A long time ago…

...I had a friend. She was like a sister to me. For her I would drop anything I was doing, drop any amount of money, or drop anybody to the ground to help her out. My loyalty for her grew without her even knowing it. She was just happy to have someone show up at her job and break the monotony of a slow day at the insurance desk. And I was just happy to just have someone sit there and listen...and help me make sense of things. We’ve seen a lot of good times together. Perhaps, more good times than bad in retrospect. She even asked me to be the Godfather to her son…which I proudly accepted and scrapped all plans of relocating to another city. She was my female equivalent of Agent B or Slick Talk. I called her Blizz or Your Highness because she loved the taste of herb. In fact, that’s how we started callin’ it “Hey Man”. Because every time she got lifted she’d look at you and say, “Heeeyyyyy maaaaaannnnn…” I really cared for her. She was my extended family.

It didn’t become apparent to me how much I cared for her until she had her son. At the time I was working at an architecture firm downtown and one of the top architects sent out an e-mail saying he was giving away an 85’ Volvo in exchange for the tax write-off. Me not having a car and trooping my laundry and groceries up and down a big hill every week…the free car sounded great. But the architect that was giving it away was a muthaf*ckin’ pretentious c*ck-sucking little snot (excuse my language…but he was really a d*ck) and I made my feelings about him known on several occasions. Asking him for the car was not an option. But then I thought about Blizz and how hard it must be for her to do the same domestic chores, especially lugging around a newborn, so I decided to swallow my pride and ask dude for the car. I walked into his office with my tail between my legs, told him about Blizz and if he gave the car to her it would be a significant improvement on her life and make things a lot easier for her. I just approached him on some man-sh*t like, “O.K. I know we don’t get along but…” He looked at me, knowing he had my manhood in a nutcracker, and told me he’d think about it. A couple of days later he said that he decided to give the car to someone else and the way he said it felt like a knife being twisted in my gut. He knew exactly what he was doing….that c*ck-sucker. And I knew the chances of him giving me that car were slim to none, but for Blizz I had to try. To this day, I have never told her this.

A little while after that, things started to change between me and Blizz. I know that she was struggling at the time, hell we we’re all trying to stay above water back then. But I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe I said the wrong thing and insulted her, or she disapproved who I chose to be with, or she thought I was someone I was not, or maybe it’s that we just grew up…but she silently turned from me. When you’ve been tight with someone for over a decade you know when they’re upset with you…but through all my attempts to reach out to her she never spoke on it. Even though she was silent her actions screamed, “I want nothing to do with you, Chris.” And I’ve seen her behave this way with her girlfriends from time to time and their reaction has always been to cry and then whimper, “Why are you mad at me?” But the problem is I’m not a girl. I couldn’t come at her like that. So I just let her do what she had to do. Even though losing her friendship hurt I gave her the space she needed….and decided that I was unable to have a close non-sexual relationship with a female. I said, “Men and women are just different creatures. Dudes get up and brush themselves off and say, ‘good hit’…while women are drama-prone and fickle.” Or maybe that’s just a bullsh*t excuse I used to explain her behavior and even why my relationship with my own sister is less than stellar. Anyway, I just went on with my life and secretly wished her well. Since we shared mutual friends it wasn’t always easy, but I managed to resist going to gathering where she’d be present so not to make her or anyone else uncomfortable. I think she did the same.

Recently she surprised me by showing up at a party. I was really surprised because I was one of the people the party was for. And for the first time in three years she gave me a “hello” that didn’t seemed forced or reluctant. She seemed comfortable and at peace with whatever was fueling her anger. It was good to see her, good to see her smile, and good to hear her laugh…even at my stupid jokes. When she laughed it reminded me of the girl who used to sit next to me in a downtown Saturday matinee, laughing at my commentary while sipping on a wine cooler. We really didn’t speak at the party. I wanted to. I wanted to find out how she was doing and all that…but something stopped me. I think it’s because I really wanted to ask her, “What did I do?” But I didn’t have the words and that life just all seemed so far away. Maybe, I’ve changed. Well, I know I have. I’m not the same guy who used to give her a piggy-back ride down Huntington Ave; who used to wait outside her apartment until she got inside; who used to give dudes who wanted talk to her a “Treat Blizz Bad Get Beat-down” warning and I think she saw that. So, at the end of the party she gave me a small hug and I thanked her for coming.

I may appear to be skilled in expressing my emotions, but the reality is…some just never seem to come out right.

I love mornings…

…especially when I have a much coveted day off. I wake up with the childlike anticipation and excitement for what a day of total freedom will bring. It could be a day trip out of town with a special lady, an all-city bar hop with the boys, a deep sea fishing trip with my father, or just lying in bed watching whatever comes on the Discovery Channel. Yup, I love that feeling. But of course I forgot…this is my life….and not a normal one, because then it happened.

“Chris, what are you doing today?”, she asked.

Thinking I’m about to be invited to a cookout I quickly (stupidly) responded, “Nothing. I got the whole day off, what’s up?!”

“Can you help my Mom move a few things to her new apartment?”

*Silent hesitation*

“Ummm…yeah. Sure. I guess I can swing over there for a little bit”

“Great! It won’t take long…we have a lot of people helping us.”

Yeah right. They had a lot of people standing around, talkin’ about they were either sick, or had a back problem, or some other bullsh*t excuse to why their participation would be limited to only carrying blankets and pillows. So, at 11:00am there was only me and one other guy to help…and we both seemed to be equally hung-over from the night before. On top of that, her mother’s apartment reeked with the putrid smell of poor planning. Besides a few boxes….absolutely nothing was packed. Dishes, glasses, and silverware were lying on the kitchen table as if to say, “Just make sure I get in the van!” And her mother wasn’t even home to say exactly what was leaving her well lived-in apartment of 20 years. If I hadn’t let them use my car to go pick up the moving van…I might have had a change of heart and dipped by using the “stitches” excuse. But it looked like I was gonna be there for the long hall, so I just got it in my mind to get it done so I could enjoy my day off.

“I’ll still have time to catch up with the guys this afternoon.”, I thought as I picked up a box of old sewing equipment.

Well, besides being on the third floor in a building where several children decided it was a good day to play tag on the steps…and not having any tools to take apart the solid oak bedroom furniture…and the little voice in my head that kept asking, “How the f*ck did you end up here?”…moving her stuff out to the street went pretty smoothly. After the two hours of removing twenty-eight screws from the bedroom furniture using only a pair of pliers that someone found under the refrigerator…moving the entire building to the top of Mount Everest would have seemed like a piece of cake. Just then my day got even better. That’s when I got the call. “Chris…the van won’t start. We have to go to another U-Haul. They said they’ll have one for us at 3pm…we’re heading over there now.” So there I stood, without a car, with Hung-over Homeboy and all her mother’s belongings down on the street, trying to decide the shadiest spot to sit on the 120 degree sidewalk until they returned with the mother and a moving vehicle.

I thought as I slowly cooked from the inside on the sidewalk, “Man, this is the first nice beach day we’ve had in a minute…well, I’ll just check a movie later...I don’t wanna be outside anymore.”

After three hours of watching drug dealers hop out to random cars, little13 year olds modeling their newly found sexuality, and crack heads walking past and giving me looks like my sidewalk sittin’ @ss was worse off than them…they finally showed up with a moving truck. It was now 4:45pm and I started throwing things on my back and ordering people around in an attempt to salvage what was left of my day off. Once we got to the new apartment, which was in a residential complex for the elderly, I instructed Hung-over Homeboy to finish bringing in the rest of the stuff in while I reassembled the bedroom set and entertainment center….while all of the excuse makers decided it was a good time to get some Mickey D’s….then come back and instruct me on how the furniture should be arranged….while they all munched on fries. After we tried every possible furniture configuration they were finally satisfied with the one that I originally created when I lugged all the stuff in. So at 7:45pm they considered the move complete…relinquishing me of my commitment and setting me free.

“Maybe, I’ll just rent a couple of movies and relax tonight”, I thought as I rubbed my lower back.

But as I said before…this is my life, so I wasn’t surprised when I was about to hop in my car I heard an engine struggling to turn over and someone declare, “Oh no….Chris don’t leave! The truck won’t start!” And of course the truck was parked in a strict no parking zone…dead in the center of this elderly complex. Then as we were working to figure out why the truck wouldn’t start…it happened. The residents started coming out of their homes like it was Dawn of the Dead, waving canes, and expressing their disapproval of the truck being there. After being yelled at for 15 straight minutes and successfully restraining the urge to disrespect my elders I calmed them down and discovered that the need to move the truck right away was not because it was blocking the ambulance and fire route. It was because it was restricting access to the resident’s favorite bench…the one that’s lower to the ground with less bird poop on it. (WTF?! Isn’t Wheel of Fortune on or something?) So eventually, I went to the UHall and got someone to come and restart the truck. At 9:15pm I successfully watched the whole day, the apartment, the sidewalk, and the truck, disappear in my rear view mirror.

On the way home I get a call from my buddy.

“Hey…where you been? We’ve been tryin’ ta reach you. I thought you were comin’ over?”

“No dog, I’m going home and going straight to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

My wonderful day off.

There are not too many people I like right now.

But on the plus side, if I ever have a problem getting into heaven I can have St. Peter just review this day. I'd be like, "Come on dog, look at all that crap...I think I've earned at LEAST a weekend stay."

I like to write.

But it’s not my favorite thing.
To do.
I like spending time with her.
More.
If reading would put her to sleep.
Satisfied.
I would pick up a pen and write.
Always.
But she’s never been one to sit home.
Reading.
She likes when I use my eyes to see.
Anything.
I do like to write.
But it’s not my favorite thing.

Feelin' good.

The problem with my legs is still present…in fact it’s worse now. I just haven’t mentioned it because I don’t think anyone would be interested in reading “I feel like crap” posts day after day. Well, I finally got tired of medical specialists poking me with needles, putting me under x-rays, and touching my man-bacon then looking me in the face and calling my condition an anomaly. I decided to look at the problem the same way I look at every other problem in my life…if anyone’s gonna solve it…it’s most likely gonna be me. So, I did some research this week and here’s my very uneducated, don’t know the first thing about the medical field, theory:

While working on my house I caused some sort of trauma to the Lymphatic tissues in my lower legs. Most likely from hammering, scraping, and sanding on all fours for several hours at a time or pressing my legs up against a metal ladder to keep my balance. Either way…I f*cked them up. The trauma caused a build up of fluid which caused the swelling, extreme pain, and my inability to “swagger” for several weeks. Since my doctor’s assistant initially told me just to go home put ice on them and take aspirin, the protein rich fluid in my legs remained for at least a month and it became a Lymphatic infection. This explains why the pain in my legs has remained and has been accompanied with feeling like they are on fire. This explains why on a 90 degree day I’ve been coming home from work, closing all the windows, turning off the fan, and hoping straight in bed with my clothes on and covering myself with several blankets talkin’ about I’m freezing. This explains why I’ve been drinking 27 glasses of water a day and my mouth stays dry. This explains why I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night and scratching my burning limbs for hours. (In fact I’m writing this at 2:13am because the itching got me up again.) This also explains why I’ve been walking around my job (Whoa….I’ just got de ja vu….I’ve either wrote this before….or dreamed about it….weird) anyway, this also explains why I’ve been walking around my job feeling like a zombie who’s begging to be returned to the afterlife. Yeah, three months of this sh*t…feelin’ like I have some sort of malaria and need to have my legs amputated.

Well, I presented my theory to the group of specialists and they all looked at each other, left the room, then came back and said, “It sounds like it might be a strong possibility.” They agreed I should be put on an antibiotic for the infection and I should have a biopsy done to try and determine the cause of the inflammation.

I’ve been on the antibiotic for only two days now and the symptoms still remain; only now they are accompanied with the side effects of the medicine, tiredness and headaches. But through all of that if you were to ask me how I’m feeling I’d say, “I’m feeling good.” Why? Well, I’m feeling good because for the first time in three months the doctors aren’t blindly testing me and they are following a documented possibility. But most of all I’m really feeling good because during this three month ordeal I haven’t let it stop me. Out of three months the Boy Wonder has only taken three sick days and has been there to carry his responsibilities and the responsibilities of other’s on his back. And on the weekends and some weeknights he’s still put on the tool belt and ripped down walls then constructed superior ones like he was in perfect health and didn’t want to be wrapped up in bed. Yeah, I’m kinda feelin’ myself right now. But it goes beyond feelin’ good. It goes beyond The Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder. It goes beyond even feelin’ like a certified monster. I honestly feel borderline demonic…and there are not too many people that can see me right now.

The biopsy left me with stitches in my leg, so I’m gonna take this weekend off because I’m afraid if I start working I might rip them. So let me just say this to all the people (who most likely aren't reading this) who kinda look at me funny in that little doubtful way….wait till I get better...cause you didn't even know I was sick. That's whats up....

If I ruled the world...

Anyone who decorates their car by putting those novelty bullet hole stickers down the side should be made to do one weekend of community service as an assistant to the emergency trauma surgical team at Boston Medical Center. I hope their fake desperado, renegade-from-the law, punk John Gotti @ss isn’t squeamish. My prediction is by Saturday morning they’ll be ready to replace their gangster-image with daisy stickers.

In a nutshell...

1. My summer didn’t officially start until my man slipped the new Roots into my car. These dudes continue to amaze me and refresh my love for the music.

2. What amazes me even more is how much I relate to a White-albino, overweight, half-blind, 26 year old kid from Minnesota. In fact, if I made music I’d strive for his greatness.

3. Kayne West aside, if Hip Hop keeps flirting with Gospel I just might have to ask their first daughter to marry me.

4. My neighbor Snitchie just bought himself a new picnic table…which isn’t that unusual because it’s summertime. But what I did find strange is I always see him sitting there by himself, just staring out into space. And he does this for hours. I mean I’ve taken time to decompress and take in a little nature, but I don’t consider staring at the back of a garage nature. There is just something very wrong with this picture.

5. AVP! They are finally bringing the comic book series to life. The little boy in me is jumping up and down and about to pee his pants. While the adult in me is preparing to round the fellas up, get tickets, and sneak in the theatre with Chinese Food with several intoxicating beverages. They should do everyone else a favor and give us a private screening because the Aliens are finally going to fight the Predators! It’s just in my nature to get a little wild. But here’s my prediction for the end….Humans will win.

6. One thing about me that I always felt made me special is I don’t use an alarm clock. I don’t have to. If I say I need to get up at 6am…I automatically wake up 6am. Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of a dream to look at the clock and say, “Yup, right on time.” It gets deeper. Several times I’ve got up in the middle of the night and said to myself, “It’s 3:24am” and I looked at the clock to see 3:24.

7. I have yet to find a way to make a significant amount of money from this “gift”.

8. I recently went to my man’s annual cookout. It’s an all day event of good food, drinks, and people. But what really makes me look forward to it is after dark he hooks the X-Box up to a LCD projector and projects the game on the side of his house. Man, when whuppin’ someone’s @ss on an outdoor 20 foot screen you really start to feel like you should be featured on a Black middle-class episode of Mtv Cribs.

9. Yesterday, a very robust woman, who looked like she could go into labor at any minute waddled onto the already crowded train. When I offered her my seat she surprisingly looked at me in disgust and said, “No!”. Upon further observation I realized she may have not been pregnant. My b…

10. I really like making lists. If I ever have a nervous breakdown and get committed to an insane asylum I think this is how I’d spend my time. I’d just sit in the recreation room, wearing my gown and slippers, and make lists with my circle of paper and safety crayon. Don't worry though...if they give me internet access I’ll still post them for your enjoyment/general disgust. Maybe I'll be able to sweet talk the nurse and arrange something.

I remember the good times.

Living in an apartment, no worries except making sure the rent and bills get paid, the place stays clean, and the fridge stays full. That's why JJ always smiled so much. Look at him...that happy go-lucky bastard....just chillin'...doin' his artwork...mackin' the ladies. You know why you haven't seen him in the public spotlight as much lately? He bought a house...and he's not as funny anymore. No more kool-aid smiles...in fact, he's kind of a jerk now. Anyway, you can see where this post is headed. Let me b*tch for a minute about the misconceptions people have when you’re a homeowner, then I promise I won't rant for a while. It'll be tough...but I promise.

THE MISCONCEPTIONS PEOPLE HAVE WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG AND OWN A TWO-FAMILY HOUSE.

You built the house.

(I’m 33…the house is 105. I think it’s safe to say that the reason the closets are so small or the living room isn’t a little bigger or the tree in the back is overgrown isn’t a result of my past architectural and landscaping decisions.)

You sell drugs.

(Let me ask you this...does my house look like a drug czar's palace? Do you see flamingo's running around my yard next to the coy pond? Have you ever seen me fish a dead body out of my "C-shaped" pool after a violent cocaine episode? Have you ever watched Miami Vice and seen a drug lord who has a neighbor like you? I don't sell drugs...I strip, thank you very much.)

You have the ability to do anything at a moments notice.

(Ok, so you’re saying I should delead each unit, switch the heating system to forced air, and demolish the garage to make way for a new multi-level backyard party patio. Do I have a sugar-mamma you haven’t told me about?)

You want a “tip” on how to maintain your property or for someone to point out something that needs to be done.

(I appreciate you walking by and pointing out that I should relocate my ferns to a shadier side of the house….but I’m kinda busy with other things right now. And who said I even want the ferns? Where the hell did they come from anyway? I didn’t plant them.)

You are one of those slums lords, as seen on the local news undercover expose, who doesn’t take care of his property, keeps a single mother with three children without heat and running water, and is the blame for every apartment in Boston that costs $1500.00 a month.

(No…I can’t say that’s me. I’d consider myself a responsible landlord. If you ask my tenants they’d say the same. But now that you mention it…if I was YOUR landlord...)

You’re stupid.

(People LOVE to lie. Look, in this age of information when you lie on a rental application it’s really not too hard to find out. And saying, “Well, I didn’t know how you’d react to me running a business at my last residence” doesn’t really make it a little white lie either….especially when you were running a drug lab.)

Every problem you come across causes you to put the house on the market.

(Damn, can’t I have a few friends over without you asking if they’re realtors! Turn around and stop looking over the fence. I’m not selling!)

Because you’ve drank a couple of beers with someone in the past you’ll rent them an apartment for a couple hundred dollars or whatever they can afford to pay that month.

(Yeah, ok…you’ve heard of a mortgage right? That’s my rent. And they don’t wanna hear well my tenant/drinking buddy didn’t get along with his boss too well as an excuse. They make people ex-property owners for that.)

You’re filthy rich.

(I don’t know what to say about this besides….gold-digging women have walked away from me all pissed, talking about how I misrepresented myself. Musta been all those hundreds I use to fan myself with…or the spray bottle I fill up with Moet to mist myself off when it gets humid. Nothin’ like a Moet Mist to open the pores.)

Run!!!!

A co-worker calls me and leaves a message exclaiming, “Chris I want it to be put on record that you’re the first person I called. Oh, God….I hope you’re in today. We have an emergency and I don’t know who else to go to! It’s the web site! We’re currently reviewing our open contracts to see how much money we have to get an emergency designer in here! Anyway call me as soon as you get this message!”

Once I found out that the problem was simply the wrong closing time on their hours of operation, a few clicks of the mouse, and the problem was solved.

I’m walking down the sidewalk and I noticed a parked compact car with two young children in the back and a woman in the front seat who looked like she was either throwing a violent tantrum or trying to fight off an invisible attacker. I drew close to see her franticly pound the seat, then the dashboard, then the roof, then the window…all while repeatedly using the name of the Lord and several saints in vain.

Once she managed to get the window open the bee flew out on its own accord. The woman and terrified toddlers replaced their crying with desperate gasps of relief.

I’m sitting on a crowed train, and just before the doors close a middle-aged man with a Southern accent screamed, “We have to get off!!!!!” Suddenly, half of the car’s occupants all strapped with over-stuffed duffle bags and suitcases make a mad dash to the door. It looked like a scene from a soccer stadium disaster as these twenty-five or so crazed people pushed elderly women and expectant mothers into each other as they all tried to squeeze through the same space. All the while, their leader was screaming at the door, “Come on!!! Hurry!!! We have to get off!!!!” as if this train were the last helicopter going BACK to Vietnam.

Once the last tourist got off and the train was officially delayed, a police officer who had noticed the disturbance sat the man down, showed him the transit map (the same one displayed onboard the train) and the man realized that he and his group were in fact on the correct train.

Now, why am I telling you these stories? Just to say this.

People, I am tried of seeing you panic.

Ninety-percent of the time it just makes the situation worse for you and everyone unfortunate enough to be near you. Plus have you seen yourself? It’s not pretty. And I’ve seen so many of you panicking over stupid sh*t that I feel I need to make of list of scenarios where it would be acceptable to panic.

I don’t wanna see you panic unless:

1. You are bungee jumping over jagged rock and after taking a 100ft dive you realized you miscalculated and the line is 110 feet long….ok…then you can panic. In fact you can do anything you want because you might not be able to do much for quite some time.

2. You wake up with a bomb handcuffed to your arm, the key is nowhere to be found, there is only 30 seconds left on the timer, and you see a letter from your heartbroken ex on the nightstand…ok…then you can panic. You’ll need the adrenaline to chew your hand off.

3. You realize you’ve been impregnated by an alien and it’s spawn is about to take it’s first breath by popping through your abdomen…ok…then you can panic. If you didn’t, it just wouldn’t seem that believable and I wouldn’t recommend the movie to any of my friends.

4. You look over the city skyline and see a bumpy fire breathing lizard swatting away military fighter jets and taking a bite out of one of the city’s tallest buildings….ok…then you can panic….Japanese style!!!

5. And finally…you are around me and decide you absolutely need to throw an over-dramatic, screaming, grabbing my arm, hissy fit over anything simple or stupid…ok…then you can panic…because this back-handed slap I have for you is gonna be something.

I’ve been meaning to say this for a while…

I think I’m finally starting to understand how much of a public forum a blog actually is. This is a place where I log my personal thoughts in an attempt to play with words, vent, act like a clown, laugh, and find like-minded individuals who might just feel the same way as I do. Just like anything else in life, some of my thoughts and experiences I choose to share with people…some I don’t. Some of my thoughts and experiences are simply no one’s business but my own. I try to keep the subject matter based around me and when I talk about someone else it is in a way that their identity will remain safe. (Unless they are someone already in the public spotlight or I just really dislike them) Some will enjoy my stories and daily happenings and look at them as pure entertainment. Some will read and see it as an exact reflection of my life…believe me this is just a small window you’re looking through. Others who may know me in the non-virtual world might gain some insight as to what is going on in my mind and why I behave the way I do. I realize this. However, once the door is unlocked there is an open invitation to the reader who may choose to remain anonymous and what they do with the information they read is at their discretion. I realized once I started a blog my privacy and being vulnerable to outsiders would be the trade off. There is also a certain power in remaining anonymous…however that is a power I chose to relinquish. I just couldn’t write anything real if it wasn’t coming from me. While I’m far, far, far from being perfect, I try to be the same person, whether I’m with my boys, at work, at home, or in this public forum. I’m just me and when I’m here, I’m just sharing a little piece.

Well, with that said…

…all are welcome to my blog. Enjoy.

However…if my Mom calls me and says, “Hey, I was just showing your blog to some of the girls in the office. It’s sooooo cute! Look at you and your little poems!”

….you can consider this b*tch shut down.

Old School Memories

I just ran across this web site…and it made me remember this story.

Several years ago (actually more than several years ago because I think I was only twenty-one and I was rockin’ a Starter Raiders jacket with the matching cap) I used to talk to Donica. Now when I say talk, it wasn’t anything big…we may have kissed once but that was about it. At the time she was going to Berklee School of Music. During our brief “talking” she had invited me to a small get together that she was having at her apartment and told me to bring some friends. I told my man, Slick Talk, who was my main running buddy back then, and once he heard there would be more girls than dudes his arm didn’t need to be twisted. So as it was the custom back in those days we got well liquored-up before we arrived at her building…holding several concealed bottles and other party paraphernalia.

I honestly don’t remember too much about the party. I just recall that it was an intimate get together, with a few of her friends, a few couples, and one of her classmates Lelah Hathaway’s little sister. (who’s name I cannot remember) Well Slick Talk was all over Little Sister, tryin’ to do what he does best…talk slick…and everybody else was busy trying to catch up to the level of “happiness” Slick Talk and I were feeling when we walked through the door. I guess they all reached that level when someone suggested that we all sit on the rug and play Truth or Dare. That brought a few hours of naughty advances and awkward moments that everybody laughed through. And me being the creative-thinker, awkward moment advocate that I am, was having a great time…until someone introduced a new dare into the game…a bottle of Jose Cuervo. After a few rounds all I remember was Donica saying something to me that didn’t seem right, so I said something to her that was probably a little tequila induced, and then she sternly looked at me and said, “Get out!” Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I knew the drill.

With thoughts of Little Stevie’s pizza on my mind I told Slick Talk, “We’re out” and we drunkenly bounced down the steps and out the door. However, I noticed that he was a little hesitant when we left…so I asked him if he was cool. He kinda let me know that at the time we left his slick talk had not reached it’s full potency and he wished he had more time to “seal the deal” with Little Sister. So, as not to risk being labeled a c*ckblocker I said if he wants to go back up I’ll go get some slices and wait for him outside. He immediately turned and hit the door buzzer a few times. I stayed to make sure he got in and after a short while, music blared over the intercom, and a female voice asked, “Who is it?” Now I don’t know that what happened next was because Slick Talk was really intoxicated, or he felt like he needed an excuse to go back to the party, or he just didn’t want Little Sister to know that he was chasing her, but he opened his mouth and said, “It’s me __________. Chris wants to come back up….he wants to apologize to Donica.”

I just stood there with this expression on my face that said, “No I don’t.”

And the door never opened.

I learned two things that night.

One, tequila and I don’t mix well because to this day I still don’t know what she said to me that got me all bent out of shape...if she said anything at all.

Two, although he’s my boy…Slick Talk is an @ss.

But even still, I can't wait to show him the web site. I know we'll have a good laugh over these old school memories.

On edge…

The electrical inspector’s coming to look at my kitchen remodeling project today.

Unfortunately, he is coming at 10:30 and I’m hosting a 11:00 meeting at work, so I cannot be present. Seven plus months of planning and back-breaking work has come down to a couple of critical days and that leaves me sitting here doing the only thing I can do…going over possible outcomes.

1. The inspector will come, look over the electrical work, find everything up to code, and get the hell outta my house.

2. With me not present, the electrician could decide to point out all the electrical flaws that exist in every 100yr old house, forcing the inspector to have me upgrade everything, and forcing me to pay the electrician thousands more to do the work. There’s no two ways around this one…I’ve stayed up at night doin’ the math. If he wants to screw me….I just fell forward, hit my head, and passed out…@ss all in the air.

3. The inspector could look over my carpentry work and say, “What the f*ck is this?!”, find that the wall I built isn’t up to code, and have me tear three months of work down. Or worse he could deem my load-bearing wall inadequate, slap me with a hefty fine for legally trying to improve my residence, and declare my home inhabitable until the problem is resolved. Worst, worst, worst case scenario.

4. Murphy’s Law could take effect. From frozen pipes causing showers not to work, to leaky skylights, to heating systems that just shut off during an Artic freeze I’ve realized that Murphy’s Law is a consistent, money sucking, life draining, why-the-hell-did-this-happen-after-I-just-bought-all-them-Christmas-presents...b*tch.

5. These two loose screws I have rattling around in my head could finally decide they are sick and tired of pretending to hold on. Even right now they’re saying, “Hey Chris, we’re really not fooling anyone.”

In my life, I’ve always taken risks. While failure sometime occurs the pay-off is much greater. But in the period of time between choosing to take a risk and the actual outcome…this is the downside that you live with. Damage control, working all the angles, and be prepared for the worst. This is why my friends say it looks like I’m always thinking about something. They don’t know the half.

I wish I had my digital camera on me…

…so I can show you what I don’t wanna see.

A young Brother b-boppin’ down the street, holding an open laptop computer like a breakfast n’ bed tray, using it to listen to beats through headphones. Come on dog, we all know you’re technologically flossy and everything but…put that thing back in it’s case. Wait…where’s the case?