Category: timeline

January 18

Matt Montanya’s living down here now, finally. He’s moved in with Kevin & Vanessa at this house on Weber, just north of campus. Tonight I drive over there, bearing one of the Goofy Guys CDs I’ve burned for him. Kevin & Vanessa have just gotten back from a movie themselves, so the four of us hang out in their suprisingly posh living room, drinking beer and catching up, occasionally discussing old times.

January 19

Somehow wind up at this place called Hot Shots, on Worthington Galena Rd, with the oddball crew of Maria, Harold, and this Tony guy. Never been here before, but Maria tells me it’s cool, so I agree to ride up there with all of them. It’s quite a bit of running around before we even make it to the place, and when we do, I’ve got to piss so bad I think I might wet myself. Therefore the guy checking ID lets me leave it in his hand as I continue sprinting inside, to the men’s room.

When I return to retrieve my ID, the door guy and some other dude are watching two bouncers, outside, who are trying to break up some fight. So already maybe not the best look for this place. And yet, considering how hungry I am, my focus extends beyond the bouncers, to a restaurant I have dimly perceived, on the other side of the road.

“Dude, is that a McDonald’s across the street?” I butt in and ask, and for some reason everyone finds this hilarious.

Why yes ’twas…therefore I dash through piles of snow, across ditches and Worthington Galena to arrive panting in their lobby. Order myself a value meal and have a seat, inhale it, stomp back the way I came and slide into the bar to rejoin the others. These three are now chilling at a table in the middle of this spacious club. Maria even ordered me a beer, which now sits in front of my vacant chair. Whew.

No less than six cute girls are clustered at another table by the dance floor, they appear to be checking Harold and me out. Harold is drinking rum and Coke himself tonight. Then, in an unexpected twist, Damon discovers where we’re at, and rides out here to join us. He was bored, has been squabbling with Maryland anyway, et cetera, was looking for something to do. Says that Amber called looking for me, inquiring as to my whereabouts.

Nothing much happens here, not even with those six chicks, although this does seem like a fairly happening yet laidback place. Before too long, he and I split, decide to drive down and kick it with Amber and Megan instead.

January 20

work late, come home to meet up with Damon. We plan on cruising out to this bar off of Hamilton & Main to watch our buddy Jimi Hammonds play. He’s reformed his old band Street Foxx, which used to be somewhat of a big deal in central Ohio back in the 70s. As an added bonus, Paul is coming down with his girlfriend Kathy, a chick he must really be into, judging from how little he stops by these days. Damon has also invited some people he works with – Tammy, her hilarious husband Dragon, his even more hilarious brother Boris – to meet us out there, figured that they’d really dig Jimi since he plays a lot of classic rock.

Paul calls on his cell phone just as they hit the highway, it’s about 10:30 and he says they’re on their way.  Damon and I sit around drinking – I’ve been on a wine kick of late, while he sticks with faithful old standbys such as beer and Capt Morgan – and those two arrive at some point just shy of 11:30.  Watching movies to pass the time, we twiddle our thumbs a while longer waiting for Damon, who as always had been lying around on the couch instead of getting ready and is now scrambling to compose himself.

                On the road in Ghetto Fabulous. Paul and Kathy are crammed in my backseat loathing life.  I take 270 around to the Main Street exit, then stop for gas and directions. The guys working here are surly jackasses but at least tell me how to get to the bar, a place called Breezers that none of us have ever heard of, much less been to.

                And with good reason – Breezers is a dive we probably wouldn’t give the time of day even if it were located a block from our house, yet another rectangular tavern with a square O shaped bar in the middle, dingy greenish lighting and a stage on the one end.  Yawn.  Jimi & his crew are on break as we roll in, and we spend considerable time standing at the bar waiting on the lone barmaid to serve us.

                Hammonds is an old school rocker of the first order, a long haired ex-biker with long straight hair now turning white, a 1970s holdover in orange tinted prescription glasses and cowboy boots, leather vest and faded jeans.  Jimi has a powerful voice, plays the guitar like he means it and is also, incidentally, one hell of a piccolo player, to the extent he once fronted a Jethro Tull tribute band. In fact Street Foxx’s history is a little murky, because I feel like they’ve gone through stretches of playing nothing but Tull themselves. Above all else, Jimi’s a nice guy, too, it seems like everybody loves this dude. He rarely makes it down to Columbus, so this is certainly a rare treat.

                Unfortunately, his current backing band is a mixed bag, leave much to be desired. I hate to say it but am not convinced this current incarnation will do much for the Street Foxx name. At least 4/5 of these guys are usual suspects from the old Mansfield days – I’m not sure about the keyboard player. Ronnie Hughes is a fine guitarist in his own right, a semi-legend who has played with the Godz and vaguely resembles Bob Seger’s look on the cover of the Night Moves album, albeit with blonde streaks in his hair at present. And though his style doesn’t perfectly gel with Jimi’s, they’re mostly making this work, and there’s reason to believe that dynamic will round into shape the more they play out.

               Maybe we’re biased, but everyone seems in agreement that these two are the clear highlights. The bass player, though representing the only other link to Street Foxx’s heyday – he and Jimi are both original members – is okay, kind of a portly hilljack type who does admittedly sing good harmonies. I think he’s much better at this, actually, than he is upon the bass. As for the drummer, he’s this long haired pretty boy named Ed that has been on the Mansfield jam night circuit for quite some time. I’ve always considered him a jackass, really. He looks like he belongs in Slaughter and plays like it, too, for example standing up in the middle of the song while keeping the beat going on his kick drum, twirling his sticks nonstop, sticking his fists in the air like pistons.

                The only unknown commodity is the keyboard player, who instead resembles your consummate yuppie. He’s also wearing shades the entire time he plays – a few guys can pull this off, but I’m not convinced he is one of them. More importantly, though, the instrument he’s playing on sounds kind of cheap. So, while I always hate ripping on somebody else’s projects, it’s kind of a hit-or-miss night for this crew. But who knows, they might keep this going long enough to iron out the kinks. We split well before quitting time, however.

January 21 

Hanging out at Jill’s and she suggests I try out for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, which you can do over the phone. I make it pretty deep into the process, but get rattled and blow a question I actually know the answer to – hitting buttons 1 through 4 in the correct order, sequentially, for these four Vice Presidents they name. Apparently if I’d gotten that one right I would have advanced to another bracket, so to speak, a “playoff” to see if I could make it onto the show.

January 23

Day off at work and I’m at Jill’s earlier, then come home to do some writing. Later, contemplate what to get into tonight. Superstar Rookie are playing at Bernie’s, but I don’t really feel like seeing any live music. Instead I cruise down to campus for another reason, to look up this writer’s club that’s been advertised in The Other Paper for a couple years now. It’s one of those things I’ve been meaning to check out for eons, but never do.

So I drive down there, park on Blake, walk into the Blue Danube and ask the barmaid about the writer’s club meeting that’s held here every Tuesday…she says there isn’t one and never has been one, it must be some sort of typo. Funny, I’ve been reading about it for two years now, very strange.

Now I truly don’t know what to get into. I walk back to my car, miffed but determined to dig up some point of interest. For lack of any better ideas, I cruise farther south down High and rummage through a couple used record stores. Find little of interest except an old Lucinda Williams EP. Return home to crank that multiple times while continuing to work on my writing projects.

January 25

Kid Rock show at Nationwide arena. Jill asked me to get her these tickets for Christmas, so I did, but now she’s not feeling so hot and says she can’t go. So I rope Damon in at the last minute instead. Then I’m sitting at the kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle in the paper, before we leave, and the first two answers going down in the top left corner are NURSE and AMBER. Talk about bizarre.

As for the show, it’s pretty good, we definitely got our money’s worth. Run into Tyson there, too. Damon’s all messed up on cold medicine, beer, and niacin (not sure if that’s a factor, actually) and we almost get tossed out of here. Twice.

January 26

After work, come home and chill before everyone arrives. Pretty much the standard crew at this point, going out tonight. Knock back beer (Damon & Alan) or a little wine (the rest of us), before we leave in two vehicles to go watch The Menus yet again at Flannagan’s. What can you say, these guys are endlessly entertaining, and they seem to only play either here, at Ludlow’s, or at Rush Creek here in town.

January 27

Even with no sleep, I feel on top of the world. Zipping around at work all day, looking forward to getting off early and catching some zzzzs. Sure, sure. Except then Ed Lloyd swings by, wants to know if I feel like closing down seafood up at Dublin tonight. Fuck. I really don’t want to, but then, thinking about how these hockey tickets are $47 apiece if we wind up going, figure some overtime wouldn’t hurt. It’s just really hard to turn this down, so I tell him okay.

Blow out of my store at 2:15, 45 minutes early. Drive to the Dublin store and nap surprisingly well in their parking lot with a shirt thrown over my face to block out the light. Wake up at about 10 till 4, walk over to the McDonald’s for a late lunch, then report for duty at about 4:15 in the seafood shop.

Ridiculously slow night here. I write about 4 pages in my journal, read some, goof around and am still completely finished in plenty of time. The guys in produce keep giving me strange looks – I think they believe I’m a new guy. But then am flying around anyway, getting stuff done, singing along with the Muzak at the top of my lungs.

There’s a message from Amber waiting for me when I get home, left at some point in the afternoon. She wants me to come over. But I stretch out on the couch, almost doze off, trying to think about what I really want to do. On one hand it’s Saturday night, even Damon’s not here, and there’s not much else that I’m aware of going on. On the other hand, I’m exhausted, plus this would violate my usual avoidance strategy antics, like I was just explaining to Damon last weekend when he asked, of keeping my distance, not seeing these chicks even so much as two nights in a row, etc. Not to mention it kind of looks bad not having anything lined up already for a Saturday night.

Instead I waste so much time deciding that it amounts to some sort of weird compromise, plus I manage to recharge the batteries just lying around for a while. Finally do call her back, we chat a minute, I agree to come over. But just throw on a baggy sweater and my glasses, don’t show up down there until well after one in the morning. Megan has straightened up the house, both girls have dolled themselves up considerably. In fact, I have to chill out for twenty minutes before Amber even makes an appearance – after getting off the phone with me, she took a shower, threw on some nice clothes and some makeup.

The three of us nonetheless decide to see what kind of late night fast food operation might still be up and running at this hour. I brought over a bottle of wine, and a gallon of o.j. to go with their vodka, but my “dinner” consisted of some snack mix eaten on the way over. And let’s just say chips n’ pretzels aren’t cutting it right now. Taking Amber’s car, somehow we wind up in the drive thru at a freaking Mr. Hero. Service takes an eternity and everything’s overpriced, but you’re pretty much held hostage at this hour.

Then immediately return to their place with the grub. Amber and I on the loveseat, Megan has the couch to herself. We sit around drinking and watching music videos for hours. Megan asks about Damon, and I’m doing what I can on that front – which is no joke, because it would certainly help out this somewhat strained situation of her being in our midst constantly. It’s way past four in the morning before we finally wear her down and she trudges off to bed. Amber jokingly protests that I didn’t drink much tonight. Playful bantering, etc, like at one point I tell her, “I always win at everything.” We’re up until almost 7am ourselves.

January 28

Closing shift at work, 2 to 9:15. I’m feeling mighty refreshed what with my five whole hours of sleep and all. Then get home and there’s another message from Amber, wanting to see what I’m doing tonight. But this time, it’s just totally out of the question. For all the usual reasons, plus being exhausted, plus on top of that these chicks don’t really make a lot of sense sometimes. This is why you have to just forge onward with your own agenda and ignore them.

This morning she was talking about putting on the brakes, slowing things down a little between us. So yeah, this message is a smidgen perplexing. Tonight I fall asleep in bed with the overhead lights on, somewhere around 11:30. I briefly awaken at midnight to hear Damon come in, at which point he immediately heads straight to bed himself. Then around 12:15, Amber calls, leaves a message playfully chiding me, hangs up, calls again, hangs up, calls again.

January 29

Damon calls me at work to say Amber and Megan called twice, they want us to come over and help them rearrange their living room. I think this is great and all…but tell him to tell them that he couldn’t find me. Then I get home and Damon says Amber called a third time, told him to tell me to call her back. I wait until about 11 before doing so, by which time I think the coast is clear on the furniture rearranging front. She still asks me to come over, though, and it seems they must not have tackled that project yet after all. So I mumble something about us maybe helping them later this week, but at any rate (which is the far more crucial point) I think she and I should do something together soon.

“What day are you off this week?” she asks, adds, “I’m off Thursday.”

“I’m off Thursday too,” I tell her. And we leave it at that, don’t actually commit to anything.

She talked my ear off for about half an hour and seemed to want to continue, but I wasn’t really in a talkative mood tonight and broke off the conversation at that point; still, it had been a pleasant phone chat, I feel like things are right where I want them now and we got off the phone vaguely agreeing, once again, to get together later in the week.

February 1

Out running errands but then home around 4. Radick has driven down to hang out with us tonight for a change. Damon gets in shortly after 5, so we run up to Don Pablo’s for dinner and a widemouth mug of Dos Equis each.

Later in the evening, we get wrapped up in this hilarious adventure involving Melissa and eight of her sorority sisters. They’re in this accident up at Easton and all three of us take our own vehicle up there, to give them a lift back to the sorority house. But then the unexpected happens, these girls are clamoring to ride in Ghetto Fabulous! (side note: this is my red Geo Storm, somewhat of a legendary ride before I even owned the thing; my buddy Jamie named it this last summer, however, one day when we were leaving work and he climbed in, observed, “man, this car is ghetto fabulous!” with a maniacal laugh).

So I end up giving these two really sweet young girls I’ve never met before, Jen and Kristy, a ride down to campus. Unlike most of the other sisters at Alpha Delta Pi, these two are very personable, and even know how to participate in actual, you know, conversation. It’s really quite remarkable.

We hang out there a bit, at their house, then the three of us end up at Gabby’s to close out the night. Damon gets a wee bit sloshed as he’s going on at length about Maryland. Paul chips in his own two cents on the situation, but I really don’t have much to say on this topic at this point. Then we get back to the house, and I’m plagued by a total inability to sleep. Tossing and turning all night, I hear Damon get up at leave for work at 7:30, and it’s only right around then that I pass out for good.

February 2

But then wake up just three hours later anyway, at 10:30, knowing I will be unable to fall back asleep. Tired, but aware it’s all the rest I’ll be getting. Then head into work for an afternoon shift.

I was planning on taking it easy tonight but then going out with Robin tomorrow. Yet as soon as I walk in the door, this strategy has all been blown apart basically without my even doing anything. Damon says Robin has talked to him, mentioned that Genese is in town and they’re planning on going over to Flannagan’s to watch Jonesi play. Plus, there’s a message on the machine from Alan, saying he wants to go out for a few drinks tomorrow night. So now this has radically shifted into meeting Robin at Flannagan’s tonight – even though Damon himself isn’t. After a week of blowing off Maryland, they’re back in good graces again, so he’s going over there instead. And then maybe we’ll meet up with Alan tomorrow.

I call up Ryan, to see if he might want to join me as a wingman. He’s game, so I agree to show up at his place at 11. Shower, change, then hit the road. I’ve never been to this apartment before, but he gave me directions there, it’s a two story townhouse in this complex near Sawmill and Cranston, behind the Steak N’ Shake. Some tall black guy named Dee opens the door when I knock, and he lets me in, says Ryan & a few others just made a beer run and should be back in a few minutes.

Ryan, his current roommate Patrick, and some other dude with short black hair make their entrance right after mine, toting two 12 packs of bottled Icehouse. I follow them past their cool scuffed up coffee table and battle worn couch downstairs, where this blonde kid and his hot skinny brunette girlfriend are sitting, listening to techno music. This one table is covered with a bottle cap surface from countless different beers, it looks really cool.

Ryan and Patrick have two turntables and a mixer hooked up, they scratch records as we all chill out. Dee is playing a skateboarding game on PlayStation. None of the others say a single word to me and vice versa, but that’s alright, I don’t feel much like talking anyway. Stand around nursing one Icehouse while Ryan gulps down two, and a bunch of them pass around a bowl. Then Ryan and I split for the bar in Ghetto Fabulous.

Genese and Robin are already here with Kristen and some other guy. However, their night is to some extent pretty much ruined before we even arrive – someone broke into their car in the Flannagan’s parking lot. So we only hang out long enough to have two beers apiece, I don’t even really remember watching the band. Genese sure is digging me tonight, though, which is cool, I think she’s really hot for a somewhat older chick. As we’re all getting ready to leave, she climbs in my car and writes JASON IS A GOD in the frost on the back window.

Robin is supposed to call me later, though. I drop Ryan off, then head home. Finally, around 2:30 or 3 the phone rings, it’s Robin asking what’s going on and who’s at my apartment right now.

“Just me and Captain Morgan.”

“So you’re alone?”

“No, I told you Captain Morgan is here, too,” I joke, “but you know him, he doesn’t move around too much.”

As an amusing side note, while I’m on the phone with her, it starts beeping to indicate another incoming call. The only two people who call our apartment at this hour are Maryland and Amber, and since Damon’s over at his girlfriend’s house right now, I think we can safely rule her out. So while I guess technically this could have been anybody, I would bet $100 on Amber, making it just more of this maddening behavior from her – I feel like telling her, maybe you should figure out what you actually want first, and then you can give me a call. Although I guess my steering clear pretty much says the same thing.

Anyway, Robin shows up, and we sit on the couch talking and sipping drinks. I have this comical subterfuge up my sleeve, though, in that despite our phone conversation, I am actually just drinking Coke now, to keep myself properly energized. When mixing our drinks, she’s the only one getting any alcohol. Which does the trick, as we move up to my bedroom soon enough. I fall asleep around 5:30, then wake up two hours later after inexplicably shutting my alarm clock when it first went off at 6:30. So I wind up making it to work at 8 instead of 7, but it really doesn’t matter, I write my own schedule anyway.

February 3 

Traditions with Damon and Alan. It’s actually just the 3 of us hanging out tonight. I’m wondering how long it has been since this has happened – and if it will ever happen again, actually.

February 9

This year’s Bon-A-Thon AC/DC tribute show at High 5. It’s quite the study in contrasts versus last year, however. With Alan quitting Bedlam back in May, Damon and Paul have already roped in Dan Bandman to play drums for them tonight. Brian of course is ancient history as a singer. Meanwhile they’re hoping Big Paul will make it down to play bass, and split vocal duties with Damon, but aren’t exactly convinced this is going to happen.

On my end, Jill called last night feeling all energetic, said she wanted to go tonight. So I drive over and pick her up from work this afternoon, we grab some McDonald’s on the way back here and chill around the house waiting on everyone to show up. Damon gets in from work, then Maryland shows up with her sister and some fat girl. So we sit around talking up a storm for awhile, until the sister and the other chick split. Then Radick gets here, and the five of us leave for the bar in two separate vehicles. Thankfully, I might say, although this depends on how you look at it.

Throughout all this, Damon and Paul are sweating whether Linville will make it down or not. And this continues at the bar. As far as other familiar faces, Bandman’s already here, of course, and so are some of Damon’s coworkers and their significant others/friends.

The bar seems especially hot tonight and I would say more crowded even than last year’s event. I walk up to the bar for a beer and some strange but nice middle aged couple strikes up a conversation like they’ve known me forever. The woman is obviously drunk and gets on this kick right away blurting out, “OH MY GOD! YOU LOOK LIKE A MOVIE STAR!” and even tells the dude she’s with, her husband or boyfriend or whatever, that she’s serious and that I should be in movies. I do hear this every now and then about how I should be an actor, although it’s always someone talking about the way I behave in everyday life, they think I would be good at it; nobody that I can recall has ever gone on and on about my appearance like this before, however. It’s flattering, or at least it would be if she looked better herself, and therefore is mostly just funny.

Damon had already bought a round (and a pop for Jill), unbeknownst to me, so while I’m stuck first talking to those people and then waiting on my own beer, he is forced to double fist the extra beer before it goes warm. Not that this is a problem. Meanwhile, as they attempt to hatch plan B for the Bedlam situation, Dan says he thinks Arty might be able to fill in on bass if Linville doesn’t show.

Our night comes to a forgettable end (I would like to forget about it, anyway) and I’m not actually sure how this all turned out. Jill and I only stand here long enough to watch a pair of crappy bands before leaving – we get in a mild disagreement and I’m suddenly really not feeling this, tell her, “let’s go,” and then we split. She’s having hot flashes too on top of everything else. On one hand you’re supposed to be majorly supportive of every little mood swing or else it makes you this supreme dickhead. On the other hand, you can’t convince me that these aren’t calculated stunts a lot of the time with these females – so what did you expect? The classic setup of inviting themselves along somewhere, then making snide comments and/or accusations about every girl you just so happen to cross paths with and maybe talk to for thirty seconds or whatever. Yeah, I’m just not in the mood for this nonsense, if ever I am. Homie’s not playing this. Although you can definitely argue that by leaving, I did play right into the game, that this was the intended result. But whatever. Wind up back at her place and have sex anyway, though.

February 10

After working the morning shift at my store, drive up to Delaware, work 4:30-8:15 at that one with Jeff B.

February 11

First scrimmage for our newly assembled basketball team. This whole thing was Carrie’s idea – she asked me and I was therefore the first recruit, handing her $20. Then went home and asked Damon, he was the second guy to sign up and fork over his cash. Though I was initially joking around and calling Carrie our “coach,” she insisted she was not going to be involved in that capacity, was only trying to put a team together. And not playing, either. So I guess this makes her the GM.

As far as Kroger is concerned, Rick in seafood is the only other person on this roster. Aside from that, our team consists of Eric (Carrie’s boyfriend at present), his buddies Andy and Freddie. And Damon could not make this first scrimmage, therefore it’s just the five of us. I asked for and received jersey number 75. The gym where we’re playing is over by 5th Avenue and Stelzer, that area.

It’s actually a co-ed league, but we don’t have any females, even though Carrie’s hanging out on the sidelines rooting for us. We’re against this 8 person team who do have a couple girls, from the Capital University squad, but this only makes matters worse. One thing I learn about these women right away is that they are absolutely brutal, blatantly, intentionally elbowing in the face and stuff, because they know they can get away with it – well aware that we guys are not going to retaliate in similar fashion.

There’s this pain in my sides before we even get all that deep into the game (someone says this might mean a potassium deficiency). We are only down 7 at halftime, though, which has us feeling somewhat good about ourselves. But then return from the break poorly, fall behind 14 more almost immediately. It’s 43-22 at this point and the ref actually feels so bad for us that he agrees to relieve me for a spell. Ouch. From here, he is able to help get us back to within 9 points.

Come home and nap on the couch. Wake up so sore that I have to learn against furniture to walk around the house.

February 13

I’m up until the wee hours (3am on the 14th, technically) writing like a fiend. Have also found this great online book publisher, so it looks as though everything’s clicking on that front.

March 2

Spend the night at Jill’s place on Scioto Darby one last time, she and her parents are moving to Smoky Row in Dublin. We sleep on a mattress on her bedroom floor, hanging out here watching tv et cetera most of the night.

March 3

Hellish day helping them move. After taking the first load of stuff over, her mom stays behind at the new place, putting things away. And Jill’s of course almost nine months pregnant, so she’s kind of limited in what she can do. So mostly it’s her stepdad Dan and me making trips back and forth and loading things into the moving truck, unloading them over there.

I’m pretty zapped after about 8 hours of this, moving every piece of furniture, this ridiculously heavy couch, washer & dryer, plus more boxes than I care to think about. Died in Jill’s new basement bedroom for a few hours after we’d eaten pizza for dinner, then woke up, drove home and slept some more.

March 7

Short North Gazette sends me a $5 check and a really cool personal letter, for publishing one “poem” of mine. In reality these are just unused song lyrics, which I know are pretty terrible (hence its unused status). But, I don’t know, I’m just more determined of late to try and make some things happen on that front. This is the first money I’ve ever received for my writing, which is reason enough to have sent it to them. I just wanted to get something in print.

March 8

I take Jill to her doctor on Worthington Galena Road, for the standard weekly checkup. And it’s a good thing the timing worked out like this because he says the baby’s not breathing properly, we need to head to the hospital at once. So I drive her to Riverside, where they admit her immediately to deliver by c-section. So even though Madison isn’t due until April 5, today is to be her birth day.

It’s funny, though, as soon as we get here, Jill’s starving and is craving Wendy’s, therefore sends me out to get some food for her pronto. By this point we’ve called her mom and stepdad. Then by the time I return, they’re already here, and she’s been wheeled in for surgery. They’re only allowing one person into the delivery room with her, and her mom’s claimed that position, meaning I’m stuck hanging out with Dan in the waiting room.

But everything works out okay. Madison Marie is born at around 1:30 in the afternoon today, weighing 5 pounds 4 ounces.

March 11

Tonight Jill and Madison get to come home from the hospital, so I drive over there. Hang out holding the baby in my arms for a bit, in fact this is the first baby I can ever remember holding. Now I know what this feels like and can see why people get into having kids.

March 14

I’m up in a Cessna 172 four seat airplane with Alan at the helm, it’s the first time I’ve flown with him. He’s still trying to log enough hours to get certified for his license. We left from Bolton Field this sunny afternoon, flying west toward London, the Madison County airport. The plan here is a quick touch and go, then return to Bolton.

Except we’re descending to land, within sight of the airport and Alan suddenly announces, “I’ve got no engine!” I question what he means, and he repeats this statement. He’s bewildered but not panicking, and just like that, we are down with an emergency landing in this corn field instead.

Though we have technically crashed here, it’s a very smooth landing. No injuries, and even the plane isn’t damaged, as he somehow managed to bring us to a halt, kept the nose up, and brought it to a stop with a skidmark measuring only 192 feet. Impressive!

I think there is something wrong with me sometimes, though. I swear – and this is no macho bullshit – I didn’t even bat an eyelash at any point during this crash, my heart doesn’t even speed up. You could say this was over before I even registered what happened, which might be true. Alan kept his cool, too (which probably saved our lives), yet even he is a bit shaky in radioing into the control tower.

Well, the crash is one thing, but talking to the authorities for the next 4 hours sucks much worse. First these four cruisers from the highway patrol come out, take our statements, snap some pictures of the plane. Then we have to be escorted to the Madison County Airport, which is about a mile and half from where we went down. This female cop pats me down for weapons before putting me in the back of her cruiser, and I’m sure Alan is receiving the same treatment.

At the airport, we stand around waiting on the Highway Patrol’s own aviation expert to arrive, which he does via his own plane. So the first wave of cops leave and we stand around with him, answer some questions. Then the FAA guy shows up, he takes Alan into some conference room and grills him all over again. Meanwhile some Bolton Field mechanics had driven out to get the plane working again or at least see what was wrong – turned out to be carburetor ice – and the one guy flew it out of the field to the runway here.

                This one reporter from some local paper came out to ask questions but we were being pretty stingy with the information and he left in due time. Then, after the plane had been given a thorough inspection, they tell us we have two options: we can either find a return ride ourselves to Columbus…or we can fly back to Bolton Field in the same plane we arrived in! Everyone I tell this story to thinks we are totally insane, but Alan and I look at each other and shrug and figure why not, this plane has been tested and repaired, let’s do it. Plus we’ve got one of the mechanics flying with us this time.

The funny thing is, though, that after this ordeal is over with, Alan’s driving us back to his place and he suddenly remembers that he and Tawnya took that same plane the last time he flew, from Mansfield down to here. And that she thought she smelled an ELECTRICAL FIRE while they were in the air. Might have even said something about never taking this particular plane again. But he apparently didn’t think anything of it himself and had forgotten all about that episode until just now.

This is completely hilarious and about par for the course, I would say, though also one of the many perplexing examples I could cite. He is considered by many (and seemingly considers himself) a totally serious, respectable, not the least bit zany guy. Can even get away with an off the wall anecdote like the one he just told me without any apparent damage to his reputation. However, if I would ever admit such a thing…I would never live that down for the rest of my life, not in a million years.

 Well, he must have some inclination how others would take all of this. Because he still has hopes about convincing Damon to fly with him sometime, and there’s talk now of maybe keeping this little episode under wraps for the time being. Otherwise, though, I believe primal instincts may take over after what we can probably call a near death experience, without too much exaggeration. You feel almost invincible, while at the same time, all that matters are quotidian concerns like a huge meal right now, then knocking back a bunch of beers, and possibly getting laid later.  To this end, Alan and I cross off the first two items on that list by stopping for lunch, then continuing to his place to drink some beer. Once here, though, Tawnya’s again getting on this kick talking about how “weird” I am for some reason. It’s true that I am joking about how a person is only likely to experience one plane crash, tops, and I’m glad to have gotten mine out of the way (Ernest Hemingway did survive two, however – does this mean I’m halfway to Hemingway status? Doubtful, though an encouraging and possibly helpful way to look at things, if seeking inspiration). I don’t know, though, call me a zany guy if ye like, but to me flying a plane that smelled like an electrical fire a week or so ago is about as “weird” as it gets. Part of me thinks she is well aware of this, though, and her strategy of constantly calling the rest of us crazy while defending Alan is some sort of counteroffensive attack.

From here I head home, chill out for a while. Robin stops by unnanounced with some cute Crystal chick we’ve never met before, under the auspices of returning a few things we’d left at Tammy’s house (my watch, Damon’s shorts & towel). But they don’t stay long.

                Melissa calls, invites me to meet her & some friends down at BW3 on campus.  I said to myself why not – Damon is out on a date with that Rhonda chick, and I didn’t have to be in to work until 2 the next day – but then I’m online and Amy tracks me down via Instant Message, we wind up talking for about an hour like always.  By this time it’s 11pm but I leave for campus anyway, except that by the time I stop and eat somewhere, then get there, park on 16^th and walk to Bee Dubs, Melissa is nowhere to be found.  It’s midnight and the place is absolutely packed full of bodies for an acoustic jam night, I even run into Garrett from work, but no Melissa, she & her lame friends predictably left long ago. Although I am mighty late and I can’t blame her for giving up on me. Double fisting a pair of Coronas, I suck those down quickly and split.  Thought about swinging by her sorority house and throwing some rocks at her window like the good old days until she let me in, but was tired and just went home.

March 15

leaving work late at 10:15 and here comes Jason walking in the lobby just as I’m walking out.  He’s got some kind of crazy story to tell about Maria losing her keys and blaming it on him, she’s locked out of her house but doesn’t want him to be anywhere near her. 

                “Can I stay at your house tonight?” he asks.

                “Well, I’ve got a bunch of people staying over already, they’re in from out of town,” I tell him, which isn’t quite true. In reality, there’s a chance Robin might be over, but that’s about it. Still, just picturing sitting around with her, Damon, and him all night sounds somewhat agonizing, and definitely awkward.

                “What about Jamie?  Did you try his house?” I question.

                “Tssk,” Jason scoffs, “he’s over there with Maria.”

                In the end, I tell him what the hell, let me drive him down to his folks’ place in Grove City.  They aren’t too happy with him, either, but he calls on a payphone and they agree to let him stay there just this one night. See, during their last trip down south, Maria and company had gone to Tennessee and on the way back swung thru Louisville, talked Jason into following them back to Ohio in his car just for a night or two of partying. But that had been three weeks ago – his car broke down and he didn’t have the money to have it fixed, had been bumming around town ever since.

                Half an hour later, we arrive at his parents’ place, and as I’d been talking about my radio not working in the Taurus I just bought, he says he has an extra stereo in his car and gives it to me.  For this, I hand him $20.

                “You’re a real friend,” he says, clearly appreciative.

                “Ah, that stereo’s worth at least twenty bucks,” I tell him, “and I know you’re having a hard time.”

                Drive home exhausted, and Robin doesn’t end up coming over. But I manage to change, shower, throw on some nice clothes and hit the Boomerang for one beer, looking for Jenny.  She’s not here, though, and I’m starting to think that night we met her was the only night she ever worked at this place. 

                Return home, die in bed.  But I’m off tomorrow, so everything’s cool.

March 17

Damon calls me at work with a double whammy of bad news, both from last night. He found out around 8 that his grandpa had died; then, a short while later, that Boris was killed in a car crash. Someone went left of center and Boris tried to swerve out of the way, smashed into a guardrail. And then the other driver plowed into him anyhow. What a horrible, unexpected tragedy – I didn’t know him well, but we was funny and cool, seemed like a good guy.

March 18

Chilling around the house, first day of vacation. This is kind of a repeat from Wednesday, though, in that Robin swings by without warning again, this time with two friends. Unfortunately, this duo is quite large and not nearly as good looking as Crystal. I hope Robin doesn’t think she is tightening some leash around the operation at our command post here or something, because that is not happening. But whatever the case, her cover story this time is that one of these girls, her boyfriend lives in this same apartment complex as us. She wanted to swing by with this chick to prove she is real and that Robin was not stalking us. Which we still think anyway, but what the hell.

What’s even more hilarious, though, is that when they show up, I am on the phone with Jill. She wants me to come over for this birthday cake she baked me, which I agree to do. This knock sounds out on the door and I answer it, at which point these three girls are all chirping hellos and I tell them to come in.

“Who’s that?” Jill questions.

“Oh, just friends of Damon’s,” I tell her, patting Robin on the arm while I do so. Then I shout up the stairs, “hey Damon, you have company!” for good effect. He comes downstairs to join us and I eventually get off the phone. But Robin is not about to let me live this comment down.

“A friend of Damon’s, huh?” she challenges.

“Well, you are,” I backpedal, “aren’t you? I never said Damon was your only friend, I just said you were a friend of his.”

“Listen to him try and get out of this,” she tells the other ladies.

After they split, Damon heads out for another date with Rhonda, and I head over to Jill’s. We have a good time tonight. I even get to hold baby Madison for a little while,

it was another odd feeling I’ve never had before, the feeling as I look at that little girl and think that I could love her very easily.  Even though she’s not my own, I know that I could.  Is this why I distance myself from any situation that would require me to put my heart into it?  The fear that I’d get attached, tied down, held back from all these far flung ideas I keep chasing, who knows, maybe that is the reason why. But domesticity will always be there when you want it, it’s not going anywhere.

“In 14 years you’ll be forty,” Jill observes at one point, “isn’t that strange?” Yes, but as I reply, 14 years ago I was twelve. Fourteen years is a long time. And anyway it’s not quite my birthday yet.

March 19

Damon comes home from work with two 40s of Busch so we can kick off my birthday celebrations proper. Also some hilarious instructional videos he’d rented from the library, which we start watching now – how to play drums, how to play piano, how to be a cheerleader. The hottie at our nearby Karl Road branch questioned his choices on the last one, to which he replied, “ah, I thought it would be good to sit and watch while I’m drinking a beer.”

So we’re chilling with these when Robin calls, says she’s over at Scott’s apartment (that girl’s boyfriend who lives in this complex), thought she’d stop over with my cake and presents. Damon is leaving for Cincinnati anyway for his grandpa’s funeral, and does so right after Robin gets here. She has brought me a bottle of Captain Morgan Private Stock as my gift. We sit around drinking this, among other activities.

I hit upon a great strategy tonight, though, however accidentally, which I will file away for later use. Right at the outset I established I had “somewhere to be at 11.” Even though no such concrete plans exist. So we do our thing and she splits, I hop in the shower. Beautiful. She wrote down her address and entry code at the new apartment in case I feel like stopping by later.

Then I call up Clif, he and I decide to hit the Henderson Road Roosters for a couple beers and some grub. Everyone keeps joking about how “old” I’m getting, but I say bring it on, it feels like a badge of honor. To keep advancing through the years and feel like I’m not really losing my edge, though countless other friends are falling by the wayside.

March 20

This is the first time in my working career (about ten years now) that I’ve taken a week’s vacation and done NOTHING, and I am loving it. You always feel this weird pressure to leave town and cram a ton of activities in on your vacations, and yet the strange thing is, this loafing around the house business is already shaping up as possibly my best week off ever.

Part of the trick, of course, is to mention this to as few people as possible. Then again this seems to work for almost everything in life. Resisting the temptation to beat yourself up over not doing more is the second biggest challenge with this, although I easily have enough hobbies to fill up my days, right here, without ever getting bored.

So it’s another fine day of loafing, writing, et cetera. I have seen my future, and know now that quitting my job is absolutely the next step for me, the only thing I need to focus on.  All this free time can’t be beat, and the simple fact is that 8 hours of writing flies by, is much more enjoyable than 8 hours at work. I flip on the radio, take short pauses to play online chess or make lunch or read a bit, drink a little while I’m doing it, god this is great. Maybe some interludes with the females here and there but no actual girlfriend, no trips anywhere, just chilling, doing my own thing. And I LOVE IT.

Later on, I swing by Half Price Books and use the $25 my parents sent me to buy five tomes, a nice variety. Then meet up with Damon & Alan around 10:30 at Traditions. So I guess that night in February wasn’t our last ever excursion as a trio after all. We drink a couple Coronas apiece before moving on to Arlington Cafe. Here we drink more Coronas, shoot a couple games of cutthroat pool.

March 22

Out running errands today and cause my first ever traffic accident, though it is thankfully a minor one. I don’t know what I was thinking, it was just some sort of brain fart. Anyway this happens on Tamarack Circle, I’m coming around what we might call the bottom edge of it, the southwest part, between Sandalwood and Tamarack Blvd.

Actually, although I can’t blame it on this other car, its actions do at least partially influence mine. I am in the right hand lane at that moment, and want to turn left into those businesses at this circle. This one car is at the stop sign on Tamarack Blvd. When I put on my left turn signal, he takes this as his cue that he’s clear to turn into the circle himself. Anyway, I know it somewhat registers with me, because although this is a two-lane, one way road (i.e. both lanes go the same direction) and I’m in the right hand lane, I don’t even glance in my side mirror before staring my turn. Problem is, there’s this gold colored sedan in the left hand lane, right beside but just slightly behind me.

So yeah, he plows into my driver’s side. I feel bad because he’s actually got a little baby in the backseat, but everyone is okay and my car definitely gets the worst of it. He’s this friendly enough seeming black dude named Lonnie, was only really concerned about the baby himself, but nonetheless we call a cop out here to file a report. I’m cited with an $80 ticket and of course whatever it will take for insurance to repair his car.

Lately, though, the overriding message I’m hearing loud and clear is to not take life so lightly.  With Boris dying in a car wreck, my own crash here and that downed plane – where we both would have assuredly died had Alan not been such a calm, collected pilot – and in discussions that keep seeming to crop up with everyone I talk to, I sense this underlying theme of, “you never know when your time will come, you need to do what you want while you can”. I’m not sure what this is trying to teach me, except to maybe keep the hammer down as far as going after what I want out of life. That, and to appreciate what I’ve got, not get too bent out of shape by the things that go wrong. For example, I’m sure if Boris could be given a second chance on this planet, he wouldn’t be too upset over a banged up car door. Although I think I’ve got a good handle on this second point and that almost nobody would ever describe me as getting too worked up about things.

I spend the afternoon recording a bunch of musical ideas I’ve been putting off for quite some time. This computer program I have makes laying down songs a snap. Really, though, all I’m doing is recording rough ideas, I’d still like to bring in others for a lot of it. Maybe get Damon to play the drums – I approached Alan about drumming some months ago, but he seemed oddly uninterested in the idea. 

                Write and read some, then Damon and I head up to Gabby’s around midnight for a couple drinks. Talking with this new barmaid Laura, an okay looking blonde, she’s moving to Sarasota too.  We laugh about the idea of filling up our living room with sand, I think it’s actually going to happen.

                We come home and Damon heads up to his room, but I’m feeling restless and fire up a pot of coffee, start writing some more.  The coffee I make is way too strong, however, to the extent that even when I shut off the computer and try to get some sleep, I can’t.  It is 6am before I doze off completely, my last waking act being to run downstairs and shut off the coffee pot.

March 23

A bit of an action packed day overall. Then again I am on vacation, and it’s a Friday. Wake up around noon, shower, run to pick up my check. Sunny and 60 degrees out, I’m running around town in a Hawaiian shirt and sandals.

Driving home I stop at a state liquor store and buy a bottle of Beam’s 8 Star whiskey, a 2 liter of Coke.  By the time I actually make it back to the house, however, I’m thinking more about how I maybe just want to sell my car and ride around everywhere on a bicycle, the roads are cluttered with nothing but one idiot after another.  It really is maddening to drive anywhere anymore. Maybe I don’t have much room to talk after that incident yesterday, but one minor accident in 10 years doesn’t change the fact that I’m a good driver and there are an awful lot of morons out there; sometimes it seems that the more you drive the dumber you get, as the typical excursion in an automobile involves nothing but a steady stream of cuss words leaving one’s mouth these days – an astounding amount for even a simple trip across town.

                Even that accident yesterday: if I hadn’t pulled out in front of that gold sedan, the guy in front of me could have easily gotten clipped and cited because he’d more or less just done the same thing, except I was able to stop in time. Shit like this throws your nerves for a loop, and driving a car that is still very new and awkward feeling doesn’t help.

                Chilling out enjoying what may very well be one of the greatest weeks of my life – gotten so much accomplished, I feel so relaxed. After making arrangements to go out tomorrow night with Jill for dinner or something – I write and drink my whiskey, read some, wait for Damon to slide in from work. He does, and by this time I’ve already got plans lined up with Clif to come over to his house for a cookout. But of course the two of us never do anything quite like we’re supposed to; Clif wanted us there at 7 and we roll in at 9:30, the ribs and the corn on the cob only lukewarm after he’d pulled them from his grill, shoved in the oven on WARM. 

                Sitting with Clif is his woman Alena, plus Shekhar, whom I’ve not seen in quite some time, but also this unbelievably cute friend of Alena’s named Svetta, also from Russia.  I pull that 8 Star pint out of my shirt pocket, pour some whiskey n’ Cokes for Damon and I, as we settle in with small plates of leftover food and attempt to seduce this cutie Svetta.

                They are all watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire, some episode featuring old TV stars from the 1960s & 70s.  This has been going on all week but the only two left are Adam West (Batman) and Sherman Hemsley (George Jefferson), they’re both so slow that calling the “fast fingers” round such is a ridiculous joke. 

                I know the answers to half the questions before they’re even posted and while I can’t say for sure it impresses Svetta, it certainly doesn’t hurt.  She twirls her luxurious black hair in one hand, looks over at me with those impossibly gorgeous blue eyes as we talk.

                “What do you ladies do for kicks in this town?” I wonder.

                “We haven’t found it yet,” Svetta admits.

                “How long have you lived here?”

                “Seven years.”

                Oh, but a story about some crazy party at Alena’s comes up, during which time Svetta had reportedly gotten so drunk she stripped naked and walked around the house, right on past Alena’s own dad who’d come home at this opportune moment.

                “Hey, you got my phone number?” I laugh and ask her.

                Damon, who as I’ve always said has a knack for making situations work somehow in the end, even while fouling them up early on, he doesn’t seem to be getting quite so far this time, however, in asking them the standard old “where do you work?” and “how do you know each other?” and “are you going to college?” questions. I gave up on that nonsense a long time ago; even the party answering your queries is bored with this line of discussion, it’s like some rock star dealing with the same ten questions year after year after year in a series of magazines. These girls want crudity, coarseness, lack of regard for anything tame and normal.

                Who am I to critique anyone’s methods, though – and anyway, Svetta soon leaves. She says she’s going to the movies with a “friend.” After she’s gone, I can’t help but come right out and ask Alana what the deal is.

                “What’s with Svetta, running off to see some dude?”

                “No, it’s not like that,” Alena tells me.

                “Mmm hmm,” I say, unconvinced.

                “No, really, she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

                “Well you need to make the connection,” I tell her, “she’s attractive and has a nice personality.”

                From there, we attempt to get a game of euchre up and running. Shekhar has somehow never played before and neither has Alena, which means that both Damon and I claim one as a partner while Clif coaches the two rookies.  Shekhar catches on surprisingly quick, though – he’s played spades before, knows the basic drill – but Alena stumbles along and we lose 10-6.

                Maria rolls in shortly after the game is over. I’d called her earlier, and after she ran out to Hilliard to buy some weed off of Tony, drop it off at her own house for Tommy, she is finally making it here.  Tommy and Ryan, meanwhile, aren’t going anywhere this evening, they’re sticking to their increasingly common practice of staying home and getting high before bed time.  Tommy, incidentally, just broke up with Brea a few hours earlier, the most regular girl he’s had in the four years I’ve known him.

                We all head to DiMarco’s from there, but it’s really an unexceptional night from this point onward.  Maria kept hinting around about how Damon should stop by later and jump into bed with her; he jokes back with her, but I think that’s about the extent of it. She leaves after a couple drinks, taking Clif and Alena with her. Clif had no money on him and I’d been buying his Coronas along with my own – paying him back for the dinner – but his girl wasn’t having much fun.

                Damon and I finish our own beers and move on, stopping at Eldorado’s to watch some strangely interesting band of laid back old timers play classic rock. They’re good, but this chick in white tiger striped pants that they have singing, she doesn’t fit in with their band very well. We hurriedly walk over to Zuey’s right before last call.  The barmaid – this tall blonde with a butterfly tattoo on one shoulder blade – keeps ignoring us until I finally flag her down.

                “Can we have a beer, here?”

                “Do you really need another beer?” she says, almost nastily, even though we’ve only just arrived.

                “Probably not,” I admit, “but get it anyway.”

                She returns with a Michelob Light for Damon, bottle of Corona for me.

                “Five dollars.”

                “How much is your attitude costing us?” I grumble.

                At this, she stops and throws one arm around me, like we’re old pals or something. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, “it’s been a long night.”

                Zuey’s has a very strange vibe to it. Decorated on the inside like some kind of Swiss ski resort, it features a surprisingly diverse clientele for being located essentially in the middle of redneck territory.  Eldorado’s next door is easy to peg – a dive bar, frequented by nothing but hillbillies – but here at Zuey’s we are looking at would be porn goddesses, gangster rap black guys, skate punks, and yes, the occasional hillbilly. 

                “You’d think in all these years we’ve been down here, we’d find at least one bar where we fit in,” Damon observes.

March 24     

Now today of course it’s horrifically cold, though thankfully the snow they’re calling for never comes. Jill and I have dinner at Friday’s after Olive Garden proved way too packed. Two beers apiece with our grub – she Corona, me Heineken. Then we head up to this movie theatre on Sawmill to take in The Mexican.

“Brad Pitt reminds me of your brother,” she says.

“Yeah, I know. Everyone says that,” I tell her.

“Well, I’m not everyone. I’m better than everyone,” she throws out.

“Of course you are,” I reply, though wondering what inspired this odd little left field boast.

The movie’s decent but about fifteen minutes too long. Then we step out again into the bitter, windy cold and try to hurry along to my car. She still has stitches and staples from the c-section, though, and can’t move all that fast. By the time we are seated again in my vehicle, both of us are freezing.

“It was warm yesterday…,” I muse, with considerable sadness.

Back at her house, we sit around for a bit while Jill feeds Madison. Looking at this kid I feel like I already love her, and wonder if this isn’t what propels my antics in part, like trying to stay de-tached so I don’t get a-ttached. Which some seem to consider a juvenile stance to take. Then again there are plenty of people if not more on the flipside, who can’t understand why I’m as involved as I am, and think I’m crazy. Like a short while ago there was a manager’s meeting at work, and before it began, this newish woman sitting to my left at the conference table asks me what the deal is with this Jill situation, anyway, because she’s heard all kinds of stuff. I start to explain but then Rose is sitting across from us, chuckles and interjects, “Jason’s been a good sport.”

Well, these past few months have been mighty confusing ones all around. And on that note, her parents, who had been watching the baby, shuffle off to bed when we arrive. They are sleeping in the same bed for the first time in forever, actually, to hear Jill tell it. When she made a wisecrack to that effect, her mom got embarrassed and told Jill to shush.

“My parents must be going to hump” she conjectures, which is one of her favorite jokes, actually, and not the first time I’ve heard this. This time, though, she tacks on, “ooh, I don’t wanna hear that.”

“Really,” I agree.

“Although I’m sure you friends have heard us plenty of times through the years.”

“Probably.”

Later, it will turn out we had eight calls tonight, back at the apartment, though neither Damon nor I was home to receive them – one from my parents, one from Maria, one from Megan. The last 5, hilariously enough, are from Alan, looking to get into some mischief and some drinks.

March 25

Damon and I are out pricing sand for the living room. But we have no idea how many bags it will take, it might be as many as 50, and at $3.64 apiece this concept could get kind of pricy. Much more contemplation is required on this topic.

To that end, we drive around looking for a new bar worth checking out. Finally stumble upon one on Schrock Road that looks promising, and duck inside for a beer. Sitting at their rectangular shaped bar, just listening to the clientele is a blast.

“You look just like my mom,” this one kid in a ski cap says to an older woman clear across the bar, “I think that’s wonderful.”

                “Thanks,” she says, genuinely touched.

                “I can’t believe that motherfucker missed that basket!” some middle aged guy sitting two seats down from the ski cap kid shouts, watching a b-ball game on TV.

Funny vibe here, everyone knows everyone. Ski cap boy even tries to get us to play a game of pool with him, but we decline (which I feel kind of bad about, but am not in the mood). The regulars all post silly looking yearbook pictures of themselves, blown up to at least 8″ by 11″, on the one wall. We sit here for just one drink – 7 and 7 for Damon, Capt & Coke for me.

Back home, it starts snowing outside just after midnight. I’m looking at it, writing, thinking that my vacation will officially be over in about 7 1/2 hours.

March 27

Damon and I buy a bunch of accessories for this upcoming party. Later on, to Caddo’s, then the Roosters on 161. Our barmaid is good looking, and friendly enough, but obviously thinks we’re a bit ridiculous. Sitting at the bar, we meet a couple girls, talk to them a bit. The one in the red golf visor I’m clowning around with and tell her at one point, “talk to the elbow!” At other intervals, we ask our barmaid for an ink pen, and then later, in need of another round, I say, “more booze please,” to her.

“Ink pen? Booze? How old are you guys?” she questions with a laugh, though roughly the same age as us.

Finally, since it is after all right on our way home anyway and can’t be missed, we are obligated to swing into Gabby’s to cap the night off. Here there’s some tall new guy working bar, highly reminiscent of a high school jock type, though a little older than us. Although he does say some funny stuff, like addressing this one woman as “sugar tits.” It’s interesting to note the types of places where you can and cannot get away with antics like that. Here, nobody cares. Melon shots are a popular item tonight, too.

March 29

Damon’s on the outs with Maryland and figures he might give Megan a shot for real. To that end they have dinner with Alan and Tawnya. I’m over at Jill’s tonight. They’re trying to talk me into taking Mad Dog off their hands (Madeleine) but I don’t want any pets.

April 1

Home after work to snooze, laughing at the carnage from our party. Alex calls with some diabolical plan for us burning each other some missing Floyd CDs. So I burn The Wall for him, he makes Relics and Piper for me, then I run over to his apartment at 8 to trade them. He’s still living at the Continent. And has gotten into this Napster business (and its copycats) more than anyone I’ve ever seen. So in addition to the Floyd CDs, he also hands me another disc with 183 songs on it, somehow, all free stuff he’s downloaded from the internet. I don’t even know how he did this – must have encoded it as data instead of music, to fit all of this on there. And yet it plays on any regular old stereo, or in the car, all 183 tracks. After about a half hour listening to a bunch of stuff he has saved on his own computer, I bolt out of here.

April 2

Cold morning but sunny and warm by mid-afternoon. Come home after work to still trashed out apartment. Write some as I listen to first baseball games of season on AM radio. Damon gets in and we compare notes at last about the party. I walk up to the store with my last $9 and use it to buy a couple of 40s – Best Ice for me, Busch for Damon – to go with some meager dinner offerings. Home, drink, write, listen to the Floyd CDs. Fall asleep with my clothes on after a few very strong mixed drinks.

April 3

Very productive day off. Wake up around 11, ride my bike to the library to check job listings – I’m looking for a second, part-time gig, to help save for this house I plan on buying. $23,000 in the bank and counting, but the issue now, really, is the credit score, plus I don’t want to pull any of that out for a down payment if I can avoid it. I have 20% of my paychecks automatically deducted and going into the retirement account, which keeps me broke on the pocket money front half the time, but I’m not about to change that now.

While at the library, it’s also all but required of me to read the baseball box scores. Sunny, 62 degrees. Then home to write, write, write. I have to wrap up this novel, it’s driving me insane. It’s going to take quitting these stupid jobs to write full time before I’ll feel like I’ve arrived anyway.

In the meantime…I apply for a job posting at Muirfield Country Club today.

April 4

Today, I apply for a like position at Bravo, this Italian restaurant at the intersection of 23/270. The eagle has landed – Giant Eagle, that is – and we’re feeling it at work, sales are down and they’ve cut out overtime entirely.  So I look for a second job. Anyway, after applying there, I head in to work at my current full-time job.

April 6

after clocking out for the day I’m shopping for groceries and Carrie happens by.  In my little basket I’ve got stuff to make salad and homemade pizzas.  “Is this for the pizza?” she asks, holding up a package of pepperoni.

                “My, you’re very perceptive,” I crack.

                “Have me over, have me over!” she implores me, “have me over the next time you make pizza!”

                “Ah, you don’t wanna see my place,” I demur, playing her off for the time being.

                “My ex-boyfriend (interesting to notice how she refers to Eric in the past tense now) used to use these,” she says, pointing at a premade crust.”

                “I don’t screw around with those,” I tell her.  She repeats my words, and laughs.

Head over to Maria’s at about 9:30 tonight. Jamie and Jason are here, playing football on PS2. And then Clif’s friend Chris stops by – apparently he was making out with Maria at DiMarco’s, after leaving our party Saturday night. Maria and I make a beer run, then return to get a game of Beer Tree going. At first Jamie’s saying, “this game’s for pussies,” and yet within half an hour, he can barely keep his head up. He keeps dropping his cards on the Spin rule and has to chug beers as a result. Jason passes out completely right about then, and we have to stop the game.

Chris takes off for some party, the rest of us head up to DiMarco’s. Kind of a pointless night, really – then again, they’ve all seemed kind of pointless lately. I seriously need to shake things up around here. And who knows, maybe Carrie could be just the ticket for that.

April 7

For the 3rd day in a row, the weather has been outstanding, and today topped all. Work, then leave at 3 for an interview at Muirfield. I’d packed some nice clothes to change into, but drive shirtless the whole way there – for some reason I thought it a good idea to interview in this bulky sweater. Yikes! It must be 70 degrees outside!

I feel like I’m only an intermittently outgoing person, even though mostly always feeling even keeled on the inside. So who knows how or why this inspiration strikes. Today, I can’t really explain what got into me (well, the “inspiration” is fairly obvious, I would say, though this doesn’t necessarily motivate me to act all the time) but I’m standing there talking the receptionist’s ear off. And I feel like she is digging this! Cute little blonde, I wouldn’t mind hooking up with that. As far as the actual interview, though, I think it went well.

Later, Robin’s birthday party. She is 34 now.

April 10

All pumped up about working on music again, I spend the morning laying down some tracks on the Cakewalk computer program, and give Matt Montanya a call. He winds up coming over to play bass on one of my songs, and record a bunch of his own stuff he’s come up with. It’s such a great time! And also the first time we’ve worked on tunes together in almost exactly 8 years, since April of ’93. Then Damon gets in from Cincinnati and the three of us sit around my room listening to the Indians game on the radio, chatting about this and that. We polish off about 15 bottles of MGD between us.

April 12

Damon said something to me yesterday about how he’s hitting Easton tonight with some coworkers. He invited me, and while that sounds okay and all, I figure if there’s anything better to do than I certainly will. Leaving for work, it’s already a gorgeous day outside, so I load some golf clubs and a change of clothes into my car before heading out. Thinking that maybe I’ll call up Jamie and see if he wants to hang out, maybe, hit a driving range and/or happy hour.

As if an omnipotent superbeing, Jamie actually calls me at work for the first time in forever, before I have a chance to, with the exact same idea. So this immediately becomes the plan for this afternoon. Also, Lisa and Maria are looking to get into something, but I keep this in my back pocket as an emergency option.

After work, I change in the parking lot, grab a 6 pack of Busch bottles and slide over to Jamie’s place. He and his mom are just chilling in the living room, fully engrossed in some documentary TV show about colonial times. They always watch the craziest stuff over here. But anyway, his mom is looking hotter than usual, tanned and wearing shorts, her feet bare and toenails painted bright red. I sometimes wonder if Jamie knows that I would bang her in a heartbeat, should the opportunity ever present itself. And God would that be hysterical.

We knock back two beers apiece waiting on Maria and Lisa. After a couple phone calls, it’s decided we will meet them at Pockets, and I can already see our driving range plans are getting tossed out the window. In theory, we plan on still doing so after happy hour. But I have a sneaking suspicion there’s no way in hell this is going to happen.

Somehow, me manage to snag a parking spot in the Pockets front lot, after swerving through two radio station vans and a bunch of people shooting baskets, in this impromptu b-ball court they’ve erected here for tonight. Cracking up, we head inside, order a pitcher of beer and, for me anyway, some food – a half pound burger and mountain of fries. “I already ate some rigatoni and couple pieces of bread,” Jamie explains.

I hear someone calling my name and wheel around to see Roy and Mike, kicking it in a corner booth. They are here to meet the girls as well, but also to watch the Penguins playoff game later. Chris Benetrix is working here in the kitchen now and comes out to say hi, but he isn’t exactly in good spirits – eviction looming in 24 hours and he still has nowhere else lined up to stay. I figured his dad would probably take him in again at the last instant, but Jamie insisted those two weren’t on friendly terms anymore.

Jamie and I grab our pitcher and hit one of the many available pool tables.  Already, I can tell this is going to be a hilarious evening, although they usually tended to be with him anyway.  He seems to be a good teammate for me in picking up girls, I don’t know what it is.  I think his boisterous spirit is infectious, it rubs off not only on me but also any of the chicks we meet.  I mean, he’s so goddamn silly most of the time, you can hardly avoid laughing at his over the top antics.

And we seemingly hit paydirt right away, too. This tall blonde chick and her hot, short, Asian friend come from out of nowhere and stand there by our table, watching us play.  I couldn’t imagine there being a more obvious sign than this, and as Jamie pauses to hit the can, I walk over to ask them if they want to play us in doubles.

                “I don’t know,” the Asian says, interested but unsure about her friend, who is busy talking on a cell phone.

                “I think we’re gonna bounce,” the blonde says. 

                The Asian looks at me and shrugs, but it’s pretty comical the way this all pans out. While she’s standing here waiting for the blonde to get off the phone, here come Mike and Roy.  “You guys ready to play us in doubles?” they say and I laugh.

                “Sure, why not.”

                Jamie returns, and by the time that blonde finally hangs up, she and the Asian watch us play for about five seconds before leaving the bar entirely.  Served ‘em right.

Roy’s friend Kim shows up with two chicks, a hot brunette named Rachel but unfortunately another brunette who is quite hefty. Brad Martin and Greg Dillinger are on the premises, too, they both live and work around here. So I talk to them for a minute. Finally, the Yanik sisters show up, but Lisa’s in one of her moods, pissed off about something or other.

Then Roy and Mike are all fired up, because the bar insists upon keeping the hockey game volume off so people can watch Survivor instead. Therefore our entire mob defects in favor of Bumpers, with the exception of Maria, Jamie, and me. Lisa didn’t even bother to say goodbye, but whatever.

After about eight games of pool and a pitcher of beer, though, even we are ready to split. Maria says she will drive us over to Coaches, and we are game. But first, Jamie and I goof around in the parking lot, attempting to shoot baskets ourselves, while Maria is negotiating a deal with Scoot – he’s this black guy we know who works here, and she’s trying to buy some weed off of him.

Upon arrival at Coaches, Maria discovers she doesn’t have her ID. Not a problem at Pockets, but apparently it is at this place. So she drops us off and runs home to get it. Sitting at the bar, Jamie and I both order Captain and Cokes, and I let out a long, exuberent holler for no reason at all.

“Alright!” this cute brunette standing behind me says.

“Ah, it’s that Captain, he gets me excited,” I explain with a grin.

“Me too!” she says, then asks, “what are you drinking, Captain and Coke?”

“Yup!”

“So am I!” she replies.

All of which looks mighty promising, on the surface. Except right at this moment, I knock over my drink. Once again, I attempt to blame this on the captain, though this is a little less plausible. Or maybe more plausible, who knows. But either way she just says, “I know what you mean,” as she’s served her own drink, and walks off with some friends. I’m a little bit rattled, the spill threw me off my game. Still, even though Jamie’s telling me I should have gotten her number, I have to disagree – it feels a little forced after what amounts to a very short interaction. It feels way too aggressive. But if we bump into another again, I’m thinking, maybe.

Well, Maria returns and the three of us wait so long for the next round that we say to hell with this place and split. She wants to hit Polo’s, and drives over there, while Jamie and I race her on foot. He beats me by a few lengths. Here, we sit at the bar, it’s $3 Long Islands tonight and we are all but required to take partake. John’s bartending (he also used to mess around with Lisa), we knock back more than a few.

Or at least us guys do. Maria’s still in negotiations with Scoot, who says he will sell her a quarter of weed for $30. She collects $15 from Jamie, for he is interested in such (I am obviously not), to split the proceeds with her. Then she takes off yet again, driving clear over to Scoot’s place near Cleveland and 161 to conduct this transaction. Meanwhile, we sit here sipping drinks and awaiting her return.

Jamie’s talking to this nice looking, married blonde chick, but nothing comes of it. But then these two halfway decent barflies in their 30s drop down into seats near us, and we wind up chatting with them for quite some time, until they stand up to split, with discussions about us accompanying them to their next destination.

“We’re going to Zamboni’s,” the darker haired, larger chested woman says, “they’ve got a good DJ there.”

“Oh, fuck that,” I tell her, “we’ve got a dance floor here. Dance with me.”

She points a finger my way and tells me, “you need to be nicer to women!”

Eh, maybe she has a point, but it doesn’t matter. This was never a serious option because we have to wait on Maria to return anyway. Comparing notes later, it seems that my tab for tonight amounts to $63 all told, while Jamie spent $50.

April 13

When I get home from work this afternoon, there’s a message on our machine from Travis. I call him back, arrange to come in to Wild Oats and get my schedule set up to work there part-time. He’s the meat manager there and they only have four guys in the department, period, right, three of which I went to high school with. The other night when Matt was over here (one such fellow), he was totally exasperated, talking about this place, how short they are on help. Pacing around my room going on at length about the situation, he offered this bizarre detail of estimating, “I would say I’ve walked the earth…three times,” after legitimately trying to put a realistic number together, for how many job-related miles he has. That was basically all I needed to hear, though, and this sounds like exactly what I’ve been looking for.

I crash out for a fitful two hour nap, during which quite naturally the phone WILL NOT stop ringing. Finally give up and drive over to Max & Erma’s for an early dinner. Then return, call Clif, agree to follow him and Shekhar to some party. I shower and throw on some decent clothes and drive across town to meet them, at the Henderson Road Roosters.

The service here is horrible, but it doesn’t much matter. We soon disembark, me behind those two, the short distance to this apartment. In on some little residential street behind this very shopping center, accessible off of Reed, though I’m not sure I could find it again on my own. Then again Clif has directions, but we have a hell of a time finding the place anyway, so this only compounds the confusion.

Morgan is the hostess of this party, it’s her place. She’s one of these chicks that is so amazing in every way that it actually bums me out to no end to even think about the situation. It’s like, I feel pretty good about myself, that I’m doing well in life, on my way, crack myself up on a daily basis messing around with a handful of girls, et cetera…and yet I nonetheless CANNOT EVEN FATHOM any scenario where this Morgan chick would ever have any interest in me. I suppose it’s good every now and then to suffer one of these gut punches, to keep yourself in check while at the same time motivate you. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s classy, she’s nice, she has her act together. This is like sweeping an awards show, and yet everyone loves you anyway, even the people who lost to you.

Other than that, this party ends up being a riot (although even here, it’s true, we’ve been high fiving ourselves about a wild, wall-to-wall bash at our place two weekends ago…and yet this one puts it to shame. Maybe not in a head count per se, but absolutely in HPC, hotties per capita). But even so, this taste in my mouth, interacting with and watching Morgan tonight, it will stick with me for a while.

Anyway…the only other people I know here are Amy and Chris and…Matt McCready? He’s just standing in the middle of the living room, amid this mob of people, and I laugh, ask him what he’s doing here.

“I don’t know,” he admits, grinning.

“I don’t know anyone here,” I tell him.

“Neither do I,” he says.

However, this is the night where I get to finally meet Paul, the guy who owns the Schlotzsky’s where Clif and a couple of the others work. He’s hanging out with us, and almost right away, we realize that the keg is just about empty. Therefore the four of us hop in his minivan and make a secret beer run. While driving around, he’s talking about an impending divorce, and how his soon to be ex wife actually sent a private investigator around to spy on his ass.

“I’m like that Nelly song,” he jokes, although I suspect he may be lifting another comedian’s material here, “P.I., P.I., uh ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

We return, stuffing beers into every pocket we can, before rejoining the others. By this point, however, the action has already shifted – OSU campus style – to the apartment next door, where they just so happened to have a keg, too, this one still quite full. And by joining these two masses, the entire scene has become exponentially more action packed, though also a bit bro-tastic as a result. That’s the tradeoff. If it were me, true, living next door to Morgan, I would probably have a keg every weekend, praying for just this scenario.

We’re standing in this kitchen when some kid who knew Clif from a previous job materializes out of nowhere. As soon as he spots Clif, he gets on this outrageous kick just ripping on my old pal here, to the extent Shekhar and I are crying we are laughing so hard, seriously in danger of pissing ourselves with laughter. Meanwhile Clif just looks kind of dumbfounded and bewildered, wondering what he did to get this dude riled up. It starts out friendly enough – and remains friendly, technically speaking – with hail thees and so forth. Then this kid really hits his stride.

“You’ve got so much potenial!” he keeps shouting at Clif, as though imploring him to get please get it together, for the love of god. And then at other times, he’s interjecting stuff, like, “wow, Clif, how old are you? And you’re still a fast food manager!? If I was your age and I was still a fast food manager, I’d probably kill myself. You’ve got so much potential! Is this really what you want to do with your life? You wanna be a fast food manager your whole life? I mean, what is your goal in life, is to be a manager at every fast food restaurant in Columbus?”

And so on. This seriously goes on for a good 10-15 minutes. Shekhar and I are literally begging the kid to stop – through our teary-eyed laughter, that is. This dude is kind of a wiseass, though (as if that weren’t obvious). Because after this, he gets on this kick where he is determined he is going to guess what Shekhar’s name is. We’re all like, no, seriously, dude, just give up, because you are never going to get it. But he just goes on and on, throwing out names.

Fortunately, there is much more happening than this. I do manage to meet a couple of nice looking females, like one named Abby, and another named Marion. Neither seem particularly interested in yours truly, however. Some kid is going around all night showing people this picture of a girl he knows in a thong. I try to talk to Amy a little bit, though she’s being curiously unfriendly tonight. I’m just going through one of these phases, I guess, where lately it seems like everybody’s kind of rude to me, everywhere I go. So there’s this inevitable push and pull, where I have to wonder if maybe I’ve gotten a little too obnoxious, and this is the response I’ve earned, a reminder to dial it down a notch.

Then again, it turns out I do know somebody else here, that redheaded Stephanie chick I’ve also met once or twice before thanks to Clif. She is positively blasted and at one point tells me, entirely unprovoked, “you can get to third base with me, but that’s it.” The downside here is that she’s kind of annoying, and not much to look at besides, so I pawn her off onto that Paul guy.

This Paul seems pretty cool, but I’m also thankful for his presence for another, kind of strange reason: the girls are no more interested in him at this party than they are in me. Which is an oddly cheerful thought. Even as I don’t know if that’s a message to consider what’s realistic, or to tell oneself fuck that, I can pull off whatever I want. He’s like where I always pictured myself in ten or fifteen years, or at least something to shoot for. A tanned, handsome guy in his late 30s or early 40s, clearly loaded, driving a nice car, you name it, even funny as hell from what I have seen. But so what, right? He might as well be a goofy 26 year old kid who works at a goddamn grocery store because he’s no more a babe magnet at this party than I am. Meanwhile, all the chicks are busy chasing around these 20 year old knuckleheads with acne on their faces and dressed like choir boys. Maybe in a better setting someone like Paul might do better, but being there is clearly a waste of time for him just as it is for me. 

Well, at least there are other amusements to be found elsewhere. At one point, this passed out dude in a kitchen chair attracts a huge mob. All because four or five other kids are busy duct taping his hands together, then his feet. Once they’ve accomplished this, they then grab a Sharpie, and draw a highly detailed image of a penis on his cheek, to make it look as though it’s pointed toward his mouth. Finally, they secure some Post-It notes, write a bunch of hilarious messages, and stick these all over his body. Meanwhile the rest of us are standing in a circle, three deep or so, watching this like a sporting event, sipping our beers, making wisecracks, and offering color commentary on the scene.

Whoa, but then, what is this? The kid in the chair, his eyes suddenly snap open, he begins struggling in his chair.

“HE’S ALIVE!!!!!” one of the instigators screams, as though spotting Godzilla and advising us to run for the hills.

April 14

Dragging ass at work for the 2nd morning in a row. Fortunately, last night was not nearly as wild as Thursday. Then later spend a nice, quiet, enjoyable night at home alone. Writing, listening to music, sipping the 151 proof rum Melissa brought me back from the Bahamas when she went there for spring break. In the back of my mind, I just assume the phone will ring at some point, and I might think about getting into something. Jamie does call, but I never answer, nor call him back – after Thursday, I can scarcefully afford another night on the town with that maniac. Both financially and physically, you might say.

I work on that Cabin in the Woods tune some, the one I had Matt play bass on. At some point soon I will burn demos and hand them out to a few people, to see who’s maybe interested in contributing to this junk. I wouldn’t say the plan is to make the demos intentionally bad. However, I think it might be counterintuitively a good idea to circulate really rough demos instead of making them sound better first, because then you can see who’s for real, and who’s on your wavelength.

I mean, who are we kidding anyway. This stuff is bound to be half-baked and mighty “off the hook” regardless. We have no idea what we’re doing. But at least you can maybe pre-qualify some people, see whether they get it or not. If not, no great loss, assuredly.

April 15

Last night, after working on that stuff (technically this morning) I tried to go to bed around midnight, but then toss and turn for the next few hours. And then at three, some neighbor’s dog starts into the most insistent, annoying bark I’ve ever heard, to the extent that even getting up to shut my window only helps so much.

April 16

After work I head over to Jill’s. She rented Almost Famous and I’ve been wanting to see this.

April 17

First night at the new part-time job! I start at Wild Oats.

After this, Matt and I slide through the R Bar for some adult beverages. It’s in Clintonville, on High Street, my first time here though he is obviously a regular – it’s really close to where he and Kevin and Vanessa live. Great food – I order a sub and fries, both of which are excellent – and it’s a real cozy atmosphere, peppered with enough females to hold our attention. Even though we get on a roll talking about old times and our current musical project, mostly tuning out our surroundings.

April 18

Matt comes over to jam some more, we record a few more song bits and polish up some of the stuff we recorded last week.  After that – and 3 bottles of Labatt’s Blue apiece – he and I head up to Gabby’s, are talking way too loud here about baseball, mainly the Cleveland Indians, and our good old days playing in the neighborhood.  Then he takes me to this bar up on 161 that is unbelievably happening for a place I’d never even noticed before, this dive called Dino’s that I’ll definitely be hanging out in quite a bit.  Three hotties there, all blonde and wearing tight jeans and the same long sleeved red blouse – what was up with that? – but I really dig this short brunette with curly, half-assed dyed blonde hair and big tits, a nice round bootie. I about come unglued when she bends over the pool table at one point.  I say hi to her to lay the groundwork, have told myself I simply must have that girl. Whew. I don’t know what it is but she fits into that whole mold that I thought I was done fantasizing about but apparently not. It’s funny how some random encounter can get your wheels turning like that – objectively not even technically the “best” looking female you’ve seen tonight, much less all week or month or whatever – to where you can’t stop thinking about her.

                After knocking back some beverages here, Matt drives like a maniac over to some girls’ house up the road that he knows, but they weren’t home and we head back to my pad – he’s driving even crazier in his bronze or gold colored or whatever Mercury, it’s a very nice car but must be costing him an arm and a leg – and we’re singing out Beastie Boys lyrics and he heats up some ramen noodles. I tell him to crash on our brown couch instead of risking a drive home.

April 19

Sunny and warm out again, finally. After 5 or 6 days of 60-70 degree weather last week, we had about three cold ones in a row – hell, it even snowed on Tuesday – but today finally turns that trend back around again.

After working the normal shift, I swing by the house to change my shoes and socks – feet are wet and hurting – before continuing out to Worthington Galena Road for a 5-9 shift there. Stop at Wendy’s for a late lunch en route. This entire night finds me alone in meat and seafood. Farisa is the manager and is looking fine as always, she even compliments me by saying what a good job I do. So nice to hear – and wonder if anyone will ever tell me that at my home store.

I can barely believe my ears at another point, too, when 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle comes on over the Muzak. Now it feels like I truly have heard everything. I stand there smiling in disbelief behind the counter, just listening to it, thinking about how a couple of years ago, it was equally surprising to hear R.E.M., U2, Foo Fighters…then it was Alice In Chains, Filter, Monster Magnet.

Who says Muzak ain’t hip?

The night paces itself out perfect, too. From 5 to 6 I am busy on the counter and stocking the wall case. From 6 to 7 I write out by hand four pages of this screenplay I’ve been working on. Then at 7 I start closing down seafood, at 8 I start on meat and am out of here by 9. Dan Hedges is in here shopping – he quit to start his own home remodeling business, says it’s going well – and aside from him, the store doesn’t have many customers at all but virtually every one we DID is an absolute knockout babe. Talking to this one skinny blonde with her shirt unbuttoned so far I can see a butterfly tattooed on her tit, that was a pleasant little encounter, and then as I’m leaving I notice this one amazing blonde I used to work with at Morse Road, she’s in the office here now (I think her name was Jenny) and it all puts me in a good mood.

After leaving here, I swing by the Roosters on 161 for dinner. Sit at the bar. That one blonde barmaid is working again and it seems that she remembers me from that hilarious night Damon and I were in here last week or whatever. She’s pretty friendly actually and I think I might have been wrong about her the first time.

Meanwhile, I set a personal deadline to have the final draft of Night Driving done by the end of this month. I’ve been working on this for eight years, and I’m tired of it. Time to wrap this thing up, publish it and move on. I can’t wait.

April 20

At Polo’s with Tommy, Ryan, Maria, Tony – and then Alison, Gina! Yes. I bump into them again here, unexpectedly, and they wind up joining us. “Hey there, friend,” Alison says, throwing an arm around me. She says she saw me sitting over here (we have a corner booth) but was nervous about approaching, because she wasn’t sure if I’d remember her.

“Of course I do,” I assure her. She always was a little strange, I guess – although then again you could argue this represents my wheelhouse, strange chicks.

Maria is grumbling something while I’m talking to Alison, I’m not sure what. Gina is eventually in the mix as well, and talk inevitably turns to those infamous pictures from a handful of years ago. These two will always have a soft spot in my heart, heh heh, as really the first “success story” from when we moved down here.

“Those pictures,” Alison says emphatically, “were ripped up and burned, as were the negatives.”

“But why!?” I shriek.

“Those pictures were awful,” she says.

“They embarrassed her. I didn’t really care, myself,” Gina offers.

Digits are dispensed, although this has happened before and nothing really came of it. Alison’s engaged now, anyway, so I’m not really expecting much. Gina meanwhile is friendly half the times I see her, not so much the other half, but this happens to be one of the good encounters. Then again she cheers that this is her “fourth day of drinking,” non-stop, because she’s between jobs at the moment. So that certainly might account for something.

After they leave, Tommy and Ryan seem impressed, and ask me for details on who the fuck these girls were. I explain the backstory in bulletpoint, starting with that initial foray, Doug and me playing a drinking game with them and taking a bunch of scandalous pictures. Doug getting somewhere with Gina that very night. My subsequent adventures with Alison, various stalled attempts since then. So they’re finding this stuff somewhat entertaining, and it inspires Tommy into a much more talkative turn than usual.

“What’s up with that one Karen girl you and Doug worked with?” he asks, “blonde, hippie chick…?”

It takes me a moment to figure out who he’s even talking about. “Oh…Carrie?” I finally say.

“Yeah,” Tommy laughs before divulging, “man, I used to fuck the SHIT out of her.”

Now it’s my turn to find all this hilarious, as I seriously never heard anything about such until this very moment. Tommy and Carrie? This would be four years later and I’m just now finding out! Wow. One other revelation concerning tonight, too, is that up until now, I’ve always sort of considered Tommy and Ryan as standoffish, but I think maybe they’re actually just somewhat shy, when you get down to it. When you see some bigger guys, vaguely imposing looking, with nonplussed expressions if not scowls on their faces half the time, I think you just naturally assume they’re aloof, possibly even dickheads. But I’m beginning to realize these two might actually be a little bit socially awkward, especially around women, more so than me even. Then again though I say this about myself, I feel like I’ve nonetheless had some shocking successes at times with truly off the wall strategies, so there are always workarounds. And they’ve done alright as well. Actually I guess I don’t really feel particularly shy at this point myself, but have learned somehow to say as little as possible – you get yourself in far less trouble this way.

“She kept wanting to get with me but I wasn’t interested, all I wanted to do was fuck her,” Tommy concludes, laughing heartily to recall all that.

April 21

Rough night last night and I roll into work barely on time this morning, feeling hungover and eager to catch some shuteye when this day is over. Unfortunately it’s a double, between Kroger and Wild Oats.

April 26

Alan called me yesterday to ask if I wanted to meet at Traditions tonight, because it’s Steve’s final shift bartendering here. And I agree to such. So after work, I change in the bathroom, drive up there to meet him – except he never shows. Steve is here, of course, but it’s kind of boring by myself and I don’t stick around very long. Come home and write some on the computer. No phone call or message or any other sort of explanation from Alan, it almost goes without saying. Hilarious but somewhat expected.

April 27

Jill and I hit Friday’s for dinner and a few drinks, then shoot some pool and drink some more at Polo’s.

April 28

After getting off at Wild Oats, Matt and I swing through the R Bar. I have no pocket loot but agree to go anyway – Matt buys me one beer before we split, head our separate ways.

May 1

Get home from the second of my two jobs to a pleasant surprise, as Damon and Paul are just hanging out in the living room. Megan joins us at some point and we end up down on campus – Northberg Tavern, Out-R-Inn.

At the latter, we’re standing on the back patio, shooting the breeze as some rap music plays overhead, and I happen to spot Brennan. I run over, punch him in the chest and say howdy.  With him, he has this skinny brunette with a decent body but boring face – that’s the only way I know to describe it.  Attractive, but boring.

                “He’s the only reason I kept my sanity at Kroger!” Brennan explains to her by way of introducing me.  She said her name twice, but all I can recall is that it started with an S.

                Brennan goes on to say that this black guy walked out in front of his car on 5^th recently, and it just so happened to be Scott Hart.

                “No shit!” I marvel, “what’s he up to these days?  Still out on the east side with that one chick that was driving him crazy?”

                “No, no, he’s a painter now,” Brennan tells me, “he’s with a different chick now.  But wait, who was that one guy who used to work with you in the meat department, kind of scruffly looking, he was always telling me I needed to read Hunter S. Thompson….”

                “That was probably me!” I point out.

                “No, no, this guy always had a scruffly beard, sometimes he wore glasses…..”                

I actually think Brennan might be confusing certain details about me and Doug, getting our “attributes” mixed up. I find it much more likely that Doug would have been helping him keep his sanity; meanwhile, it’s hard to imagine anyone else but me was rhapsodizing back there about Hunter S. But I don’t know. There could be some other degenerate I’m forgetting about.

May 2

I was planning on seeing if Carrie wanted to go out for some drinks tonight, but never really have a chance to. There’s also this backup plan of an invite to Robin, to come over to her place, that I also have to bail out on. This works out well, though, and I’m thankful in the end for how things went down today.

It’s a gorgeous day I have totally off from both jobs, and I am wondering what to get into. Then Radick manages to reach me, saying he wants to drive down and maybe hit campus for some beers – could be the last time before he moves to Florida on the 12th. Then I ring up Damon at work but he says he has some big meeting he can’t get out of, plus he already made plans with Maryland for later. At this point I’m actually still debating whether to invite Carrie along, but figure she will be bored to tears sitting there with Paul and me. Therefore decide to skip it.

But again, this winds up all working for the better, I must say. Thinking about how I’d like to write something about Bedlam one of these days, I have a whole list of questions to ask those guys. Anyway, Paul and I wind up at Gabby’s, sitting out on their patio, and I have the list along with my pocket tape recorder. So we just fire away with this “interview” and I record him. It feels good to have knocked that out before it was maybe too late.

May 3

Finally roll out of bed at 12:30, a second day off in a row. It’s hard to remember the last time this ever happened apart from a planned vacation. Chill around the house writing while listening to an afternoon Indians game, intermittently attempting to call Carrie at work about possible happy hour shenanigans and beyond. The first time, though, I’m put on eternity hold. I tried again an hour later, and whoever answers – I don’t recognize the voice – he tells me to try back in 15 minutes, she’ll be back around then. It’s more like half an hour when I make the third and final attempt today, where I find myself on eterntiy hold again. So screw it. Does make you wonder, though, what happens when a customer calls the store with a legitimate question that needs answered. Or for that matter a coworker with actual work-related business.

Robin calls, though, to invite me over there again. It’s 80 plus degrees out again today, just like yesterday, and this long hair is driving me crazy. How did I make it through last summer with even shaggier locks? So I drive out to my favorite barber, and then stop at a thrift store on my way home for some decent warm weather shirts.

May 5

At this place on campus called Roxy for their Cinco De Mayo blowout. Great ratio tonight for our posse: Damon and me with Maryland, Melissa, Melanie (second night in a row it’s the two of us plus three females). They’re featuring $7.50 fishbowls tonight on the mixed drink front and we are most definitely partaking of those bad boys. That loudmouth Jeff guy that Melissa knows, he is not “with” us but is also here at one point, comes over to our table to say howdy. In consideration of how loudly he always talks, I shout everything to him in all-caps, you might call it, though normal conversational volume would suffice. Everyone else is cracking up but Jeff doesn’t get it, he crinkles his eyebrows with a puzzled smirk and asks how much I’ve had to drink.

May 8

Quite the night running around with Matthew Montanya – R Bar, Larry’s, looking for these girls, finally The Library, then Out-R-Inn…where we just so happen to bump into Damon and Paul hanging out, on the back patio! Decent time drinking there.

May 9

Early adventures with Robin at lunchtime, then head in to work. Then after my shift there, I change in the car and then meet up with the guys at Trads for what is basically Paul’s big sendoff – it’s him, Damon, Alan, and me. Nothing too crazy, although I do run into Mike Soter and Drew Forster. We are inevitably bound to discuss that infernal Damon’s restaurant where all three of us once worked.

“God, wasn’t that place FUCKED UP?” I moan.

                “It was, but we all learned a lot from working there,” Drew observes, “you learned how to deal with every situation imaginable.”

                True.

                Soter whoops my ass in darts like the good old days, but at least this time I have enough sense not to bet him any money. He’s still got the touch. I surprise myself by throwing halfway decent, however.

May 11

I come home and crash (rainy day) after work, at around 6pm. –

-Wake up at 9:30; message from Maria, I call her back.

-drive over there. Supposed to meet at 11 but nobody’s here. So I sit on her front porch eating tacos & drinking beer.

-walk to Kroger at 11:30 to call her cell phone, see where the hell she’s at; here lately she & Andrea are all chummy somehow, so Maria just went down to campus to get her, now they have returned. So I walk back over there.

-they’ve got Jordan with them, too. Maria’s supposed to be babysitting him tonight but instead we leave him there. He’s 13, so whatever, the kid should be fine.

-Andrea & I start arguing immediately; Maria tells Andrea she needs to be more like me & not give a fuck about anything

-Dane calls

-Maria calls Lisa’s cell phone. After discussing matters with her, we agree to meet them over at Alumni Club

-none of the logistics make any sense whatsoever tonight. There’s no reason why, for example, I should have driven over there, Maria gone down to get Andrea and back again, only for us to ride out to the Alumni Club anyway. But I think the basic mindset I am in, which everyone has been in before, is that I am Along For The Ride Man tonight. I am not figuring anything out. Somebody else can worry about it.

-So we are drinking beer and listening to rap music the whole way, with Maria at the wheel. Andrea’s riding shotgun, I’m in the back.

-Lisa & Bridgette are already at the bar with these two guys, Rick & Anthony. Both seem pretty okay. Rick thinks he’s gonna hook up with Andrea, though, and starts buying our beers

-Actually, I’m drinking Cap’n & Coke

-closing time seems to come quick. we head back to Bridgette’s pad in Bexley. Before that happened, Lisa starts talking about she & I used to stay up & “watch movies” together; Anthony (her new dude) gives me dirty looks.

-Andrea & I argue some more on the way over to Bridgette’s. I think it’s fun, even though she keeps starting it. Actually, though one of us laughs a lot and the other one seems angry, I suspect she gets some weird kick out of this, too.

-hilarious time at Bridgette’s. Who knew Maria could be so funny?

-drop Andrea off at 4am

-home by 5

May 25

Work Kroger and Wild Oats. Talk to Sharon. Over to Matt & Kevin’s, watch Indians game there. Then Matt & I cruise up to Traditions, Sharon is meeting us here. Before she arrives, I’m telling Matt that beer goggles may be required for this mission, I’m not sure. He’s never met her before. When she shows up, we’re playing darts, she says hi but then has to duck into the ladies’ room.

“Fuck dude!” Matt marvels, “I thought you said we were gonna need beer goggles! I don’t need beer goggles! She’s hot!”

“I know,” I chuckle, but explain to him the scenario here, that was she hot the last time we saw her, but before that was always a dog. So I wasn’t quite sure what to expect tonight.

We stay here for a spell, knock back a few. Then the three of us drive down to Matt’s place, pass around a bottle of Blackhaus schnapps while he plays guitar. There is some singing involved, too, not a ton, like Sharon and I attempting to duet on STP’s Sour Girl.

May 30

Sunny, gorgeous scheduled day off. I’ve agreed to work at the new Delaware store at 2, though, and drive that way. But two ridiculous traffic jams later, it’s obvious that I’m not going to make it there until way later than that, who knows when. I’m not sure what the deal is. But I turn around, come home and cancel.

Out drinking at Traditions later. Damon’s sick and can’t go (a semi-cover story, because although legitimately sick, he is also over at Maryland’s house). So at first it winds up being just Alan, Tawnya, Megan, and me, chilling at one of those side tables. But…I just so happen to have called a bunch of people at the last minute myself, some of which wind up meeting us there. It ends up being a crazy night, then, on the dynamic front, as far as the people involved and how bizarre this all seems as a result. Otherwise nothing too exciting really happens.

We’re a few beverages into the night when Matt Montanya rolls in – crazily enough, it turns out that he already knows Tawnya and Megan somehow, which they eventually discuss and piece together. Lucky for him, too, he’s shown up here well-dressed, is none too drunk tonight, in one of his calm and chilled out moods, just hanging back and nodding his head and not saying a ton. I think this approach works well for him, when he’s inspired enough to attempt it.

Then Maria pops in here, with Andrea again. I’m thinking that it’s never a bad thing on the competitiveness front to have other females in your midst, as they shoot one another suspicious, semi-belligerent glances – even when there’s absolutely nothing going on here between us whatsover, like with Megan. And at one point tonight Maria tells me in an aside, “Andrea really likes you, Pockets,” but that she feels uncomfortable now after the stuff with Jamie. I truly do not care one whit about that, but I do believe that if you dig deep enough and really get to the heart of matters, Andrea is much more of a major, major bitch than you would ever guess at first blush. So I’m kind of leery on that front. And then she has some Brian dude show up here anyway, whom she’s clearly at least somewhat involved with, making this all a moot point besides.

May 31

Utterly ridiculous night. After my Kroger shift, there’s early talk about us relocating across town to my sandbox, but we never quite make it. Begins innocently enough as Jamie and I stomp Maria and Christine in euchre, while Nick watches, mooches, drinks beer. I leave to get more brew, then by the time I return to Maria’s place, Matt Montanya has arrived. Jamie is being hilariously mean to Christine for some reason, then leaves with Nick. Andrea calls, yelling about something or other.

So what do we do? We decide to run off and meet Andrea at Vinny’s, of course! Sounds like a swell idea.

Well, at Vinny’s, she’s at least sitting here with her sister. So that’s something. I wouldn’t mind getting with the sister, in fact (provided she’s not as crazy as Andrea, that is), but in my greasy tee shirt I’d been wearing underneath the Kroger attire all day, smelly pants and shoes, I’m not exactly going to pick up many ladies tonight. Elsewhere, Chris happens to be here with Emily. I jokingly interrogate him, to which he insists he positively is not hooking up with Maria, rumors be damned.

Sorrowful beers in the corner while everyone fights. Matt and I laugh about stupid shit just to keep ourselves entertained. Christine meets some preppy married guy. More fighting between her and Maria. We troop back to Maria’s house. Married guy calls. Christine gives him directions to her house. But then outside, it’s raining, and she can’t get her car to turn over – the starter’s out. Matt and I are out there in this downpour trying to push her down a slight hill in the parking lot, so she can pop the clutch. This isn’t working, however…because she suddenly realizes she’s out of gas! So then I have to drive her home, in a mild panic, so she can be there when the married guy shows up. Then return to Maria’s myself.

“Those are some low budget friends you’ve got, there,” Matt will tell me, with a weary shake of the head. I tell him I don’t hang out with this crew very often – sounds good, anyway. We crash here.

June 5

Strange, strange day. Wake up at 4am on my own accord, and rather than fall back asleep, I read, work on my Night Driving proofs to be sent back to the publisher by the 14th. Then at 6, I get dressed, drive out to the Sawmill Road store – agreed to set the seafood case there to help those guys out. Laughingly easy job there, I clock in at 6:30 and am done by 8. Slide through a McDonald’s drive thru for breakfast, en route to Bethel Road for my 8:30 shift there.

A rough night with my smashed thumb follows, because I still have to work at Wild Oats, too. Then come home and die on the couch, attempt drinking enough of the screwdrivers to fall asleep there. I fall asleep during Letterman but then this weird commercial wakes me up, it’s that instrumental with the trumpet I remember from childhood – never knew who did this song! It’s Chuck Mangione, something to do with him, I think an upcoming performance here in town. Fortunately, I have the next two days off to recuperate, buy myself time for this thumb to heal.

June 6

Spend the day writing (sore thumb thankfully only needed for SPACE bar). Leave hilarious message on Carrie’s machine.

June 7

Clippers game with Damon, Maryland, and her little girl. It’s a good time, though Columbus looks ugly in getting waxed by Toledo 10-2. Four runs given up in the first inning and five more in the second, it’s a lost cause early. We drink beer and sneak up to the front row.

Later on, I part ways with them and meet Alan for a couple beers at Traditions. He’s dressed sharply in shirt, slacks, tie, just got off work at Executive Jet. All of us are pulling separate directions now, and I feel like this story is drawing to a close. Alan’s even talking crazy, says he loves what he’s doing and wouldn’t mind working there for the rest of his life. To hell with that, I say, and tell him as much.

June 8

Melissa graduates from OSU! Our last true link to campus, that scene, any of it, as she’s already moved out of the sorority house. So a rite of passage and not just for her. Party at her place later, I call for directions. “Are you bringing any of your crazy friends?” she asks, jokingly wonders about Christine.

June 11

Mad traffic on the base paths today, at Kroger, to use a baseball reference. When Damon drops off an application, he says he’ll be over to Maria’s later for the cookout, him and Maryland. Good enough.

I call Jamie, run home, shower, throw on some clothes, stop to grab beer, run over to his house, grab him – I’m wearing my safari hat, and he throws his on as well, along with some shades – and we roll into Maria’s looking like a couple of idiots.

“What’s with the lampshades?” Mike Nelson asks, in reference to these hats.

“Are you high?” Roy questions.

Jamie has already eaten, but I grab some food, join Lisa. She’s watching this euchre game, it’s Mike and Roy destroying Maria and Bridgette. Damon and Maryland just sit on one couch. Meanwhile, Maryland’s little girl Kaitlyn (not sure about the spelling there) is being chased around the house by Bridgette’s little boy, Alec.

Much later, we somehow end up playing poker for pennies. This turns into a marathon, but somewhat willingly on my part. Lisa is even down for the count at a relatively early hour, which almost never happens. The thing is, though, I have to leave for Lake Erie at 5am and don’t want to miss the bus like I did last year. Therefore just want to keep playing cards right up until the moment I have to split.

So in the end, the only three left playing are Jamie, Bridgette, and me. Bridgette’s drunk and flirty – not uncommon I have to admit, despite her married status – and keeps bending over in this low cut tank top so we can check out her cleavage. Then she’s talking about this rafting trip she and Tara went on recently which left her bruised all to hell.

“Got some here and here,” she says, pointing to various purple spots on her arms and legs. “And here,” she adds, lifts up her shorts to show us one on the bottom of her pale yet plump ass, “and here,” she continues, unexpectedly pulls her shorts down to reveal another in the middle of a cheek.

“Wow,” I laugh, and look over at Jamie, “that’s one hell of a raspberry.”

But by this point Jamie’s nearly passed out, he’s got his shades on and is nodding off at the table. In other news – Damon and Maryland and Kaitlyn left hours ago; Roy and Mike right after them; Lisa is passed out on a couch; Maria went up to bed; Alec is sacked out on the other couch. And here it’s 4:15, time for me to split, as I’m running Jamie home first before driving across town to catch that bus.

“I can’t believe you guys are leaving me,” Bridgette says, after handing me her phone number, and asking for mine.

June 13

Kroger, then over to Jamie’s house. Nick’s there, then Jason stops by. Jamie’s telling us more stories about his recent trip to North Carolina – notably, showing off this new multi-colored bong he bought there. Maria calls, Jamie answers.

“Hey,” he then says to us, “Maria wants us to come over to play ping bong.”

This is an honest mistake, his mixing up of the words – he obviously had “bong” on his mind and wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Ping bong?” Nick questions, which leads me to speculate how that might work, using Jamie’s bong for the ball.

But Jamie’s off the phone now, guarding his prized possession suspiciously. “No way,” he says, clutching the bong, “this is my souvenir from North Carolina.”

I know what this ping pong business is about, actually, because Maria already called me earlier. Tommy just sold the thing, so she wants to play on it one last time before some guy shows up on Friday to get it.

So now we jet over there, timing it so Jason can show up a few minutes ahead of us and we can pretend he wasn’t at Jamie’s (long story – Maria gets pissed off knowing those two hang out together). No one’s here, so we play a game of spades in the parking lot with this deck of cards Jamie just happens to have on him for some mysterious reason. Drinking bottled beer from my 12 pack and Nick’s sixer.

Before we even finish our first game (Jamie & Nick v. me & Jason), Maria rolls in with Damon and Maryland. Beers and ping pong in the hot basement first listening to heavy metal – Tool’s new song, Metallica – and then upstairs for some euchre. Nick leaves without saying a word to anyone. Maryland is mildly upset, says she feels like some of Damon’s friends “don’t like the fact” that the two of them are together.

“Who?” Damon questions, and points to me, “him? He’s the only friend I have left. Everyone else is getting married and moving on and everything else.”

“No, not Pockets, I know he don’t give a fuck about anything,” she replies.

It turns out she’s talking about Jamie, which is funny, because he and Damon barely know one another – even though I spend a ton of time hanging out with both. Sometimes I feel like my life is compartmentalized to an insane degree, with barely any overlap between the elements, and this is one good example of that. Certainly it is compartmentalized more than anyone else I personally associate with; some people, it’s like one big all-inclusive party, with everybody they know coming together all the time, but it’s not like that for me. Some of that is by design, but a lot of it’s due to pure chaos, too.

None of us know what Maryland’s talking about at the moment, though, will only find out later. At any rate, talk soon shifts to Maryland and Maria discussing various anxiety attacks they’ve suffered in the past.

“Have you ever had a panic attack, Pockets?” Maryland asks me. Damon busts out laughing.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I retort.

“What?” she says.

Damon laughs again and declares, “yeah, really, is she kidding?”

“Well, have you?”

“Fuck no,” I tell her, then add as a joke, “I’ve never even had heartburn.”

Damon and Maryland leave, and by now it’s 3:30am. Hungry as all get out, the rest of us pile into cars and strike off for the Waffle House at 161/71, the closest one to us. Tee Jaye’s is even closer, of course, but nobody wanted that. Plus the service here is better. Maria insists on driving separately, though none of us can fathom why. So this means Jason drives Jamie and me in his car. Mad grubbing here. I order a ton and Jamie even more, ordering all these extra sides – pancakes and a cheesesteak omelet with toast, like me, but also a side of grits, and he even eats half of my toast on top of his own. All the while wearing those shades of his, a nice touch. Oh, except wait, inspired by him, I have mine on too, along with the safari hat.

For the return voyage, Maria drops Jamie off, while I ride with Jason. He’s telling some drawn out tale about some car he used to own, and I try to listen, I really want to – he rarely talks about anything – but I keep nodding off. Behind my shades, though, he can’t tell. Or so I believe.

“You’re not even paying attention, are you?” he finally says, as we turn off Bethel onto Dierker, “you’re off in la-la land!”

“What, huh? No, I was listening…”

I crash on Maria’s couch at 5 something in the morning. Jason either heads upstairs to join Maria in bed, or goes home, I’m not sure.

June 14

Maria never bothers setting the alarm clock for me anymore, because my internal one has gotten really good at this. Not scheduled in across the street until 9, I pop up on the couch extremely early, make it over there to clock in at 8 instead this morning. Days like this I even find kind of amazing myself.

June 19

Talking to Carrie for an eternity. She insists she never got my last message – we think Eric probably erased it. They are off again, on again. “Eric’s such a homebody, he never wants to go anywhere,” she moans, “I go out all the time.” It would seem I am just a backup plan, but that’s totally okay by me.

June 21

Early shift at Kroger. Leave at 2. Pop over to Drug Emporium, pick Jamie up. We drive out to my apartment, I change, grab the tickets. Then head back across town to his place. His mom is here, home sick from work. She asks me not to let Jamie “get too fucked up.” We hit Bumpers for two pitchers of beer ($3.95 each) and half price appetizers (chicken fingers, cheese sticks) and are here until about 5. Back to Jamie’s, he calls Ryan and Patrick and I drive him up there.

Along the way, we stop at this convenience store on Sawmill. After getting out of my car, there’s this very strange encounter in the parking lot, when this hot, short chick with long brown hair exits that building, as we are approaching it.

“Hi Paw Kids,” she says to us, and though I think this weird, I don’t say anything.

But then Jamie, on a dime, blurts out, “can I have a hug?” and stomps after her.

“No!” she says, grimacing, and bolts for her car.

She leaves, we enter the store. I’m laughing my head off, but it turns out this wasn’t even the strangest aspect of that encounter.

“That was Kelly,” Jamie tells me, as he’s picking up beer and cigarettes.

“The one Ryan used to bang?” I question.

“Yeah.”

“But she used to be blonde,” I recall, “I didn’t even recognize her.”

“That was her,” he assures me.

The weird part, though, is that this still doesn’t make any sense. Okay, so she had obviously said, “Hi Pockets,” instead of “Paw Kids.” But then why not address Jamie at all? I only met her once, and he knows her much better. All I can think of is that maybe she’s not a big Jamie fan, which that frown as she scurried to her car may have indicated. Even so, she’s hot, and yet I didn’t recognize her, cannot even imagine how she would possibly remember me. Chalk it up to one of life’s little compelling mysteries.

Up at Ryan’s apartment, when we enter, he’s chopping out a line of K on his living room coffee table, snorts it as we sit there. Patrick and that black dude Dee are here as well, but don’t seem to be getting messed up as of yet.

“Tim and I are going to Powell Road when that store opens, and we want to bring you along too,” Ryan tells me, “we’ll build a crew up there.”

I miss working with those guys, and that sounds great to me. But we’ll just see what happens. It doesn’t matter at the moment, though, because we’ve got the big Prince show tonight, and I’m running late. None of these dudes are going, though, I’m just dropping Jamie off. And it doesn’t matter much because although it’s almost 6, and I was supposed to be at Maria’s at 5:30, I know we’ll just be sitting around forever anyway.

When I barge through the front door, it’s just Maria, Bridgette, and Clif, sitting around drinking. I make a bit of a lopsided entrance, causing Bridgette to ask, “are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” I joke.

Damon and Maryland are supposed to be on their way. But we can only give them until about 6:30, realistically, and if not then they’ll have to meet us at the show. In the interim, Jason wakes up. He typically goofs off on the computer until mid-morning, and then crashes into the afternoon, which is apparently the scenario today. Though he doesn’t have a ticket himself, he’s one of these guys who likes driving people everywhere, and has volunteered to play chauffeur.

We listen to some Tool while we wait. There’s a debate about which song was Prince’s last big hit, and when I mention Pussy Control, Bridgette gasps and says she loves that song, but actually didn’t know it was Prince. So then of course we’re all like, how could you not know that was Prince? When it seems obvious Damon and his woman aren’t going to make it here in time, we venture outside to Jason’s car. Jason driving, Maria shotgun, Clif to my left in back and Bridgette to my right.  We drink beer on the way and it starts raining. 

June 22

Wake up at 8 on Maria’s couch, realize I’ve got to run home for work clothes. Thankfully, I’m not scheduled until 9 anyway, so this is no problem. The apartment is stuffy hot, and Jason’s sitting there at the desk, typing away in an online chatroom.

“Damn dude,” I tell him with a laugh, “you type even faster than I do.”

A great day at work. I ask Carrie if she wants to go to the Lucinda Williams show, and she’s down. But then of course I stop at the Henderson Road store on my way home, and it seems this show has already sold out! So much for that. Been wanting to go ever since it was announced, never got around to buying tickets – this is what I get for waiting.

June 23

Work at Wild Oats. Get home and there’s a message from Bridgette about hitting some poker game at her friend’s house – not sure if I’m going or not.

June 25

Morning shift at Kroger. Stop at Ace In The Hole Records on the way home, buy some empty jewel box cases and a few CDs (R.E.M., Hum, Pearl Jam). Come home, crash this sunny afternoon for about 4 hours, until just after 8. Listening to Indians game and Megan calls, leaves a message addressed to “you guys” this time and imploring one of us to give her a call. But she knows damn well Damon is out of town, so this is like some back door attempt at trying to stay in the loop or something.

June 26

Work at Kroger and then Wild Oats. Stop at R Bar afterward in my grubby Rolling Rock tee. But the cute brunette barmaid digs it and is chatting my ear off. I have a beer here (RR of course, matches the shirt) to go with my sub and fries (excellent food they serve here), all the while watching the Tribe get pounded by the Yankees. Stop for gas, then run out to Meijer on Cleveland Avenue to buy a nice cheap keyboard for our musical projects. Die in bed.

June 27

Pick Carrie up at 7. She’s dressed in these brown coveralls, which I dig of course. I’d picked up a 6 pack of Bud Light and brought two mugs with me, so we drink beer on our way to the driving range. It’s the one on Riverside that I hit most of the time – she’s never been, period, but wanted me to take her.

We have a good time knocking a medium sized bucket around. Though with golf you’re apparently supposed to have the complete opposite of a baseball swing, I have locked onto this one that works for me, which is my attempt to make them as similar as possible. With baseball you want to be as loose as you can, golf robotically rigid. But that wasn’t working for me, ever, and I am driving the crap out of the ball tonight with this loose swing, which has an almost flailing arm action finish.

Carrie, though, is pretty much inept, which is understandable. Wiggling her butt, trying to get the form just so, but not having much luck anyway. In between her mounting frustration, she does manage to connect with a couple okay shots. Meanwhile, I somehow manage to snap one of my woods completely in half during a swing, as the head of it goes flying out into the field. I’ve actually never seen this happen before.

“Cheap clubs,” Carrie comments.

From here, we decide to find some place for dinner. She’s one of these pseudo-hippie chicks who doesn’t “officially” smoke…but mysteriously seems to do quite a bit of it nonetheless, especially when drinking. Therefore we stop off at a gas station en route, so she can buy cigarettes.

June 28

Wake up at a quarter till 8 and come home. Sleep a bit more, wake up for good, tend to a few small chores – writing and what not.

I hook up my guitar to Matt’s distortion peddle – he left all his gear here last time, including a small Peavey amp and his own guitar, which I tuned down from its one-note-higher tuning but couldn’t figure out how to actually make it work – and I redo my own Cabin in the Woods guitar part, which I’d never really been satisfied with.

                Damon walks in while I’m rigging up all the gear, he’s back in town from that fishing trip with his dad.  Tanned, says they has they had a good time.  With him he’s got Maryland and her little girl.

After those two leave, it’s still early – and it’s time for my day off to begin proper.

Having already made arrangements with Jamie earlier, he gets off work at two and I cruise over towards his place at around three. I stop at the “Rock N’ Roll Sunoco,” and by popping in here for gas, beer, & ice, I have not one but two very interesting encounters.  I couldn’t figure out if it was the way I was dressed or what (or maybe some post sex afterglow) but whatever the case, these girls are coming on to me like nothing I’ve experienced before, not totally out of the blue and unprovoked like this. Puts quite a smile on my face, I can assure you, though.

                First, I’m standing there at the pump. This hot blonde in sunglasses, professionally dressed, a bit older than me, starts talking my ear off from her spot next to mine. It’s a pleasant conversation to say the least, and as she drives off, I wonder where in the hell that came from.

                Then, I dash inside for the other items and to pay for my gas, and as I set my beer on the counter, the woman working it – this overweight brunette with an attractive face – says, “I know you’ve been in here before, but I still have to ask for ID.”

                So I show it to her, making a wisecrack as I do so that, “I don’t come in here nearly as often after the Rock N’ Roll Sunoco guy quit.”

                “You do come in here still, though,” she nods her head, hands my ID back, starts ringing up my stuff.

                “Yeah, I do,” I agree.

                “Listen,” she says, “I’m not trying to pick you up or anything, but you’ve got really pretty eyes. That’s how I know you come in here, I remember your eyes.”

                “Thanks,” I tell her, then laugh, “I hear that a lot. Maybe I should try to translate it into a movie career.”

                She laughs as well, adding, “well, the vendors that come in here tell me I’m a flirt, but I’m not.  I just say what’s on my mind, and if I think you’ve got pretty eyes, then I’ll tell you you’ve got pretty eyes, you know. I just say what I’m thinking, I’m honest like that.”

                “Well,” I wave goodbye and tell her, “honesty’s a rare thing, and sometimes people don’t know how to take it.”

                And just like that I am out the door, on the road to Jamie’s.

1. Driving range with him & Nick, drinking beer out of mugs on the way Jamie spills some all over himself. Not once, either, but twice.

2. Jamie blasting the hell out of the golf ball all day long, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

                “Whew, baby!” he exclaims, after one such shot, “just call me White Tiger Woods!  That’s me, Crouching White Tiger!”

3. To Bumpers next for happy hour.  On the way, Jamie digs out his cell phone, contemplates calling Maria.

                “No, no,” I protest, “it’s too early for Maria.”  Nick laughs, but Jamie knows what I mean & puts the phone away.

4. 2 pitchers of beer and some appetizers at Bumpers – half price apps, $3.95 for the pitchers.

5. Up to the batting cages on Olentangy, alternating 65 & 75 mph. It’s interesting to note that while I was always a far better right handed hitter before, as a kid, now I’m better left handed. Very strange. Jamie’s not bad at this, either, though not nearly as proficient as he was at golf.  Nick mostly watches – driving range he talked a lot of smack but was actually terrible, here he doesn’t even bother.

6.  Now home to Jamie’s to chill the fuck out, I stretch out on the floor and talk about taking a “nippy nap.”  Just about to doze off though and the door swings open, it’s Mike Costill. His crazy happy black Lab Carson comes running in, licks me on the face. I laugh and sit up – so much for the nap.

7.  Jamie, Nick, and Mike fire up a bowl, blow smoke in the dog’s face.  Carson comes to chill by me, most likely because I was the only one not fucking with him.

8. That dog is a beer fiend, though! I’ve never seen anything like it….Carson keeps licking the top of my bottle, then when I try to cover it up with my hand, he tries knocking the bottle loose from my grasp. Laughing, I finally pour him a puddle on the floor, which he eagerly licks up.

9.  Mike cons Jamie’s mom into watching Carson as we cruise up to Polo’s.  The big breasted blonde who used to work at Arlington Café but is a barmaid there now took our order – four Long Islands, this being $3 Thursday there for that drink.

                “What are you guys having?” she asked Jamie & Nick after Mike & I had ordered ours.

                “Long Islands,” I told her on their behalf, “and don’t let them tell you otherwise.”  Wearing my crazy golf visor, I was feeling pretty assertive & wild.

                “Well,” she laughs, “I guess we know who’s in charge here.”

                Mike plays a million tunes on jukebox…Jamie & I win best of three pool games against those two…then spades on the back patio

10.  Drive thru McD’s for food on the way home, I drop those guys off & finally make it home. Whew.

July 4

Home from Kroger, Tony and other neighbors are playing cards in our parking lot. Rage and Kid Rock on stereo, their kids running around hollering. It’s cool – I love stuff like that.

I take a nap and wake up to lay down an improved bass part, for this song I’m calling Gary Coleman. I kept fiddling around, though, because I got this really cool sound, one I liked, but it fell apart any time I tried to increase the volume, either on the bass, the amp, or even the recording of it feeding into my computer.  Finally, I hit upon a solution by placing that cheap microphone of mine in front of the amp and recording THAT way.  Only problem was, you could also hear my banging on the frets. So, as a final solution, I threw my mattress on top of the mike as a sound barrier and that came out perfect. Jazzed, I also redid all the vocals.

                Leave for Charlie’s party at about a quarter after nine. Jamie was supposed to go with me but got hung up at his own family get together. So I go alone.

July 6

Pizza Hut lunch buffet, home to make phone calls. Meet with Ed about investments at 1, to Howard’s Barber Shop for haircut. Kill time at bookstore, meet realtor at 4, home, return Jamie’s calls, exercise, write some, then out the door at 5:15. Arrive at Jamie’s at 5:30, his mom’s looking hot as usual but actually flashing some leg this time, he and I head over to Bumpers for happy hour. We sit at the bar. He’s bummed out but feels better after a couple pitchers. Nick shows up, the barmaids digging us, English guy ripping on us, I spill beer all over the fucking place while signing my tab. Nerves I guess? It seems obvious that things are about to get even crazier around here now, if this were even possible, and I already have an inkling how this is going to go.

So after this, we cruise over to Lisa and Maria’s place – it sounds strange to be calling it that again. The whole damn reunion is in full swing, with a ton of bodies either already here or soon to arrive: Roy, Mike, Bridgette, Cheryl, Jason, the three of us, Lisa and Maria of course, and Amber, and Andrea.

We leave in 3 or 4 separate vehicles. I’m doing donuts in the church parking lot next door, then Jamie takes the wheel and pulls off the most incredible reverse donut ever. Andrea and Nick are in this car with us. We lose everyone else with these antics and must guess our way to the St. Timothy’s festival. Oddly enough, though some of us have been to this before, we all came together in ’97 and have not been back since, until tonight, nobody has. Still others in our group have never attended one of these.

The only beer served is Natty Lite, at $1.50 a cup. But they have poker, bingo, craps, instant bingo. Everyone blows through money like mad. I just drink, mostly, figure this is one way to limit your losses. Nick is bugging the shit out of Bridgette. We meet up with Corina, Kim, Kelly, and some hot brunette girl whose name I don’t catch. Jamie is fucked up and pukes. Everyone leaves around midnight. This time I run Nick back to Maria’s to get his wheels, then we rejoin the others over at DiMarco’s. Ah, but Maria had let Jason drop her off, then he takes Jamie home, except Andrea rode along and there’s some heated words there – Jamie accuses Jason of fucking Andrea, which gets back to Maria, so now it’s drama central. Mike’s drunk at the bar, he leaves with Amber. Nick leaves on his lonesome after a couple drinks.

So now it’s just Maria, Lisa, Bridgette, Cheryl, Andrea, some friend of Roy’s (Roy, Corina, Kim, Kelly and the hot brunette never showed at this bar), Jason, and me. Andrea tries getting into it with me, she and I are always arguing, but of course to me it’s like the school debate team or something, purely recreational, I don’t care otherwise. Jason and I take over on the pool table, everyone else leaves. Then I scratch on 8 ball shot and we also split.

Back at the apartment, mayhem aplenty awaits. Andrea’s in the bathroom yelling on the phone. Then Maria and Jason are in the basement fighting. Lisa and Bridgette sit at the dining room table bitching about the whole scene while I try to sleep on the couch with an arm draped over my eyes to block the light. Bridgette smacks my arm to wake me up, then leans down and kisses me – just telling me that she’s taking off. Andrea needed a ride back to campus but we both said no…and yet Bridgette has agreed to dropping her off at Jamie’s, which is much closer.

Maria kicks Jason out, he takes off. She goes to bed. So here it is that once again…Lisa and I are looking at one another with a metaphorical shrug. It’s 4 in the morning and we are the last two left standing. But not for long.

July 9

Sunny, hot, humid day. Stop at gas station for beer after work. Then it’s off to the batting cages! Pour myself a good one first, gulp that down before I get cracking. I hit 105 pitches, alternating left and right handed. Some in the 65mph cage and some in the 75. Work up quite a sweat in the process, understandably.

Later, we’re chilling out on the front porch over at Matt’s house. It’s him, me, Kevin and Vanessa sitting out there. Everything’s quiet until this car pulls up, a little bit off to the side but in front of their place. Someone gets out, approaches this other parked vehicle, and throws a brick or a rock or something through their windshield. Then gets back into the car and speeds away.

We’re laughing with disbelief, totally in shock about what we just saw. Vanessa picks up the phone and calls the cops to report it, they say they’ll send someone out to the scene.

We don’t hear or see anything else about this, but are sitting out here for quite some time still and nobody comes by. Not any police but also not the vehicle owner, whoever this might be – they have no idea whose car this is. Anyway, we eventually decide to walk up to O’Reilly’s for some grub. As we stroll up the sidewalk, some of us are sipping beers, and Kevin’s smoking weed from his little quote unquote “one hitter.” And only now, as we’re about halfway up their side of Weber Road, does a police cruiser materialize, coming up the street toward us.

Unfortunately, I am the last to see this and therefore last to act. Kevin chucks his weed pipe into some bushes and Matt also gets rid of his beer in similar fashion. As for me, I don’t know what the deal is – some kind of ingrained behavior against littering, I guess you could call it – but I kneel down instead, attempt to just place my bottle on the ground beside this random car’s back tire.

The police car stops and the officer gets out (female cop, never a good sign), walks right over to my beer bottle. I was the only person she saw committing any crime here and am the only one given a ticket. Meanwhile, I have to admit I’m impressed by Vanessa, who starts jawing at this lady, pointing down the road toward the car with the missing windshield. “The only reason you’re in this neighborhood is because of us!” she says, mentions the brick throwing incident, that we are the ones who called it in, asks the women if this is or is not the entire reason she came out this way. But of course the officer hems and haws, will not admit such, in fact seems kind of ticked off by this line of inquiry. Not that we really expect anything else.

It’s no big deal, though. I can take my lumps. And am all but surpressing a laugh as I tell the others to continue on to O’Reilly’s, I’ll meet up with them. Particularly once I find out what a joke this open container rap is. She makes me sit in the backseat of the cruiser while she’s up front, writing the ticket. When she hands it to me and explains the charges, I can scarcely believe what I trifle this is – a little ol’ misdemeanor, and such a piddling fine that all it makes me think is I can’t believe we ALL aren’t walking around with open containers constantly, if this is the extent of your punishment.

As far as we know, they never catch the vandal who busted out the windshield. But hey, they got this other menace off the streets for a little while tonight, with his two sips of cheap domestic beer remaining. So I think we can all agree this was a job well done! By the time I get to the bar, they’ve all eaten. But Vanessa was nice enough to save me half of a sub.

July 10

After Kroger I work at Wild Oats, then Travis and I head over to his current residence. He’s got Brandon living here with him and I’m not sure who else. They’re in this house at the corner of Copeland and West 1st Avenue in Grandview, pretty sweet location. On tap tonight is the baseball All-Star Game, and in addition to us, Brandon’s here, Scott Imsland shows up, Andy Lorenz, then Michelle Kilgore and some Vince guy. We order a couple pizzas. Some mild distress erupts when Social D’s Story of My Life is put to use as a theme song for this game.

“Social Distortion,” Andy says, shaking his head, “wow, never thought I’d see that.”

“Did you guys hear there’s gonna be a Green Day Behind The Music episode?” Travis remarks, and is now shaking his head own head as well.

“What do they have to talk about?” I wonder, “ol’ boy chipped his tooth at Woodstock, that would be, like, a half hour segment.”

The bigger outrage for me, though, which I comment upon, is that Seattle already gave away Randy Johnson’s old jersey number to this rookie, Ichiro. No respect! But we are all laughing our asses off when Vlad Guerrero’s at the plate and loses the grip on his bat, as it then sails directly toward third base coach Tommy Lasorda. Tommy goes ass over teakettle tumbling backward to avoid this missile, hat flying off, et cetera. The camera pans to Don Zimmer in the AL dugout, possibly the only even more ancient guy here, who is laughing his head off, too.

Travis goes to bed, and everyone else dips out for Andyman’s Treehouse. I’ve had a long enough day and decline the invite, decide to just head home.

July 12

Kroger, then Reds game with the fellows. We make much better time leaving town than we did last year.

I sleep on the way back, wake up feeling somewhat hungover. But it’s better than being drunk, for sure, as I drive the relatively short distance from Worthington Mall to my home. Still, kind of strange going to bed at 1am with a hangover.

July 13

Had a bunch of plans for this morning but only manage to write a little bit. Kroger shift, then I drive over to Drug Emporium looking for Jamie – forgot that he has Fridays off. My intentions now are to see Randy Cashman’s band play for a little while, then pop in on Robin. She gave me a key the last time I was there, told me to visit whenever.

They are playing the Break-A-Way Lounge on Sinclair, and the name of his band is Mission. Randy is happy to see me, and I’m surprised to bump into John Ivanovich.  He wasn’t sure if he was even going to be here tonight, and by the time I arrive – almost midnight – I figured he’d be long gone even if he did. But not only is he still here, Ava is too, and a few hot friends of hers: Renee especially, but also the two brunettes who had to have been sisters.  A great night, I’m feeling real outgoing and talk to anyone and everyone who happens across my path. This includes hot blonde Sandy, whom I hit it off with really well, and she invites me to come to a bar she slings drinks at, Half Time Tavern on Bethel.

Mission are much better than the somewhat generic name would attest. I knew Randy could sing, from hearing him just screw around at work, but wasn’t sure about the outfit as a whole. They play classic rock mostly, but Randy is a good enough frontman I swear he could pull off anything, even stand up comedy.  Opens their last set in nerd outfit, calls himself “Spaz.”  They play CCR, ZZ Top, The Nuge, all that old stuff, but also surprise you with left field departures like Godzilla by B.O.C. and Madonna’s recent hit Music. We all dance and sing along, it’s a lot more fun than I expected.

                And it’s been a good run of late for me and the ladies – Carrie, Robin, Lisa last week; beyond them, looking ahead, Bridgette seems like a done deal, and who knows, maybe there are some new prospects with this bunch: meeting this Sandy, but also both Ava and Renee kiss me on cheek when they leave, throw their arms around me and say we’ll do it again sometime.  Not bad. 

               Then over to Robin’s, sneaking into her room without warning at 2am.

July 14

And then I’m up at 6:30am, stumbling out into this sunny morning. A short Kroger shift, then I come home intending to crash. Reading the paper I make some lunch first, though, and then who should stroll in but Damon and Maryland. Phone mayhem (she’s trying to call her kid, crying) as Damon and I sit and talk at the kitchen table. We’re both kind of lamenting how hectic things have been of late.

“I need to make a better effort,” he declares, “like call up Alan, hell, I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Those two leave to go fishing, I run down to the southwest edge of town to look at some houses with real estate agents. Kelly, this attractive brunette, she’s married but flirts like crazy anyway. I know she’s just doing her job and everything, but still – let’s just say it’s appreciated. And does she lay it on this thick with everyone? Like she leaves her desk to come out and sit in the seat next to mine instead, twirls her hair, looks into my eyes…I also just happen to notice that her nipples have gotten suddenly hard.

After finishing up out there, I stop at the Friday’s on Fishinger (terrible service, as I watch Reds/Indians game) then continue onward to Wild Oats. At 8 I talk to Bridgette, who’s trying to get me to go to this party in Reynoldsburg. Problem is, Tawnya and Megan already swung through here – a bunch of them are meeting for drinks later at Lucky’s, because some band they know is playing. And according to them Alan really wants me to come out. This has turned into a semi-regular occurrence since I started working here, actually, these two drifting past my meat counter. Which makes sense considering it’s basically walking distance from Alan and Tawnya’s place.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” Bridgette implores me, over the phone.

“Why?” I question with a laugh, “you getting antsy?”

“Yeah,” she says, sort of sadly, although surely an exaggerated put on, just for show, “I miss you.”

Why this has suddenly blown up between us, who can say. We’ve known each other for years after all. It really only started that night we played poker late and she was showing us her ass. Although I also think, given how diabolically competitive these chicks always are, that her good friend Lisa moving back to town is a factor. Whereas she had no urgency before.

I technically haven’t agreed to anything with anyone, have only told Bridgette for example that I’ll “probably” meet up with her. It does seem like the next time we are out together, at least in a situation where we can keep it on the down low, then I will probably wind up doing her. Thus far it’s just been kissing and her laying it on thick with weird comments like that, but…even though she’s a married chick, it’s well known in certain circles that this does not stop her. So tonight could be the night, except that based on who will be at this party, I kind of doubt it. What I’d really like to do, actually, is combine the best aspects of each – as in, take her out to Lucky’s with me instead. Those are some totally disparate crews, that should definitely work.

So I head home to change and continue sorting this out. Hang around writing until 11:30 or so. Talk to Jamie, who says he’s probably hitting some keg party with Nick. In the end I don’t feel like riding clear out to Reynoldsburg tonight, but then also do not manage to talk Bridgette into driving back this way and joining forces with me to go watch this band. Thus this turns into a semi-reluctant drive alone over to Lucky’s, hang out with Alan for the first time in a little while.

It’s a mostly dull affair here, in fact, although I’m not sure what I really expected. Maybe that whole conversation with Damon is what inspired me to even come here tonight, I’m not sure. After all, if Alan really was that adamant about me meeting them, then I guess he would have contacted me himself. We’re just headed in different directions, though, I fear, it seems plainly apparent to me. Plus I don’t even get here until after midnight, and was not exactly sold on the concept to begin with.

The other thing is, now that she’s burned down various other bridges, they’re back on this kick trying to hook me up with Megan again. But for the 1000th time, I’m not interested in that chick, I was never interested in her. It was there for the plucking a year ago, basically – and if I didn’t raise a finger then, I’m certainly not going to now. If for no other reason but that, to me, nothing was ever definitively resolved with Amber, it still all feels very much in limbo. And if there’s a chance in hell of resurrecting that, I’m not about to blow it messing around with the likes of Megan here.

These two are over the top, though, tonight. Tawnya keeps pestering me to make a move on Megan, they’re both continually insisting that I drink more, drink more, drink more. And at one point, they even steal a page from the Heather handbook, you might say, by spiking my drink. I don’t realize they dumped something into it until I get to the bottom, and this terrible, strong tastes hits me, one that shouldn’t be here. Then I realize they’re both looking over this way with expectant little grins, don’t have poker faces at all and readily confess when I ask, that they’d dumped some random liquor into it – funny how a guy would be locked up for this, but with chicks, it’s supposed to be this cute, flirty frivolity that you’re expected to brush off.

Alan’s got some friends here that I don’t know. Two of these guys destroy him and me in a few games of pool. As for the band, they’re not very good and I fail to even catch their name – some ragtag cover outfit from Mansfield.

July 16

Shift at my Kroger, then up to Worthington Galena Road for a 4:45 – 9 one there. Closing with John Allen. We have a blast telling each other stories – very little work to do – and while that store is very slow, as I’ve noticed before, every shopper they do have seems to be a nice looking female. And working with John here, I see how friendly he is with them, it’s not a bad strategy to try. For me, I feel like what works is these girls can tell there’s something going on here, but they can’t figure out what, and I’m certainly not telling them. So hanging back seems to do the trick, as they’re compelled to investigate further – you might call it the “What The Fuck Is Even Going On With This Guy?” approach. However, I can see where being a bit more obvious and forthright with this (cheesy) friendliness shtick might have a time and place, too. It’s working for John, anyway.

Hey, and it’s not like I just hide out all the time, regardless. Like for example going up front to say hello to Dorothy tonight. It’s kind of a funny story, but she’s my real estate agent’s assistant – I found out she works at both places, and we were off to the races then, as they’re the ones trying to get me into a house. Kind of a sexy middle aged hippie chick, blonde, but married.

July 18

Off in the morning, but an insane day otherwise. I get up early, race to mail package to Daniel containing 4 CDs. Then continue out to the UPS hub on Trabue where, in this bright midday sun of their parking lot, I unwrap the package containing an advance copy of my first novel, Night Driving.

Who could ever have imagined when I started that project, clear back in April of ’93, that this is where it would take me? Writing it out by hand in a couple notebooks, countless revisions across a couple different modern electronic devices, to stand here at this place that I never would have dreamed of, staring at my own name in print for the first time.

What a strange life this is, and onward it rolls. I grab some lunch at Burger King, then meet with Dorothy and Kelly again. This time, we’re looking at houses in the countryside south of town – it’s cheaper down here than it would be up north. After that, I fly back across town to Worthington Galena once more, once more closing down the shop with John Allen.

Stop at the bar next door, Gary’s Place, for a couple Captain and Cokes. Hot blonde who was working here that dreadful night I had to call a cab is here again. And Bo, that woman in the deli who was majorly sweating Tim Young, is sitting down the bar from me. I debate swinging by Robin’s, since she lives basically just up the road from here, but am tired and decide to go home instead.

July 20

Work Kroger and Wild Oats today. I also stick the exact amount of my last three Wild Oats checks combined, $670, into my saving account. Yes sir! This is how you do! But in all seriousness I’m probably going to need it for a down payment anyway.

Call over to the Yanik residence when I get home, drive out to Upper Arlington to meet up with my posse. Eat a sub on the way, then catch up with that crew at DiMarco’s. Tonight it’s Maria, Michael, Andrea, her new man Brian, her sister Stephanie, and me, at least for starters. Then that hilarious big black guy Don shows up, after that Dane and Emilio.

-Stephanie feeling ill leaves shortly. Brian has to work early and leaves next.

                -we move to Polo’s from there. Everyone else insists on driving, even though it’s across the street.  I walk, and beat them there by a few minutes. Don shows up next & we’re sitting around the bar.

                -Andrea and Maria flank us in seats, then Dane and Emilio pop in – they’d had to sneak Emilio in, as he was of age but had left his ID at home. Jason and Michael, meanwhile, run off to buy drugs – thankfully, as Michael was getting on all our nerves. His personality is vaguely reminiscent of K.C. Goff’s, to me, but Michael is way, way more supercharged than that guy.

                -slurp down a few drinks, then we make our move for the dance floor.  Miss Jackson is playing as the four of us head up there, leaving Dane & Emilio behind.  Maria only lasts ½ of a song though, before complaining that her leg hurts, retreating.

               -Don is smiling, always smiling as he dances on the sidelines. Meanwhile, some rude but sharply dressed black guy literally cuts in between Andrea and me, as I’m forcibly elbowed aside. But I don’t care and might not do anything about it even if I did – and anyway, this provides all the inpiration I need to move on. There’s this brunette dancing by herself in the middle, whom I’ve been checking out, and I and approach her.

                -“You shouldn’t be dancing by yourself,” I tell her, smiling.  She introduces herself as Sarah, and doesn’t look nearly as attractive up close as she had from a few feet away – my lone contact lens had been bothering me, and I took it out back when we were still at DiMarco’s, put it in a carrying case I’d brought along for just such emergency.  Still, Sarah is pretty, no doubt, just a little on the plain side.

                -“my friends are all around,” she explains and points at select clusters of girls, giggling at her and me as we dance.

                -Janet Jackson’s All For You comes on, and we dance together through this one before I excuse myself. She’s friendly, but doesn’t seem extremely interested, so there’s no point in sticking around.

                -“feeling a little parched?” Sarah cracks, points to my empty beer bottle.

                -“Yes!” I laugh, “feeling parched!”  It hadn’t occurred to me but this makes for a totally valid excuse. I then explain to her where we were all sitting, invite her to come by. She doesn’t, of course, but it still felt nice to meet a new girl, at least make an effort out here on the club scene. Too often we just kind of sit there and don’t even attempt to make anything happen, and I’m just as guilty as anyone.

                -Sitting back down where I’d been, I inevitably end up next to Andrea and there’s this moment where we’re alone where we’re just talking, and she says, “you know I like you.”

                “That’s cool,” I smile and shrug.

                “No,” she emphasizes, “I mean I really, really like you.”

                -I quickly change the subject, though. I’m not taking the bait. Jamie can have her, as far as I’m concerned – but of course, he’s not even here tonight. Or maybe this Brian guy. Have at it, buddy. After awhile with some of these girls, you begin to recognize that this is exactly what they are angling for, pretty much all the time: to try and pit friends against each other, fighting over the female in question. They love the drama, it makes them feel special. And Andrea is one such person, she fits this description to a tee. Good looking, yes, and she seems cool at first, but you start to realize she’s not as chill as you thought, really kind of bitchy a lot of the time, calculating and even borderline psychotic. Or at least trying to stir up some drama. Probably more drunk than you realize quite often, too, though she hides it well.

To cut through this sudden awkwardness, as now neither of us is talking about anything whatsoever, I chuckle and mention my old apartment, ask if she remembers some of the old times there. Specifically, the “mid-period” Columbus era, this would have been the place on Merrimar, where I’m hanging out watching TV or getting ready for bed or something, next thing I know we’ve got a handful of people at the door, typically unannounced. Then we’d sit around drinking for a spell, it would typically be her and Jamie and me, sometimes Mike, sometimes Jill. I don’t remember Alan ever being around for any of this, oddly enough, though it’s hard to imagine how he could not have been. Unless over at Angela’s all the time or something.

My one definitive remark tonight I remember I’m saying something about how this would always seem to happen, “at like midnight – knock knock knock – and I’d be in my pajamas, then we’d all sit around drinking!”

She furrows her brows, though, and questions, suddenly confused, “who was in pajamas? I was in pajamas?” i.e. not really picking up this thread whatsoever.

“Never mind,” I tell her.

July 22

Mike Costill’s 22nd birthday outing. A bunch of us meet up at the Roosters on Henderson to start. His girlfriend Tammy is here with him, and her sharp little friend Tonya, she of the tight, curvy frame and curly brown hair. Then Lisa, Maria, Andrea, Stephanie, Nick, Dan the whitebread freestyling rapper, Jamie sitting by himself at the bar away from all of us for some hilarious reason, and even Lee makes an appearance.

From here we head up to Polo’s and matters turn typically absurd. Tonya is actually really digging Nick at first, but…some guys just seemingly cannot get the job done, they can’t get out of their own way. I mean, we’re all in the same boat to some extent – pretty much every guy has felt like a bumbling buffoon in this regard, more times than he can count – and I still kick myself daily over sure things I blew years ago. But most of us are able to pull things off just often enough to function and live with ourselves. Some dudes, eh, not so much, at least not based on anything you have ever seen.

So she’s showing a smidgen of interest in him, and he blows it by just being over the top with the eagerness, breathing down her neck all night. Maybe he should take a page from the playbook of Jamie…who sits off at a table crying, and garners a ton of intrigued sympathy as a result. There’s just a ton of baggage to unpack with Jamie, you might say – I know he feels like the black sheep of his family, for starters. He has told me more than once that his dad is always kind of a dick to him, and the other siblings are apparently all really successful in life. So maybe there’s a little bit of a chicken vs. egg debate there. Add to that girl trouble, Andrea messing with his head, plus I think it’s safe to say there may be some sort of chemical imbalance in play, a definite temper, some wild mood swings, none of which the alcohol and/or occasional recreational drug use is probably helping any.

Andrea takes off with Maria and Stephanie in tow. Jamie catches wind of this and actually jumps in front of her moving car, in the parking lot, rolling off of the hood. It’s like something you’d see a stuntman attempt on a TV show, though thankfully she’s not going very fast and he doesn’t wind up hurt.

Fortunately, Mike and his mini inner tribe are much more chill. If only this were true of everyone! And even Lisa’s in one of her better moods. When things are breaking up, I secretly ask Tonya for her phone number. She’s looking over my shoulder while doing so, then hugs me and recites it.

July 28

-after crashing on couch at 6 am, I wake up briefly around 8 as Maria’s talking to Jason – he’s on his way to Maryhaven to perform 8 hrs “community service”

-Jen comes in around 9

-I smirk to listen to Maria – she’s whispering to Jen about finding Jason’s lighter & bowl down in the basement, she thinks he fucked Cheryl. “I’m not sure, but I’ll find out,” Maria whispers – suspicious as always, but here he and I were only downstairs playing ping-pong, until the wee hours of morn! Come to think of it, that table should have been gone by now, so the intended purchaser must have backed out on Tommy.

-Maria hollers upstairs at Lisa. Lisa, who’d been telling us for weeks we needed to take it easy Friday, to get in early, so we could leave at “8 or 9” this morning. But of course Lisa’s not moving.

-Damon & Maryland come rolling in just after 9. “First time I’ve ever seen him sleep,” Damon jokes, to see me there on the couch.

-“come on Pockets, wake up!” Maria says every now & then & finally I do

-Maria hollers upstairs at Lisa & Bridgette to get moving. I’m sitting at the table now w/ Jen, Damon, & Maryland; Dirk wakes up, he’s on the other couch.

-Damon runs me over to Kroger to get my car (clothes inside), & I get stuck talking to Tammie & Melissa on picnic table.

-back at Maria’s we’re still sitting around. Damon is playing golf with Alan at 1, then he’s gonna drive to Toronto to meet us; Dirk leaves, Rick (who’d slept upstairs, hmm) also leaves.

-the rest of us are on the road, in two vehicles: Maria, Maryland, & me in one; Lisa, Bridgette, & Jen in the other. Maria’s driving but for some reason Lisa never wants to drive her own brand new car, so Bridgette does.

-everyone stops for gas, at Marathon (us) & S.A. (them) at Bethel/Godown. Maria talking to Bridgette on respective cell phones, we agree to meet at Burger King on Main St after we pick up Don. Meanwhile, I’m inside the gas station buying 22 oz Heineken for the road (sounded good) & Snickers bar (hungry) plus water (for Maria). Maryland’s sleepy, gets a coffee.

-on the road again, hitting 315, to the outerbelt and beyond

July 31

Kroger and Wild Oats. After closing with Matt, he and I hit Riverview Cafe.

August 2

(a phone conversation with Jamie)

“I know what I want, I know exactly what I want, I want brunettes, man,” Jamie laughs.

Or another of his comments:

                “Dude, if we moved to Gahanna, aw, man, if we moved out there…I basically grew up there, the past twelve years pretty much.”

                “We’d have some honeys up in there,” I declare, mainly just one these dry but extremely hilarious (to me) remarks I like to throw out, as though completely serious, to keep a discussion going.

                “We’d have some HONEYS,” Jamie agrees, “not like these hoes around here, there’s a lot of rich people out there, I’m talkin honeys that live up around Easton and shit. They’d be taking ME out to dinner,” he laughs, “instead of me taking them, they’d be taking me.”

                Later, during this same pumped up phone conversation where he’s already bounced from talking about Brian’s threat, to this Essence cologne he’s wearing, to vacationing possibly in North Carolina next summer, to working for Roy, to starting up his own business just like Roy’s, to asking about if I’m getting a house (see above), to saying if not then his dad’s in real estate and he could get us a cool house to rent, maybe buy the house from him, to saying he might get into real estate himself since his dad’s a well known guy around town, to pondering what he wanted to do exactly with his vocational future, to saying maybe he’d take a vacation in December before putting in his two weeks at Drug Emporium (“I’ve always had a good work ethic”), to explaining why he didn’t show up for his interview at Giant Eagle on Monday – “I didn’t want to leave them hanging, I gotta use up my benefits at Drug Emporium before I quit there” – to talking about his cologne again.

                “Essence…says it’s got pheremones in it.”

                “What’s that?” I ask.

                “Something about it attracts women.”

                “Oh, that’s right.”

                “But see, most colognes are like a spray, a spray, this one you splash on…fuck, it’s hot out,” Jamie says, sighs,  “well, alright brother, I’ve got a few beers in the fridge, we can sip on those and then shoot some pool…you wanna head up to O’Manny’s?”

                “That’s cool, I’ve never been there,” I tell him.

                “Maybe I won’t call Nick,” Jamie says out of the blue, “alright, brother, I’ll call you right back or else you call me.”

                “Okay, I’ve gotta hop in the shower anyway,” I tell him.

                “Yeah, me too,” he says.

                This conversation is so hilarious, how he bounces from one subject to another, that I find myself wishing I had some kind of recorder set up like the mob or the government uses to tape telephone conversations. I’m doing the best I can with my furious transcriptions, during whatever meager free time I can carve out in a day, but these are woefully inadequate. I don’t know who’s more entertaining – Jamie or Matt.

When I show up at his apartment later, his mom is more flirtatious than I’ve ever seen her before. Showing some skin, actually mentioning sex (not with me, but still) and complimenting my appearance, et cetera. Although Jamie does catch me blatantly checking her out at one point, that makes twice now I’ve been busted. Oops.

Then we’re still chilling here when Nick shows up, as well as Allen Benetrix. Nick runs Allen home (Nick & Chris B are roommates; Allen is just in town visiting), then returns, and us three guys run up to Arlington Cafe for happy hour drinks, food, and pool. That hot blonde Stephanie who works here is on hand – off duty – and though it seems like she’s checking Jamie and me out bigtime, we decide to mess with Nick, tell her that this chick is sweating him hardcore.

“You guys notice that too, huh?” he says, totally serious. We manage to keep a straight face while continuing to play along. Although he doesn’t do anything with this “information” anyway.

             After many pool games here, with tons of fine scenery on display, we dip out in favor of O’Manny’s. After talking to Lisa, she agrees to meet us there around 9, but then never shows anyway. It begins to rain heavily. Somewhere around 11, we end up back over at Jamie’s, where he and Nick sit around smoking pot. His mom is in bed already. They call Ryan, I talk to him briefly.

                “I haven’t been able to find any weed for a week now,” Ryan moans, “think I’ll switch to just drinking beer, I can ALWAYS find that.” 

              The three of us head over there. Ryan, Pat, and Holly are sitting in the apartment sipping on beers, Pat’s all tan from a summer job doing landscaping. I’d brought over the rest of my Labatt’s 6 pack and we partake of those.  Some hilarious neighbor kid pops in, says he’s got this girl coming over, but he doesn’t really like her.

                “You can have her, dude,” he says to me, “she’s (holds his hands way out to indicate that she’s fat).

                “That’s cool,” I tell him, “I’ve got my beer goggles on anyway.”

                “Pssh,” he scoffs, “you’ll need about eight pair of ‘em for this one.”

                What makes no sense, then, is when the girl comes in and is tan, skinny, has breasts prominent enough to poke my eyes out, and a pretty face to match. Neighbor kid seems genuinely disinterested, though, for whatever reason.

                We relocate to the basement.  Ryan starts scratching records and someone breaks the pet alligator out, more drinking, goofing around. I admire their bottle cap coffee table, think about how I might make something similar myself – and they ooh & aah over my Labatt’s caps, as those aren’t present in their collection yet.

                Neighbor & tan girl split – mmm hmm, changed his mind after all – and I get some info from Ryan about upcoming raves before heading home myself. 

August 3

Kroger and Wild Oats. Run home, change, meet Chris at Dick’s Den at 10. Parked near Dodridge – I didn’t pass it and couldn’t remember exactly how far down High it was. So, a wee bit of a hike, but not too bad. But the band sucks, it’s some duo from Louisville KY called the Java Men. One guy on electric piano, one guy picking guitar and/or lap steel.  They did one thing I thought sounded cool where the guitarist plucked his axe for low bass sounding notes as he also picked the steel.  But this didn’t last too long, and I was back to ignoring them again.

Carrie and Miles both are supposed to be meeting us here, in fact. They’re working late and he agrees to follow her, or vice versa, whatever. But her car breaks down en route, he gets stuck helping her, and neither one of them makes it.

Chris has ganja cookies with him. Around midnight, I call Maria from a payphone. She says Lisa’s out with their cousin but is not sure where. I stop by DiMarco’s for one beer to look for them, no dice, then Traditions for one beer, same story. Here though Drew’s telling me him and his girlfriend bought some pork chops at Kroger yesterday, which rang up at the register cheaper than it seems like they should have been. He just thought I should know.

August 4

Bridgette leaves two messages, wanting me to chill with her on the east side (a poker game, in fact). Carrie also calls but does not leave a message. Instead, I wind up at Fats with Lisa, Maria, and Jason, where we drink a few and check out their world famous karaoke night. Or so they think, anyway. The singers themselves are okay but the song selection is boring. After this, we head over to Dimarco’s. Back at their apartment, Maria and Jason immediately head upstairs to bed. Lisa and I watch a couple movies (for real) before the clothes start coming off and we commence activities.

August 5

Kroger and Wild Oats. Come home and crash out hardcore at 9:30.

August 6

More insanity…off both jobs and wind up hanging out at Jamie’s, even though Jacob’s back in town and over there as well. He’s okay but it wouldn’t exactly break my heart to never wind up in the same building as that kid again.

We head up the street to the grocery store for some late night grub. Jamie’s whooping it up, hollering about this hot blonde bent over in an aisle. Then we reach the next aisle and some equally gorgeous redheaded girl is working night stock here, shoots us an unamused look. Not the least bit entertained by our antics. We buy frozen pizzas and (at Jamie’s insistence) some microwave popcorn. He and Jacob try to buy pot off of two separate random sets of young kids that we pass.

Laughing about that old “farm report” show that used to – and may still – come on at like 5 in the morning on the weekends. Back at Jamie’s and his neighbor Chris joins us. I brought my VCR, hook that up so we can watch Kids and then Go. Desperate for weed, Jamie picks up his bowl from a living room end table, observes that there are indeed a few smokeable crumbs in there. Or I guess they’re calling this “resin” that he and Jacob scrape off and smoke.

Doing so, Jamie throws his head back with a triumphant cackle and boasts, “there’s always pot at the end of Mr. T’s rainbow!”

Meanwhile, as the night progresses, I’m in this mood where I find it considerably amusing just to sit back and observe. Like how it occurs to me that there are distinct, and often predictable phases to Jamie’s ever-evolving moods, from night to night. Like the first of these I’m sitting here thinking should maybe be called the Speedy phase: he’s all pumped up, firing on all cylinders, totally maniacal despite the beer and the pot. This one is, at least on this occasion, characterized by him talking very loudly, to the extent we have to increase the volume just to hear the movie. Which only serves to make him talk louder, and increase the volume again. Back and forth this seesaw continually escalates.

Actually, the Speedy phase is a bit more prolonged this time than is maybe customary. Like it’s about 4:15am and we’re into the second movie, that scene where Magic Carpet Ride is playing and Jamie’s all fired up, he jumps up from the couch, cheering and stomping along to the song like a madman.

But then, this is followed by the all too familiar Smacky (or maybe Slappy – I can’t decide) phase. Here he’s still coherent, and semi-animated, but there’s a delayed effect, everything is beginning to wobble and lurch. Sitting here all sweaty and red eyed after his Steppenwolf workout. Finally, there’s the just plain Fucked Up (though perhaps for alliterative purposes we should call this Smashed instead or something) i.e. the way he’s shivering soon enough and saying, “br-uh-uh-uh-uh…I’m cold…”

Chris leaves. Jacob and Jamie claim the two couches, which means I’m stuck stretching out on the living room floor. I forgot how brutal this was here.

August 7

Feeling mellow after working Kroger and Wild Oats today. Robin was going to come over tonight but calls around 11:30 to cancel – that’s pretty unusual and possibly unprecedented, as far as I can recall.

August 8

But then today I manage to put together a fairly interesting happy hour crew, assembled from about 3 different circles: it’s Robin, me, Tammie, Chris, and Maria, meeting up at B. Hampton’s around 7. Dollar beers here, but we do get sort of a late start. As a result, these maniacs somehow conclude that we can pound 3 apiece in the last 15 minutes. Well, everyone gives it a valiant effort, but only Tammie and Maria are able to pull it off. Robin and I make a pit stop at my place, then spend the night at hers.

August 9

Making preparations to leave for our Sandusky trip, it’s total mayhem like usual. Maria, Jamie, Lisa, and I are the ones going, we’ve got a hotel room for tonight. But first – Maria and Jamie are calling me all day, then Lisa swings through at work. Leading up this, though, was the typical expected fucking madness – Lisa and Maria fighting. Maria bitching to Lisa about letting their cousin stay there, Lisa counterattacking Maria over Jason living there, etc etc etc. So all day long, I’m hearing these updates.

First the trip is still on, then it’s off, then Lisa books a room anyway so it’s officially back on again. Maria, Jamie, and Nick spent the day cleaning some house in Westerville for Roy. At least when not taking breaks to blow up my seafood department phone. Then everyone returns to their respetive homes – Nick’s still crashing at Chris B’s pad off of Sawmill and is allegedly bugging the crap out of everyone over there.

When I get off work this afternoon, Lisa’s up at Pockets drinking with Mike Nelson. Maria and Jamie are packing. I head over to the post office on Henderson to mail something, then slide through that Kroger for beer and ice. Stop at the Yanik place long enough to deposit these, hit Burger King for grub, and by the time I return Lisa is home.

She’s borrowed Bridgette’s small styrofoam cooler and we load that up with a few of the beers – this will be Jamie and Maria’s front stash. In back, we have the more substantial cooler that Damon loaned me. I bought a case of Bud Light – figuring that the girls really like it, plus it’s a safe all-around beer that nobody should complain about – and Lisa has some random ones of her own to contribute.

We load up our gear, and of course the women have assloads of luggage for an overnight trip. Makes perfect sense. Contrast this against the meager cargo I am bringing: just a basic little bathroom sized kit with tootbrush & paste, condoms, a deck of cards, and one spare tee shirt for tomorrow. Of course this cracks them up to no end, they think this is hysterical. But what is so hilarious? I feel like if you looked up “Essentials, The,” in an encyclopedia or something, this is what they would have listed.

And then it’s over to Jamie’s house. By now we’re talking 11:15pm. Now it’s not just the girls but me as well laughing at his hilarious “luggage” choice, whereby he simply tossed a bunch of stuff into a Lazarus bag. For some reason he reminds me of a little kid, toting this thing around. His mom is still up and god knows what she must be thinking about this ragtag operation.

Finally, we’re on the road for real, heading north out of town.

August 10

We make it back to town around 9:15 tonight. Just as we’re turning onto 270, That’s What Friends Are For comes on the radio, and everyone’s laughing about how we haven’t heard this song in eons. Then Maria starts freaking out about some spider crawling around up front. She’s screaming for Jamie to do something, so he plucks it off her pants and disposes of it. Then begins improvising his own lyrics, along with the song:

“…for picking spiders…off your legs…”

And giggles at his own jokes, it goes without saying.

Maria drops Lisa and me off at Mike Nelson’s apartment, takes Jamie home, dies in bed herself. Chilling at out at Mike’s, he is making wisecracks to me about, “this is what you have to look forward to,” and by this he means life as a married man. His examples that he points to include basset hound beer coasters, and candles on the wall.

“No naked women?” I crack.

“No, no,” he assures me.

So we’re sitting here with the radio on, and Hashpipe comes on the radio. Mike starts whistling, and drumming along to it on the coffee table.

“Weezer!” I say with a grin, “who’d have ever thought they’d have made a comeback?”

“Who?” Lisa says.

“Weezer,” I repeat, and ask her has she never heard this song. She shakes her head no.

“Yeah, they don’t play this one on country stations,” Mike observes, “country stations out on the west side.”

Doug is in town, but blows us off for some reason. We never do get to the bottom of that one. Instead, I wind up out on the town with just Lisa and Amber tonight – don’t ask me how that came about. And somehow Lisa drives, Amber rides shotgun, I’m in the back.

It’s beers and food at the BW3 on Bethel. I see my old “disciple” Nicole across the bar, but am too tired to even go over and say hi. We don’t stay out long, everybody is bone weary. Drop Amber off, then upon returning to Lisa’s place, we encounter Doug and the others – it’s him, Jeff Matches, Mike Nelson, and some Larry guy cruising around in a minivan, drunk already.

They’re acting really weird, though, and will not tell us where they’re going. So they leave, and we head inside. Lisa is mighty pissed about being left in the dark and excluded, but I don’t have the energy to care. Jason’s snoozing on the big couch, is clearly in the dog house right now. Then Lisa and I somehow manage to both pass out crammed together on the tiny love seat, moments after making it in.

August 11

I talk to Maria about going out with Lisa and Doug and that entire clan, but then decide I don’t really feel like it and just go home instead.

August 12

Cards at Angela’s house. She’s Chris B’s neighbor at his new apartment, off of Cranston. I cruise over there with Jamie and this tall Zack guy who drives like an absolute maniac. He’s got an ’86 BMW, a real sweet ride, but is flying up Sawmill to the tune of 70 miles an hour, pulling off double lane changes and left hand turns at the drop of a hat. Then we stop for beer, and finally make it to Angela’s in one piece.

She’s a beautiful, tall, really sweet blonde – in fact something about her essence reminds me of Heather. Intelligent and composed, ready to party but at the same time not getting overly excited about anything. Straddling this fine line, perfectly somewhere between hippie chick and heavy metal girl.

This is a salivating prospect all over, in fact. Chilling here at her modest but well-kept one bedroom apartment, checking out this cozy scene – teddy bears all over the place, candles too, and an impressive book collection. Yes sir, I could certainly get behind seeing somebody like this. Aside from her, and us, Chris B is here with his own little blonde cutie, Teresa, this short wild child with bulging breasts. When we showed up, actually, Chris answered the door, wearing some crazy fishing hat, and he in this moment is reminding me of some cross between my brother and my cousin Tyson B.

Notable in his absence is Nick. He’s been sweating Angela something fierce, and the situation even got a little heated recently when Jamie, meeting Angela for the first time, really hit it off with her. “She’s taken!” Nick barked at Jamie, though not even remotely the case. It seems the dude has worn out his welcome everywhere, and nobody has seen him since Thursday. Not only do the ladies he’s been hitting on hardcore (Angela as well as Tonya) consider him a nuisance, but he was crashing on Chris’s couch for a couple of weeks…until time came to pay some rent, and he split. Not only that but he owes Jamie $350, Jamie foolishly let him borrow a cell phone, and that’s not to mention $500 for the car he theoretically bought off Nick, which is supposed to change hands on the 14th. But considering he vanished (reportedly gone into rehab, or at least this is what he told his parents) no one seriously expects Jamie to end up with the car.

This is a good example of why I tend to keep my distance. People like those in this crew might consider me a piece of furniture, and for the most part I’m totally okay with that. I’m cool with amusing myself in the corner, watching everything, taking mental notes, maybe injecting my little wisecracks now and then. I’m not about to get extremely chummy with some of these characters.

Zack is joining the military and refrains from smoking weed. I never do either, obviously, but everyone else is passing this bowl around after firing it up precisely at midnight. This because Teresa is about to start a new job, and has somehow determined this is her last chance to do so and still pass the drug test.

Peanut butter cookies…Metallica argument…eye contact and euchre.

                We’ve just gotten back to Jamie’s and a car full of strange kids roll up – it’s this cute young black girl driving (name forgotten), cute young blonde riding shotgun (name Teresa also), and in the back seat this hilarious kid named Jimmy w/ a samurai ponytail on top of his head (says he on ecstasy for the 1^st time ever) and Chris B’s younger brother Allen, who just moved back into town.

                They are trying to sell rolls, but none of us are interested. Jamie’s neighbor Chris walks up and joins us.  Well, Jamie is interested, but has no money. The strange foursome parks and follows us inside.

August 14

Work Kroger and Wild Oats. Listening to this crazy Indians game while I write, and then Jamie calls at 12:15am (so by now it’s the 15th, but I’ll continue this thread here). I’m bored anyway by this point, and agree to come over, toting my bottle of Long Island Iced Tea (premixed stuff, but not bad) along. I had mixed down our last Goofy Guys CD before leaving the house and got to his place just after 1am.

Jamie, Zack, and neighbor Chris are sitting around drinking. Chris is like me, he also does not smoke weed, but is highly entertained by this panicky show, of Jamie and Zack trying to score some. And what makes this even more comical is that just two nights ago Zack had mysteriously played some military card for refraining from such, which was obviously total horseshit.

“Weed need, man! Weed crisis!” Zack says.

“Off the chimney!” Jamie agrees, which has become a piece of inner circle (though entirely nonsensical) slang here of late.

“We need it…bad…,” Zack commiserates.

I laugh, though telling these guys that their theatrics are getting a little silly.

The stereo is on and I start cranking a Prodigy disc at full volume, followed by KMFDM. It was loud to begin with, so I saw no reason not to – which is maybe why I totally forgot about Jamie’s mom, who is trying to sleep upstairs.

Well, these two finally come through on their tireless quest. Sort of. This begets a crazy 3am run to Hilliard, with Zack at the wheel, Jamie shotgun, Chris and me in the back. What inspired this is Zack’s sudden flash of inspiration, that they should totally drop in unannounced on this Jillian chick he knows, and hopefully buy some off of her. I mean, how can you not ride along some for something like this, if the opportunity presents itself?

We end up at some complex on Roberts Road. Jillian is asleep on the couch, but her boyfriend Dave agrees to ride elsewhere with Jamie and Zack, chasing down some lead he’s got. This means Chris and I are left behind in some strange apartment, a girl we’ve never seen before still passed out on the couch, watching Next Friday and wrestling with her dog, Buddha (a Shar Pei/pit bull mix.) They also have 2 cats. And throughout, I cannot stop laughing, thinking about how confused this chick will be if she happens to wake up, two guys she has never laid eyes on before wrestling with this dog in her living room at three whatever in the goddamn morning. But it never happens.

I glance over at her, though, inevitably wondering exactly what she must be like. A young, attractive blonde, but I have nothing else to go on apart from her knowing Zack, and the cool, ultramodern clues strewn around this apartment. On one wall hangs this homemade painting of the Tasmanian Devil laughing his ass off outside the gates of hell, holding the decapitated heads of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. Good stuff. Next to me on a coffee table sits some bottles of liquor, lit from behind with a black light that gives the liquids inside an eerie phosphorescent color.  Over there, next to Chris as he sits on the couch, an orange construction barrel. On the minus side, their toilet lid is one of those that won’t stay up, and threatens to chop your dick off unless you hold it with the free hand – always a fun time.

Jamie and Zack return with this Dave character, having scored a bag of weed dirt cheap from some guy Dave barely knew, let alone those other two who’d never met him before. It was funny, though, before he’d left, Dave said, “don’t steal anything!” to Chris and me, but then when Zack vouched for us, told him, “ah, they’re cool.” Accepting this without hestiation, Dave nodded and they all left.

                Now, in returning, I realize Zack and Dave have never even met before! As in, they never even introduce themselves to one another until after arriving back at the apartment just now.

                This Dave guy has some kind of crazy gravity bong he’s made out of a Mountain Dew 2 liter plastic bottle, he sets in a sink full of water somehow and that works.  I don’t understand the logistics of this nonsense, or at least am not interested enough to learn, but at any rate Jamie and Zack and that Dave guy take massive hits off it and are all mighty stoned thereafter.

                They also returned with a 28 pack of popcorn. Dave shows us some pet tricks with his dog. Jamie plays the drums for a minute, then the four of us take off. Weezer is on the radio as we’re heading back out of Hilliard, and, whereas the full moon was out before, now it’s gone. “Where da moon go?” someone wonders (I forgot to write down who.) We take the same route back as we’d came, except obviously in reverse, Leap Road to Davidson to Dublin Road, Hayden Run et cetera. Although come to think of it, I’m not really sure why – there are better options.

August 16

-Campus (Used Kids, hang flyers)

-Over to Jamie’s – starts raining – we drive up to Olive Garden for dinner, mad honeys there

-Back to Jamie’s, for our ever popular post-happy hour routine of naps on couches with some dumb movie playing

-his mom comes home

-over to Angela’s, chill there

August 20

Early shift at Kroger. Leave at 2:30 to meet Melissa at Best Shot – she says she’s buying the beer, she owes me. Sure, whatever. Sitting with us are Julie and Carrie S., who are already here when I arrive. 3 or 4 brews here and I cut out, head home. Matt and I are heading up Mansfield tonight, albeit in separate vehicles. He’s supposed to show up at 5 and manages to get here a few minutes before I do. So he follows me out of town.

August 21

I get home around 11:30 tonight. Surprised to see Damon here for a change – he’s fighting with Maryland. We sit around listening to the first two Floyd albums on vinyl. I’m drinking Long Islands while he fills me in on the latest intrigue with him and his lady. Then he goes to bed around 1; I stay up writing and listening to Jayhawks until crashing on couch somewhere in the neighborhood of 3am.

August 22

I have 8 tickets for B.B. King this year, thanks to Debbie, but can’t even go. Wind up giving 6 to Matt (he only uses 3) and 2 to Damon (he broke up with Maryland today, takes Robin instead.) Miles, Tommy L, Chris D, Carrie are among the others I know who go, as far as coworkers from Kroger. I’m stuck working late at Wild Oats.

Lisa comes in to see me and I agree to meet up with her afterwards, though. But first, I drive home to change out of my smelly clothes. Eat some fast food along the way, before popping in there. Maria has a headache because Michael is in jail (popped for the 4th time for driving without a license) and begging her to rustle up bond money. So he keeps calling calling calling, she’s dealing with that, while Lisa and I sit, drink beer, and laugh.

Jamie keeps calling, too. We’re trying to talk him and Maria into going out with us, after he gets off work at midnight. But nothing materializes on that front, so Lisa and I just head upstairs to her room.

August 24

Work Kroger and Wild Oats. Sharon’s in town again, although this time she shows up with some black dude she’s seeing. Somehow we all wind up meeting over at Lisa and Maria’s place, although Lisa is in Chicago and Maria isn’t going out with us. Damon agrees to join us, and so does Clif. In the living room, Maria is grilling us for every detail of every little angle. Then when we leave, this other guy is cracking up about how, from his point of view, it sure looked like Maria was majorly digging Clif.

“She was lookin at you like you was a Christmas ham!” this cat crows, chortling mightily. Clif just sighs and shakes his head and wearily agrees with the guy.

When he first showed up, I asked him his name, and it sound like he mumbled “Fisher.” I even repeated this back to him, and he said, “yeh.” So anyway the five of us head up to Arlington Cafe and are here for quite some time. I keep calling him Fisher and so does Damon. Then when it’s time to break up for the night, we’re standing around chatting in a parking lot and I mention his name once again.

This time he laughs in bewildered disbelief and says, “man, my name isn’t Fisher! It’s Bishur! Bishur!” like he can’t fathom where we got this.

I think these two are headed back to Lima tonight, but am not 100% positive about that. These Sharon visits from the past few months have been extremely strange – they’re all over the map (meaning each is completely different) and arrive without warning. I can’t get a handle on what she really wants or what she’s hoping to accomplish, ultimately, with any of this. One time all about Damon and one time all about me and a third time now showing up with some random new guy, after two years of not so much as speaking to her. But why bother driving here from Lima for any of this? What is the point? It’s all very peculiar.

August 25

Work Kroger and Wild Oats. Lisa still in Chicago, I talk to Bridgette. Meet her at Gary’s house (far east side). Poker game. She’d warned me about this Chuck guy who creeps her out with cockblocking antics though she has zero interest in the dude. So I see first hand what she’s talking about – the three of us the last ones awake, he will not take a hint or go anywhere. Finally it’s 6am and I have to be to work at 7 anyway, so I just leave.

August 26

Well, I’ve only done this a handful of times in my life, and would not care to make a habit of it – this is a little extreme, even for me. But yes…I’m in to work this morning on exactly no sleep whatsoever. And both jobs again, at that.

After leaving Bridgette behind in Gary’s living room, I came home to change. Hilariously enough, Damon was passed out in bed, door open and TV on – though it’s pure static playing, nothing else. Work Kroger and Wild Oats.

Come home and Jill’s called twice, Bridgette twice. But I’m not doing a goddamn thing with anybody. Actually, I stay up writing for a bit, somehow. Except this sudden thunderstorm moves in, I decide to shut everything off, and I swear not 10 seconds later the power goes out. Crash at 9:30 on the brown couch, not to awaken until morning.

I later learn that Jason went to jail tonight, after a huge fight with Maria. He apparently hit her in the head a few times? It’s hard to believe but this is the story. Anyway, following this, he walked over to the Bethel Road Kroger to call his other girlfriend, see if maybe she would come get him. Yet right at that moment, Miles was leaving, saw him, asked what was up. So then Miles drove him back over there, so Jason could theoretically sneak around and grab his car, get the hell out of there. But Maria was waiting for him, called the cops. They showed up to sort out this mess, whisked him away to cool his heels downtown.

Yikes. He’s only had this pizza delivery job for a month but looks a good bet to lose that now, too.

August 27

I go see Momento by myself at Studio 35. Exercise, write a little bit while listening to Binaural, then cruise over to Lisa and Maria’s. They’re all gathered here, watching a preseason Cowboys game, but by the time I show up it’s almost midnight and the game’s over.

Maria, Lisa, and Bridgette are all planning on being in the courthouse tomorrow to testify against Jason. Everyone’s in the living room except for Maria – she’s upstairs and claims to be on the phone with her grandma, though we suspect it’s actually Jason. Then later admits as much when we bust her on it, tells us she was talking about dropping all charges.

“I don’t want to be with him any more, I just want to be his friend,” she tells us.

“Why the fuck you wanna be his friend?” Mike Nelson questions, “if I come upstairs and beat the hell outta you, are you still gonna wanna be my friend, too?”

“You can do better than that, Maria,” an already half-wasted Miles tells her, asks, “why you always go for these abusive types? You can do better.”

But now she’s pissed off at all of us, and storms up the stairs, not to be seen again tonight. And Michael bids us adieu soon enough as well, heading down to his basement bedroom for some shuteye. This leaves just Mike and Roy on one couch, Miles in a kitchen chair he’s pulled in, Bridgette in the easy chair, Lisa and me on the loveseat. Lisa bends over to inspect my sandaled feet, makes fun of the toenails I’ve still not clipped. She shakes her head and laughs.

“What?” I question.

“Nothing,” she says, and laughs again, then explains to everyone else, “I don’t know how we got started on that at Cedar Point…”

“Jamie started it,” I interject.

“…yeah, Jamie started making fun of your toenails, and we talked about that all day until…well, until they started…started making fun of me and my bush. Maria was calling me Jungle…”

“Jungle Mama,” I clarify.

During this lively discussion, Miles and Bridgette both get up, stroll over to inspect my toenails themselves, chuckle heartily as they return to their seats.

“What the hell is this?” I groan, in response to this sudden attack.

“Maria was making fun of my bush because I never shave it – well, I shave it, just not that close – she was calling me Jungle Mama,” Lisa continues to explain, “but I told her, I never have any complaints.”

“Yeah, but do you have any customers?” Roy jokes.

“I don’t know,” Lisa says, turning to me with a broad, expectant grin, “do I have any customers?”

Truth be known, I’m attempting to watch baseball highlights and am far more interested in those at the moment. Nonetheless, I am forced to respond, and turn to face her. “Uh…can I speak to your manager?” I mutter, and everybody else starts cracking up.

“Guess that means yes,” Roy surmises.

Shortly thereafter, he leaves, though, and Bridgette goes running out the door after him. “Where’d she go?” Miles wonders.

Lisa rolls her eyes and says, “I don’t know. She’s trying to take the place of Corina or Amber tonight.”

In an orange tank top that showcases her ample breasts, particularly every time she bends over, Bridgette does look mighty fetching, though. I can’t imagine she’d have to exert much effort plying her wares. But she returns soon enough, so who knows what that was about – well, we can take a wild stab, and it would probably hew pretty closely to Lisa’s.

The 12 pack of Bud Light bottles I brought (thinking that with girls around, this was the safest bet) are almost tapped, however, and with the remains of Lisa’s Busch Light cans and Bridgette’s Milwaukee’s Worst cans not amounting to much, we are forced to take stock of the situation. Five of us remain in the mix and one o’clock’s approaching soon, meaning we will be facing a beer bankruptcy soon. This will not do. So Miles and I tear out of here in my car, even though he says he’s not planning on drinking much more.

“I don’t really care about much these days,” he’s telling me. An extensive discussion about the girls we work with and which ones we’d still like to bang soon follows.

Mike had tried to throw in a few bucks before we left, but I refused, leading him to crack, “Christ, I’m gonna drink here more often.” At the store, I spring for a case of Busch on my own, not realizing at the time that the girls wanted Light, and with Miles not caring either way (perhaps one application of his speech above) any more than I do. They squawk a little bit about this, when we return, but wind up drinking it all the same.

But Mike only stays for another beer or two before splitting. He’s been sitting here the whole time in a dress shirt, slacks and tie – he’s currently a manager at some Drug Emporium on the east side. Amber is presumably waiting for him at home and he can’t hang out all night with us degenerates.

As he leaves, Bridgette runs upstairs to console Maria. Meanwhile, a quite drunken Miles is telling Lisa and me we should get married. When we laugh off this notion, he moves to discussing some girl he picked up at the bar last night and wound up bringing home. Actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t already said a ton about this.

“She was a nurse,” he says, and I’m quite amused by this, thinking it’s just about all I need to hear – I’ve noticed this recurring pattern, something frequently off-kilter with the chicks drawn to this profession.

“Said she lives of Morse Road…,” he adds, more an aside to himself than anything else. Yet this causes my laughter to dry up in short order, as now I’m wondering if this could possibly be one of the girls I was thinking about. But when I ask Miles what her name was, he admits he can’t even remember, explaining, “I got her number written down at home, though.”

Then Lisa unintentionally has me cracking up all over again, explaining how her weekend had gone in Chicago. Yet this is one of those “complaints” you suspect is not really a complaint, when you get to the heart of it, because they would rather be with some guy they perceive to be in demand. They will just never admit as much. And as for thinking any guy is likely to ever feel bad about any of this – particularly if he’s made no promises to this chick and considers himself as playing the field – you might as well forget about that, too.

“First, Maria calls me Friday night, telling me you were out with some other girl, and I started crying. Then, she calls me Saturday afternoon and tells me you’re doing Sharon, and I started crying again!”

So in other words, a win-win for everybody involved. You just can’t declare that outright, you have to shuck n’ jive around it instead or else the whole house of cards collapses. Both sides secretly find this flattering. And I’m definitely not insane enough to dispute any of this, or issue any qualifications, for that matter any other kind of explanations.

“I don’t know why I like you, after all these years,” she admits, though, which is probably the most telling comment – and again something I feel like I know the answer to. All those previous points would explain this as well.

Around 2:30, Miles gets up to drive home, though we’re begging him to stay. Cops are thick at this hour, plus once Bridgette rejoins us, we need a fourth person for cards. He isn’t much into playing cards anyway, though, and insists upon bailing. Lisa continues pressuring me for details about Sharon, but though laughing and denying there’s anything going on, she doesn’t believe me anyway. I admittedly consider this all extremely comical, and that it’s in my best interests to leave everything open ended, flapping in the breeze. But also marveling that she seems to seriously have no idea I spent untold hours Saturday night with her best friend right here, Bridgette. Then again if the two of us don’t say a word about any of this, then I’m not sure how she would ever find out.

Instead, we sit around siping our beers, wondering what to get into. “Rummy,” Lisa suggests.

“A threesome,” I counterpropose.

Bridgette is game for this and obviously so am I, but Lisa shoots this notion down. Instead we wind up playing Beer Tree, as an only slightly more subdued form of insanity follows. The three of us manage to drink up every remaining beer in the house, including one half hour stretch where a no-talking rule is in place (laughing considerably, though), and the next thing I know it’s 6 in the morning. They’re all supposed to be down at court by 9, but we all know that’s not going to happen, nobody even needs to mention it.

As Lisa and I start to head upstairs, Bridgette asks, “can I join you?”

Lisa grins at me and asks, “what do you think?”

“Sure, the more the merrier,” I tell her.

“The more the merrier he says,” Lisa scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Forget it. No. I’m not sharing you with Bridgette.”

“But I’ll be lonely down here by myself,” Bridgette whimpers, and is so convincing you almost forget for a second that this is a married woman speaking.

Lisa says something about coming to get her later, but then once we’re in her room, she shuts and locks the door.” Bridgette would just come walking in,” she explains.

“She would?” I question with a laugh. Though more hopeful, you might say, than actually doubting this.

  “Oh yeah,” Lisa assures me.

August 28

Day off of work and meet with my little real estate team – it’s official, Kelly tells me, I’ve been approved for this house. We settled upon this new subdivision on the southwest part of town, off of Georgesville Road. Payments will be about a grand a month, but what the hell, I can always find roommates.

Something about this seems too easy to me, though. While admittedly my first time going through this process, attempting to buy a house, I had expected much more red tape. It feels like a little off. “Go ahead and tell your landlord you’re moving out!” Kelly cheers, in her office, congratulating me. But I think until I’ve signed the paperwork and been handed the keys, I’ll hold off on that.

Later, Matt comes over to jam. He has brought with him the long lost Mother Plastic cassette from ’91 (a side project he and Daniel put together) so I can import it to the computer and burn us CDs. Other than that, our most significant accomplishment (only productive accomplishment, really) is that Matt records a couple different takes on the bass part for Bruises Easy:

He likes to listen to a song and improvise his parts, doesn’t really plan anything out. We will be able to use some of this. Damon somehow manages to nap in his room through all of it, don’t ask me how. Then later, he gets up and heads over to Maryland’s place – they are back together again. He says he’s just going over there to “eat some ribs” but then never returns. After Matt leaves, I cruise over to Robin’s pad, spend the night with her.

August 30

Wake up there at 10:45 – she long since left for work, of course. I drive home to eat two quick lunchmeat and cheese sandwiches, throw on swim trunks and head back over to Robin’s, swim in the complex pool there for about an hour & a half, laying out too as I write and read, trying to catch some sun before the summer disappears.

                In for closing shift at Kroger, talking to Jill on one break for the first time in awhile (she is just coming in, at 4 o’clock) and she gives me their new # (Dan left her mom, meaning it’s just the two of them and the baby) and invites me to stop by some time.

                “You never come by any more, you never call….,” she teases. I assure her I will real soon.

                Clif calls me on line 1, Maria at the same time on line 2, I deal with both of those and am cruising thru everything until about 8, when Lisa stops by to talk my ear off. 

September 1

Party van for Maria’s birthday, something of a yearly tradition (or in reality, something we find reason to do for any flimsy excuse at all). It’s her, Lisa, Mike, Amber, Roy, Corina, Damon, Miles (proud of his new boots), me, Don, Christine, and a few other chicks that Maria knows. Start off at Break-A-Way Lounge – pictures, “here’s to side projects.” Then to Brickyard, where Danger Will Robinson is playing.

And then it’s only after this that the proceedings get really convoluted and weird. Dropping Mike and Amber off, but adding Jamie and others to our official posse somewhere along the way. Then this party van ends up clear out in Hilliard, to deposit Roy and Corina.

Back the Yanik compound, Lisa and I tap out, head up to her room. And hereby miss most of the “fun” we hear so much about later. Everyone else (Damon & Maryland had already bailed too by this point) goes next door to party with the new neighbors. Jamie fighting with his old lady, walks off into the night, crying. Don feels bad and drives off to get him, winds up giving Jamie a lift home. Then Don ends up back here, down in the basement with this Heather chick Maria knows from work. Stephanie and Tim hit it off bigtime and get a hotel room together – she lost her house keys. The rest come stumbling back in at about 7am. Miles crashes on one couch, Andrea on the other.

It’s also entertaining to think about who is not around for something like this, and wonder why. Sometimes you know the reason (work, etc) but just as often not. There are a few conspicuous characters absent tonight, for example. And I kind of like to imagine what they might have been doing instead.

September 4

Day off writing, then over to Chris’s house later so we can collaborate on a screenplay. He lives on Staffordshire and coincidentally enough, so does Paula, just a few houses up from him.

We don’t get a ton accomplished, but spitball some ideas and iron a few concepts out. His background is in film/video, so that’s what he’ll be bringing to the table. Meanwhile I showed up with this list of story ideas I have saved on my computer, printed out for the occasion – just little blurbs, a paragraph or even just a sentence summing up the plot.

I’m drinking beer, he’s drinking beer but also smokes some pot. He likes a few of my ideas. Also has this concept of strapping the video camera to a skateboard or dog or something and letting it rip, just to see what kind of footage we’d end up with and what this would look like. For at least some of the scenes, or maybe just one. In the end, we both agree that setting the story in a grocery store and using our experiences there (imagine that) seems like the most promising setting for our movie.

September 5

Kroger and Wild Oats. After getting home, I work some more on the supermarket script – have already done extensive work on an unfinished novel, which I can pillage for material. And then talking to Jill, agree to drive over there. She wants some beer, so I stop and get a 6 pack of MGD along the way.

We sit out back, on her picnic table, underneath a mostly full moon. Later, she makes us some ramen noodles and we munch on those. Then Madison wakes up and Jill changes her, feeds her.  For some reason – probably from living with just two women, as Jill’s stepdad has left the picture – Madison loves guys, she laughs and laughs to see me, says, “hi” on one occasion (that and “mama” the only two words she knows at 6 months) and I laugh too, it’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen in my life – but of course I’ve been saying that since the day she was born. 

                And a young Cleveland fan, too!  I am wearing my Tribe hat and she keeps grabbing for it, of particular interest to her is Chief Wahoo, the logo.  She appears to be trying to rip it off and is getting frustrated, until I chuckle and say something like, “Chief Wahoooooo!” and this cheers her up again for a spell. Jill and I agree we’re going to have to get Madison her own Indians hat, maybe even a whole outfit. 

September 6

Everyone’s playing cards at the Yanik sisters’ place. But I don’t feel like going over there and manage to dodge all phone calls – from Lisa, Maria, Jamie. Lisa is reportedly pissed that I blew them off but oh well.

September 7

Kroger and Wild Oats. Home to change, Damon & Maryland & Kaitlyn are here – Andy Carpenter’s on the phone with Damon when I arrive, in fact. Sit around awhile, they leave, then I slide over to Lisa’s. She’s very angry but I just laugh, as I had done when she came in to chew me out at Kroger earlier.

Also, Christine’s here, ranting and raving about some babysitter allegedly molesting her kids. But Maria’s actually in a great mood. Therefore when this hot friend of hers shows up, we leave Lisa and Christine behind to stew, as the three of us walk over to this neighbor’s place. He’s this black dude named Keith that I’m meeting for the first time, and seems pretty cool.

Then Lisa strolls over and attempts giving me grief at Keith’s pad, but I won’t hear of it, just laugh in her face some more and she eventually lightens up. Megan wants to hit some club. Bump into Bruce in the parking lot and talk to him awhile. Then somehow Lisa, me, Maria, Christine and Bruce wind up drifting through DiMarco’s, in two separate vehicles. Maria goes home early, the rest of us end up back at Bruce’s place. Lisa and I take on him and Christine at the pool table he has in his apartment, both sides win one game apiece. Finally back at Lisa’s, everybody’s up watching TV late, I crash there.

September 13

out drinking at Traditions with Lisa, Jen Freeland, Jamie, Damon, and Alan. Jamie’s hilarious freestyle rap as we finish our beers in the parking lot:

nigga please…..bitch get on your knees….suck on these…..n-u-t’s…..and just mind your bees….uh…beeswax…..I’ll send you a fax…..

Pool. Jamie and Jen walk over to Pockets. Alan leaves. Lisa’s on my case some more, giving me shit. Damon splits. Jen and Jamie return, the four of us head back to Lisa’s. Jamie and Jen cuddling on one couch. Raining now, Lisa puts on this funny yellow slicker, ventures outside to move my car and bring in my laundry. Jen tells me I’m a “retard” for making Lisa do this.

Though mostly laughing, when forced to explain myself, my take on this is that I’m not making Lisa do anything. She insists my clothes need washed right this second, then whatever, have at it. The other consideration too is that for certain people, their entire shtick is how “bad” they’ve got it in life – and I’m just not playing along with that game.

So Lisa’s doing my laundry, and crying, but then we make up, et cetera, and finish the night up in her bedroom like pretty much always. Zzzzzzzzzz.

September 14

Clif, Robin, and I attend Tool show. We briefly pregame at Woody’s, meeting there at 7:15. Marla (Robin’s friend) is the proud owner of the fourth ticket in our group, but she totally bails, doesn’t even make it to the concert. And actually Clif himself is a replacement, for Alan once again told me to buy him a ticket, and once again canceled as the day approached – I don’t know how many times I have to fall for this before finally giving up.

It’s pretty funny, though, Clif doesn’t know what to even make of these guys. He keeps making various wisecracks about, “man, I must be the only black guy in Columbus at a motherfuckin Tool concert!” Or just staring at various artsy touches of their stage show and muttering a dumbfounded, “uh………”

Clif and Robin have met before, but only briefly. This is their first time really hanging out – she thinks he’s cool, now, and vice versa. Robin’s calling him her “new best friend.” After the concert, we go hang out at his apartment, order pizza and drink some beer. Despite it not being very late and not drinking much at all, I can barely keep my eyes open, however. These other two find this hilarious, however, and keep marveling at how they’ve never seen it before.

September 16

Kroger and Wild Oats. Since Friday, these mornings and evenings have been chilly.  The mid-days are hot as ever, but that is about it. Leaving Kroger and I spot Lisa hanging out by my car, peeking in the windows, though this mostly strikes me as hilarious.

Later, Matt and I hit O’Reilly’s. I’m having Labatts draft, him Foster’s oil cans. For our late dinners, I order an Italian sub and fries, he just sticks with garlic bread. We talk about work, music, etc, and for some reason they are showing Mrs.Doubtfire here, closed captioned on their big screen.

Bored with that, I play some tunes on their strange jukebox (Matt chips in $2 for the cause): Paranoid Android, a remix of Fascination Street, followed by the likes of Hey Nineteen (still think about Virginia from ’97 every time I hear that song), with Boz Skaggs’s Lowdown and then R.E.M.’s E-Bow The Letter for good measure.

Matt’s still wearing his crazy jacket, which I can’t stop laughing about. It’s green, tan, and red and we will nickname it The Monquigley. It is quite possibly the most awesome jacket ever.

Then these three girls sitting at the bar keep looking over at us (favorably…I think) and so we eventually strike up a converstaion with them. We’re all agreeing that a song they played, Sound Of Silence, is great, and sing along with it, followed by Harvest Moon. Though it seemed like this potential connection could have gone somewhere, Matt and I just leave without even getting their numbers or anything. It’s possible we might see them here again anyway, of course.

September 17

Walking out to my car after getting off at Kroger and thinking to myself wow, Lisa never stopped in and hassled me today.  Who should be hanging out by my car, then, but her.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks.

                “Oh nothing,” I shrug.

                “You told me you had plans!” she challenges.

                “Oh, I do,” I grin, “but you probably don’t want to hear about them.”

                “Why?” her forehead creases up, “what are you doing.”

                “Going to the zoo,” I tell her.

                “With who!?” she demands.

                “Do you really want to know?”

                “Yeah!  With who?!”

                “Jill,” I tell her, and she flies off the handle, tells me we’re done, then starts crying, I see a tear come rolling down her cheek underneath the purple sunglasses she has on. She keeps trying to make a big deal out of the fact that we’re seeing each other, but here I am running off to the zoo with an ex-girlfriend.

                “The zoo’s my favorite place!” she cries, “you never take me anywhere!”

                “You never asked.”

                “Oh, and the zoo closes at 6 – what are you going to do then!?”

                “I don’t know,” I admit, “probably go have dinner somewhere.”

                All of which sets off another crying bout.  Lisa tells me, when I try to say Jill is just a friend, “oh, come on, that girl’s in love with you.”  Which may be true, I don’t know.

                 Me, all I can do is laugh. And anyway, by the end of it, she’s kissing me, trying not to crack up herself because even when she’s trying to act pissed off I cackle and poke her in the belly, then she gives in and starts laughing too.                 

September 18

Off all day, accomplishing plenty as always. Later, over to Robin’s to spend the night. This time I snuck in the house, which I’ve been doing lately, poured myself a Captain and Kool-Aid (the new favorite) before proceeding upstairs to surprise her.

September 19

Wake up feeling dandy. Home to write n’ stuff before closing shift at Kroger.

Later, over at Lisa’s trying to calm the waters following mild turbulence in the workplace. At first she’s acting all pissed off because I have Robin and Clif in tow with me. The Robin part, that is. Not Clif. I mean, I get it – I’m not totally dense here – and legitimately don’t believe I’m being antagonistic on purpose, or trying to keep the pot stirred up. This just feels more like, look, when you moved back from Chicago, I told you how things were going to be, if you wanted to continue seeing me like we have been, and you agreed to that. I’m not changing my whole life around now, after the fact, to keep you from flipping out. These are the people I’m hanging out with tonight, and whatever, deal with it.

Of course, the other (and possibly much larger) consideration is the feedback loop this creates – which as previously noted, definitely benefits the guy in this situation, but the girl not-so-secretely eats this up, too. It’s not a very p.c. thing to say, yet I’m convinced that it’s true. Someone like Lisa (not that she’s alone – far from it) will just nod and mutter, “uh huh, uh huh,” when you’re laying down the ground rules at the start, that you don’t want anything serious, intend to keep seeing other people, and can only maybe fit in one night a week to see her. Totally blowing you off, not believing you, and above all convinced beyond all doubt that she’s so amazing, there’s no way you can possibly stick to this anyhow. So when you hold your ground, they wind up more impressed, or something, and all the more determined to fight for you, though on the surface objecting to this behavior.

So here are the particulars of how this plays out tonight. Does this junk work the way I think or am I completely out of my mind? I’m curious what an objective observer would have to say about these points.

1. Start off sitting on the love seat with Lisa, so that’s something. Nobody else is talking, really, though, so Robin and I are making conversation. Clif does interject his typical wisecracks for good measure. Meanwhile, Maria, feeling sick, says very little. She’s babysitting Jordan, who goofs around on the computer and refuses to go to bed (10pm supposedly his nighty-night time, not that he listens to Maria).
2. Lisa has me come outside with her to talk, starts crying, says she can’t believe I brought Robin over. My counterpoints are that Robin’s actually been hanging out with Clif all day, technically speaking those two came over here on their own accord, are really hitting it off (a bit of an embellishment, but essentially true) and she needs to get over it.

        “Yeah, but I go into Kroger and I have to look at one girl you used to sleep with every day and now you invite one over to my house! Have a little respect!”

        Though I just laugh and say “whatever,” she does have a point, I guess, when she frames it like that. In reality, I never would have just brought Robin over here by myself in a situation like this – it only seems different because she’s been running around town with Clif today and they followed me over here.

        However, I think what you might call The Devil You Know Defense does have some merit – what is Lisa saying, exactly? Would she prefer I was somewhere else hanging out with Robin at this moment? Is it not better than I’m at least with her, at her own apartment?

        Well, you might say this line of reasoning cleverly skates around the real issue. I don’t know. People like Damon are often marveling, “dude, I don’t know how you keep a straight face through some of this stuff!” or something along those lines – and yet even that’s not really true: she’s yelling at me, and I’m laughing in response. That’s typically how it goes. So, not exactly a straight face per se.

        But what they actually mean when saying things like this, I suspect, is they can’t believe I stay this calm and don’t flip out myself. Also, that I am totally serious with some of my logic, even though at first glance it appears completely off the wall. And that I am getting away with it!

        The reason for all that is that I’m not a mean spirited person, and genuinely feel I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m honest with these chicks right out of the gate. They agreed to play ball anyway, so that’s on them. I tell them what I’m about and how I like to live, I just want to do my thing, and am not a dick about it. For the most part, I am not the least bit bothered by anything anyone else is doing, either, have almost nothing bad to say about anyone encountered in a typical day – maybe partially due to being extremely busy and not even having time for their behavior to register, but whatever. They should be free to do their own thing, too. Someone really has to punch through the chaos in a significant way and come at me on a serious personal level for me to even care. Which almost never happens.

        So where this apparent friction comes from mostly is the girls not listening, not believing you, yet also on some level secretly digging it. That’s the only reason they continue putting up with this. Granted, they may eventually tire of this and walk away, but a surprising amount stick around. They get frustrated and disappear for months at a time, maybe, but this is mostly due to their inability to control me, which they believe they want. Still, there are no hard feelings, and a lot of times they calm down after a while, start coming around again.  

• Having run to the liquor store before coming here, Robin and I are drinking Captain and Cokes. Clif, Maria, and Lisa are sipping on cheap domestic beer, in cans no less.
• Bridgette calls, says she’s coming over.
• She shows up, Clif and Robin leave.
• Lisa, Bridgette, and I start playing Beer Tree again. Lisa starts screaming about Robin being over here. Maria’s sitting on the couch, she and Bridgette are both taking my side and telling her it’s silly to get this worked up over it.

        “Shh shh, let’s use our inside voices,” I joke at one point.

        “That girl’s lucky I didn’t kick her ass!” Lisa yells, red in the face.

        Now here is where I typically do draw the line, which we saw a little bit of on the day I got Damon and myself kicked off of Carrie’s basketball team. I don’t really care much if people are messing with me, but do have a huge issue when somebody starts messing with a person I personally started bringing around. Or however you want to phrase that. It really bothers me in that situation and I know that if Lisa had started anything with Robin, she would have been out the door – Robin, that is – and I would have immediately followed her.

• Maria goes to bed. Beer Tree becomes strip poker. Then all three of us are sitting here completely naked, and the game instead becomes playing-for-no-reason-at-all-while-completely-nude-poker. Bridgette is attempting to be somewhat modest, sitting low in her seat, but Lisa doesn’t care and has her boobs flopped out onto the table.

September 21

Kroger and Wild Oats. Lisa pissed because I won’t go out after work, ends up just joining Mike and Amber instead. I’d wanted to see Rollins Band at Alrosa Villa if my schedule worked out, actually, but by the time I get out it’s too late. Errands to run anyway, like buying clothes for the wedding, then a late dinner alone at the Friday’s on Cleveland Avenue. Sitting at the bar and am surprised to see Eddie & Mike from Pearl Jam playing with Neil Young on the mounted tv, there’s some live 9/11 benefit special called “A Tribute To Heroes” that is on right now. So I watch some of this. Then come home and read a little bit of Stephen King’s On Writing, which I just got around to buying.

September 25

Sharon stops in, says she’s living across the street now with Tracy. Matt over, we lay down his crazy keyboards and drum machine for My Name Is Quigley G. Later, to Gabby’s for one drink, then Dino’s for 3-4. Listen to but don’t watch the Tribe eke out a win over the Blue Jays. Then back to the house briefly, watch music videos. Matt is drinking Molson XL now. Earlier I had tried rustling up Sharon and Robin to come over here and play cards, to no avail. Finally, I relent, call Lisa, we drive across town to her place. Listen to the Mother Plastic CD along the way. Drunken night there playing euchre with Lisa & Maria. Then Maria goes to bed and the three of us play In Between (a.k.a. Acey Ducey). Lethal game whether for money or drinks. Crash there.

September 26

Yikes. Everything hits the proverbial fan tonight. Might need to revise some of these concepts. It’s just Robin, Lisa, Mike, Amber, and me at Bumpers, holy Christ. Fight, crash at my house.

September 27

Well, these hot streaks can’t last forever. You just have to ride out and minimize the down turns. Argument with Kelly on the phone today as she explains she was totally mistaken and I am not getting that house. It was supposedly going to close by the end of this month. Am somewhat heated, but not extremely so, considering I just had a feeling something was off and never even contacted the landlord here about ending the lease – my thinking was I would rather double pay for a month if need be than to have no place at all. And thank god I did that.

Have plans with Robin but decide to blow her off, never even call her or anything. Instead for a change I decide to hang out with Damon and Maryland instead, up at her apartment. This feels like a much needed safehouse at the moment and there’s almost no chance anyone would ever track me down here. We drink and grill out, have a pretty good time. Then I’m home fairly early, exhausted beyond belief, fall asleep in bed with clothes and lights on around 10pm.

September 30

Kroger and Wild Oats. Home, write a little bit, am planning to just kick it here tonight, maybe pop in on Robin tomorrow. But an email from her changes all that. She reminds me that she’s leaving town for a week starting tomorrow, and is requesting my presence this evening. Who am I to object? Plus I kind of owe her for Wednesday and Thursday anyway. I show up over there around midnight.

October 1

Her alarm clock wakes me up at 7:30 she’s on vacation and gets to sleep in, but I have to report for work, goddammit.

After my shift at Kroger I’m driving home and start to feel a little sleepy.  Get home and flop into bed at 4:30, not to awaken until 9 p.m., then doze off again until 1 a.m., then again until 5 a.m. Very, very strange, hadn’t realized I was that tired. Then again, it’s been 2 weeks since my last day off, I’ve worked 33 hours in the past three days, and, well, I don’t exactly take it easy even when I’m not working.

                Funny, though, that I get up at 5, turn on my computer, start importing another old cassette into the Cakewalk program. And while that’s going I’m sitting in my bed reading a book when Damon walks in!  Said he couldn’t sleep over at Maryland’s house, was coming here to give it a whirl before his own job beckoned in a few hours. 

                Interesting – people already think Damon and I are both very strange characters, and sometimes you have to wonder. We could be the only roommates in the whole city of Columbus who didn’t see each other at all during the day, then are both mysteriously awake at 5 in the morning and carrying on an actual conversation.

October 2

A great day off, finally, and I enjoy it to the hilt like always. After chatting with Damon, I was up writing until about 7, crashed for a while, and woke up for good at 9. Shower, write some more. Then at 10 or so, with it being a warm, sunny day outside, I pull my bicycle from the downstairs closet and ride it up to the circle. Fill the tires at a gas station, continue up to the Burger King on 161 for lunch and to read the newspaper. On my way home, I accidentally run into a steep curb and crack the hell out of my left wrist, which hurts like a mother.

                Put the bike away, nap from 11:30-12:15, wake up wondering why I’m so freaking tired the past couple of days. Make myself a salad, then cruise downtown to the tire shop on Parsons to have those guys slap a decent used one on my car for $25 ($22 and $3 tip to the dude who’s always working there). Home, I’m on a roll, burn some CDs of the piped-in old tapes. Then I write some more, heat up some leftover spaghetti, am still working on these things when Damon rolls in from work at 4 – he was on Morse Road today, instead of up at the Alum Creek office.

                “When I’m there I can sneak out and no one knows the difference,” he explains, “The whole point of me being there anyway is to talk to people about things, and they’re not even there.” He decides it makes him look even worse to stick around and do nothing than leave, so he splits. Seeing what I’m working on, he says he wants to listen to the Goofy Guys stuff when I’m finished with this process.

                “I figure once I get it all done I’ll make a compilation CD for everyone of our decent stuff,” I tell him.

                He then asks about the possibility of importing his own recordings in this manner, and I agree to show him whenever he wants, that we can work on this together. And then he’s out the door again.

                I spend the rest of the late afternoon listening to music and writing, finish off the last 2/3 of a white zinfandel bottle while doing so. Then shut everything down at 7:15, cruise over to Drexel Grandview to watch Ghost World by myself.

                Returning home, there are messages for me from Matt Montanya and Andy Carpenter. Andy even addresses me as Syd, and I think about how it’s just like the old days lately. That we are maybe returning to this, somehow, staying in touch again, after 7 or 8 years of not seeing a bunch of these people.

                No phone calls from any girls, which is actually okay. Robin and Lisa are both out of town anyway. My pair of Kroger women are somewhat dead in the water at the moment, too, and there’s not much else happening beyond that. Well, a couple other options maybe, if I were feeling seriously inspired. But when is the last time I knocked out 20 pages of writing in a single day? That’s where I’m at for the day. So this could be my most productive one on that front in weeks, if not months. Not to mention a bunch of other stuff.

                Chef Pat invited me to some bible meeting at 8 tonight, which I seriously considered before going to the movie instead. Not because I really care about that stuff at all, but just to be a good friend, show that I appreciate the gesture. And not only that but maybe learn something new, meet different people, check out unknown aspects of this city. But you can’t squeeze in everything, so maybe next time.

October 3

Alex calls me at work, wants to know if I feel like coming over for a card game. Sure, I figure, why not, even with the knowledge that some of these gatherings are extremely dull. I take a stack of blank CDs along, hoping Alex will be willing to burn off some stuff for me in his spare time.

He still lives at the Continent, but in a different, somewhat bigger apartment, with his girlfriend Carrie. She appears to be pregnant, though I’m not sure and nobody says anything, so I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth by mentioning it, either. When I show up at 6:30, Denver is already here. He’s working for Two Men and a Truck these days. We eat pizza and then start into a game of spades.

This Mark guy shows up, some skinny dude with curly dark hair and a goofy smile. He reminds me of Jerry the dentist from the original Bob Newhart Show. Those fellows pass a bong back and forth – Denver calls his stuff “hydroponic bud” – while I just and drink my 40 of Busch. Here off of Busch Blvd, I just happened to think, comically enough, in the shadow of that Anheuser-Busch factory.

After four hands, I step aside and let Mark take my place as Denver’s partner. It seems like the polite thing to do, and besides, my 40 is getting warm. Alex’s behavior, meanwhile, is curiously free of its usual unintentional hilarity – he doesn’t say or do anything notably dorky at all while I’m here, which is a first. Unless you consider maybe his musical selections, which do have the rest of us cracking up. These are tunes he’s saved on his computer and is cranking out now in a continual playlist, bouncing for example from Led Zeppelin to Will Smith to Poison to Clarence Freakin’ Carter. We can’t believe it.

Carrie brings this already muted affair to an early conclusion, too. Halfway through the game, she gets up and leaves the room without saying a word to anyone. We figured she was just in the bathroom or something, but after fifteen minutes of twiddling our thumbs, Alex wanders off to check on her. She’s in bed. Unreal.

So we finish things out now with me jumping in as Alex’s partner – we lose by bidding for five tricks at 450 points, with Denver and Mark at 400. Got greedy and are set back, then they win on the next hand. After this, a quick euchre game follows, with those two winning yet again.

I come home and there’s a fresh message on the machine from Damon. He says he’s bored sitting over at Maryland’s and looking for something to do. So I call him over there and we agree to meet at Gabby’s at 9:30. It is packed, for karaoke night, and we have a great time sitting here. He confesses he’s secretly hoping to get back with Angie someday, can’t imagine marrying anyone else ever. Then he chuckles about my antics, bringing these up on his own, and admits he is astounded how I am getting away with murder with these women, and they really don’t even seem to mind, for the most part.

Well, Lisa’s theatrics are maybe an exception, although even there I feel like half of it’s playacting and having fun being dramatic. Maybe even up to 90% of it. I tell him I’m convinced the only reason this is working is because I actually tell them right up front about what I’ve got going on. They all know about each other, and if they’re choosing to get mixed up with me anyway, then this is not my problem. He agrees and says this is pretty much how Frank always operated too. Which is probably where we developed many of these concepts, absorbing them via osmosis. One other key aspect though, I also believe, is that I don’t really talk about these girls to anyone else, and they know it. Even in situations like this, discussing dating theory – it’s typically all very abstract, names are rarely mentioned and definitely not focused upon.

Damon refers to the drive home from this circle as “The Tamarack Video Game.” I never would have thought of it like that, but he’s right on the money. As he describes it, there’s not much lighting, cars are parked on both sides of an already narrow street, the road is a series of tight curves, and we’re often about half crocked – like tonight’s tally, for example, finds us at nine Captain and Cokes apiece whilst here. Fortunately, it is a very short drive.

October 5

Kroger and Wild Oats. After work, Travis and I cruise over to his house to watch the 2^nd game of an Indians-Blue Jays doubleheader and drink some beer.  We have a good time talking about work and old times and stuff, the future of Superstar Rookie and whatnot.

                3 Rolling Rocks at his house and I feel strangely buzzed, leave there at about 11:15. I stop at the campus Kroger for a few groceries – well, just 3 frozen pizzas and some coffee, sugar, non-dairy creamer since it’s cold out now – then come home. I throw a pizza in the oven and then call Jill, since it’s by now midnight and I figure she’ll be in from work at this point. We wind up talking for two hours.        

October 6

Early shift at Kroger. Lisa is in and asks if I’m going to party with them tonight, but I only tell her maybe, that I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. She gets all teary eyed and calls me an asshole, questions what, exactly, is so important, and I tell her it’s none of her business. To which she replies, “I don’t understand what your problem is,” and says if I don’t come out with her tonight, she is done with me.

After work I come home, have a beer and pizza on the couch while reading and watching the Giants-Dodgers game. I also discover that Heather has called – so that’s pretty cool and unexpected, I think it’s been about a year since we’ve even talked. In other words about time to ramp that up again maybe, heh heh. Doze off for a bit, then listen to the Indians radio broadcast while writing for a spell, as well as working on the packaging for some of these Goofy Guys discs.

That whole other mob goes down tonight to watch the Buckeys play a rare night game. This is what I was determined to avoid. Miles, Lisa, Maria, Mike, Amber, Michael, Christine, Tony and Stephanie somehow all cram into Steph’s little Honda, to make the journey down there. Outrageous! Miles refuses to ride back in such cramped confines, though, calls a cab on his own and splits. Roy is partying with them down there, but they lose him, and Jen McBride, who came into town Friday, decides to hang out by herself on campus afterwards, tells everyone she’ll find a ride back somehow later.

I wait until about one in the morning, then drive over to Lisa’s. Tell her that maybe it’s best if we’re just friends, if she can’t handle this casual stuff, knowing full well she’ll shoot this notion down, insist she’s cool with it, and sleep with me anyway.

October 7

Wake up at 8, drive home, crash again until noon. Write a little bit, stop at Roosters for lunch, buy a portable cassette player for my car (uses the cigarette lighter adapter plug), then head in to work a shift at Wild Oats. And now my vacation has officially begun.

Home, plan on sleeping for a couple hours, but instead start packing at 10:30 and am on the road by 11.

October 13

All day hanging out with Jill. She actually doesn’t seem too enthused at first, which makes me think maybe I’m skating on thin ice here. But it’s cool and we wind up having a great time.

I arrive at her house just after 1 in the afternoon, sit idle while she gets Madison ready for our day on the town. We leave, to hit some Apple Butter Fest or whatever in Groveport. It’s an awesome day out too, weather wise, hot even, and Jill laments having worn a heavy sweater. As for baby Maddie, she’s stylin’ and profilin’ in a jean jacket and this hilariously funky, leopard spotted hat.

                The festival is lame and we walk through it only once – seemingly takes about five minutes. And this includes a few seconds spent watching some country band butcher The Boxer by Simon y Garfunkel.

                We blaze out of there on some random country road. Jill’s driving and neither one of us has any idea where we’re going, we’re just enjoying this cruise in the wilderness. We talk about driving down to Circleville to see some farm markets, but in the end don’t. By chance, we pass a cemetery where her grandma is buried and decide to park here, attempt looking for the grave site. So we dutifully creep through it, inspecting every tombstone we come across, but can’t seem to locate it.

                “Oh well,” Jill laughs, after deciding to give up, “we tried. I paid my respects.”

                From there, we somehow wind up in the ghetto, reentering town via Parsons, and while trying to escape this area, we discuss where to go for lunch. Jill mentions The Spaghetti Warehouse, but can’t remember where it is, and I’ve never been there at all. So we give up on that concept and try to hit 315 instead, but then make a wrong turn and wind up driving right by the restaurant anyway, on accident. Worked out well, I’d say.

                Lunch here it is, then! The Spaghetti Warehouse is a neat old place, reminds you of something Italian mobsters might have eaten at in the 1930s. Or hell, maybe even now. An actual train car sits in the middle of the place, with tables inside. And out in the lobby, there are some arcade games, a fortune teller machine, even one of those thingies where you try and grab stuffed animals with a hook. Jill and I both spend a quarter on our fortunes, then she drops three bucks trying to win a stuffed animal for Madison.  As far as lunch, we both have chicken parmesan, and everyone is gawking over the baby.

                Once, while Jill is off at the restroom, this elderly couple strolls by and the old man asks, “is he (not realizing it was a girl) an Indians fan, too?”  I have my Chief Wahoo cap on, which is apparently what sparks this.

                “Oh yeah,” I laugh, and so do they in continuing onward. Then, after Jill returns, some middle aged lady comes by and makes goo-goo eyes, baby talks to Madison.

                From here, we head back to her house. Chilling out there, Maddie is put in her crib for a nap, and Jill’s mom is baking cupcakes while talking on the phone to some new guy she met online. As for us, we rented a few movies somewhere along the line, and plan on watching those.

                “Why are you wearing that hat?” Jill asks me.

                “I don’t know,” I shrug, “I need a haircut.”

                “I could cut it,” she laughs, “cut it all off with a razor.”

                “Okay!” I readily agree..

                Out on the back patio, dogs running around the yard, Jill’s getting ready to shave all my hair off and her mom’s begging her not to do it. 

                “Stop, Jill!” she pleads, but by now I’ve got a couple strips shaved.

                “It’s too late now, mom,” she giggles and continues. 

                All in all, it turns out okay, and though I’ve twice had my head shaved before, never before this short, almost down to the scalp.

                I take a shower and Jill gives me some fresh clothes to wear, while throwing my other stuff in the wash, and then we sit in her living room watching The Mummy Returns. Her mom is talking on the phone to her dude again, and announces now that they’re going out on a date, meeting at 7:30 at the movie theatre on Sawmill to watch a flick there.

                “As soon as she leaves, will you have sex with me?” Jill whispers.

                “As soon as she leaves?” I joke, “you don’t want any foreplay?”

               To make a long story short, her mom leaves and we’re in the basement getting my clothes out of the dryer. And we wind up on the bed down there (which is her mom’s actually, though I’d prefer not to think about this), completely naked, rolling around and making out, before she tells me she can’t do this.

                “I thought I could, but I can’t. It has nothing to do with Jim, it’s just that if I sleep with you I’ll start thinking there’s something there again, and there won’t be.”

                It’s an amicable parting, though. We even watch a second movie, on blankets and pillows on the floor of her living room, with her head on my chest for much of it. But I guess there’s some unspoken pact here where if you’d slept together tonight, this would be a dick move (and spelling any of his out verbally as well), but since we didn’t, it’s okay if I leave.

                My last full night of vacation and I decide to cap it off with one final drink (Captain and Coke, what else) at the Boomerang on Karl. Hoping they’ll be playing the tail end of a baseball playoff game, but they aren’t. This decent looking thirtysomething blonde in scrubs comes over from across the bar and plops down in a chair next to me, orders a beer, starts talking my ear off.  What is it about these wacky nurses?  Are they attracted to me from across a room, or are they just this outgoing in general? Three of the last five girls I’ve dated or banged or whatever (meaning new recruit-wise, not ongoing projects I still sleep with) have been nurses, and now this one is being flirtatious as hell. And of course some of my other single friends are also running into similar patterns out on the scene.

                I’m not in the mood tonight, though, and when she turns her head to talk to someone else, I split.  A crappy metal band named Onit playing Ratt and Janis Joplin (singer alone on guitar for this one) doesn’t help, either.

                Lisa, meanwhile, I discover upon arriving home, has left a few angry messages, wondering why I “stood her up” today, for the wedding she was attending at 4. Apparently, she didn’t take me seriously a week ago when I told her I wasn’t going, to find an alternate.

October 16

Off work again, a day to loaf. Continue working on the next book, I’ve knocked out 30 pages in less than 24 hours – not bad! Watching ball game in the afternoon and Damon rolls in around 6 or so. We head up to Hooters for dinner, first time I’ve ever been to one. Really not even worth the scenery, the food’s so mediocre (plus, not to knock anyone, because we would surely be happy with any of these women, but a lot of them are looking kind of middle aged and not that amazing, certainly not living up to the “hooters” hype this whole franchise is supposedly based around; but on the flipside, we don’t care about this, either, and are mostly thinking you go girl, you deserve everything you can get and more power to you, fuck these people and these corporate clowns anyway.)

                Home to chill for a bit, then decide to hit Caddo’s. We actually haven’t been here, or at least I definitely haven’t, since that night with Boris and Dragon. Louie (the owner) comes out to ask where we’ve been. “Still hung over from last time,” I jokingly tell him. Dan pours us a Captain and Coke each as soon as we walk in, hooks us up ridiculously well all night. This guy is awesome. Like he’s cracking us up when, as Damon has just bought us a second round, Dan is behind the bar singing Interstate Love Song and pauses to say to us away from the mic, “six even,” before he leans back into it and starts belting the vocals out again.

October 17

Early shift at Kroger. Lisa accosts me in the parking lot, freeze my nuts off listening to her bitch. Damon and I hit Roosters for dinner, then return home, Matt Montanya shows up a few minutes later. Damon heads upstairs to play the organ, which we’re listening to for a bit before Matt and I dip out to Gabby’s.

It’s karaoke night here, not extremely packed tonight, but decently so. We sit at the bar and flip through the book, debate over which songs to select. I’m thinking about Steely Dan and Matt’s telling me I can do it, but like I explain to him, the guy’s voice is so weird and I’ve never tried before, so I have no idea if I can even pull it off. But thank god for the gloomy British guys!

Matt sings Angel Eyes, War Pigs, and Faithfully. On that last number, during the “whoa oh oh oh…whoa oh oh oh…,” part, he’s waving his right arm in the air, talking into the mic trying to get people to sing along. And he sounds great, they’re just really not into it. As for me, I finally settle upon Song 2 by Blur and Creep by Radiohead. The guy running the show here, I feel like it’s somewhat safe to declare, is in the “short person” category. Matt keeps referring to him as Hank The Angry Dwarf. Anyway, for unknown reasons, while I’m on the stage singing Creep, Hank or whatever his name is stands off to the side, to the right of me. And during that high pitched middle part, I can kind of see him out of the corner of my eye shoot a surprised glance over my way, like he’s surprised I’m pulling this off. But of course, maybe I’m delusional – the crowd here does seem halfway comatose tonight, so it’s hard to tell.

We do wind up getting into some heavy musical discussions with pretty much everyone within earshot, though. And then after this, we head up to Dino’s for a spell. Sit at the bar there, too, and this time discuss baseball with everyone instead, like Julio Franco’s haircuts across the ages. These two guys sitting around the corner from us try to say they’re into the Twins, and I don’t know, for some reason I’m in one of these moods and actually call bullshit on this, don’t believe they are into the Twins at all. “Name one Twin,” I tell them, meaning a current player, and they can’t do it. The one guy chuckles nervously and says something about Kent Hrbek.

In Matt’s car, we’re trying to listen to Hot Curly French Fry, but his CD player is acting up. Then we get back to my place, crazy jam until 3am in my room. Once again I have no idea how Damon sleeps through this racket.

October 18

Up at 8:45. Drop Matt’s car off. Back to sleep until 10:30, then drive him to work. “Car full of Julio Francos” we’re laughing about while waiting at light near Tee Jaye’s, about to turn left from Morse onto High – these guys seriously all looked the same, similar haircuts even. Singing some improvised tune about Eric Allen, which I believe was based upon Public Enemy. “Hook me up with some window, boss.”

I meet with my new realtor, Judy Tackett – got her business card from Jamie, actually, though she has no idea who he is and seriously can’t fathom how they would have met. Then work late shift, then meet Maria, Stephanie, and Tony at Bumpers. It’s kind of interesting how the crew morphs across the ages – wouldn’t this be a fascinating thing to chart? Damon does meet us here, though, one of the few constants through the years.

Wicked cover band here. Then over at Traditions for a bit – hanging out with Cliff Benetrix there – before we call it a night.

October 19

Kroger and Wild Oats. Home to watch baseball playoff game, organize pictures, write. Damon and Jessica went out together for a night on the town.

October 20

Early shift at Kroger. Come home, Damon and I chill out all day taking naps on the couches, watching back to back baseball playoff games. Melissa, Melanie, and Amanda stop by in the middle of this, invite us out to Club Dance with them later. So we agree to this in principle.

                But as evening rolls around, I cook up some chicken stir fry – extra broccoli added – and it’s time to man the phone lines, see what else might be going on. Melissa and her friends are a somewhat compelling option, but it’s Saturday night and they have been known to flake out on us. Therefore a backup plan is never a bad idea. Lisa and Maria are out of town, back at their parents’ place, so I figure this is a great time to talk to Bridgette.

                When I talk to her, she says she’s going to be at Gary’s place again tonight, which is perfect because it’s basically up the road from Club Dance. Also tells me that Lisa calls her every single day bitching about me, but that she takes my side on the whole thing, thinks Lisa is being ridiculous.

                “It’s funny you called,” she adds, “I was going to call you, but…well, I wasn’t sure what Lisa would think.”

                “It’ll be our little secret,” I tell her.

                “Okay.”

                There’s some big horse event at the fairgrounds, attracting people from many states away, which means our favorite cowboy bar, Caddo’s, is sure to be packed. This is something to keep in our back pocket, too. Although whether coincidence or not – we don’t know why they picked Club Dance – half of that place is pure country as well. So this remains our top choice, on balance. Even so just for curiosity’s sake, I call up Jamie, see what he’s getting into. But he tells me, “I’m on my 8^th or 9^th  beer,” that he’s sitting around the house tonight bummed out about breaking up with the girlfriend yet again and doesn’t want to go anywhere.

                So we end up riding out to Club Dance in Damon’s truck. The girls don’t flake out on us after all, in fact our entire entourage troops back to the house at the end of the night. Nothing happens with Bridgette tonight, though.

October 25

Chill, listen to music while writing, etc. Damon logging extensive phone time with Maryland, they’re fighting again. Maria and Matt call.

Later – to Andyman’s Treehouse. Damon and I meet Matt, Travis, Kevin and Vanessa there. Brandon working bar, he actually cuts Matt off by the end of the night. Then we decide to cruise up and see what’s going on in crazy town, at Lisa & Maria’s. Jen Freeland is pulling out right as we’re pulling in, they’ve just gotten back from the bar – well some of them. Jen, Maria, and Stephanie (who’d gone home wasted) had left, but Lisa and Miles are still up there.

We head inside, Maria and I listen to Damon vent about the Maryland situation, attempt to console him. Then Lisa and Miles return from the bar themselves, join us.

October 26

Kroger and Wild Oats. Halloween party at DiMarco’s.

October 29

Traditions with Damon and Alan. Damon trashed on Tanqueray and tonic. Kicking myself for not really talking to nice looking brunette who seemed to be into me.

October 30

Day off spent writing, getting things done, shopping, etc. Putting photo album together while watching game 3 of World Series. Damon went over to Maryland’s so they could take Kaitlyn trick-or-treating, but never returned. I think this must mean they are together again for like the 4th time.

I end up at the Break-A-Way later (after driving by Gabby’s, which looked dead). I got here fairly late-ish, around 1:30 in the morning. Some musician from out of town is sitting at the bar and laying it on pretty thick with these two chicks he obviously just met here. Like talking about having Chuck Berry over to his house, and so on – standard stuff. To keep myself entertained, I play a handful of tunes on the jukebox.

Then spontaneously decide to cruise over to Robin’s. She’s in bed and chuckles when I materialize in her room, says she catches a whiff of perfume coming off of me and that I “smell like a French whorehouse.” Must just be Eau De Break-A-Way because I haven’t really been around any chicks tonight. Until now, that is.

October 31

shift at Kroger. Later Damon and I are watching game 4 and can’t believe our eyes. Then when it goes to extra innings, he decides to head upstairs to his room, tune in the game up there. Which doesn’t last too long, as Jeter spanks the winning homer in the 10th. So he’s shouting downstairs to me, then we’re watching the replays and shaking our head in total disbelief.

November 1

Early shift at Kroger. Home to change with game 5 on in the background. Then meet Maria, Stephanie, Jen F and her new guy Chad at Arlington Cafe. A decent time here. Lisa’s back home, so this means Stephanie is hanging all over me out of the blue. I actually have mixed feelings about this. Stephanie does have a great body, but she’s also a major slut to the extent it’s kind of gross. Then again, if hooking up with her, I could add her to my list of wacky nurses – so maybe that might prove the tiebreaker, who knows.

Chad seems cool, and I buy him a beer. We’re both on the Rolling Rock kick tonight which I think does oddly help with the camaraderie. We all stand around this one table with the game on above us. But this scene disintegrates early, after just two beers (at least for me, not sure about their tallies) because Chad and Stephanie both have to work all too soon in the morning.

I follow Maria over to their place so I can drop off Lisa’s cell phone but also grab my laundry. I laugh to see some card Lisa left me sitting atop the basket of folded clothes.

“What the fuck?” I mutter.

“No shit,” Maria says, cracking up, “but at least you got your laundry done.”

Since it’s still not very late and I know the Series game is on, I decide to pop into Traditions on my way home. Drew is working and this place is packed, with seemingly every eyeball glued to and every butt on the edge of its seat over this game. Neil from Friday’s comes in with that goofy Nick guy’s younger brother, I forget his name, they plop down next to me at the bar. Neil is grousing about how he’s just been fired over there, after 11 years, for serving alcohol to an underage girl.

                “You think it was orchestrated?” his friend asks.

                “Hell yes it was orchestrated,” Neil says.

                During breaks in the action, once again I feel like there’s this girl across the way seriously checking me out. But it’s just like last week, in a way, because I never really figure out what to do about it. If she’s by herself or with a small party of girl friends, maybe even just one or two guys, then I don’t have a problem approaching. But when they are surrounded by a bunch of dudes, meaning are actually here with these guys, as is the case tonight, then I just can’t bring myself to cut into that circle and start chatting her up. I either try and wait for some opening or just forget it. So maybe this is the next big hurdle I need to overcome.

                In the bottom of the ninth, with two down, Brosius knocks one out of the yard to tie it and this place totally goes bananas. It’s about 50/50 split for Yankee lovers vs. haters, I would say. But I’ve had two Captain and Cokes, tab out and shake Drew’s hand, tell him I’ve seen enough. Continue home to watch the rest.

November 2

Kroger and Wild Oats.

Come home feeling real energetic anyway. I exercise, whip up some dinner, pour myself some white zinfandel and finalize plans with Matt. Then drive down to campus to meet him at his girlfriend Libby’s apartment.

                I take this bag of microwave popcorn I’ve been munching on with me. Stop at an ATM machine for cash and I’m on my way. Campus is bustling tonight, so I have trouble finding a parking place. Finally secure one on Northwood, which is about four blocks north of Lane and one east of High. Unreal.

                Though this is technically just her place, Matt has been staying here of late. It’s right on High Street, right next to the Shell station at the corner of Lane, on the second floor above this Chinese restaurant. I stop and get a six pack of MGD and continue onward to their place.

                Knock and knock, however, but nobody answers. Matt did mention that Libby has a headache, so maybe they just decided to stay in and blow me off. Who knows. The plan was for us to see some band at Bernie’s, though, so I trudge back to my car and consider the options.

                Ryan’s having a party at his place, which I have been invited to. Jamie even called earlier to see if I wanted to go. But, that’s clear up on Sawmill, and I’m already down here. If Matt and Libby just dipped out or didn’t hear me for some weird reason, they might just show up at Bernie’s anyway. Therefore, I decide to cruise a little farther south into campus, park, and walk to Bernie’s anyway.

                Pay a $4 cover charge and make my way inside. So hot in this place that sweat seems to drip out of the walls, and I can’t believe that occasional semi-big national acts, like The Donnas, actually play here. Wait forever for this slow-as-fuck bartender kid to give me my Rolling Rock, then skim the crowd briefly for any familiar faces before coming to standstill about ten feet from the stage, to the right.

                The band Matt & Libby wanted to see are already playing, in fact they’re almost done. Though unfamiliar with them until just now, they’re called The Chevy Chasers and I immediately like their attitude. They are charmingly sloppy and indifferent, swapping instruments from song to song, and everyone takes a turn at lead vocals. At one point I even look up and the guitar player’s sitting in the middle of the floor. Musically, they have this whole 1960s, forgotten one hit pop stars vibe to them, with even that whole cheesy organ sound transported from that era. As far as their appearance, some of the guys have shaggy bowl cuts, the bass player’s rocking a full blown beard, one kid’s wearing creepy mad scientist style glasses. They also answer a long running question I’ve been forever wondering about: what happens when a good band intentionally tries to sound bad? The result is fascinating, as I’ve always suspected it would be.

                Whether playing their own pre-punk originals, or lost vintage nuggets (such as their closing tune, a 10 minute take on Wild Thing) or showing ironic (I’m guessing) appreciation for cornier fare like Van Halen’s Jump, it’s clear that everyone knows what they’re doing, that everyone is well versed on their instruments…but that they’re willing to throw all this out the window and push things, see how chaotic they can possible make a song. Amazing, amazing stuff.

                Christine (from Wild Oats, not Maria’s crazy friend) is here, she’s the only known entity I come across in the crowd. And I bolt after The Chevy Chasers are finished. Two other bands were set to follow, but it really doesn’t matter – I can’t imagine how either of them could top the opener.

November 3

Tommy’s back in town to visit, but that entire mob has trooped down to King’s Island today, and are spending the night there. It feels like Clif and I are maybe the only two who couldn’t make it, so naturally he and I wind up hanging out tonight.

Somehow we decide on the left field pick O’Manny’s to begin our evening. Here it seems like the girls think we are cool at first, before realizing what dorks we are. It’s also not helping matters that for whatever reason I decided to wear my extremely ugly glasses out in public for a change. Then to cap matters off, the barmaid is named Tiffany and she is smoking hot. Not only that, but I begin to suspect this is Tiffany H that I used to work with, but can’t tell. And the reason I don’t come right out and ask is that this is maybe the only time where I feel like I seriously don’t want to know, because if true, it would be too demoralizing. Considering there were two different extended stretches where I had a serious chance to get with her, but never pursued it – she was only okay looking back then. And we all know how that story often goes, what inevitably ends up happening later. In my defense things were even more chaotic back then, believe it or not, though this might not seem possible.

Plus, I’m thinking if this really were her, wouldn’t she say so? But then consider she might not recognize me, either, with a shaved head, hat atop that, and yes these horrific glasses.

About the only highlight otherwise tonight is Clif cracking me up at one point explaining how he often has Lisa, Robin, and Jill grilling him details about what I’m up to. So that’s somewhat of a morale boost. We decide to relocate to Traditions at some point. Drew’s working but it’s dead and we don’t stay long.

November 4

Kroger and Wild Oats.

November 6

Heather has called a couple times recently but not left a message. Today she did, though. I figure I’ll wait until Thursday before giving her a ring.

November 7

Opening shift at Kroger. Then to happy hour at J. Lindsay’s with Carrie, Melissa, Julie. Barmaid Lori in a black hat (tall, hot blonde) is super friendly, introduces herself to me and shakes my hand when I enter. New girl Sara (her 1^st day) is great, too. Julie leaves, but then her sister Maureen (Moe everyone calls her) shows up, then about a half hour later some James guy. Melissa splits, then Maureen. We all play tunes on their well stocked juke, Carrie is astounded to learn that I like The Carpenters and says she loves them too. So then she and I are singing along to Rainy Days and Mondays. She’s talking to me about next Wednesday, some guy playing acoustic at Vinny’s. This James guy I can’t really figure out if I like him or not, he’s one of those 40 something dudes that nods and smokes cigarettes and has this whole gravel voiced shtick of “arrgh, I’ve been there and done that, kid.” 

He’s also at this bar all the time, too, from what I gather. Which could be reason enough to avoid it. That and if today is any indication, this place might be lethal. Somehow Carrie and I (the last two left, unless you count James, who is still here) are at quote unquote happy hour for five such hours. This never happens, nothing even close to it. By now it’s eight fucking o’clock, incredibly, it’s dark out and two new bored (and boring, but hot) barmaids had replaced Lori & Sara. 

           “Don’t forget! Next Wednesday!” Carrie shouts across the parking lot as she climbs into her vehicle.

      “Okay! Call me!” I say and zip on out of there…

…because I’m just driving up the road, to Lisa’s place. She and Maria are watching TV, while I attempt to fitfully nap on the couch. Knowing that we’re supposed to be going out later. In fact Lisa is on the phone with Stephanie, discussing such.

“Jason’s here, he’s about half lit,” she tells Stephanie at one point.

“Quarter lit,” I correct.

Stephanie shows up. Somehow it’s just her, Lisa, and me riding up to Traditions. Erin’s working the bar, it’s dead at first but picks up soon enough. The women are huddling and “complaining” about what a “player” I am, which I find hysterical. Of course, I do believe things are happening okay on that front – even while I’m always thinking I can do better, and that there’s a reason I haven’t felt a need to settle down with any of these girls ever. Someone should knock your socks off, and when that person shows up, I think you will just know. Until then, forget it. The other part of this though is that the reason I qualify the word “complaining” with quotations marks is that they aren’t; it’s really transparent that females are actually impressed by this behavior, for the most part, though scoffing at the notion and rolling their eyes, et cetera, none of which actually fools anybody.

                But mostly what I’m considering while I listen to this is what Julie W used to always say, how the dating game is 100% all about marketing. She has a point, even while I don’t feel that I “market” myself even the tiniest bit, at least not in the sense that this word conjures up in your mind. It’s more accurate to say – or at least this is how it has happened for me, during these quote unquote hot streaks – is you’re on this roll sometimes framing things correctly in your own head, which then enables you to project it correctly to everyone else. And for me, this is a two-pronged approach: you make sure the girls you’re messing around with know that you have however many others (though just vaguely, with passing references and hints but not providing actual specifics if possible), while at the same time refrain from mentioning them to anyone else whatsoever, again as much as possible. They will claim that both facets bug them to no end, and yet it seems that this actually helps keep them around.

                That’s it. Because if you truly examine things, I’m not doing anything different than I have during some colder periods. And here’s one other consideration: I feel like my physical appearance has markedly plummeted ever since Lisa moved back to town. So you can rule this out as a factor. While it’s true that I am often working an insane amount of hours, and clearly cannot just claim that I’m partying with her alone, 24/7, I do feel like she is the central figure and it’s primarily my involvement with her that is beginning to take a toll.

                Not to bust anybody out, but she drinks all the time, to the extent I’m reminded of Samuel Jackson’s quote in Pulp Fiction – except just switch out the word “vegetarian” for “alcoholic.” Still, despite all this, I will go on record stating that she is a major fluke outlier to me, because she somehow looks better now, in her 30s, than she ever did in her 20s. Whereas, eh, I’m starting to crack under the strain maybe just a little bit.

November 8

Morning shift at Kroger. Sharon stops in to say hi. Says she and Tracy have moved, to a nicer place up near Easton. Wants to do something, but I’m just too exhausted and tell her no. She says that with school (but no job at present), Thursdays are best because she’s still driving back to Lima on the weekends to see her mom, who’s been real sick.   So I tell her maybe next Thursday. With her hair dyed blonde and grown out long, having lost a ton of weight, it’s funny how much she looks like Jennifer Greene now. I still can’t get over the transformation – but also believe there’s something not quite right going on there.

I get home around 4:30 and lie down for a nap – not to crawl out of bed until 11! While I was sleeping, Matt called a couple of times and so did Maria.

So anyway, while I’m chilling out at home for a change, the rest of the mob is up at Bumpers. Miles himself bumped into Scott Hart on campus, and brought him along, the first time most of them had seen him in 4 years. Those two, Lisa & Maria, Mike & Amber, Stephanie, Bridgette, and some other girl friend of hers were all in the mix, apparently got quite drunk between there and Polo’s.

November 9

Kroger and Wild Oats. In between the two, I swing through and try Blimpies for a late lunch – not bad.

Manage to dodge everyone again tonight. Instead haul ass to Studio 35 for a 9:15 showing of Training Day. Manage to make it there on time despite taking a wrong turn, somehow, and ending up on Walhalla Road, which I don’t recall ever driving on before, despite passing it countless times – and it’s amazing how this winds underneath all these streets, it’s one long crazy shot from High to Indianola, possibly even farther, and you’d never know such wilderness, such an outrageous street could exist in the middle of a city.

I have a beer and a sub there. The movie’s decent, although it seemed like the entire theater was laughing their asses off at how badly hilarious the dialogue was. Shooting each other amused, disbelieving, what the hell? type glances. I even join in chuckling along, though sitting at the bar by myself. Then come home afterwards & crash.

November 10

Work. Change in parking lot, drive down to meet Damon and Andy at Bob Dylan show. They’re already in their seats and he’s playing, I’m a little bit late.

After that, we hit Hounddogs for pizza. Then those two leave and I dash across the street to Oldfield’s, to theoretically meet up with Matt Montanya as agreed upon. I say theoretically because for the second time this month, he doesn’t show. The occasion is a Frank Zappa tribute night starring a bunch of local bands. This place is fairly packed, but I’m not really feeling like being here on my lonesome. Possibly influenced by this one long haired older dork standing in front, also by himself, who keeps nodding and looking around at everyone as though trying to make eye contact and confirm that yes, we think this is as bitchin’ as he. Yikes. I hope to god I never turn into that big of a dweeb. Just shoot me first. Anyway, I have a beer while watching the tail end of one act, then another band called G-Spot Tornado do the song they were named after, plus some tune from Joe’s Garage. But it’s really kind of boring, so I split.

November 11

Opening shift at Kroger. Home to crash a while, then over to Lisa & Maria’s after they pester me all day (Maria is even somewhat berating me, on the message she leaves, about staying away for a whopping three whole days or whatever it’s been). Still I write a little, exercise, then stop at Max & Erma’s for dinner even though Lisa has spent all day making chili. Yeah I am stalling, you can probably safely say.

Another wild pointless night of cards and beer follows. Tony and I are sitting idle at first watching Maria & Stephanie trounce Lisa & Bridgette in euchre. Then we step in (it’s Tony’s first ever game, he’s my partner) and get waxed as well, 10 to 3. Beer Tree next, Tony leaves, Maria goes to bed, Stephanie unbelievably fucked up – she drinks 12 beers in 4 hours here and passes out on the love seat.

“You have to drink the rest of your beer,” Lisa tells her at one point, after Stephanie had to spin, then tried to sit down before setting the glass on the table and of course knocked over all the cards.

“Okay, great!” she says, enthusiastically, and we are cracking up. Not only that, but she’s going on and on about work, how much she hates it, but also about this guy there she thinks likes her. And while she’s talking, something about her appearance to me right now, I guess how rigid, almost robotically wasted she is, it strikes me that she looks like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. And I tell her so, before she passes out.

Lisa, Bridgette, and I are up playing still until 4:30 in the goddamn morning. Then I head upstairs with Lisa for a couple hours.

November 12

Opening shift at Kroger. Having gotten all of 2 hours of sleep, I’m feeling surprisingly sprightly. Best Shot for brief happy hour, then down to Butthole Surfers show by myself.

                However improbable and unexpected, this is another night where something else clicks for me as far as this writing career is concerned. It’s only the 2^nd concert I’ve been to alone – and the first time, years ago, was simply because Heather stood me up. I’ve already gotten used to taking a notebook with me, especially if nobody else is around, to document this stuff. It’s a prop that makes me feel less awkward, has the added bonus of being, you know, more accurate and comprehensive than trying to remember this junk on my own – which all by itself justifies doing so and is presumably the whole point anyway – and also, unless just a figment of my imagination that I’ve talked myself into believing, it sure seems like people in general shoot me less weird looks (though you might suspect the opposite) because it’s as though they’re mentally saying to themselves, oh, okay, he must be a reporter, that’s why he’s standing by himself against that back wall and then thereafter pay me no mind.

                All this is somewhat old hat by now, though, because I’ve been doing so for a couple years. Yet it’s somehow only tonight, despite priding myself on being a guy who does his own taxes, is supposedly good with that kind of stuff, contributes the max to his retirement plan, et cetera, et cetera, that I just now had the lightbulb go off in my head: wait a second, isn’t this show a tax writeoff? Isn’t every show I go to a tax writeoff?

                Yes. It totally is. And so is every other goofy little outing I make about town, so long as I write my silly, trifling pieces about them. It doesn’t matter if the almighty gatekeepers I submit occasional pieces to do or do not publish them. It only matters that I write these things. After that, it’s all deductible.

                Great show, too, with notes that will later see the light. Even though I never do spot that barmaid from Best Shot.

November 13

Work, home, chill out, write a bit. Try and and call Heather back finally (no answer, no message), and then as I sit upstairs in my room, the phone rings and I go down to answer it. A voice on the other end says this is a collect call from Franklin County Correctional Facility, and I’m pretty sure I can guess who it is. I accept the charges and am right on the money. Jamie.

                “What’s up?” I ask him with a laugh.

                “Nothin’ much,” he tells me casually, “I’m in jail.”

                Serious stuff otherwise, though. He and Andrea had gotten into a fight over him doing some K at Ryan’s house; he’s been staying at her place, and she gave him the boot; he finally gets pissed a couple of days later and walks to her workplace (having apparently gotten that car from Nick eventually, he was letting her borrow it), demands to have the keys; she refuses, he reaches over and snatches her purse, grabs the keys anyway; she slaps him, he grabs her hands and pins her in a corner; she threatens to call the cops, he throws the keys down; she calls the cops anyway…end of story.

                So they charged him with four different things: assault, a couple more similar offenses of that nature, but also somehow a 2^nd degree felony (F-2) of “burglary” since he came to her work place and technically took her keys out of her purse. Not good, considering he’s still on probation, with 198 days on the books still that were waived last time, which he didn’t have to serve the last time he was thrown in jail about a year ago.

                Whew. He’s been in jail a couple days already, and his trial is not until next Tuesday, a week from now. It may be a while before we see this dude again.

                “I’ll call you around midnight on Thursday, see how you’re doing,” he tells me cheerfully, seriously – funny how even while locked up, he can still manage to be a total goofball. Of course I’m guessing Andrea would have a different take on his personality, and rightfully so.

November 14

Meet Matt & Kevin at O’Reilly’s for a couple beers, other than that not much happens. And even here, both seem anxious to go, eager to get home to the girlfriends before creating some serious waves on that shoreline. Heaven forbid. I guess I’ve been there before but it’s really hard to picture ever being there again.

November 15

Early shift at Kroger. Matt calls me here, all pumped up about a dream he had last night. Says he dreamt that Goofy Guys were playing a show out in Oregon with Built To Spill and Swervedriver.

                “I was thinking that if we wanna get serious about this new record then we need to set scheduled days every week where we get together,” Matt says. “I was thinking Tuesday and Thursday would be good, because on those nights Libby has school late, she doesn’t get home until 9:30.”

                “Yeah, that’s cool!” I tell him, pumped that he’s pumped and ready to get cracking again on this latest project.

                “Maybe on one night of the week we could write stuff, you know, and maybe record on the other night, or whatever,” he suggests. 

                Comically enough, he also apologizes for being so lame last night – guess I wasn’t the only one who realized how far we’ve fallen. I’m not suggesting we should all run around like complete maniacs, but that was kind of a sad showing. Everybody in a mild panic to gulp their beers down and get the hell out of there. I mean, we’re only in our mid 20s, for Christ’s sake, there has to be a happy medium somewhere.

                Lisa comes by, says she and Maria got into this huge fight about me; then Maria stops by later, right around 9, when I’m getting ready to leave, to tell me her side of the story. I tell them both they’re being silly and ridiculous. Maria keeps telling Lisa I don’t really like her all that much (meaning like a boy/girl who are sleeping together thing, not as a friend or a person), which is obviously somewhat true. So then Lisa threw her telephone at Maria – she just totally, obviously does not want to hear this. Then what happens in response is Maria mentions this night last week that was supposed to be top secret, where a few of us (Maria, me, Damon, Stephanie, Tony) went out for some drinks, and I told her not to mention it to Lisa, because I didn’t feel like dealing with Lisa that particular night. So, yeah, major hot water here for some of us.

                I get home and discover Heather called again, but this time it was 8 o’clock in the morning. I’d obviously already left for work by then. Yet I have to wonder…what on earth does she want at that hour? Still working midnight shifts herself, though, and obviously on that internal clock, doesn’t realize most of us aren’t doing much that early in the day.

November 16

Kroger and Wild Oats. Get home from my 12 hour day and Damon’s bumming around the house. He’s kind of pissed off at Maryland because she went out to dinner with some of her friends – and was supposed to swing by here to get him, a long time ago, but never did. I also discover that Miles called, but he has no phone and didn’t say where he was going, so this information is somewhat useless.

                Even though I am somewhat tired, Damon wants to go up to Gabby’s for a bit, and I’m game. He’s on one of his infamous cold medicine and beer buzzes (not like some rapper strategy for partying or whatever – he’s legitimately sick quite often, takes NyQuil or whatever for it, then ends up drinking a few beers on top of that anyway).

                At Gabby’s he sticks to Coors Light, while I polish off four rum and Cokes. This place is packed, a lot of nice looking girls, too, but for some reason the crowd’s really getting on our nerves tonight. It’s a bunch of coworkers having some kind of office party, and the vibe’s oddly annoying. Still, Damon had told Maryland that if she came by the house and he wasn’t there, this is where he would be.

                She eventually rolls through here, but basically just long enough to peck him on the lips and say, hey, see when you get in.

                “Well,” Damon laughs after she leaves, “Frank taught us what to do in this situation. I’m going home tonight, fuck going over there.”

                And sticks to it, I might add. It’s cool to see him holding his ground like that.

                We get home around 1:30 and Damon heads upstairs to bed, but I can’t resist calling Paul down in Florida, despite the hour, with some hilarious news I know he’ll appreciate. Roy recently saw Ratt play, I think at the Alrosa, and was telling me he couldn’t believe the pisspoor turnout.

                “Guess how many people were at the Ratt show?” I challenge, after waking him up from his deep slumber.

                “I don’t know…a thousand,” he mumbles, still mostly incoherent

                “No, thirty,” I tell him.

                “Thirty thousand!?” he gasps.

                “No – thirty people,” I correct.

                Hearing this, he’s now fully awake, and laughing his head off. “Mind you,” he says, “Steven Pearcy’s the guy who was on VH1 saying they were bigger than every other band except The Beatles.”                

Like I’m telling him, too, thirty is not an estimation, not the way, say, a hundred might be. Thirty people is saying holy shit, there’s nobody here, and actually counting the heads in the room. And so now that he’s amped up over this concept, we wind up talking for an hour. It had been a while since we’d conversed, so this was cool.

November 19

Early shift at Kroger. Then slide up the road basically to State Farm, to meet with this insurance agent. I’m supposed to close on my house tomorrow, and need a homeowner’s policy.

The way this all came together was a bit bizarre, but I’m glad things turned out just like they have. After Kelly botched the first plan – or whatever even truly happened there, which I still don’t know – I immediately stopped working with her. The next time I was working at Worthington Galena, Dorothy apologized, but I told her don’t feel bad, this was totally not her fault. I just think the person(s) she is working for don’t know what they’re doing.

Then Jamie just happened to have this other realtor’s business card on the coffee table at his mom’s house, Judy Tackett. Yet one of the many uncompleted, unfollowed-through projects that he’s constantly rambling about and jumping from topic to topic about at warp speed. Where he even got this I can’t recall, but I grabbed it. And Judy turned out to be awesome. She’s much more my speed – a funny, down to earth, somewhat sassy older lady. As opposed to this totally plastic, like fake nails, fake teeth, fake tan, totally materialistic “modern realtor” shtick of someone like Kelly. No great loss there.

Judy and I only spent one day driving around looking at houses, but we must have crammed in about twenty of them. One was really neat, in the Beechwold area, pretty close to where High and Morse meet, on a quiet residential street back there. Yet it was a little too old, and looked it (well preserved but clearly ancient), to where it was almost somewhat depressing, I knew that living here would feel like being in a period piece or a museum or something, that the atmosphere itself would be somewhat of a bummer. So passed. Another I recall was off or Linworth Road, just after crossing over the 270 overpass, back to the right and on a side street but visible from Linworth.

But the house I can’t stop thinking about was the first one we check out that day, in Grandview. Everything about it seems perfect, and nothing else we look at is changing my mind, only serving to lock down that impression. And this is the one, at 1795 Gerrard, that I am getting. Funny how a month later everything gets pushed through just fine for me and a mortgage, and it now appears to be all but a done deal.

Today it was a rainy afternoon, but still warm – these bizarre 60 degree days just keep coming, it’s been over a week now straight. By the time I finish with the insurance agent, though, it’s dark outside, so this is the unavoidable tradeoff with these colder months.

My schedule is the exact opposite of everyone else’s – my weekends are so rough workwise that half the time I only feel like doing anything fun during the week, whereas most folks like to cut loose on Fri & Sat. Guess I’m kind of like Heather in that respect, this calendar that’s totally out of sync with my surroundings. Whatever the case, between my two jobs, I worked 12, 12, and 13 hours the past three nights, and haven’t done much beyond that.

Now that Monday’s here I’m itching to get into something, but everybody else is burned out. Or at least claims to be. Then again, there’s a limit to just what I feel like doing, too – or maybe it’s just that I’m less than thrilled by the options. After blowing Lisa off all weekend, I’ve been telling her we would probably get together tonight. Tonight is here, however, and I’m not sure I feel like dealing with that now, either. Of course Maria’s been teasing/taunting me with, “you’ll never get rid of Lisa,” and I’m not saying I want to, necessarily, but would not object to dialing it back a notch or two.

So I come home to chill and weigh the options. Matt was supposed to call and come over to work on music, actually, but never does. I don’t mind, though. When the opportunities to party are there, I take them, but when nothing materializes, I’m up to my neck in hobbies and other various projects anyway and don’t mind a bit.  

Lisa, Miles, and Stephanie apparently all sit around the Yanik house, waiting on me for some reason even though I hadn’t said anything definitive to anyone about hanging out. Even Lisa and I haven’t discussed the matter for days, and all I told Miles was something vague at work about maybe we’d meet up later. With the two girls cursing my name, though, they and Miles give up on me at midnight and cruise up to Traditions, thinking I might possibly be there. Nope.

November 20

Here’s something else I’m beginning to suspect: when you’re actually trying to focus, life will throw an ungodly amount of distractions your way. Or at least I think this is true some of the time. Mostly I’m sure you can chalk these things up to total randomness. Also, what people think of as “karma” is probably just the inevitable, unseen shockwaves of your actions returning to you in roundabout fashion. I’ve been in this city for almost five years now, and am therefore beginning to log a somewhat sizeable history here, with connections and acquaintances and occasional residual effects from some of these past events. Still others who are a little more conceited than me might phrase things somewhat differently, too, although I don’t think you can discount another factor: the extent to which I must modestly admit I feel I have to be some sort of “catch,” and these girls are starting to wake up to that fact. Also that I’m still technically single.

                Eh, well, whatever half-baked theories might be true, it doesn’t matter. We can stick to the facts here. And the fact of this matter is that…I’m working at Kroger today when Christina rolls into the store, totally out of the blue. First time I’ve seen her in four years. Says she and Junior are divorced now, even though they have a kid together. And it’s pretty obvious that I’m one of the first people who popped into her head the instant they broke up. She gives me her number, says she’s staying with her parents. But that she and a bunch of her girl friends like to hit Bumpers around happy hour time.

                Clearly, you would have to tally this development under the randomness column. But also a residual effect from some groundwork I laid eons ago. Still, though I take her digits and say I might give a call, I’m not sure how exciting this is, really. It’s kind of lame to get pumped up about Junior’s leftovers, for starters. And if I think Lisa is hopping mad now, holy fuck, I can only imagine what would happen if she discovered I was up at Bumpers with Christina and a bunch of her lady friends, if she were suddenly inserted in the middle of this already crazy scene.

                I guess this is how these women just wear you down over time. Even while telling myself fuck that, I can do what I want, a big part of me is thinking it just doesn’t seem worth the hassle. Then when I attempt to rally around making a point of doing this to prove to Lisa that I will do exactly what I want, this also seems really petty, and needlessly antagonistic. So I don’t know.

                None of this stops me from mentioning it to Miles, however! “Says she’s got a lot of single friends,” I tell him, after she’s left the building.

                His eyes go nearly as wide as his grin as he says, “dig it!”

                “You hip to that game?” I ask.

                “Pssh,” Mark, the produce manager, scoffs while just passing through, “he’s hip to every game.”

                I was supposed to close on the house today, but it’s been pushed back because the bank wants me to get some negative items on my credit report straightened out – I don’t get certain aspects of this process at all. I’m approved, but they still want me writing letters and sending faxes for their files to explain why I was past due on certain bills. Bizarre.

                After work I kick it with Robin. We meet at Gary’s Place up on Worthington Galena, but it’s so packed we only have one beer there before relocating to Hot Shots, just up the road. She knows the owner here, this preppy sports fan guy named John. He’s cool but talkative as hell, cheesy in a way and yet that’s exactly the kind of dude chicks go for, I know – short well maintained hair (mine’s short for now but sure as hell isn’t well maintained), OSU attire, ballcaps, shiny watches and blandly handsome looks. 

                Robin is digging him but whatever, I’m the one she takes back to her house. I brought her a different porno this time, since she’s had my Virgin Coeds No. 7 for a while now.

November 21

Out drinking with Miles. He’d been pounding a few sodas with Kris Kammerad earlier, hence is already somewhat trashed by the time I meet up with him. We’re at Crest Pub on Indianola, then hit Hounddog’s for some late dinner.

November 23

Clif and I are up at Traditions, having a couple of beers. Notable only in that former bartender Steve unexpectedly barges in here, starts going off on some other patron. Also that it’s always really cool when you’ve known somebody for years, then from out of nowhere they display an impressive trait you weren’t even aware they possessed.

                Anyway, so we’re sitting at the bar when Steve comes flying in the side door. He immediately marches over to the dart board area and begins shouting at some dude. The two of those start scrapping a little bit, and a mild pandemonium breaks out.

                Drew rushes out from behind the bar to attempt breaking it up. Steve pushes him against the wall. I later tell Drew how impressed I was, considering he’s really skinny and about half Steve’s size, but hangs in there, holds his ground. Meanwhile Steve is just totally out of control, to the extent he even shoves some old lady out of his way, a regular who is attempting to talk some sense into him.

                “Steve, don’t push me!” she says.

                Mike Soter is of course playing darts over there, too, and jumps into the mix. Yet what totally astounds me, out of all this, is when Clif hops off his bar stool without a word said, marches over and gets into the middle, separating the parties. This is totally shocking, but cool. I mean, I don’t feel the need to get involved. If Clif or Mike or Drew were in danger, that would probably be a different story, but the situation looks under control. It never even crossed my mind to do anything but observe.

                Anyway, it takes four guys to drag Steve out of here – Drew, Mike, and a couple others. Drew returns behind the bar and is on the phone, with either the cops or the owner or both. Then once peace prevails across the land again, we have an opportunity to calmly compare notes at last.

                “What the hell was that all about?” I ask Drew, “it’s kind of bullshit for Steve to pull that, especially when he used to work here.”

                “Yeah, well, you’ll have that when you’re all coked up,” Drew says.

                “Oh yeah,” Soter agrees, “somebody was definitely on the slopes tonight.”

November 24

The fun starts early, and never stops until way late. It begins with a morning shift at Kroger. Miles and I are both out at 4 and head off in my car up the road to J. Lindsay’s. It’s cloudy out, not that warm, and Miles, bummed about not having a change of clothes, borrows my one favorite green sweater – a choice that makes for some amusing mental imagery later on, thinking about all the adventures I’ve had in that sweater, followed by everything that winds up happening tonight.

J. Lindsay’s is packed beyond belief. We almost leave but Miles spots Mike’s beaten up grey car, and so we park. Standing room only inside the bar, which is odd for this place; odder still is how friendly the help always is around here, though asking for asking for my I.D. twice, and even carding Miles – who is almost 41 years old! But the owner, John, is on hand, so maybe these adorable barmaids of his are just playing it safe.

We stand there watching the tail end of this OSU-Michigan game on one of the many TV screens. Now, in the waning minutes, OSU holds the lead and everyone in the bar’s going apeshit. Miles and I appear to stand alone in just swigging our beers and not caring much one way or the other.

Mike buys our first round – Heineken for Miles, Rolling Rock for me, some cheap domestic in a brown bottle  for him – then I buy one, then Miles, and the next thing you know we’ve killed an hour in here, most of it watching the Buckeyes emerge victorious for a change, as the crowd erupts into a boisterous frenzy. Two funny asides:

• The barmaid Lori bends down before us, so we can see right down the front of her shirt.

“Are those real or are they Memorex?” I ask Miles. Mike just laughs.

“Oh they’re real, they’re real!” Miles says, eyes wide.

• Far better is that another barmaid, one of the younger ones, is asking Miles about me. I guess it helps that I am well dressed and clean shaven for once, and am also, as Mike points out, probably the youngest person in here apart from the employees themselves. Still, you’d have thought this crazy hat I’m wearing would have killed any chances I had – but maybe not! Barmaid and I are introduced, shake hands, chat ever so briefly, but it’s way too loud and crazy in here for much more than that.

That James guy is also here, naturally, the one I met a couple weeks ago through Melissa and Julie and that whole crew. He says the Henderson Road mob was in here right before us, but had one beer and split. Melissa, meanwhile, is over at Best Shot right now, having dissed us all entirely.

Miles and I fly over to Roosters from here, to meet up with some others, for Chris’s going away party. We find them sitting at the bar. After those three beers at J. Lindsay’s in no time at all, and the frantic rush over to here, Miles and I are in a silly, somewhat obnoxious mood, I must confess. I call Maria’s cell, to see what she’s getting into. Their aunt died on Wednesday, yet although Lisa and Tommy (and mysteriously joined by Stephanie as well) have driven back to pay their respects, for some reason Maria is still around town. Talking to her, she says that she and Christine will be right over.

                Then Carrie leaves in what feels like a huff – but maybe not – although in either instance, I’m in just one of those moods and tell her, “go home and put on your knitting sweater!”

                Miles and I order food, Maria and Christine show up. Everyone else from Kroger has already left, except Chris. He’s drinking dark beer and continues to hang with us for a while. Now the girls order some grub, and we continue hanging out, drinking beer a while longer. Chris tells us he has to help his brother put together an entertainment center tonight, of all things, and jets.

                The four of us remaining decide to pick up some alcohol at a gas station and cruise around the country, with Maria at the wheel of course. I buy a bottle of white zinfandel each for Christine and myself – she is broke at present – while Miles picks up a sixer of Coors Light for Maria, two double deuces of Heineken for himself.

                We wind up out on the west side of town, on Rome Hilliard. It’s dark out now and Miles knows where Dollar Bill lives, so we swing by his house. But, alas, his car is not here.

                “He’s probably at the bar,” Miles reckons.

                “I think he hangs out at Lucky’s, let’s go there,” I say.

                “Wait a minute, what time is it?” Miles wonders.

                We realize it’s only 7 p.m. – Dollar Bill won’t even be off work yet for two more hours. These winter months really mess with your head, how it gets dark so early.

                Stopping at a Wendy’s for food on Georgesville, then Maria drives by Jason’s parents’ house a couple times – he’s in town, briefly – to spy on things there before we make our way back east again. At some point Miss Jackson is on the radio, and Maria tells us she’s only recently been getting into Outkast.

                Somehow, we end up on Broad Street, heading toward downtown. Christine’s on the phone talking to her sister and rap music’s still on the radio. I bounce around in the backseat and lean out the window in the rain, shouting out lyrics.

                “Damn Pockets,” Miles laughs, “I didn’t know you liked to dance!”

                Maria misses our turn onto 71 and we’re heading into the hood now; Miles and I, like proper backseat drivers, point out her mistake and she turns around.

                “My name’s Wes, get me out of this mess,” Miles cracks.

                “My name’s Bennett, and I ain’t in it,” I add.

                “Loosen up the bones with HENRY JONES!” Miles shouts, “cause that nigga don’t eat no meat!” He goes on to explain that this is an old family saying but he has no idea what it means.

                Christine’s sister is at a bar on Morse Rd called Zuey’s. I’ve been here before on one other occasion with Damon and didn’t really like the place, but it’s agreed we’ll go there nonetheless. Cruising up 71 north now, we wind up there, park and go in. Christine’s sister is an okay looking blonde, and, like her, has a fairly decent body but this crazy look in her eyes that makes you wary. Very wary. Sister is with this balding middle aged man named Dan who actually seems to have his act together, a sensible guy to talk to at least in the time we spend there.

                Which isn’t long – Miles and I are bored and we walk across the parking lot to Eldorado’s, which is always the better option. Since Maria had done all the driving this crazy rainy night, I give her a 5 dollar bill for gas money before we traipse over there.

                Feeling loopy by now, we buy beers at Eldorado’s and dig into our seats to watch Terry Davidson and the Gears. Damon and I now refer to his backing band as “The Stripped Out Gears” because they are replacement players and not nearly as good as the ones Terry had before. Still, they are competent enough to hold our attention.

                “That bass player used to be with the Men of Leisure,” Miles points out, and keeping true to Men of Leisure form, the band takes a break. A long, long break that stretches in duration beyond any of their sets. 

                We sit there through a couple more beers before the band comes back on, playing mostly originals or unrecognizable (to me, anyway) blues rock jams, although they do offer up a scorching cover of Buddy Holly’s Not Fade Away. Tiring of this scene, we decide to walk back to Zuey’s and round up the girls.  On the way out, Miles runs into a guy he knows, a friend of Mike Harper’s named Gaylord – except in Miles’s crazy accent he pronounces is it “Gaylard.” Garylord is a singer, and it was apparently he who coined one of our favorite sayings, passed down from Miles to me – “intoxicated and fornicated all in one night!”

                Walking outside and this hot blonde who’d been seated one table behind us is standing there.  She strikes up a conversation but is standing there with her grumpy boyfriend; Miles and I talk to her and try to include him, but he seems mighty angry about something, maybe the fact that we were even speaking to his girl. We talk about the band but he just looks off disinterested, a scowl on his face, and they slink off to their car as we continue back across the lot in the drizzling rain.

                “Dude needs to get rid of his hat!” the jackass says nastily for some reason as he ducks into the car, looking at me but talking to his woman. I’m perplexed – some folks like the hat (Stephanie, Bridgette, Maria) and some don’t (Lisa), but I’ve never expected outright hostility over wearing it. What a clown.

                Back in Zuey’s, Miles is dancing on the floor with Christine and Maria then shoves me up there with the sister, for like the last 30 seconds of one song. Finally, our original quartet bids goodbye to Sister and Dan, drives off into the night. Miles is vaguely drunk and saying wild things:

                “Loosen up the bones with Henry Jones!” he cackles, repeating the phrase from earlier “cause that nigger don’t eat no meat!” Of course I’m cracking up, as he tacks on somewhat of an explanation this time. “Well, there’s a lot of brothers with the last name Jones, lots of brothers named Henry too,” he patiently explains, but of course it still doesn’t make any sense.

                Back at Roosters and three of us climb into my car, as Maria goes on home. The plan here is to take Christine and Miles to his car at our workplace, as those two plan on hitting Polo’s, incredibly enough, while I’m just heading on home myself. During the way, Miles starts to waffle a bit, though, saying he might just call it a night, wonders if I can drive Christine home instead.

                “Oh, come on, Miles,” she pleads from her seat, riding shotgun beside me. 

                I look back at him to gauge his reaction and he’s wordlessly pointing from her to me to her to me; I shake my head. What he means by this, I suppose, is wondering whether I have designs on hooking up with Christine – jesus christ, of course not.

                “No, it’s cool, man, you two go and have fun,” I tell him.

                So they do. I drop them off and continue onward to my apartment for about five or six hours of shuteye, before I have to get up for work and do it all over again.

                As I’m dozing off, though, I hear the phone ring and our answering machine pick up; it was Christine, calling at about 2 a.m. and urging me to call her back immediately. From where I lay in bed upstairs, I can’t quite make out all the words and figure it couldn’t be too important – only later would I learn that Miles had been picked up for driving drunk.

November 25

Kroger and Wild Oats. During the day, Christine and Maria both call me with updates on the Miles situation. He’d gotten pulled over at the corner of West Case and Sawmill. They could only throw Reckless Op at him, however, since he refused to take the breathalyzer. The cops took Christine home, then drove Miles to the Perry Township jail while they filed paperwork. They then dump him off at Maria’s house at 4am, where he stands out in the rain, knocking repeatedly, though no one ever answers – it figures that this would be a relatively sane night over there, because half the time people are still up partying at that hour. Anyway, he is forced to take bus clear across town, back home, and I’m not even really sure when that route (probably 95 for starters) begins in the morning.

                All of the above transpires, of course, yes…while Miles is wearing that green sweater I loaned him. I don’t know why but this really caps off the night, makes it seem even more hilarious. Well, Miles probably isn’t laughing about any of this just yet, but I’m sure he soon will be, too.

Home after Wild Oats, totally exhausted. Have rented a couple movies and am resting for a bit before the next inevitable nightlife turn – meeting another cobbled together handful at DiMarco’s. Damon’s on the phone for an eternity with Paul. At least two hours, because I’m able to watch Mallrats in its entirety, and he’s still at it. He cracks me up with this stuff. I can’t tell what the latest dilemma is, but he’s fired up about Maryland again and says he’s staying here tonight instead of going over there.

                By the time I’m getting ready, for this midnight rendezvous, Damon’s finally off the phone and kicking back in his bed watching Mallrats now himself. I tell him about it and that he should meet us up there. Says he might, but probably not.

                I’ve got another of these crazy hats on tonight, along with my favorite brown corduroys and this cream colored sweater with green and brown stripes across the middle. Thinking that I’m feeling uninspired and probably want to be the last person to show up, I swing through a fast food restaurant on Karl for coffee, then dip down to take this atypical Cooke/Henderson route across town, which is much more leisurely.

                Yet, I get to DiMarco’s and can see there are no familiar vehicles in this parking lot, meaning that I am still early somehow. So I keep on cruising north, up Godown Road almost all the way into Linworth, before backtracking down Linworth Road into town again. By now, Maria’s car is here, I recognize that much. But even so, I park, spend twenty minutes in my car finishing off the coffee. Then stroll in nonchalantly and smiling.

                “Did you pull in twenty minutes ago?” Maria says. Wow. She doesn’t miss much, although I attempt to deflect this anyway.

                I wrinkle my brow in confusion and tell her, “no.”

                “Oh,” she replies, but I’m not convinced this swayed her any.

                Anyway, the real highlight and truthfully the only reason I’m leaving the house is because Nicole is out with us tonight, too. And I’m determined to make something happen with her. Meanwhile, thinking that this small entourage might be a little too lopsided otherwise, I’d called Clif to see if he wanted to be a wingman. Really I just wish Damon were still single because we often make for a great team, and yet this is the current situation. These days it’s pretty much down to Clif and Miles. Both do alright, and I certainly have a blast hanging out with them, but it’s not quite the same. The funny thing is, though, when I call Clif, it turns out that Maria had already beaten me to the punch.

                But I have been successful in my quest to arrive last. The other three are all sitting around one of the tables in the middle of this too bright bar. Jan is working tonight, which is great, and I order a drink to get started catching up with them.

                Regarding Clif and Miles as sidekicks, if I had to rate the “holes” in their game (I’m sure most would say mine is indifference, although the funny thing about that one is sometimes you feel like an idiot for blowing sure things, while other times it works to your advantage; and I think this is Damon’s quote unquote biggest weakness as well), Miles plainly just goes a little too berserk at times, especially after he’s had about 14 Heinekens. And he would be the first to tell you that. As for Clif, I think on occasion he gets on this boastful kick to try and impress the ladies, but they see right through this and it has the opposite effect.

                I mean, in the early going tonight, it looks like Nicole is into him just as much or more as she’s into me. And I’m sitting here thinking, great, this is shaping up as not at all the plan that I drew up for tonight. Whatever the case, she’s initially flirting with him a great deal.

                But then Clif kind of gets on this roll trying really hard to perpetuate this player image. Like at one point earlier in the night, he’s talking about having “too many hoes.” I know that approach works for some guys but it never did for me, and I think that’s true for most of us. For the most part, when a guy is going on about how many chicks he has, these girls are savvy enough to pretty much assume the opposite. It’s this standard, expected form of braggadocio that they see right through.

                So as Clif sits here talking, Maria and Nicole initially play along, then the whole ball of wax collapses on him. Even though I’m attempting to bail him out.

                “What girls are you hooking up with, exactly?” Maria demands, “what are their names? Alena and who else?”

                “Uh…,” he says, and rubs his head.

                “Well, he can’t say who they are,” I offer, then jokingly add, “these girls are all underage ones he works with.”

                “Yeah!” Clif agrees, brightening up, willing to stand behind this improvised story.

                But then he continues pressing his luck. I know the momentum has changed when Nicole glances over me with a smile and rolls her eyes.

                Meanwhile, I’ve said almost nothing, as little as I can. And taken great pains to avoid mentioning Lisa in particular. Even when the focus shifts and these two females start grilling me, I attempt to downplay everything as much as possible. They’re pressing me for more details about what girls I’m doing what with, and when I tell them there’s not much happening, they don’t believe me.

                So that’s cool. Also, one major reason it’s great to have Maria out tonight to begin with is because I have this feeling it will work to my advantage, for other reasons. Simply put, I know she would love nothing more than to piss Lisa off. She’s delightfully diabolical like that. Therefore would actually work to make sure I get somewhere with Nicole, and does, by filling Nicole in on my history with Lisa and what’s going on right now, mentioning Robin, so on and so forth.

                Nicole suddenly wants to sing karaoke, and I’m game for that as well. The only place nearby we can think of that has such tonight is O’Manny’s. So we tool up there, but have spent so much time at DiMarco’s that the karaoke guy is packing up his things. It’s just past 1:30 now, and we’ve missed it by ten minutes.

                We end up back at Clif’s apartment. Sitting around his pad, he’s got a bunch of booze but nothing to mix it with. We keep talking about driving across the street to Kroger for pop or something, but no one actually wants to get up and do so. Clif does have some bar mix that he combined with tequila, but no ice – despite 8 empty trays in his freezer – yet these are far too harsh to drink and we set them aside.

                He’s playing one rap CD after another on his stereo, skipping thru to only the best tracks, and I’m kind of dancing in the living room, trying to get everyone else to do so. But of course they only look at me like I’m a moron.  Maria leaves. Then Nicole suddenly experiences a flash of insight, says to hell with the mixed drinks, let’s just do shots. And so this is what we do, three shots apiece just sitting here.

                “Whew, don’t I feel like the bomb,” she jokes, “I’m here alone with two guys.”

                Funny how experience teaches you to some extent how to navigate around previous mistakes. Clif’s falling all over himself trying to impress her by playing all the songs she likes and even calling up some dude he knows to maybe bring over some pot, but I hang back instead, either sit in the papasan I finally learned how to manage or else dance in the living room kind of obliviously.

                At about 4 in the morning, that dude and two of his friends do show up, and now it’s looking like another dull sausage party. They pack a bowl, light it up and pass it around, but Nicole’s apparently feeling the same thing I do and says something to me about running her up to the store for cigarettes. Realizing this is my cue, we stand up, tell everyone we’ll be back as Clif is playing one of the guys in a game of chess.

                As soon as we’re out the door she’s hanging all over me and we make it to my car, climb inside.

                “What would you do if I kissed you?” I ask.

                “I don’t know…,” she replies, ponderously, as though seriously contemplating the matter.

                So I just lean over and she lean forward and we kiss right here in my front seat, a solid juicy liplock, before pulling away moments later as I start up the engine.

                “Whew, that was weird,” she says.

                “No, it wasn’t weird, it was great,” I tell her.

                At the store, she sits in my car as I run inside, get a bottle of water and some smokes for her. I’m already thinking, you know what, she’s too trashed, and to do anything more than kiss her at this moment would be a serious affront, like taking advantage. I don’t want it to happen like this. If it’s someone you’ve slept with who knows how many times, then whatever, but not somebody you’ve been interested in but are just now maybe making something happen with for the first time.

                So then back at the car, she all but confirms being on this same wavelength. “Oh my God, I shouldn’t have done all those shots,” she moans.

                Fortunately, we don’t have far to go. Just up the road to Lisa and Maria’s place, where, although I have admittedly been lately kind of obsessed with this idea of trying to do some other girl over there, while Lisa is away, that notion is put on pause for the time being. This is just the safest option, a handy nearby place to crash. And the final nail is put in that coffin when we coast to a stop, I shut off my car, Nicole opens her door…and promptly pukes all over the parking lot.

                I walk around to her side of the vehicle. She drapes herself across me and I more or less drag her along with me toward the apartment. On the sidewalk, though, she stops, turns me around so we’re face to face, and attempts to plant one on my mouth again. But, remembering the way she just hurled a minute or so earlier, this is not exactly something I want to do, and pull away.

                “What?” she murmurs, “does my breath stink?”

                “No,” I reply – truthfully, because I can’t actually smell it.

                “Yes it does, because you’re leaning away from me.”

                So I lean in forward but only hug her instead, and she takes this as her cue to start kissing me on the neck. Things could have certainly gotten interesting from there, but I figure it’s wise to break away.

                Breezing through the front door, it’s now five in the morning, and Nicole is absolutely crocked. Maria’s still up, watching TV, though seemingly somewhat cranky now about our antics. I sit in the easy chair for a second as Maria stretches out on the couch again, to continue watching TV, and Nicole passes out, hilariously enough, sitting up on the love seat with her legs stretched out across it. 

                I head upstairs to Lisa’s room and plop down into her bed. It’s brand new, she and Mike Nelson recently spent an entire day putting it together. Somehow I must have missed the part about this being a waterbed, though, and don’t expect it. Thus this throws me for a major loop in my exhausted, half buzzed state. But I recover soon enough and fall asleep, everything is cool.

November 26

wake up fairly early and head downstairs to see, comically enough, that Nicole’s still passed out in the exact same position she’d been in before. Leave and head home, spend a day talking on the phone with a bunch of different people – the loan officer at Priority, my realtor Judy, the Mansfield courthouse, etc – all of which have to do with trying to get this house situation wrapped up.  What a pain. Day off from work, though.

November 27

Another day off from work. I leave the house at 11 or thereabouts and head over Upper Arlington way. Stop at Kinko’s & fax some paperwork to Brad at Priority, then scoot up to work to put a seafood order on and slap a lock on my locker in the breakroom – with me I have a few computer disks, backup copies of my One Million Virgins novel. Lately, it has occurred to me that if anything happened at all and my disks were lost or the house caught on fire or my computer fucked up, then I’d be devastated because so much of my writing would be lost.  So I’m going to store as much as I can in the way of extra copies here at work. Maybe I should put photo negatives there, too, and make photocopies of as much of my journals as I can.  We’ll see.

                I try calling Lisa’s cell phone, Maria’s cell phone, and their house, but can’t get an answer anywhere. I’d intended on cruising on down to visit Jamie in jail – Tuesdays and Saturdays being the only times he’s allowed visitors – and Maria said she wanted to go with me, but now they are nowhere to be found.

                But I’m cruising up Dierker anyway and it occurs to me maybe they’re home and not answering the phone, so I pass their complex, glance over and see both cars parked there. I turn around, then, and head back to their apartment. They are both indeed here – Lisa having just woke up and in her pajamas, Maria having been up awhile and in her pajamas. They talk idly of having a lot of things to do today and say they can’t go with me after all – even though it had been Maria’s idea.

                “Well, give me directions on how to get down there,” I say, but in explaining it to me, Maria and then Lisa both suddenly decided they want to go. So they throw on some clothes, we round up some things to take Jamie – a crossword puzzle book, a recent football magazine that was still coming to the house on Ryan’s subscription, a thick Anne Rice book of Lisa’s that she hasn’t read.

                Maria, having visited Jason there on a number of occasions, starts ripping out any pages of the crossword puzzle book that were filled in, as well as the reply cards in the football magazine.

                “They look through these when you bring ‘em in, but I used to write messages to Jason in the borders anyway,” Maria explains.  And then we ‘re off.

                – Lisa bitching at me on the way down

                – only two allowed in per day – Maria & I go in, Lisa sits

                – Jamie in full beard and olive colored jumpsuit, we’d waited a long time for them to round him up

                – “I finally got a Cadillac,” he says, it’s jail lingo for a thick cushion to sleep on.

                – we talk to him about staying away from Andrea when he gets out, but of course this is falling on deaf ears

                – “I need some ass!” he laughs, “I need some pussy!”

                – right then this hot, tall redhead with long lustrous hair and a perfect ass crammed into tight jeans walks in.

                – “are you here to see this young man?” I ask her and point to Jamie. She laughs but says no, and of course he’s cracking up.

                – “damn she’s got a nice ass,” he whispers to me over the phone. We are separated from him by double ply glass with wire mesh in between and talking on these weird pseudo telephones, which Maria says she thinks are probably tapped & monitored. Could be.

                – after 45 minutes here, we head back north into town. I call Matt on Maria’s cell phone, tell him I’m running a bit late.

                – Lisa trying to argue with me in the parking lot at their complex, but of course I just laugh & leave. 

                -Melissa left work early – allegedly sick – then some coworkers bump into her at the bar. Oops, busted!

                -Miles spends night at Lisa & Maria’s – car still impounded

                – over to Matt’s, sit around awhile. Libby is at school. I head next door for subs and Matt moves in the other direction for beers, we meet back at his apartment about 10 minutes later.

                – Libby gets in from one class, leaves again

                – Matt and I over to Travis’s house. Him, Brandon, Kevin are playing Madden Football video game and getting ready to eat dinner of cod fillets & mashed potatoes. We all take turn playing football, then skateboarding and finally snowboarding games come next. We are joking that “Shaw” is a flexible word; discuss Shaw’s pantry and all he would need to survive; are cracking up about this hilarious Baseball ’90 sticker album I have; then the guys are laughing some more when Matt and I talk a little bit about Goofy Guys.

                -leave at 9. Then there’s hilarious drive-thru episode at the McDonald’s on 5^th when we are picking up some grub. Matt just wants a water to drink but the chick is either being dense or difficult or both and finally tells him, “well, you still have to pay for a pop!” with his combo meal and he’s like, “that’s fine! I just want a water!” as he looks over and me and shakes his head as if to say, “what the fuck?” Indeed. 

                – tonight was a nice change of pace, reminds of being in eighth grade or something and just hanging out, laughing with friends and playing video games.

                -mad writing session till 2 a.m.

November 28

Rainy outside as I drive up to the Kroger on Worthington-Galena Rd and put in 3+ hours of overtime. A ridiculous breeze, it adds another $60 to my paycheck. It kinds of seems unbelievable that a company would actually pay me this much to do what I’m doing.

                The reason I’m here is a hilarious story in itself. Alex told me a couple days ago about this fuckup new kid who left the night before hours early, without saying a word to anyone – scheduled alone & he just bailed.

                This afternoon, Alex calls, wants to know if I feel like coming over to close there, because the new kid – who somehow still has a job – called off. So I get to that store at 5:45, and Alex tells me they’ve had this kid for 3 weeks and everyone’s pretty fed up with him.

                “John Allen don’t like him, Neil don’t like him, Roger don’t like him, Dennis don’t like him, I don’t like him, Mary don’t like him…,” Alex shakes his head, “he’s burned all his bridges. I don’t know what he is – he’s one of those guys who wears all black clothes, has his fingernails painted black…”

                “Trying to be The Crow?” I speculate, laughing.

                “No, The Crow was good,” Alex says, “this kid’s just evil. Well, not evil, but lazy.”

                After all this buildup, then, I nearly split my pants laughing to stumble across the schedule later – it never occurred to ask the kid’s name – and see that this is James m.f.ing Lambert! He gave me fits a couple years ago when I first became department head, over at the Morse Road Kroger. After a few months of torturing me he finally quit…I later ran into him working some kiosk at Northland Mall, though he claimed he was merely sitting there as a favor to a friend…now he’s back at a different store wreaking the same old havoc.

                Alex cracks me up, he’s such a dork. Nice guy and all, but still…a dork. I come in and he’s got Free Bird cranking on a radio back in the meat dept – all this from a guy who looks like baseball’s Randy Johnson, but with glasses, long dark red hair, and goofy facial expressions – just as tall, too, almost. 

November 29

Claire (seller’s realtor) threatens to put the house back on the market if I’m not approved today for this damn loan. Cooler heads prevail, however – everything is ironed out, I’m set up to sign the papers tomorrow.

                Hanging out with Matt again after work, he’s fighting with Libby. Up to Andyman’s Treehouse playing pool with Brandon and some preppy thirtysomething John guy – Matt & I drink 13 beers, but Brandon only charges us $13. I tip him $7, yet wonder later if that was enough. Surely not, actually.

                Sitting around there talking with this other Matt guy who works with us at Wild Oats & his girlfriend Jody, then we leave, grab some carry out beer along the way & head up to my place, Matt lays down vocals for My Name Is Quigley G. We’ve been talking about how everyone laughs at the Goofy Guys but at least we’ve got something to show for our efforts, by way of all this bizarro stuff we’ve recorded through the years. Virtually everybody else’s band is better, sure but I don’t know, I think ours does have some merit anyway. A twisted appeal, if you’re in the right frame of mind. Especially because it basically amounts to screwing around with the tape running, we were never trying to play out or “make it” or anything serious like that.

November 30

I get my house! It all came together at the eleventh hour. A loan I paid off a year and a half ago has been the sticking point, oddly enough, because it was still showing on my credit report as open. I even faxed the loan company a letter they’d sent me with a refund because I’d overpaid them, and here even days after I faxed them that letter they were still dicking around, blowing me off.  Finally I had to get belligerent with the receptionist on the phone, told her that if they didn’t get this cleared up, then I wasn’t going to get approved for a house I was trying to buy. And that did it, thankfully.

                So I took a long lunch break today, went to sign the stack of papers. I’m so pumped – this house is in absolutely the perfect location for me, I love it. Halfway in between Grandview and campus, plus closer to both jobs than this hellhole apartment is. 

                Race home, chill on the couch until Damon gets in. I tell him about the house and he says he’ll probably move in with me.

                “Yeah, not sure I’m ready to do the whole living with Maryland thing just yet,” he tells me with a grin, “I’m not sure I could move all my stuff in there even if I wanted to, there’s just no room.”                

Later, we head out to Lucinda Williams show. 

December 3

Lisa comes in, asks me if I’m still messing around with Robin. She says Clif was telling her online that the reason he never tried anything with Robin himself is because he didn’t want to piss me off, and this made Lisa wonder. So I tell her, yes, we still kick it from time to time. Now she’s half angry, half teary eyed.

                “What?” I say to her, “you knew I was still seeing other people!”

                “Yeah, but I didn’t know it was her!,” Lisa pouts. Although it’s not clear who she thought I was messing around with, then, and if not Robin, who else would be a better answer to that question, exactly.

                “What difference does it make who it is?” I question.

                After a few minutes of debate along these lines, she storms out in a huff. Later, I give Miles a ride back to his mom’s house, in the Linden part of town. They live at the corner of Ontario & 24^th.  We stop at my new place on the way so he can see it, and is offering me suggestions on this and that I could do to spruce things up. Overall, though, he thinks it’s pretty cool, that I’ve done well in picking it out. We’ve each picked up two double deuces of Heineken apiece, and after touring my place, stand in the kitchen thumbing through the newest issue of Playboy – I have a subscription, thanks to Jill – before bailing.

                Over to his house, we cruise the neighborhood drinking beer & he points out the streets and their history. Checking out my blown headlight outside later with the car running, some bum neighbor named Mike comes out to “help.”

                “Where’s the beer?” he wonders, eyeing Miles and I as we sip on the remainder of our 2^nd double deuces.

                “Here, you can have mine,” I tell him and hand it over, drive off down the road back to my soon to be former apartment on Morse. 

                Cruising north through this part of town, I note how it looks exactly as it must have in the late 1970s and I think, how interesting it would be to know what was going on in each of those houses, say, on such and such night in 1978. Stuff like that is just wild to think about.

December 5

I meet Robin at Bumpers at 5:30, appetizers and beers here. Unexpectedly, Maria, Miles, and Stephanie show up, so this is hilarious all around. The new barmaid, Tracy, is nice and learns my name immediately, although this makes Robin think that I must be some sort of regular here. Hmm, no, not exactly. Our tab is $36 and I leave her $50. Then Robin and I drive down to the Weezer show.

After leaving the show, we bump into Scott Imsland at the corner of Olentangy and Lane – he’d been here with Travis and some other people. Robin and I stop at the convenience store for something cold to drink, then I take her to my new house.

December 6

Daniel Johnston show. I pick up Alan, we stop at the Black Horse for beers and (me, anyway), dinner (burger and fries). Old lady flirting with us. To Little Brother’s, but we’re way too early, the show’s not starting for quite some time. So we backtrack to the Treehouse. Brandon’s working and Imsland shows up to drink. After killing some time here, Alan and I return to Little Brother’s. Damon and Maryland are here by now.                

After the concert, we head back to the Treehouse. It’s packed now and there’s some cool band playing with a distinct 70s vibe. Running Alan home, but first we swing by my house so he can check it out. Then return alone to crash.

December 7

Kroger and Wild Oats. I’m off at the first of these at 4, then briefly attend Dollar Bill’s going away party at J. Lindsay’s with Miles and Lisa. Of course the guest of honor himself doesn’t show up until 4:45. So I have to pound two quick Captain and Cokes with Bill before flying off for the Oats.

December 8

Kroger and Wild Oats. Later, I stop by the old apartment long enough for Matt to swing by; we eat some catfish that I’ve cooked, listen to some Zappa vinyl that Damon has in his collection, then grab some beers and cruise over to show him the house. Here, he’s ranting and raving about Libby, how she won’t let him move in with me.

December 9

Kroger and Wild Oats. Miles’s birthday. After leaving the Oats, I drive back across town to Lisa & Maria’s place for a party on his behalf.

                He’s already knocked back about a 12 pack of Heineken by this point and is pretty tore up, sitting on the love seat next to Amber. Playing cards as I arrive are Lisa, Bridgette, a friend of theirs from the west side named Kevin (so pleasant and squeaky clean that he comes across as gay)(even though everyone secretly whispers he’s trying to get with Bridgette), Clif, and Stephanie. Maria is sitting on the couch, observing the action.

                Roy and Corina were here earlier, they gave Miles a nice Cleveland Indians cap for his present. Lisa, Maria, and Stephanie went in together and bought him a watch, because in all the time we’ve known him he’s never had one – Miles lives a more disjointed existence than even I do.

                I sit down and somehow euchre is dropped for Beer Tree which is in turn dropped for Truth Or Dare after a spell. The girls are getting a major kick out of this game tonight, while us guys aren’t really into it. Maybe because this does seem a bit silly for us to be playing at this age – and this is coming from someone who, as far as I know, is the youngest in attendance. Unless Stephanie maybe has me beat, which I’m not quite sure about.

                Well, anyway, I guess it’s somewhat interesting. Someone asks Bridgette if she’s ever cheated on her husband; she says the most she’s ever done is kiss another guy. This is of course a real howler and I just look down the entire time, avoid making eye contact for fear of saying anything, or just giving her away with a furrowed brow and a smirk. Although it is somewhat surprising even Lisa doesn’t shout bullshit to this one.

                Then Stephanie has to dare me to do something, and with the encouragement of Bridgette, devises this scheme whereby I must stroll out to Dierker and, even though it’s cold as hell out, drop my pants and smack my ass as I moon the next car to drive past. Stephanie is waffling, though, unsure about this, whether I’ll go through with it.

                “He will, he will,” Bridgette tells her, “he’ll do anything.”

                The funny thing about this, though, is that I don’t believe this is true at all. Though plenty weird, I don’t feel like I’m really all that wild. But it doesn’t hurt to play along at a time like this, these girls talking up your supposed wild image, with a relatively harmless request. Not much can go wrong here – unless of course the next car happens to be a cop. Yet once I ascertain this is a minivan, as I stand alongside Dierker, my audience huddled nearby, I am free to execute this simple maneuver, mooning this unfortunate vehicle. They all cheer and we head back inside.

                This game thankfully winds down soon enough anyway. Miles, who recently decided to move in over here, has gone to bed, retiring from his own bash, and Amber has left. The rest of us now just sit around drinking, most remaining seated at their spacious dining room table, while Stephanie bemoans her love life. Bridgette and I attempt consoling her, while offering pointers, as Lisa mostly clicks her tongue and gives me dirty looks. Stephanie’s continually in the dumps about not having a good guy around, which leads to this endless series of one night stands.

                “I don’t know why Tommy doesn’t like me anymore,” she moans.

                “Maybe because he came home and caught you with his best friend!” I point out, to a chorus of hearty laughter around the table.

                “Here, let me give you some advice,” Bridgette says to Steph, “you wanna know the secret to getting someone interested in you?”

                “Hang on a second, let me grab something to write on,” I crack.

                “Shit dog, you wrote the book,” Clif says with a chortle.

                “Always be slightly unavailable,” Bridgette tells her.

                “Make them come to you,” I add.

                “Yeah, but I think I make a bad first impression,” Stephanie says, “I’m always trying really hard to make people like me.”

                “You’ve got the wrong attitude,” I tell her, and it’s a paraphrasing of the same advice I gave Megan months ago when she too was all bummed out, “your attitude should be that you’re gonna do your thing, and they’ve gotta impress you.”

                Lisa takes issue with one aspect of this last comment, however, and says to me, in a scolding tone, “why don’t you listen to your own advice!?” Though this clearly makes no sense at all. Perhaps in her delusional state she feels I’m the one doing the pursuing, though she would surely be the only person alive who thinks this. Everyone continually tries to talk some sense into her, in fact; she’s just in denial about the whole affair.

                Still, despite what others are whispering about Kevin’s intentions, Bridgette is actually trying to hook him up with Stephanie. He might be a little too squeaky clean for her tastes, though – it remains to be seen. Squeaky clean is good up to a point, until the girls infer that they might be bored to tears, in which case he’s screwed. It often seems that they would prefer a ton of chaos and to be treated badly, so they have something to complain about, than to stick with a guy who genuinely dotes upon them.

                Case in point – throughout the night, Lisa’s getting calls from this guy Jonathan she met, a bartender at the new Time Out Tavern on Olentangy. She’s been drinking for free down there every night when he works, and he takes her out to dinner, et cetera, et cetera. He’s even buying her a puppy for Christmas, how sweet.  

                So what does she do but feed Jonathan a bunch of lies, about tonight, about me, and so forth, to the extent he deduces what’s going on anyway and is all pissed off over the whole situation. Since I’m coming around tonight, she ditches him under some flimsy pretext, and it’s hilarious because all the things that used to (and still do) get her flaming mad when I pull them are the things she’s having trouble pulling off herself and asking me for advice on.

                “Don’t lie to him,” I advise her, on the ins and outs of seeing two different people at once, “I’m always honest.” Well, this last point might be a tad bit rich, but not overly so. Whatever else these girls might have to say about life with me, they can’t realistically claim I misled them. You don’t have to tell them everything. Certain facts and situations are basically overkill, redundant, repeats of similar incidents you’ve already gone to battle over – they don’t change anything, and there’s no need to continually jab at that beehive.

                “Yeah, Lisa,” Bridgette concurs, though, agreeing with me.

                Lisa and I are lying in her waterbed, Bridgette standing next to us saying goodnight, as we discuss these matters. “So you really don’t care about Jonathan?” Lisa asks.

                I laugh and say, “why would I care?” Which is one hundred percent true, but even if it weren’t, my taking issue with Jonathan would represent a major double standard. Also, I happen to believe that the stance I’m taking is the best method for keeping Lisa hooked on me and losing interest in him anyway – just an added bonus.

                “See, I told you he wouldn’t care,” Bridgette says.

December 10

Early shift at Kroger.

I come home to the old apartment at 3 and crash; wake up briefly when Damon makes a pit stop en route to Maryland’s at 5, and a couple other times, but don’t get out of bed until 4 in the morning!  Must have needed the sleep. 

                I pack some things, load them into my car, and take off. Breakfast at Tee Jaye’s, then at the new house I carry those boxes inside and crash on some cushions on the living room floor. By now, it’s about 6 a.m. and the sun’s coming up.

December 11

Run some errands – among these is a lunchtime pit stop at Spuds for two beers. It’s kind of cool doing that for a change. Then to hardware store next door to pick up vacuum cleaner bags, back to the old apartment for a feeble attempt at cleaning up some of this sand. Moderately successful, I  guess, even though I bought the wrong sized bags and have to manually cut bigger holes in them so they’ll attach to the machine. Clearly we have done a ton of vacuuming around this place, heh heh. Late shift at Kroger.

December 12

Tesla concert with Lisa. So there. Never let it be said that we don’t do anything together! Even if she’s somewhat heated because I show up late. But then we sit around the house anyway for some indeterminable reason. Miles tells me that Lisa dumped Jonathan, the guy with whom she was attempting to make me jealous.

                “He’s in love with her…she’s in love with you…,” Miles says.

                “…and I’m in love with Captain Morgan,” I crack.

                I drive her car in the rain down to campus, where we’re supposed to meet up with Roy and some others around 6:30 or so at the original BW3, there at Woodruff and High.

                “Well, I broke up with Jonathan,” Lisa tells me on the way, not realizing Miles already informed me, “I tried to be like you but I just can’t do it, I can’t see two people at once. I don’t know what it is, he’s really nice to me but you’re the one I want to be with.”

                “Really.”

                “Yeah,” she giggles, “I didn’t even say anything, but all my friends at euchre (Tues night tourneys she plays in at DiMarco’s) last night were telling me, we can tell you wanna be with Jason, it’s just the way you get when you talk about him. It’s true, too, you walk into a room and I don’t know what it is, I just light up inside.”

                I just laugh, though, this is the extent of my response. And maybe this is more jackass behavior, I don’t know, but I’m just being real. To pretend otherwise would fly in the face of everything we’ve all been trying to tell Lisa, about my lack of serious interest, not to mention my advice to her about honesty.

                “Jonathan tries to buy me,” she explains, “I mean, come on, Miles and I have been drinking for free every night down there. The other night he tried to give me five hundred dollars and I laughed at him, so then he tried to give me seven hundred dollars. Although I did let him give me fifty dollars,” she admits, “I don’t know, he was even gonna give me a puppy for Christmas, but you’re the one I’m in love with.”

                “Come on, now!” I protest, at her use of the dreaded L word.

                “It’s true,” she insists.

                “Well, you should have at least waited until after Christmas to dump him,” I crack, “after you got your puppy.”

                “Yeah, I probably should have.”

                I park in the rain and we walk toward the bar.  Lisa’s wondering what to do with her still half full beer bottle and I tell her to bring it with us.

                “I used to do it all the time,” I tell her.

                “Yeah, and you just got popped for it awhile back,” she reminds me. But she walks with it anyway as we traipse up Woodruff. And anyway, as I’ve been saying anytime that subject crops up, that joke of an open container charge just makes you think we should all be walking around with beers, all the time.

                “Okay, we’re gonna meet Roy n’ them here, see Tesla, go over and you can show me your new house, maybe initiate some of the rooms there,” Lisa grins, “then meet everyone at DiMarco’s, then you can give me some again and spend the night with me.”

                “Got it all figured out, do you?” I joke.

                “Yeah.”

                I take a look around us and smile to think that this – campus – is now my home again, or at least close enough to being so.

                “God, I’m so glad to live down here again,” I admit.

                “You’re too old to be hanging out around campus,” Lisa tells me.

                “No I’m not,” I rebut, “Miles is 41 and he still comes down here.”

                Seriously, though, I know I don’t look my age, and when you consider all the thirty-and-above people I’ve known who were still pulling off the campus thing, I have no worries. One more round of kicks down here while I’m still young enough, who cares.

                Roy and Corina (engaged now), five other chicks (two hot, two okay, one quite large; one of the hot ones is Rachel, actually), some Jeff guy and his woman are waiting for us at BW3. After pregaming here, we walk to the concert.

                Afterwards, everything pretty much does go just like Lisa planned. Stop by my place, and so on, DiMarco’s, spending the night up at hers.

December 13

Today’s the big moving day. And everything has been somewhat sorted out as far as the starting lineup, who is renting rooms off of me at the house. I’m in the master bedroom, upstairs, and Damon is across the hall (the only other thing on that floor is the bathroom in between, i.e. it’s kind of the same layout as we’ve had at the apartment). And Matt has probably, finally convinced Libby to let him move in here. It’s still being discussed but if so, he’s taking the third bedroom, which is on the ground floor. So this should be quiiiiiite the adventure, however it shakes out.

                Wake up early and drive to Stan’s Restaurant at Morse & Westerville, park there, walk next door to pick up the U-Haul, drive it over to the old apartment, then ride my bike with one half flat tire in a drizzling rain back to Stan’s. This is just the best I could come up with, logistically. Breakfast at Stan’s, toss bike in the trunk of my car, drop it off at apartment then up to Kroger at noon to pick up Miles, who has agreed to help.

                Gloomy drizzling day, he and I knock out almost everything in 2 trips and a 12 pack of Heineken. It’s always amazing to have friends like this who are cool enough to help. I pick the beer up at the convenience store near our soon-to-be vacated apartment. Listening to the classic rock station 96.3 all day at apartment, house, and in the U-Haul, Miles cracks me up because every other song that comes on he says, “ooh, this one reminds me of when I was a teenager, cruising around wit’ my friends drinkin beer and smokin weed.” Or some slight variation, albeit it with no mention of having said this about previous offerings.

                Damon gets to the old apartment at about 6, just as we were finishing up the 2^nd and final load.  At this point, all the big stuff has been moved and all that remains are odds and ends, plus the entirety of his bedroom – we didn’t want to mess with his stuff until he was on the scene. Miles is drunk and singing all kinds of crazy, made up lyrics as we move stuff out. It’s awesome. He and I stopped once for lunch at Friday’s, and considering we’d only gotten started at around 1 in the afternoon with that hour long lunch break factored in, I’d say we made damn good time. He’s a handy guy to have around, too, because he once worked for a moving company – “we used to do three houses a day” he says – and knows all the tricks, like angles to take furniture to get it out the front door, or laying down a blanket to throw scattered clothes on and then fold up, or wrapping a hanger around the fold out couch bed to keep it from flopping out while carrying it.

                The three of us drive in the U-Haul over to the new place, load out the last of the stuff, then head back to the old apartment so I can drop Damon off at his truck. He continues on over to Maryland’s place, and I take Miles back over to Lisa and Maria’s. The girls are out in Hilliard shopping with Stephanie, so I stay and have one beer, then a second, then run to get a 12 another pack at the carry out at Miles’s request – actually Maria’s, she’d called and asked, but it is Miles’s money – and I jump up to get out of here before the ladies return. I don’t really feel like hanging out with Lisa again, not after spending the whole previous night together. They do pull into the parking lot just as I’m pulling out, but I am able to just say hello and split.

December 14

Even while feeling like I’m moving forward in life, the outrageous adventures are not quite over with. This time around it’s just idiocy of my own creation – I should have just taken the U-Haul back last night, had plenty of time to do so. But instead made these kooky plans with Damon to deal with it this morning. I guess it sounded simple enough in theory, but I majorly botch the execution.

                This morning now I must drive back to the old apartment, pick up the U-Haul, refill it with gas and return the thing. Damon’s supposed to meet me at 7:30 so he can follow, then give me a ride back to my car. One seemingly minor detail I never paid much attention to, however, is that this truck takes diesel fuel. And am driving all over the place looking for it, eventually wind up on I-71 and keep going all the way up to the Delaware exit before I finally spot a place. By the time I return to the apartment, then, it’s already after 8, and Damon would have long since given up.

                Unbeknownst to me, however – it never even occurred to me to check, I would have seen no reason to – he actually crashed here last night, on a pile of clothes up in his old room, instead of over at Maryland’s. But I won’t learn of this until later. Not only that, but he will also relate to me later that he drove up and down Morse Road three times looking for me, while I was off on my little diesel adventure.

                Feeling like an idiot, I am then forced to drop the truck off, then walk back in the rain to the apartment to retrieve my car. But it’s all good. As soon as we are able to compare notes, I explain what happened, and he tells me his half of the equation. We hit Traditions for beers later, and a strip club.

December 17

Miles tells me about him and Stephanie.

December 19

Early shift at Kroger. Interesting night out Christmas shopping with Miles – decorating at their place, beer in the stores, run into Chris Benetrix and Teresa, back to their pad for a bit, then barhopping with Miles. Arlington Café for one drink, Traditions for one, Crest Pub for two. He keeps telling me about this barmaid Miranda who works here, that she’s really cool and likes him, too. So I keep it under my hat when we enter, and I can plainly hear the bartender working beside Miranda, upon seeing us, say to her, “as if your night wasn’t bad enough, it just got better.” Fortunately, Miles did not hear this, and I wasn’t about to tell him.

                Couple beers there, I played some tunes, then we hit Hounddogs for pizza before I drop him off.

December 20

Lisa tells me Miles was so wasted after I dropped him off last night that she couldn’t understand a word he was saying. What’s funny about this to me, though, is we only had four beers. But then I start to consider we only had four beers together – I have no idea how much he drank before I picked him up.

She and Miles and I hit Traditions later, meet Mike and Amber there. Then Damon and Alan surprise us by showing up a short while after us. Maria’s down in Kentucky “hanging out” with Jason’s best friend – he’s understandably pissed, though she insists this is no booty call.

December 21

Kroger and Wild Oats. Home to change, then over to Lisa and Maria’s late for an Xmas exchange. But first, a game of Truth Or Dare Jenga, which I have to admit is a little more interesting than playing such without the Jenga. Unfortunately, the ratios are a little lopsided tonight, plus I don’t really get their sudden obsession with this game anyway.

                Miles and Maria sit in the living room, either watching the action (Maria) or flipping through the most recent issue of Club magazine (Miles). This means as far as actual players it’s just Lisa, Bridgette, their west side friends Dirk, Rick, and Kevin, and then the latecomer, me. The game itself isn’t very interesting, unless having Rick sit on your lap or Dirk moon you (both of which happened to me) sound like one’s idea of fun. Although I do have my hands all over Bridgette’s ass, giving it a nice healthy squeeze, so there are worse things in life. Another turn finds Lisa forced to sit on Rick’s lap, as he jokes, “have a seat, and we’ll talk about the first thing that pops up.”

                Then the game’s over, and Dirk and Rick prepare to head out to O’Malley’s, their favorite west side bar. Tara is working tonight, she’s down to just one night there a week now. Lisa and Bridgette are thinking about going there, too, since my cover story is that I’ll be leaving soon for Chris’s party. The truth is, though, that I’ve been waffling on this all day. I know Carrie will be there, and I’m still so angry at her betrayal that I can’t see straight. So maybe it’s not the best idea. Actually it’s more liked this dazed stupor, like someone unexpectedly punched me right between the eyes – seeing stars, unsure where this came from, but kind of reflexively furious all the same.

                The girls call Tara to see if they can crash at her place, which might inform their decision. She says okay, but then Kevin meekly points out he lives over that way himself, offers to let them stay with him. So maybe this dude has some skills after all, as they are weighing his nonchalant suggestion.

                “Well, that was fun,” Bridgette says of the Truth Or Dare, begins listing all the highlights.

                “Yeah, and enough gay shit to last a lifetime,” I add, and Miles starts cracking up on the couch, howling wildly at my comment.

                After Dirk and Rick split, we conduct our quaint little gift exchange. I got Maria and Stephanie both $20 gift cards to Kohl’s; Miles a 12 pack of (what else) Heineken and that girlie magazine he is committing to memory tonight; and then for Lisa, three pairs of thong underwear, some dolphin themed items she wanted for her bathroom – toilet seat, Kleenex holder, shower curtain rings – plus what we might call “gag” items in the form of oral sex lotion and anal beads. Mostly because I thought it would be hilarious for her to unwrap these in a room full of people.

                Maria brought me back a bottle of Everclear from Kentucky; Lisa got me a coffee maker, two mugs, filters, and coffee (reminiscent of Jill’s gift from last year; and actually, since she’s been cleaning out my old apartment for me, I just learn tonight that Lisa pitched my former coffee machine – the one Jill got me. Which is somewhat bothersome, but oh well), a sweater, a nice set of drinking glasses and some vanilla scented candles.

                “You better not have one of your other bimbos over and light them,” she warns me.

                “Whatever,” say I.

                The ladies are still debating what to do, even as Lisa helps me carry my gifts out to the car. In addition to thinking it best if I avoid Carrie, though, I now have a sore throat, and with family coming into town bright and early, not to mention the late hour, I no longer have any intention of heading over to Chris’s party. But keep this information to myself, because I don’t want to be tied to Lisa and this maniacal entourage, either. Then again, I think she is probably having that Jonathan guy over when he gets off at 3am – hilarious how she bitches about my “side projects” but does the same thing herself. Well, she insists she hasn’t even slept with the guy yet, but whatever, it pretty much amounts to the same thing.

                And since she has followed me out here, I turn the engine on and heat up my car, to start defrosting the windows…and end up doing it on my passenger seat, my first time having sex in a car since the early days with Heather, probably seven or eight years ago. Then she goes inside and I leave.

December 22

I wake up around 6:30, it’s my parents and brother knocking on the front door. So I run downtstairs to let them (and their dog, Libby) in. Though excited to see them, work comes all too soon and I actually try to go back to bed, but can’t sleep. Ditto Daniel on the couch. Therefore we end up chatting in the kitchen until it’s time for me to leave. Dad and Daniel are drinking whiskey with ginger ale, it’s an enjoyable morning watching the sun come up, catching up on each other’s lives.

They’re up in Mansfield all day for family related activities. I have to work Kroger and Wild Oats, can’t go. Then they make it down to crash here again, around two in the morning. I’d fallen alseep in my room listening to the rain outside.

December 23

Kroger and Wild Oats again. They’re all heading up to Mansfield again, but are a bit delayed leaving town – Daniel realizes he locked his wallet in my house. So around 1pm, he’s back at my seafood department, getting a house key. They drive back down there, then finally hit the road for real.

December 24

Kroger shift. Then with Lisa and Maria back home, I slide by their place to hang out with Miles, who is enjoying having it all to himself for a change. We knock back a couple beers here, then I drive him over to his mom’s house in Linden. He takes me inside their charming if cluttered home, and I finally meet his mom for the first time – she’s hand mixing a bowl of mashed potatoes or something at this moment. Miles also shows me this comical family portrait hanging on the wall, back when he still head a head of 1980s afroed hair. In the photo, everyone’s wearing a fake smile because none of them want to be there.

                I’m pretty excited about seeing my extended family, though, and am finally getting a chance to do so. Upon dropping him off, I jog over to 71 and begin driving north.

December 25

Daniel and I start driving back to Columbus around 12:30. He and I hop in my car and enjoy a great trip down, because we are talking up a storm. At a gas station on Olentangy, we stop so he can pick up some cigarettes, then continue to my house to wait on the parents.

                I fire up my computer and let Daniel listen to where we stand on some of the songs Matt and I have been working on together. He digs the reverse guitar part I came up with for Bruises Easy (“sounds like Radiohead,” he says) and its ooh-ooh vocals. Also gets a good laugh out of Matt’s new signature tune My Name Is Quigley G, then offers an enthusiastic “yeah!” for the drum part I laid down on the chorus for Trampled Under Foot. Considering this is the first time he’s heard those three songs, I’d say they all stand a decent chance of making the cut as we continue working on the new CD.

                My parents roll in around 2, and this winds up as one of the most peaceful, enjoyable Christmas days ever. We exchange presents in my kitchen, Dad and Daniel drink some of the Everclear Maria got me (mixed with o.j.) and Libby lies around with a care in the world after snooping out my entire house.

                All of the gifts are awesome – and I think I did a decent job, running around like an insane person the past two days rustling up theirs – but don’t see a need to recite the entire list here. There is one item of particular interest to relate, though, which is what Cissy got me. It’s Stephen King’s second-most-recent book, Dreamcatcher, and while I’m totally appreciative of that, in some ways I’m more obsessed with this little knickknack she attached to the box it came in, a jangly little skeleton figure with green jewel eyes…in fact, as we stand around talking this afternoon, I keep holding the skeleton in my hand and even mentally compose a few lines of song lyric for it, about it. Mentally, I keep seeing an album cover depicting the skeleton hanging from the rearview mirror of a car, the album titled Skulls in the Rearview.

                For me anyway, this could be the most enjoyable holiday ever. Tyson and Brenda even make it down, around 10; we’re all starving, though, because they said they would be here at 4, so we never went anywhere or ate much of anything. It’s all good, though.

                Tyson has been playing a little bit of guitar and harmonica still, but seems apprehensive when I mentioned bringing him down to contribute to this new project.

                “I don’t know, man,” he says, “I don’t really like playing guitar in front of people. I guess I’m kinda shy.”

                “But you’ve played in front of me before,” I point out.

                “I know,” he replies, “but I don’t like to. I could bring my harmonica down, though.”

                I drive Brenda’s nice, year old ride out on a beer run, taking Tyson and Daniel on a brief drive through campus and pointing out where Matt currently lives (though who knows how long), with his girlfriend Libby, above the Chinese restaurant at High & Lane. We buy brew and some frozen food at a convenience store, then come back to the house to make them and talk some more. 

December 26

early shift at Kroger. Up at 8:15 and they’re all packing, getting ready to drive back down to N.C.

Later I go out for drinks with Maria and Miles. We start at J. Lindsay’s, but Miles can’t get served – sure, he has no ID, but the guy is 41 years old!

                The night is kind of a dud. Miles is wasted, he’s going on about how he’d like to get with Melissa at work, his confusion about Stephanie – that night they came back to the house after drinking and started fooling around some, now he’s kind of smitten with her. But at the same time feeling like he shouldn’t pursue it since they’re going to be roommates soon.

                As for Maria, she’s pissed at Christine over something that happened Xmas Eve. It was the night I stopped to get Miles and take him to his mom’s house. Christine called, talked to Miles, he mentioned that I was there; Christine for some reason thought this meant Jason Thomas, Maria’s Jason. And therefore called Maria back home, goes on about Miles letting him in the house and that Jason was probably stealing a bunch of her stuff or something.

                So of course this essentially ruins Maria’s holiday, and she races back Xmas day to see the whole thing was all bullshit. She calls Christine, who tells her, “I don’t have time for you and your fucked up life,” before hanging up on her. Maria’s pretty upset, but I feel like Christine is fairly obviously a lunatic to be tuned out as much as possible – nobody should take much stock in what she says to begin with.

December 27

early shift at Kroger…Lisa’s back in town…Dad M. and Faith and my sisters come down to see the house.

December 28

Kroger, Wild Oats. And essentially do nothing else.

December 29

Kroger, Wild Oats.

And wind up doing plenty, after successfully taking it mostly easy for the past week or two.

                I’m in a good mood, though, enjoying a quick happy hour between leaving Kroger at 4 and clocking in at the Oats at 5. We’re at J. Lindsay’s, it’s Miles (no trouble getting served today, you’ll note), Lisa, Melissa, her friends Julie and Maureen, plus that James guy. Knock back a little Captain and Coke action, finally get to talk to that hot blonde barmaid Katy, first met whenever that was, weeks ago, who I think might actually dig me.

                Though everyone else is sticking around, I’m standing up to leave. And for comedy’s sake, as Lisa tries to kiss me, I keep stepping backwards. Melissa is just returning from the restroom, sees this, starts laughing and says, “he’s so shy,” totally not grasping the dynamic here.

                Quite a bit happens after I leave, apparently. For one, Lisa and Melissa get to know another and somewhat hit it off – Lisa had always assumed Melissa didn’t like her, because she has picked up on this pattern, of Melissa always paging me to the back dock every time Lisa’s in the store. She doesn’t know I am totally cool with this and have encouraged this little ritual. Fortunately, everybody here brushes aside that topic without explaining.

                Secondly, Miles finally works up the nerve to admit his interest in Melissa. Sure, they kissed once here, last week, but it hadn’t progressed any beyond that point.

                “I’ve got a question to ask you,” he says.

                “What’s that?”

                “Are you gay?”

                And so Melissa confirms to him what we’ve all kind of thought anyway, that her “roommate” is actually a live in girlfriend; she’s been married a couple times, Melissa has, but has more or less sworn off men. Just to test the waters, Miles tries to kiss her again in the parking lot as they’re leaving, but she’s having none of it.

                As for the rest of my day….

1. Damon and Maryland are in to get the house key from me, make a copy for themselves
2. After work I head home to change, meet Matt at R Bar. We talk about band matters, i.e. the Tue & Thur schedule he’s proposing for working on songs.
3. Two drinks there with him, he goes home, I continue onward to Lisa’s. I was “supposed” to call at 9, but just to mess with her – because I feel like it’s occasionally good to reinforce the boundaries – I never call, simply show up over there at a quarter till 11. Lisa has apparently left one nasty message on my answering machine wondering where I’m at, though. As I arrive, everybody else has left except for her and Amber. Amber’s waiting on Mike to get back from a Blue Jackets game.
4. Tommy’s in town with his friends Brandon and Andy. Brandon used to date Maria – they were together for 5 years – and now works at some factory with Tommy. They’re at Polo’s.
5. Jen McBride is also in town, from Texas, and is with Maria, Stephanie, Miles, Tony, and Jen Freeland, down at Time Out Tavern or NYOH’s or whatever it’s called.
6. Mike calls, drunk, from his apartment. He asks Amber to come get him and she does.
7. After numerous calls back and forth, to and from cell phones, Tony and Miles finally swing by to pick up Lisa and me. Or join forces, I should say. Miles and Tony hit the bowl a couple times, and the weed, as always, makes Miles loopy. He says all kinds of crazy, hilarious shit, and it occurs to me I should start keeping a tape recorder in my car, just in case. It feels like I laugh my ass off on a nightly basis at his antics, but can later remember almost none of it. And that is truly a shame.
8. In my car, the four of us leave for Polo’s, where Maria and her party have already met up with Tommy and his crew.
9. Drama central – not only did Jen F used to have something going with Tommy, but his ex Brea happens to be here and there’s also of course Stephanie, who he banged just once and now has no interest in whatsoever. She’s still sweating him bigtime, though, at least for the time being.
10. Additionally, which we could probably see coming at some point, Stephanie’s hitting on Brandon to make Maria mad, and hitting on me to make Lisa mad. Although to our credit we both avoid her as much as possible. She pretends to be more drunk than she is and continually falls onto our laps, asks us to dance with her, but we’re having none of it. All the while, she’s also attempting to make Tommy jealous by hitting on as many random dudes as possible elsewhere around the bar.
11. Up getting a beer, I make conversation with this sharp looking black girl standing nearby and it seems she might actually be digging it.
12. Tommy’s friend Andy is a real trip, he’s one of those rave guys and buys a few rolls off of Tony while we’re here, for $20 apiece. Otherwise, he stands there pretending to scratch records along with the music.
13. Miles asks me to take him home before we finish our first beers. Yet before I even have a chance to, he disappears. We assume he walked home, despite the cold weather, but here he turns up again an hour later, having just sat over by himself in a remote corner – says he couldn’t bear watching Stephanie hop from guy to guy like she does.
14. A handful of us get up to dance in a circle – Lisa, Jen F, me, Stephanie, Brandon.
15. Maria flips out thinking Brandon’s actually interested in Stephanie and starts bawling at one of the tables. She asks me to go get Tommy and have him come over so he can talk to her.
16. Jen F develops a bad case of hiccups. This would have almost made me feel sorry for her except for the fact she keeps jumping my case all night – angry at men in general, I think, with Tommy having 3 girls sweating him at this bar, and knowing how I’m playing Lisa. But she won’t actually say anything to Tommy – would definitely blow whatever chance she has if doing so – and so takes out her frustrations on me.

                                “How long you gonna do this to Lisa?” she asks.

                                I shrug.

                                “You know it’s not right what you’re doing,” she tells me.

                                “How do you figure?”

                                “Because you’re hurting her.”

                                “Hey, if she’s not going to listen to the words coming out of my mouth, then there’s nothing I can do about it,” I say.

                                Later, Lisa’s standing there with me and Jen says something to the effect that if I don’t start treating Lisa better, I’m “going to lose her.”  I make a joke of it along with a faux horrified face, bite on my finger, as though terrified by this prospect.

                                “When are you gonna start taking things seriously?” Jen says nastily.

                                I tell her it’s never going to happen; she asks me a question about what I think of the situation, and I say it’s “hopeless.”

                                “If it’s hopeless then why don’t you stop seeing her?”

                                “Because I’m having fun, and she’s having fun.”  I say.

                                Jen turns to Lisa.  “Lisa, he’s never gonna want to be your boyfriend.”

                                “Trust me, I know that,” Lisa says.

                                “Why don’t you find someone who’s actually worthy of your time,” Jen says, continues bitching about me, et cetera. There’s nothing she can say though because just as I know I’m not doing anything wrong, I also know that Lisa will continue tolerating my antics for quite some time. Jen’s just bitter, anyway.

17. We all leave Polo’s. Jen M had left with that Mike guy. Tommy, Brandon, and Andy had been talking about going downtown all night, but ran out of time, instead left with Brea and her friends. Maria drives off alone. Lisa, Tony, and I leave in my car. Jen F, Stephanie and Miles leave with these two guys Jen met at the last minute, Shawn and Marcus – perhaps in an effort to resolve her bitterness.
18. I pull out of Polo’s and drive past the median divider, turn around and head the proper direction back on Bethel. Here comes Miles dashing across Bethel, then, trying to flag my car down. I stop, he’s standing on the divider.

                “Need a ride?”

                “Yeah,” he says, “turn around.”

                We all start laughing, wondering why he won’t get in my car unless I turn around and come back, approach him from the other direction. Figuring he was just being drunk and stupid, I take off again. He’d gotten paranoid for some reason thinking everyone had left him, when Shawn and Marcus were still sitting there waiting on his silly ass.

19. Back at the Yanik house, everyone falls around the kitchen and dining room area. Tommy, Brandon, and Andy return empty handed, Tommy hadn’t even gotten anywhere with Brea, at least not tonight. Still, he’s saying she and Jen F both would be willing to marry him, all he had to do was pick one.
20. Jen M also returns, strolling in with her ex-boyfriend Mike
21. A bunch of the guys sit around the dining room table smoking pot; Tony had already left, Maria had gone up to bed; the rest of us are in the living room talking about movies and such. Lisa gets on some kick though demanding to know who I’ve been out seeing movies with recently (I mention having caught Ocean’s Eleven and Vanilla Sky), then starts bawling.

                “I’m tired of it!” she cries, “you’re always taking your other bimbos to do stuff but not me! I’m always the last one on your list!”

                “Shhh,” I say, “let’s go upstairs and talk about it.”

                Miles is sitting on the other side of Lisa, attempts telling her many of the same things I am, we all do.

22. Lisa and I do make it up to her bed somewhere around 3am
23. Miles carries Stephanie down to the basement, in hopes of reaching a bed there, trying to be noble or something. But then accidentally drops her at the bottom of the stairs. And leaves her there, comically enough
24. Shawn and Marcus split after thanking everyone for hospitality n’ beer
25. Jen M sleeps on that basement bed instead, after that Mike guy leaves; Miles crashes on the basement couch; Stephanie wakes up and then passes out elsewhere in her typical hilarious fashion, sitting upright on the couch; Brandon and Andy are also sprawled out in the living room in some configuration; and then Tommy and Jen F are sacked out side by side, on the floor, by the front door.

December 30

Early Kroger shift. I wake up for work at about 10 till 7. Troop down to the basement, flip on the lights, and awaken a snoring Miles. Then leave for work in the freezing cold, without my coat, because Tommy and Jen were using it for a pillow.

Miles is all bummed out today, because neither of the two chicks he’s been interested in are panning out. Stephanie especially is bringing him down, with all her guy hopping.

“I’m depressed,” he confesses to me, after getting to work a half hour late. He doesn’t even remember me coming downstairs to attempt waking him up this morning. I could see he was going to be late, then, after getting to work on time myself. Called Lisa to have her go down and wake him up, which she did.

“Why?” I ask.

“I’m in love with Stephanie,” he confesses.

“Man, she’s not even worth your time,” I tell him.

“What’s wrong with these girls?” he wonders, “she and her sister are both crazy.”

“I don’t know,” I admit, with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Why do you think Stephanie has to be all over every guy in the bar?” he questions, adds, “I’m worried about her.”

“Don’t worry about her. She makes her own bed…and then she brings ten guys back to lay in it with her.”

My little improvised joke gets Miles laughing again, and by the end of the afternoon, he’s not bummed out anymore. Even so, he asks the second of his romantic interests, Melissa, for a hug, and she recoils, only half-kidding as she says, “ah! Get away from me! You tried to swap spit with me yesterday in the parking lot!”

Melissa tells me she really can’t see Lisa and me together as a couple, because according to her, Lisa talks nonstop, and I barely say anything at all.