the Month

Everyone, head on over and give Sophia some get well vibes.

Or Neil might just open up a can of Campbell’s Cream of Passive-Aggressive on yo ass.

jerk

You see, there is this guy.

And this guy decided that it was his mission in life to personally hound me — day and night, night and day, asleep, awake, on the can, outside my window in a little shack constructed out of milk cartons and egg shells, serenading me with insidious yet beautiful music — until, when I could take it no more, I sold my soul to the Devil.

The Devil called Facebook.

And now? I have about as much chance of getting out as Michael Corleone.

Damn you, you damned dirty stinking junk peddler.

Damn you.

Just you wait.

I’ll freaking “poke” you.

[Runs away sobbing into the night.]

avalanche

[Preface: Y'all might have been wondering where my astounding and detailed write-up on my trip to Maine is. Yeah. Me too. Fact is, at this point it's actually become a fricking albatross around my neck. I started it, got sick, went all brain-deady, and now here I am. Dreading it.

So I'm taking a mulligan on this one. I need to clear the decks, wipe the slate clean, defrag my mental hard drive. I hereby declare that I am releasing myself from my obligation to write that post. Forgive me.

Buuuuuuuut... I have one incident that must be shared. The Supermarket Incident. And so we're clear on this... while I, at times, may be liberal in my truth-telling abilities, this story is 100% factual. I got witnesses and everything. So here goes...]

We have two hours before our last game of the day, so we figure that this would be a prime occasion to find ourselves some beer before the evening festivities. So myself, Greg, Dan, Garth, and Tessa all pile into the Alero-Of-The-Mighty-Hump and head off into the big bad world of ORONO, MAINE.

We drive around for a while, trying to find a place that will offer us a wide range of fine beers to choose from when we see our destination ahead of us — a supermarket. Being from the land of no booze outside of government-run liquor stores, we’re all mildly titillated by the notion that we can buy beer at the same place that we can buy bread. Or Ziploc freezer bags. OR BOTH AT THE SAME TIME.

The men all head into the store, leaving Tessa — she of the sprained ankle — to partake of the sublime joys of the parking lot. We step into the blinding fluorescent glare. And look right. The left. And there it is.

The beer aisle.

A whole AISLE.

Our eyes glazing over, we spread out through the beer aisle, senses overwhelmed by the sheer mass of foreign (i.e., American) beers. There are at least six coolers filled with beer, as well as several towering displays in the middle of the floor.

We get to work, wondering what we’re going to get. Some are thinking, “I wonder what the good microbrews are?” Others — “I wonder if Corona tastes the same here as it does in Canada?” Me? “Ooooo… pretty bottles…”

And one other person?

“Oh look. A basketball net. I wonder if I can dunk it-”

There I stand, deciding between Rolling Rock and Pabst Blue Ribbon (FYI: I got both), WHEN I AM SUDDENLY ASSAULTED BY A MASSIVE BARRAGE OF NOISE.

WHAM! BAM! CRASH! SMASH! TANG! TUNG! KUNG! TUSH! PUF! TINKLE! TANK! WHUMP! FUMP!

The noise — WHUPPAWHUPPAWHUPPA! — it keeps on coming. WUPANG! I stand there frozen — TANGLEANGLEANGLE! — as the noise proceeds for five FERCRUNCH! ten FERCRLANK! fifteen seconds WUBAM! without a rest. BAMBAMBAM!

Finally — with a single, forlorn THUMP! — the noise ends.

I turn around.

What had (fifteen seconds previously) been a pyramid of FORTY TO FIFTY CASES OF BUD LIGHT — with a purely decorative promotional basketball hoop hovering over it — was now a wide swath of destruction spread out over the entire floor of the beer aisle.

With Dan standing next to the basketball hoop.

For those wondering — yes, it appears that he could “dunk it”.

Silence.

Dan: “Should I run away?”

(Sudden mental image: Us finding Dan huddled in the back of the Produce section, tearfully muttering to himself, “I wanna go back to Canada… I wanna go back to Canada…”)

More silence.

Finally broken by the most world-weary voice I have ever heard come out of a supermarket loudspeaker:

“John… to the service counter… John… to the service counter.”

she trampled my heart like a rhino on a campfire

My Lovely Wife and I went to dinner on Friday at Mabel and Allie’s.

It was a pleasant evening. They fed us a wide variety of cheeses, thus ensuring my undying fealty. The meal consisted of a variety of Lesbian Lebanese (God! I gotta stop doing that!) delicacies. The conversation was stimulating. (Although I may have made too many submarine references. But really! Who doesn’t love saying “DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!” over and over again? [Looks around.] See? No one!)

But then it happened.

My Lovely Wife met the love of her life.

And it wasn’t me.

It seemed innocuous enough. I kept talking, oblivious to what was happening directly in front of me. But while I was yammering away, My Lovely Wife had snatched her heart back from me and had offered it to another.

The evening ended and we went home. And — bit by bit, moment by moment — I saw my marriage crumble before my very eyes.

Our conversations grew distant and stilted. Meals passed in a strained silence, broken only by my attempts to lighten the mood by singing a description of what I was eating. (Example: “Oatmeeeeeeal… you craaaaa-zy fibrous bastard, with your swinging BROOOOOWN-SUGAR TOPPING, into my belly, we will meet, and become oooooooooone…”)

When she wasn’t looking, I would see her staring off into space, eyes glistening. At night, I would lie awake for hours, tormented by the gulf between us.

It’s…

I’m sorry. It’s just so hard.

I’ll just get down to it.

She’s gone now. Off with her new lover. I hear they’ve put a down-payment on a condo. They’re talking about getting a dog.

They’re happy.

She’s happy.

Me?

I’m going through the motions. Life… damn. It’s so hard. I know it’ll get better. It has to get better. But for now…

It’s hard.

I… just have to get this off my chest.

Damn you, Mabel.

Damn you and your damned flour-less chocolate cake.

It stole her from me.

However, I am going out for coffee on Friday with your baked brie with sautéed onions. Fingers crossed!

alliteration is always amusing

This post has been sitting in my Drafts folder since July 15, 2005. Yup. One year, six months and two days ago.

And for the longest time, this post existed for no other reason than it was blackmail material against Mabel (who recently drank the blogging Kool-Aid).

But Mabel has decided that he no longer wants this hanging over him and has given me the go-ahead to post it.

So, I opened it up… and now I’m wondering what the big deal was.

Whatever.

Let’s all jump back in time to the Summer of 2005…

[Reality goes wavy to indicate time travel.]

We had a practice at Rainbow Haven the other day, in anticipation of the Parlee Beach Ultimate Tournament coming up in eight days. However, we got driven off the beach by the marauding swarms of mites and black flies.

(Actually, I wasn’t bothered by the bugs until a certain someone that shall remain nameless *cough*stupidfriggingMabel*cough* said, “I’ve gotta go. If I go fast enough, maybe they’ll leave me and start to bother you.” He did. And they did. Bastard.)

Once we got out to the road, we alternated walking and and swatting, swatting and walking. (Good times.)

Then the following exchange occurred between myself, Mabel, and Allison:

Mabel: Hey! Allison — you have a big smear of blood on your leg.

Allison: Oh yeah, will you look at that. Well, he paid for that.

Mabel: Yeah… with his life!

Allison: Yeah!

Mabel: [To me] It was like the time I woke up and there was a bug on my bum. I killed it and there was blood everywhere and I said, “He paid for that… WITH HIS LIFE!”

Me: You got blood on your bum from a bug? [Pause.] A bloody bum bug?… You had bug bum blood?… Bug bum bloody buggy bum buggy bum blood! Bloo-

Mabel: [To Allison] Great. Jason will amuse himself for HOURS with this. He’ll be riding home on his bike going — [puts on prissy British accent] — “Bloody bummmy bugger bummy blood! Bloody bugger bug bummy bum! Buggy bum blood bummy bug bum blood buggy bum bum bum!!!”

And the funny thing is, I did. And giggled. Oh… so very much giggling.

I don’t know where the British accent came from though. That’s just weird.

Bum. Hee.

[Reality goes koo-koo-bananas indicating a time travel return trip.]

There. It’s finally out there.

Was it worth it? You be the judge.