The Century Club

Back when I began writing this blog, I had no idea how long I would be doing it. I didn’t really have a plan in mind as to how many blogs I’d write or even what I would continue writing about. Luckily for me, I tend to mess up quite regularly which provides me with plenty of fodder for stories of both my current excursions and of past indiscretions. And even when I don’t have anything about myself to share, I’m lucky enough to have Hollywood types who screw up often enough to fill the void in the meantime. So, when I saw that I was approaching 100 blog entries I wanted to do something as equally big as it was stupid to properly commemorate such an event. As a result, I decided to attempt to join the Century Club.

For those not aware, the Century Club is achieved when someone successfully drinks one shot of beer per minute for 100 consecutive minutes. Yes, it’s stupid and accomplished mostly at frat parties and high schooler’s houses while their parents are out of town for the weekend, but it was something that seemed appropriate for me to do at this point in my life based on my love of stupid and immature things. I quickly gathered some friends to do it with me, set the date, and announced it to the world via this very blog. I immediately regretted my decision but was willing to go through with it anyway. I wanted to do it for you.

Finally, after much hoopla and international press coverage, the day had arrived for this debacle to occur. In any attempt to achieve a goal as lofty of one as the Century Club, one must take certain proactive measures to ensure that he or she has as sporting of a chance as humanly possible. My proactive measures included plans to rest throughout the day, eat meals loaded with as much bacon and the associated grease as possible, and taking the next day (actually the entire week) off of work to sleep in as late as possible in order to nurse the hangover that was sure to follow.

Another way that I prepared for this event was that I created a playlist on my iPod of 100 songs that lasted one minute long each. It was a painstaking process to pick out just 100 songs from my entire catalog of music and then set the start/stop time on each to be only one minute long, but I believed in the cause and was willing to go above and beyond the call of duty to make it special for everyone involved. I carefully placed each song to play at certain points during the contest (When I’m 64 for the 64th song) and even wrote down the list so that when I watched the video later on I would be able to reference which song was playing and know exactly which shot we were on at the time. That’s right people – I’m a thinker and a planner.

As the day of the event rolled on my mind began to attempt to talk me out of doing this. I thought continuously about sending a text to my boys and telling them that I was sick or that Carol had to work that night in order to get out of drinking myself into a drunken stupor. I ate my greasy meals just to be safe, but still didn’t want to go through with it. It wasn’t that I wanted to punk out, but I was really, reeeeeaaaallllllyyyyy dreading how I was going to feel the next day. On top of that I had received a call from DirecTV to tell me that a technician would be at my house anywhere from 8 until noon the next day to install my HD satellite so any chance I had of sleeping off my inevitable head throbbing punishment was out the window. I even called Carol at one point to get her to talk me out of doing it, but she essentially called me a big pussy and said that I needed to nut up and do it. I hate her sometimes. So, after an afternoon filled with relaxing and playing Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II for my Wii, the time came and I went over to Jeff’s to destroy my liver in an attempt to make my readers once again laugh at my expense.

The participants were people that have been mentioned before in my previous blogs. Chris and Dan have both been mentioned seversl times before and are two of my oldest friends in the world. The other participant, Shawn, is a friend and co-worker of my other buddy Jeff who was hosting the event at his home. Shawn’s been around before and is a good guy. He’s younger than the rest of us and wears his pants hanging off his ass, but he doesn’t act like a punk and is respectful to his elders. And, given some of the idiots Jeff has brought around in the past, that is greatly appreciated. The only other people there were Jeff, as it was at his house, and my sister Melissa who decided against most people’s better judgment to weather the storm of drunken testosterone and videotape it for us. I secretly think that my mother sent her along so that there would be a trusted source to get me to the hospital if need be, but we’ll get to that later…

So without further ado, the following is something closely resembling a shot by shot analysis of what occurred on that fateful night. I didn’t list all of the shots in the beginning because four sober guys sitting around drinking little shots of beer isn’t that exciting, but it definitely picks up towards the end. It isn’t pretty and a LOT has been left out to protect the innocent, but this is what I am legally allowed to share with you at this time. Please enjoy my 100th blog: The Century Club.

#1: The first shot goes down smooth. I really had no doubt that it wouldn’t but I had had a few drinks the night before in preparation for this event. Oh, who am I kidding? I was on vacation and would have been drinking the night before regardless or preparation or not. Either way, the Stag was tasty and I knew I was in for a good night. Dan begins making tallies in a notebook to keep track of how many shots we’ve all taken.

#2: Disappointment has already set in. Remember that playlist I made with the carefully placed songs? Well, in my efforts to prepare everything I had forgotten to turn off the “shuffle” option on my iPod so after the first song it just picked songs from my list randomly. To change it now would throw off our timing mechanism for the evening and nullify the officiality of the event. All that hard work down the drain. Damnit.

#4: Me “This is cake!”
Chris “No, this is beer.”
Jackass

#11: Me “11% there – this is nothing.” I also grabbed the container that they use in hospitals for dudes to pee under the sheets which my sister had so thoughtfully gotten me for Christmas and jokingly put it under the table as if I had to pee. I really didn’t have to. It also wasn’t very funny. What was funny was the discussion going on about the time Dan did a strikeout over at the condos and began doing magic tricks and speaking in tongues. I can’t legally tell you what a strikeout is.

#12: Me - “Beers kicking in.” I had no idea what I was talking about. The beer had not yet even begun to fight. But fear not, it would soon enough.

#14: As the song starts to alert us to another shot, I break into “Josie’s on a vacation far away…” That is the only part of that song that I like and I sing it at the top of my lungs every time. That will be a trend that will follow me for the rest of the evening – and not in a good way.

#15: Dan told us a heartwarming tale of how his niece has a bad gag reflex and how if she even smells food that disagrees with her she’ll start gagging in a funny way. On Christmas, apparently the gagging turned into puking which almost made Dan’s brother Tim die of laughter. Dan and Tim are pretty messed up in the head which is why we get along so well.

#21: It is announced that the rags on the table were Shawn’s idea. Shawn agrees with this. I only mention this because Shawn doesn’t say much and I wanted to give him some credit.

#22: I received a funny text from someone but neglected to share it with the group. While I was reading it, Chris was talking to Jeff about mounting his flatscreen TV on the wall. I looked anything but interested at the exchange.

#23: Chris and I discuss the John Lennon Christmas song and pit is against the Paul McCartney Christmas song. We both agree that Paul’s sucks and was only allowed to be recorded because he was a Beatle.

#24: Jeff, as someone who is allergic to carbonation and has never been drunk off of beer in his life, says that we should have just rented a keg and done this with draft beer. We all promptly tell him to fuck off.

#26: Over two beers in and over a quarter of the way done. We are rocking it and showing no signs of slowing down. The beer is flowing, the burps are flying, and Chris is talking about how they’re (I have no idea who “they” are) making a Beastie Boys movie. Dan receives a notification of a Facebook comment from his brother-in-law Ed and before he tells us what it says, Chris guesses that it is about some horribly greasy food that Ed had just eaten or is about to eat and I guess that he is being sarcastic or cynical again. We are both wrong as Ed actually posted that we should be trying this with Four Loco instead. Any other time, one of us would have been right.

#27: Kanye West’s “Stronger” comes on and I start dancing in my seat. I also begin a story about “that month that I went to the gym.” I never finished the story as apparently the punch line came out first and had everyone laughing.

#28: Jeff farts – loudly. Dan almost gags which brings another imitation of his niece from the previous story. Shawn says something inaudible. We’re beginning to get noticeably drunk.

#30: Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab” comes on the radio and we all get strangely quiet. Eerily quiet.

#31: I know a little too much about rock stars and their porn star wives/girlfriends.

#32: Shawn declares that he loves sluts, Chris is burping loud and often, and Dan – the bartender – can’t pour a shot of beer in his glass to save his life. Good thing Shawn had the idea for those towels. He looks proud.

#34: Me - “I need to dance.” This is a bad omen. 66 shots left to go and I’m audibly declaring my need to get my groove on. For the record I have ZERO groove and even if I did it does not EVER need to be gotten on.

Somewhere in this period we stopped talking about what shot we were on so I have no record of it. I can tell you that we had a funny conversation about Fats Domino and how during hurricane Katrina they found him clinging to a raft which turned into a joke about him being the raft and the raft and other people clinging onto him for dear life. That made Dan make a joke about Fats Domino floating down the Mississippi and me asking if he saw Jeff Buckley down there. Sounds cruel and unfunny now, but at that point it was hysterical. We managed to insult fat people, Katrina victims, and dead rock stars all in the course of a 1 minute conversation. We are assholes.

The mention of Mississippi also brought up stories of another night in which we were all together recording farts into a microphone on Dan’s computer while making fun of lispers and certain people who may or may not have been left for dead in a patch of bushes. We’re all going to hell.

At this point, I try to convince Chris that he has to pee. He’s not buying it,

#41: Back on track. I begin to question how much beer I have left and if I have enough to last me to the end, whenever that may be. Dan wonders aloud if Eddie Vedder will see his posts about the Century Club on Facebook. Chris mentions that January 3 will be his 33 1/3 birthday, which for a vinyl collector might be a pretty cool thing. I am a vinyl collector myself and told him that that may be the gayest shit I’ve ever heard. Dan plays catch-up on his tallies. He was about 10 behind.

#42: I tell a story about how I crushed my scrotum on Christmas. My sister loves hearing stories about my junk.

#43: Chris asks when the next Crunk Whitey practice is. Silence ensues.

#45: Jeff interrupts a story that Dan was telling about a girl he recently kissed to brag about the fact that he had once “been with her.” I was quick to remind him that she also started crying halfway through the experience. That shut him up pretty quickly.

#47: From watching the tape I become painfully aware that I can’t listen to any song that I know without singing at least part of it at the top of my lungs. I also light up what seems to be my 5th cigarette of the evening. I don’t think there was a time over the course of the entire evening where I didn’t have one burning. That explains a lot about the next day.

#48: Chris announces that we’re halfway there. I remind him that it’s only 48 and he gives me the snotty response that two doesn’t really make that much of a difference. Did I mention that Chris works for a bank?

#51: Dan has awesome idea #3. Did I mention that Dan has been writing down “awesome ideas” in his notebook as the night has gone on? Awesome idea #1 was to download some Amy Winehouse songs and have a baby. I’m not sure what the others are, but this third one leads to Dan telling a story about how his Dad got a Snuggie for Christmas and how he was upset that it didn’t tie in the back. When asked why he wanted it to tie in the back he responded “so my butt doesn’t get cold.” Dan’s mom then responded with “well that explains the skid marks on the recliner.” Good stuff.

#54: I have to pee, but I hold it.

#55: Melissa and Jeff make a $5 bet about who will pee first. Melissa picks me because I’m looking and acting slightly intoxicated and Jeff picks Shawn because he’s smaller than the rest of us and probably can’t hold as much beer inside as we can. The decision is made that Melissa must follow anyone who pees into the bathroom with the camera to verify that they don’t miss a shot in case they don’t finish urinating in time.

#57: Dan is the first to pee. Melissa respectfully declines to follow him outside and document the proceedings.

#58: Dan barely makes it back in time to do his next shot. I start rapping to the Ludacris song that is on the radio. My sister gets a closeup of me doing this. I am apparently very, very white. Additionally, Jeff has turned on the faucet to coerce us each into peeing.

#59: We realize that the water is running and have a good laugh, but not before I run out of the room to relieve myself. I thank him with a loud “fuck you, Jeff!”

#61: I purposely try to annoy everyone by tapping my shot glass against the table for an excessive amount of time. We then begin to discuss our old high school buddy Eric and the zip-line that he had in his parents back yard. I mention that he’s now in a cult but Chris corrects me and tells me that he’s Buddhist. Chris knows this kind of stuff so I believe him.

#62: I look around my immediate area for the second tape for the camcorder as the first is running out. I am hammered and it shows. I finally find the tape. It was in a bag at my feet. Crisis averted.

#64: Dan has great idea #4. I have no idea what it is.

#65: Jeff ruins Fast and the Furious 4 by telling me that Michelle Rodriguez’s character dies. I personally had no idea that there was even a Fast and Furious 3 much less that Michelle Rodriguez was in any of them. Either way, he ruined it for me and I will now never watch it. I’m not all that disappointed.

#66 We have a discussion on Mark Wahlberg ranging from his acting ability to his sense of humor about Andy Samburg’s “Mark Wahlberg talks to animals” skit to his refusal to speak to anyone who refers to him as Marky Mark. I find it amazing how with each shot, the conversation changes dramatically and we all follow along as if we had scheduled this particular topic ahead of time. Well, except for Shawn – he isn’t saying much at all. I’m pretty sure he is the first one to cross the “shit-faced” line.

#67: Jamiroquai’s “Canned Heat” comes on the radio and I stand up to do my Napoleon Dynamite dance. No one cares. Shawn finally pees.

#68 Shawn doesn’t really make it back to do his shot on time, but we don’t care at this point. We’re too busy making fun of his backwards hat and pants around his ass. Chris goes back to 1994 to borrow the word “spoda.” We laugh. Shawn doesn’t retaliate.

#69: I realized through watching this that I have either sung, danced, table drummed, or done some sort of combination of the three to every song that has come on the radio. No one looks very annoyed which leads me to believe either I wasn’t as annoying as I find myself or my friends are so used to it that they don’t even notice anymore. Either way, I find that I am an annoying drunk.

#70: John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” just came on and solidified my previous statement. On a side note, Chris is now wearing my empty twelve pack box as a hat.

#71: We decide to go to Shawn’s neighborhood when we’re done to go Christmas Caroling. Jeff comes into the room dressed as Willy Wonka. Things are getting really weird.

#72: I spill beer while pouring my shot for the first time that evening.

#73: Dan and Shawn are laughing hysterically at something. I’m gonna guess it’s me. I light up cigarette number 24 of the night.

#75: I announce that I had planned to be passed out by now but will keep on going to the end. I sound serious. Dan also announces Awesome Idea #7. Once again, I have no idea what it was nor do I know what happened to Awesome Idea’s #5 and #6.

#76: Me - “I need to sneeze, burp, or throw up. Not sure.”

#77: My facial expression has turned to one of extreme discomfort. I was pretty sure I could finish this thing, but you’d never know by looking at me. Melissa and Jeff mention that Chris hasn’t peed yet. Jeff turns on the faucet to expedite that process.

#78: Melissa refers to an Air Supply song as a Bonnie Tyler song. She is no sister of mine…

#79: My body shows nothing but severe discomfort, but I still have a shit-eating grin on my face so I must have been having a good time. I have to rely on the videotape to recall anything past this point. Actually, anything past #30 is kind of a blur, but I don’t remember anything past this point.

#80: I take another drag of what must have been my 74th cigarette of the night. Luckily, it had gone out and I wasn’t even actually smoking it. Unfortunately, after about four or five unsuccessful drags I finally realized that fact and relit it. Ugh.

#81: Dan gets up to pee again. I text something to someone and then sneeze violently.

#82: Dan is nowhere close to making it back on time for his shot, but nobody cares. He does it when he sits down and we all move on. I am in the middle of an extreme sneezing fit and everyone is laughing at me. For all of these distractions though, I still don’t miss a shot.

#83: I’m still sneezing and Chris informs us that Miley Cyrus smoked a Chia Pet. We believe him.

#84: Another sneeze. This is getting re-goddamn-diculous.

#86: I’m still sneezing. While watching this video I try to remember sneezing that night and I can’t recall it in the least. According to the tape I’ve been sneezing for five minutes now. I should really remember that kind of thing. Shouldn’t I?

#87: Barry Manilow’s “Looks Like We Made It” comes on the radio. This was supposed to be the last song of the evening and, as a result, was set to go longer than the minute that we needed from it at this time. Luckily, Jeff and Melissa were there to watch a clock and skip to the next song somewhere closely resembling the one minute mark. I’m hammered, Dan has on his serious face, Shawn is eerily silent, and Chris seems perfectly normal - except for the beer box hat that he is still wearing on his head.

#88: I’m annoying myself while watching me sing every damn song that comes on. I’m not even having conversations with anyone anymore. I’m just singing, drinking, and shouting out declaratives such as “I’m not feeling so good.” I light cigarette #82.

#89: Chris finally pees. C’mon, you can’t make it 11 more shots? Pansy!

#90: Chris doesn’t even come close to making it back in time for his next shot. He does, however, finish it before the next song starts so it’s all good. Dan is obliterated and has lost all ability to remember if he did his last shot or not. His tallies are a thing of the past and he hasn’t had an awesome idea in awhile. Together, though, we press on. My sister also informs me at this time that my mother has texted her twice asking if I’m okay and if we’re done or not. I knew Melissa was a mole…

#91: Dan questions if I did my last shot or not. I have no idea, but argue with him just the same. According to the videotape, I did do it. Dan then looks at the camera, points to Shawn and mouths “he’s really fucked up!” Shawn doesn’t speak. He drinks, but doesn’t speak.

#92: Me - “Jeff, I like your couch. I’m gonna pass out on it.” This was not so much a plan as it was a fact.

#93: I pee again. Dan announces that when this is over he’s going to go into Jeff’s bathroom and poop. Jeff tells him to make sure that there is water in the back tank first. Dan threatens to do an upper decker. I believe him.

#95: The shots seem to be coming rapid fire now. Me – “Fuck, this is fast. I’m gonna puke. I’m gonna make it, but I’m gonna puke.” I also notice that I’m not singing anymore. That is good and that is bad. I think I was scared to open my mouth as the burps seemed to be getting more and more chunky.

#96: Lip syncing has taken the place of singing. The room is utter chaos and everyone is talking over everyone else. I light up another cigarette. How have I not puked by now?

#97: Dan makes the most obvious statement ever with “none of us is getting laid tonight.” I start singing again and immediately grab my puke bucket. I don’t know if I was joking or not. I didn’t puke.

#98: I try dancing in my chair only to exclaim “movement is bad.” Words are difficult at this point and my sentences offer the bare minimum. Two more to go. Thank God.

#99: Melissa is seriously concerned about Shawn. He has not said a word in at least a half hour and seems to be staying conscious for the sole purpose of taking his next shot. He may be dead for all we know, but he’s keeping up. What a trooper. Plus, he had the idea of putting towels on the table.

#100: And with the quick flip of the wrist, we all take our last shots. We did it. We all did it. We start slapping high fives and congratulating each other on a job well done. Shawn isn’t moving, but he’s awake so we count that as a plus. After a little more celebration another song curiously comes on the radio which leads us to think that maybe we miscounted and still owe a shot. Jeff offers the suggestion that to be sure we should all just chug whatever beer we have left. We hate Jeff at this point and tell him so.

I would tell you what happened after the event, but as soon as I stood up the beer really took ahold of me. The camera was promptly turned off after #100 so I have no idea as to what occurred, but I did hear rumblings. Rumor has it that we played some Guitar Hero and ordered pizza, but the only proof I have of that was the plate in front of me in the morning with piles of crusts and onions that only I would have pulled off the pizza. Apparently I passed out on Jeff’s couch pretty quickly after the pizza and didn’t move again until the next morning when I woke up with a small headache and an incredible urge to pee. After peeing I quickly straightened up Jeff’s kitchen and made my way home so that I would be there for the DirecTV guy. Oddly enough I wasn’t that hungover, but I could definitely tell that I had been drinking the night before. All in all, I consider the event a success – especially because I didn’t puke.

I’d like to thank Chris, Dan, and Shawn for participating in the event with me. I’d also like to thank Jeff for hosting the evening and Melissa for both videotaping it and for lying to my mother about how drunk I actually was. Finally, I’d like to thank you, my readers, for making me want to do something this stupid. I enjoy writing every blog that I post and I enjoy your response to it whether it be in the form of a comment on the post or a compliment when I see you. Please continue to encourage me to do this or, if you get sick of me, tell me that I’ve overstayed my welcome and need to shut the laugh factory down. I won’t listen to you because my ego is WAY too big to listen to your idiotic suggestions, but I will appreciate your efforts.

I look forward to whatever idiotic thing I’m gonna do for 200. Let’s hope my liver doesn’t explode in the meantime.

And, as always, thank you so much for reading

Randumb Thoughts: The I-forgot-to-write-a-99th-blog-before-posting-the-Century Club-so-you're-now-stuck-with-this-half-assed-attempt edition.

Apparently, you can’t have a 100th blog entry unless you first write a 99th. As a result, I will be forced to delay telling you about the rowdiness that was the Century Club until I post another blog. Without giving too much away, I can tell you that four of us attempted to achieve this milestone and that I went to sleep pretty early after I was done. That’s all you get for now. But, in order to fulfill my obligation of using that story as my 100th blog, today I will give you yet another dose of Randumb Thoughts.

The funny thing about Christmas is that even though we had no get-togethers at our house, we still cleaned really well beforehand so that it would look nice on Christmas morning. Why do we do this? After just 3 minutes of opening presents there were enough boxes, bows, piles of wrapping paper, little twist ties that attach toys to the back of the box that only someone with childlike fingers can untwist, and various other parts and pieces laying on the floor that you can’t even tell your house has ever been clean. Next year, we’re not cleaning until after Christmas. Screw that – after New Years.

I was going to complain about how absolutely spoiled my son is with all of the toys he got for Christmas and the fact that we have absolutely nowhere to put them, but just now the hum of the 46” plasma HDTV that we received from my freaking awesome parents rung in my ear a little and I realized that I’d better just be quiet.

I also received a bathrobe for Christmas. I haven’t had a robe in years. I also don’t think that I’ll be taking it off anytime soon. In fact, I’m enjoying it and wearing it so much during my little vacation here that I’m only a joint and a white Russian away from becoming the Dude.

Suddenly, I feel the need to go bowling.

I turned 34 today. Coincidentally, my waist has also gone up in age. I’ve been playing catch up all of my life and I’m hoping that within the next two years (dear God, let it be only two years) my age will finally exceed my waist size. I’m sure the Chuckwagon and birthday cake that I’ll be consuming tonight isn’t going to help facilitate that in the least.

I tried snowboarding on Christmas day. That didn’t work out so well. I also did a little bit of sledding and had a ton of fun until I decided to be Super Sledding Guy and did a little running jump onto the flat plastic sled. Ideally when you do that you’re going to land chest first and really get some momentum going to carry you swiftly down the hill. Unfortunately, landing hips first does not give you more speed but instead takes your breath away and makes the twig part of your twig and berries hurt for about the next hour or so.

The DirecTV guy had to come over yesterday to install an HD receiver and satellite for our new TV. I knew we’d be getting a new satellite but I incorrectly assumed that they would simply replace the one that resides on the side of our house. Unfortunately, it had to be installed on the roof that is very steep and still very much covered in snow. That wouldn’t have been so bad had they sent someone who was capable of doing that, but instead they sent over somebody with a case of gout so bad in his knee that he could barely walk. I know it was gout because as we were sitting in the living room waiting for the satellite to program he told me about it. All about it. I didn’t care. I just wanted my HD signal.

Speaking of birthdays, my present from Carol has miraculously appeared back in the living room. It's wrapped this time and is no longer just hiding under a pink blanket, but the torture is just the same. I's been out there now for three days. I'm not sure if she was always this mean or if she learned it from me, but she is as awesome as she is evil.

You know what? Screw it. I’m done. It’s my birthday, it’s 9:30 in the morning and I should be playing Star Wars: The Force Unleashed 2 on my Wii instead of writing some stupid blog that no one cares about anyway because it’s not the one about the Century Club. Everybody have a great day and look back here on Friday 12/31 for the blog about the Century Club. Once I watch the video I’ll have a better grasp on what happened, but I don’t think I can look at alcohol quite yet. Give me another day or so.

Take care

Thanks for reading.

Twas the Night (a horrible Christmas poem)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Everyone was asleeping, I was on the couch soused
The stockings were laying on the floor all askew
Along with some beer cans and pork rind crumbs too

The boy was nestled all snug in his bed
While visions of Toy Story danced in his head
Carol lay in her PJs tuckered out from the day
As I thought of the reasons that had made me this way

It started Thanksgiving when the story was told
That Ben had flushed Norah’s socks down the commode
Up, up to the bathroom Carol ran like a beer
While I played pool in the basement still nursing my beer

That night I tried shopping for some Black Friday deals
But a two hour line had me back on my heels
So I shopped the next morning, oh the stuff I did buy
But $45 for Lincoln Logs ain’t gonna fly.

The view from our roof as I hung up our lights
Gave a sense of dread to a man fearful of heights
Once again I got stuck, but who should appear
But Nikki, our neighbor, who I begged to come near

With my extension ladder, so lively and quick
She rushed to my rescue like good ol’ St. Nick
More rapid than eagles the jokes they did bark
By calling me Griswold, most notably – Clark

First Dunn, then Werth. Now Lee and Gonzalez
On Crawford, on Berkman, on Jeter and Martinez
Free agents I wanted and prayed much to heaven
But my Cubs gave ten million for a .197!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
Came the winters first snowfall with winds that did drive
While driving to get Ben the scene was macabre
Heading north to Troy in my Buick Lesleighbre

And then, in an instant, I was blinded by snow
I was scared to stop and even more scared to go
As I drew in my breath and left all things to chance
I just made it through without soiling my pants

Now I’m all bundled up from my head to my toe
Because temps, with the wind chill, are seven below
And of course, overnight our house had lost power
Barely had enough water to take a hot shower

My eyes-how they twinkled! My bald head how merry!
My cheeks were like roses! My nose like a cherry!
My droll little jaw was clenched tight like a vice
And my ass was all bruised from falling on ice.

The butt of my smoke I held tight in my hand
Standing freezing outside while dreaming of sand
As I pondered what present Carol purchased for me
That was under a blanket instead of the tree.

I got chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw this, in spite of myself.
And I laughed, and I laughed, in insanity fits
When the ass up at Midas said my car was the pits

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And then charged me a fortune, that son of a jerk
And extending my finger from the clench of my fist
Drove my still broken car off his lot while right pissed!

This new Christmas Season hasn’t been so much merry
Through much fault of my own it’s been very hairy
But as I looked toward my lawn, still clutching my Stag
I saw that guy Santa and his present filled bag.

It raised up my spirits and warmed up my heart
I stood to go greet him but fell right apart
The table I fell on could not bear the weight
Of a piss-drunk hack writer who’s poems weren’t great

Too much beer had a drank to drown my Christmas sorrows
And I soon passed out cold, not to wake until morrows.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight:
“Happy Christmas to all! That Scott guy’s alright!!”

Merry Christmas to you all!!

And as always, thank you so very much for reading.

The End of an Era

The BAC Quad Cinema in Belleville has been unoccupied for many years now and even though the concession stands pop no more popcorn and the movie projectors have remained dormant, I always felt a sense of comfort while driving by and remembering what a fantastic movie theatre it had once been. I pass it every morning on the drive to work and remember the various movies that I have seen there: Wayne’s World, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Adventures In Babysitting, Crocodile Dundee, Dick Tracy, Casino, The Empire Strikes Back, No Holds Barred, Pulp Fiction, and Batman. I know that there are many more films (classic or not) but as I get older the memories become as dusty as the pile of rubble that I noticed over the weekend while driving by. That’s right; they’re tearing the old theatre down.

I knew it was going to happen eventually as the building was as good as condemned and no one wanted to put up the cash that would be necessary to renovate it, but somehow I expected a little more pomp and circumstance when it happened. After all, this building was a monument of my childhood. It is one of the last remaining vestiges of my youth and the west side of Belleville that I grew up in and centered my universe around. Surely it deserved a more proper burial than the unsympathetic arm of a rumbling Caterpillar ripping it apart brick by brick, wall by wall, and theatre by theatre. I don’t know if I quite imagined the planned implosion that the old Arena in St. Louis was granted over 10 years ago, but I really hoped that I would have known when they were going to begin this demolition so that I could have stopped and admired this cornucopia of memories one last time.

Or maybe I could have just walked through the back lot. After all, that is where I became a man.

No, I didn’t lose my virginity in the back lot of a movie theatre (that story will NEVER be told in this blog. You’ll have to wait for my book for that one) but I did experience that one moment that every guy will always remember. In the back lot of that movie theatre in the dawning days of spring in 1991 I, Scott Hopfinger, kissed a girl for the first time.

Now I’m pretty sure that I had kissed a girl before on the lips, but for the life of me I can’t remember who or when. I know that the only girlfriend I had had up until that point was Wendy but we still joke today about how we dated a few times through grade school and I didn’t even get to cop a feel, much less get a kiss. So I’m perplexed as to who I may have kissed prior to this, but in my mind I’m certain that I had. So, if whoever I had first kissed prior to this story is reading this, I apologize for forgetting you. On the other hand, maybe if you had made it more memorable I wouldn’t be in this situation. That’s right, I’m blaming you.

Anyway, up until then I had never full on kissed a girl before but I knew that it was going to happen on this particular night and I knew that it was going to happen with tongue. I knew this because I had discussed it with my buddy Aaron beforehand and he was going to make sure that I did. See, Aaron was incredibly good looking and had a sort of surfer’s charm about him which made him irresistible to girls. Growing up with him I never really sensed that Aaron was good looking as he was just my buddy who would watch USA Up All Night with me while trying to get a glimpse of the boobies that would never appear. Once we reacged dating age, however, the poor guy had to practically beat women off with a stick. As a result, he had experience in this whole kissing thing and he was doing his best to impart his wisdom on me.

At the time, Aaron and I were lucky enough to be “going out with” two lovely girls from Queen of Peace grade school and had plans to meet them at the movies that night for a viewing of Edward Scissorhands. I put “going out with” in quotations because that’s what we called it back then. Essentially, it consisted of meeting at the mall or the movies (where Aaron’s and my parents would take turns picking up or dropping off – of course), holding hands, and talking on the phone over the course of the week. In all actuality it sounds a lot like the dating I did when I was older with the only difference being that the effort to get the girl to hold my hand turned into an effort to get her to hold something else - but that’s WAY beside the point. I probably should have been thinking about that back then, but I am slightly sexually retarded and was perfectly content on just getting a little tongue back then. Ah – the simpler times…

At the time I was dating a girl named Courtney who went to Queen of Peace grade school. To protect Courtney’s identity and save her from any embarrassment though, we’ll call her “Shelly” from this point on. That seems fair to Courtney. Anyway, “Shelly” and I had met at the mall one weekend afternoon after my buddy Ryan had dragged me along to hang out with his girlfriend Marcie and her friend. As soon as I saw her I was immediately in serious like as she was extremely cute. I don’t think we talked much that day as I was essentially scared of anything without a penis and didn’t have the modern day remedy of alcohol to cure it, but at the end of a day spent walking around the mall and eventually holding hands, however, I had asked her if she wanted to “go out with me” and she accepted. I officially had a girlfriend.

After that we got in the habit of talking on the phone regularly after school and getting to know each other. Luckily for me, the girl that I had on that one random day at the mall devoted my entire future to turned out to be a wonderful person. She was intelligent, funny, and very easy to talk to. My initial physical attraction eventually turned into an emotional attraction (well, as much as a 14 year old boy is capable of) as well and I was very happy with my girlfriend. And as any guy with a girlfriend is apt to do, I soon drug Aaron into the relationship world by having him come to the movies with “Shelly”, myself, and “Shelly’s” friend Christy and they began going out very quickly after that.

I don’t quite recall how many times we had been out or how many movies that we had seen, but I do remember that between Ryan and Marcie, Aaron and Christy, and “Shelly” and myself, we probably went to see Edward Scissorhands more times than any human being should. It’s not that it isn’t a good movie, but there is another movie theatre in Belleville that used to show movies for a dollar and Edward Scissorhands was the movie of choice at that theatre for a good three months. And, being non-working guys who relied on an allowance or the straight up generosity of our parents, dollar movies were greatly appreciated. Not only were we paying for ourselves, but we also paying for our lady friends as we were both trained in the arts of the gentlemanology at an early age.

Despite seeing it numerous times at the other theatre (which rhymes with “stinkin’”) we somehow decided on this night that we should go and see Edward Scissorhands for full price at the BAC Quad. I’m assuming it is because I was staying the night at Aarons and that we could easily walk back to his house after the movie, but I could be mistaken. All I know is that Aaron had been dating Christy for a much shorter time than I had been dating “Shelly” (probably like two whole weeks!!) and he had already kissed her, yet I was still fumbling with my ever-present grace and confidence and had not yet even come close to appraoching that event.

I knew that I wanted to and I knew that I really should, but I had no idea how. I had had plenty of practice kissing thanks to the good graces of the Debbie Gibson poster that hung in my room, however, the poster did not kiss back and I had no idea whatsoever what I was going to do once another person’s tongue was in my mouth. As a result, I held off on this monumental occasion for as long as I could. Aaron, however, had different ideas and told me that this was going to be the night. Somehow, I believed him.

Throughout the movie “Shelly” and I did our normal routine of holding hands and smiling back and forth, but I could never pull the trigger and lean in for a kiss. I wasn’t even sure if she wanted me to kiss her as I didn’t recognize “the look” back then, but I was really hoping that she was up for it tonight because as soon as I was able to build up the testicular fortitude to actually do it, she was going to get kissed. I barely even watched the movie as a) by this time I had it memorized, and b) I was constantly waiting for an opening where I could lean over and kiss her without making a complete ass out of myself. Well, if you’ve been reading any of my blogs so far you know that there is no way that part “b” was going to be able to happen.

The movie started and ended and all I had managed to do was hold her hand – again. And it wasn’t like love wasn’t in the air as I had looked over at Aaron and Christy many times throughout the film to see them making out. For some reason, though, I just couldn’t pull the trigger and lean in for my much anticipated first kiss. Eventually the credits rolled all the way through and I figured that I had a short window to do this prior to the theatre lights going up. I looked over at her and waited for her to turn to me and make eye contact. It seemed like it took forever and with every passing second I was both bursting with anticipation while simultaneously losing my nerve. Finally, she turned toward me and without warning I slowly moved in. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but I was making my move and I was gonna kiss her and kiss her good – and then the lights came on. SSSSHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!

Like a coward, I backed off while pretending that I was just adjusting my bottom in the seat that I had been sitting in for so long. It was actually quite smooth and I give myself a lot of credit for hiding my lack of a man sack so flawlessly. Inevitably, it was time to go and more than likely the girls would have a ride waiting for them outside of the theatre when we got there. I had missed my chance and was feeling like a complete and utter failure. As we walked from the theatre to the lobby though, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Christy reached into her purse and pulled out a quarter to call her parents to come and pick the two of them up. And, given the time it would take her parents to get their coats on, get in the car, and drive to the theatre, I was given about a 15 minute window with which I could save this night from being a complete loss. I was going to get my kiss.

After Christy made the call, the four of us walked around the back of the theatre to the empty lot. There was literally nothing back there except for gravel, spots of grass/weeds, and light posts. I had no idea at the time, but “Shelly” and I were being set up. We all began walking around together before Aaron and Christy separated themselves from us to go have a little make-out session of their own. “Shelly” and I were left sitting on the concrete base of a light post to do what it was that I came there that night to do and from her shyness and lack of eye contact, I could tell that while she may not have been a part of this set up, she was well aware of what was going on.

In the distance Aaron and Christy were standing very close together talking and kissing and then kissing and talking before kissing some more. I know this because while I was supposed to be manning up and kissing MY girlfriend, I was too nervous and was watching the only other activity going on in the entire lot. “Shelly” and I were making very, very small talk but that was the extent of it. I was scared to look at her because I didn’t want her to see the inner torment that I was going through, but at the same time eye contact was necessary for my next move. Try as I might though, I just couldn’t do it. There was no way I was going to get rejected at this point, yet I still was hesitant to try it for fear of making an ass of myself. Five minutes passed, then ten. Soon enough, Christy’s parents would soon be there and I will have missed my second chance of the evening. I sucked.

Finally, “Shelly” said that we had better move to the front of the theatre so that Christy’s parents could find them when they got there. Dejected, I stood up and began walking towards Aaron and Christy (who were still kissing) so that we could get them too. As was customary, I grabbed “Shelly’s” hand and we started walking together, but something was different about this hand hold. There was something passing from her hand to mine that said “now is the time. Do it now. It’s okay.” I didn’t know quite what to do with this feeling but I knew that it was strong and that it was right. It took a couple of more steps for me to fully get up the courage to do it but after I had gathered myself I stopped, used the grip that I had on her hand to pull her towards me, and planted the beginning of my life as a man firmly upon her lips.

Now I would like to say that I was a good kisser and that this was the most romantic moment of our young adult lives, and it very well might be, but the truth is I pretty much tongue raped this poor girl. No thanks to Debbie Gibson I had no clue what I was doing and basically shoved my tongue as deep into her mouth as possible. I don’t even think that there was much of a kiss involved as it was more me swallowing her mouth whole. In fact, I’m not even sure that we had the sweet kiss on the lips before they parted and the tongues came out. I’m pretty sure that I just went in open mouth with tongue a-blazing and swallowed the innocence right out of this girl. I was 14, inexperienced, a horrible kisser, but I was now a man. And you know what? It was awesome!

Needless to say, that was the one and only time that I kissed the lovely “Shelly.” My third quarter report card came home a few days later and I was essentially grounded for the rest of the school year due to piss-poor grades because I didn’t do homework and didn’t feel the need to fill out my spelling workbook when I was fully capable of acing every spelling test that I took. As a result of this, “Shelly” tired of waiting for me and we agreed to go our separate ways. I don’t remember if I cried when we broke up or if it even registered with me that the next kiss I get might be a long way away. I do know, however, that on that fateful night behind the BAC Quad cinema in beautiful Bellevegas, IL “Shelly” had provided me with a moment that I will always remember for the rest of my life. Thanks Courtney, um, I mean “Shelly” : )

On that note, I realize that as of today the BAC Quad cinema will be no more. They had already begun the demolition on the final section this morning which I witnessed on my way to work and I am anticipating that when I drive by at 5:15 this evening that all that will be left is a pile of rubble. The good news is that they will be building an additional screen or two for the adjacent Drive-In movie theatre, but it just won’t be the same. I will miss the beauty of the theatre. I will miss the building that used to decorate a rather desolate section of Belleville. And, I will miss the comfort that I felt knowing that it was always there just waiting for the right person to come in and fix it up to the point where it could create memories for a whole new generation of Bellevillians. Unfortunately, that never happened. Today is a sad day.

But hey, I did get some tongue that night!!

Thanks for reading.

The Torturous Ways of the former Carol Q

As of 7:30 this morning there is a large blanket-covered box in my living room that contains my birthday present. I am not allowed to look at it or touch it and it is driving me insane. Seriously insane. My brain may explode before I’m able to open it.

It all started last week when Carol posted on Facebook that my birthday present had been delivered by UPS and that she was upset because it was broken in two spots. Immediately my brain began to turn over and over thinking of any item that I had mentioned as a possible Christmas/Birthday present that could be broken in two places. Since I had asked mainly for clothes, Wii games, a life-size cutout of Lindsay Lohan, and world peace (of course), I couldn’t really imagine what she could possibly have gotten for me that could break. I pontificated on it for a few hours, but without even seeing the box I was really just grasping at straws. But, Carol loves to torture me and by simply posting that comment on Facebook she knew that it would drive me nuts thinking about what she got me. She is evil like that.

Eventually, I forgot about the entire thing and really paid it no mind. As much as I love Christmas and opening presents I love to be surprised as well. The detective in me wants to look at every wrapped box under the tree and, without touching it, attempt to guess what it is. I will walk through an entire day in a haze as I think about what could possibly be under that tree in those boxes, but If someone were to try to tell me what was in them I would stop them immediately. As much as I want to guess and be right, I love the surprise of opening the present and seeing what’s inside. In fact, as a kid I never even once tried to look through my parent’s house to find where the Christmas presents were hidden and what they were. Okay, I might have tried once, but I had to stop because I didn’t want to ruin Christmas morning for myself.

This present, however, is a different story. While we were eating dinner on Wednesday night we heard the doorbell ring and Carol ran to the living room as she saw the UPS truck on our street. Because she wanted to get back to the table to eat, she simply set the box in the living room, draped a large pink blanket over it, and let it sit for the duration of our dinner. Knowing that it was a present for me, I kept teasing that I was going to go into the living room and look at it. Carol, however, knew better than that and trusted that I wouldn’t go anywhere near it for fear of ruining the surprise. She also knew though that having my birthday present out in the open like that would drive me insane. I wouldn’t look at it, but I would really want to. Really really want to.

That evening after we put Ben to bed I had to avoid the living room entirely. It wasn’t because Carol hadn’t yet put the present away (which she seemed in no hurry to do), but because I had been in there earlier, seen the shape of the box, and my mind began racing again. I knew that there was something in there that could have been broken in two spots, but given the size of the box I couldn’t think of anything in there that could break. I now had three big pieces of the puzzle: 1) the size of the box, 2) it was a breakable item, and 3) my preexisting Christmas list, yet I could not even venture a guess as to what was in there. I knew that if I sat in the living room watching TV with the torturer herself I would do nothing but look at that box and think of what was inside.

The good news was that I would be able to go to work on Thursday and she would have a chance to either wrap it or move it to another place that wasn’t in my direct sight all of the freaking time. The bad news is that due to the icy road conditions on Thursday, that didn’t happen. Ben’s school was canceled and I was going to work from home all day while simultaneously entertaining him. Now, if I had bought a present for Carol and had left it sitting under a blanket in the living room I would have been kind enough to remove it from its very accessible location prior to her spending an entire day at home. Do you think Carol the Hun would be kind enough to do that for me? Nooooooooooo! Rather than at least moving it into another room where I wouldn’t be forced to stare at all day long, she instead left it right where it was and set up a series of booby-traps so that she would know if I had touched it or not. Damn her! Damn her to hell!

All day. ALL DAY LONG I was forced to be in the same house with that thing just sitting there taunting me. Mocking me. Now, if the present were wrapped and under the tree or in a closet somewhere I would find it acceptable. That is the normal course of action that you take with a present that you don’t want someone to see. I accept the sanctity of the wrapping paper and the paper thin force field of trust and honesty that it provides. What you DON’T do is leave the freaking present out in the open for the recipient to look at all day long and wonder what in the hell could be inside. You just don’t do it. It’s not fair! And as much as it drove me nuts I knew that all I had to do was to walk over and take a peak under that blanket and I would know for sure what it was putting my anxiety to rest. But I just couldn’t. And I won’t.

Hopefully when I get home tonight the present will either be hidden or wrapped and under the tree. That would be the kind thing to do. My lovely wife, however, is probably enjoying my struggle too much to want to do the kind thing. In fact, after reading this she will more than likely leave it there all weekend just to get under my skin. She may even leave it there until the night before my birthday when she’ll conveniently decide to wrap it up and present it to me the next day. Or she may even just say “screw you, the blanket is the wrapping paper” and leave me under extreme duress for the next 12 days. She can be so very, very cruel.

The funny thing is that this cruelty is one of the many reasons why I love her so much.

Thanks for reading.

Icy Roads and Anthony Michael Hall

Due to the icy road conditions today that are forcing me to stay at home with my now educationally-deprived child, I will share with you the tale of one of the greatest driving feats ever performed. It is great not only because of the dexterity, skill, and quick thinking that it took to perform it, but also because I lived to be able to share it with you today. I may have to take frequent breaks while writing just to compose myself, but you would never know that as reading really has no pauses (unless they’re self-imposed by the reader having to use the bathroom, grab a quick smoke, or actually doing some work while at the office). To help you there, I will let you know when I am taking a moment to compose myself so that you may share in my emotions. Yes, my blogs are now becoming interactive.

We begin our story with a little bit of background. Before I was driving the luxurious 1993 Buick Lesabre that I currently grace the roads of the bi-state area with, I was the proud owner of a blue 1999 Saturn. This was my first (and so far only) new car that I owned and even though it wasn’t as glorious as some automobiles out there, I loved it and it served me well for many years. I was also living at the time in a POS house on 11th street in beautiful Bellevegas with my then girlfriend Carol (we slept in separate bedrooms, of course *wink-wink*) and our good friend Dan. The house was ugly and reeked of lies, but it was cheap and we had a lot of fun in it. Additionally, I had just started working at the airport in Cahokia, IL and was quickly discovering that I hated it there. Really, really hated it there.

Anyway, I had gotten in the habit those days of making a stop at QT on the way to work to pick up a large cup of QT French Vanilla Cappuccino and whatever various sundries that I wanted on that particular morning. It was just a few blocks down from the house and offered a quick entrance to Route 15 which would take me a majority of the way to work. It was a trip I had made numerous times and could probably have made with my eyes closed had I ever tried.

On this particular morning, however, there was a small difference. Actually, it was a big difference. A big, icy difference. Overnight, we had been the not so grateful recipients of some snow and a lot of ice. Luckily, the ice came first and the snow piled on top of it, but ice is ice and regardless of how much snow is packed on top, it’s still slippery underneath. Now, I’ve never had a problem driving in snow or ice before (well, except for the time that my car did a complete 360 while driving at about 40 mph on Highway 255 with another car directly in front of me, but that’s a whole different type of story altogether) and I really didn’t expect to have any problems that day. I was neither fearful of the drive nor was I overly cautious when it came to navigating the road or snow. This was just going to be an ordinary drive to work.

As I made my way to QT, I noticed that even though there were very obvious rough patches here and there, the roads were basically fine for traveling purposes. There were some snow spots on the streets but they were glaring white due to the newness of it and also because of the bright sunshine that day. As long as I could avoid those spots, this drive would be a piece of cake. I made it to QT, poured myself a cup of ambition, and made my way back out to my car to continue the trek to the job from hell.

I pulled out of QT and made my way towards RT 15 with no problems whatsoever. I wouldn’t say that I was overly cocky about my driving skills on such a day, but I was definitely confident that I would have no problems at all. I did drive slightly slower due to my need to avoid snow patches that might be harboring ice underneath, but for the most part I maintained a decent pace and would be arriving at work only slightly tardy. I had this driving in the snow and ice thing licked.

Have you ever heard of black ice?

I had heard of the existence of black ice on many occasions but had never really experienced it before. I knew what regular ice was as I had slipped and fallen on it many times in my life, but I had never seen black ice before and only knew it as a myth. Luckily for me and my forever expanding list of life experiences, I was soon introduced to black ice and the horrible effects that it can have on a 4 door sedan travelling at slightly faster than safe speeds on an apparently safe road.

The second I hit the black ice (which sounds much different when you say it than when you read it, plus I would never hit a group of black guys because frankly, I don’t hit that hard and unless they’ve provoked me I would have no reason to do so) my car began to move in a direction that I was not so comfortable with. I’ve slid on snow and ice before and have even done some pretty magical things behind the wheel to correct myself when that occurred, but this was different. This wasn’t just a slight shimmy, this was a full on ass-end-of-the-car-being-swung-on-a-swivel slide.

I knew from all of my studying during driver’s education that slamming on the brakes was the worst thing to do, so instead I lightly tapped them and attempted to correct my steering in the opposite direction of which I was sliding. Actually, I may have turned the steering wheel into the turn to fix it, but I’m not sure. Off the top of my head I couldn’t tell you what to do, but in the heat of battle I’ve always done it the right way and have no car accidents on my record to prove it…so far.

Anyway, regardless of what I did with the steering wheel or how lightly I tapped my brakes, I could not stop the car from spinning around. It was slow spin, but a spin nonetheless and before I knew it, my car had done a complete 180 degree turn and I was…

(composure moment)

now driving backwards at a reduced rate of about 25 mph on a major road full of traffic. I was officially scared shitless at this point but didn’t scream or panic. The reason that I was able to restrain myself from giving the Route 13 scream (reference previous blogs) was that I was now realizing another situation that had elevated my fear to an entirely different level – we’ll call it Fear II.

Fear II is slightly worse than Fear I because Fear I lets you know that you’re somehow screwed. Fear II lets you know that in addition to the pain or anguish that you are more than likely experience from Fear I, you are now only going to have it compounded due to a secondary factor. The secondary factor in my situation is that not only was I driving backwards at a fairly good rate of speed, but I was now face-to-face with the car that used to be behind me, and still kind of was, and he was going slightly faster than I was. I was about to be the victim of the first head-on rear-end collision in modern history.

(another composure moment. Just give me a second)

Luckily for me, my natural instincts and cat like reflexes were on full alert and I made a quick decision to turn my steering wheel slightly to navigate my backwards car to the shoulder of the road. Like I said before, I’d driven this road many times before and I knew that there was plenty of room on the shoulder of the road for both my car and my recently soiled pants (Fear II will often convince your bowels that they no longer need to operate in a socially acceptable manner). I looked at the driver in front/back of me and the look of terror on his face (He was only at Fear I) was indescribable. I did notice, however, that he was slowing down and, as a result, was getting farther and farther away from me so the fear of being hit by him was decreasing by the second. Additionally, my car was slowly moving backwards to the shoulder of the road so I began to relax little. I was going to make it out of this alive.

Do you know how in horror movies the girl is usually being chased by the axe murderer (Fear I) and as she runs through the house/forest/campsite she sees all of her mutilated friends and realizes that not only is she going to die, but she is going to die in the same horrific fashion as they did (Fear II) until she is somehow able to knock the killer down and make it to whatever abandoned automobile that is available to her and then once she is inside she relaxes a bit because she knows she’s going to escape safely until the moment when she realizes that either the keys aren’t in the ignition or that the car won’t start and the killer pops up at the window holding the murder weapon and a pissed off expression because she almost got away and then how they usually get a close up of the victims face expressing an entirely new kind of shock altogether? Well, that’s Fear III.

I quickly experienced Fear III as my killer and his murder weapon passed by my car as I veered onto the shoulder of the road. Like I said, I relaxed slightly and knew that I was going to make it out alive but somehow, in my case, a different killer arrived. This new potential killer popped up at my car window in the form of a steep embankment off the shoulder of the road that I, but neither my car nor inertia, very much wanted to avoid. Unfortunately for me, the laws of physics won and the stop that I was planning on making on the shoulder of the road didn’t quite happen the way I wanted it to.

Fear III is a funny thing. It can elicit a variety of reactions including, but not limited to, screaming, crying, drooling, loss of bodily functions, and most commonly, prayer to a higher being that you may either speak to on a daily basis or only in instances such as this. I, however, experienced a very different kind of Fear III. As if I was in the movie “Final Destination” I became convinced that my time had come. Even though I had escaped death by ice patch and head-on rear-end collision, I was destined to perish that morning and something was going to get me – and that something was going to be that hill. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t even pray to my higher power (Anthony Michael Hall for anyone who’s curious). I simply sat back, held on to the steering wheel, and waited stone-faced for the eventual flipping of the car and the sounds of bending steel and breaking bones.

But it never happened.

I don’t know how or why, but in the midst of my car sliding down that steep embankment, it just stopped. I wasn’t sliding at a great speed by any means, but the embankment should have allowed for me to keep sliding and flipping regardless of speed. Maybe it was because my car was light. Maybe it was because of my fantastic driving skills, instincts, and cat-like reflexes. Or maybe it was because the portrayer of such great characters as Farmer Ted, Brian Johnson, and Gary Wallace was watching over me that day. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. My car had stopped and I was alive. Alive and uninjured.

As I got out of the car to assess the damage, I stepped carefully out the door in order to avoid the car sliding again and me moving to the always fatal but never fully described since no one has ever lived through it - Fear IV. The car seemed pretty stable though and I began walking around it to see both the damage to my vehicle and what had caused it to stop. What I saw was absolutely amazing. Not only was there not a scratch or dent anywhere on my car that wasn’t already preexisting, but the thing that stopped my car was not even fathomable.

I like to think that it was the great AMH that stopped the car and saved my life that day as that is far more believable than what I actually witnessed. Out of the ground and placed firmly against the rear bumper of my car was a stick. I would like to call it a tree, but that would be an insult to trees everywhere. In fact I may have even insulted sticks. Sticking out of the ground was a branchless, leafless, barely even an inch in diameter twig that apparently stopped my automobile from an inevitable crash down a large embankment into a sea of trees with no give whatsoever. I desperately wanted to touch the twig to see how firmly planted in the ground it was, but I also did not want to test fate and upset the one thing that could be the difference between the price of a tow and the price of a new car. Eventually, I took the situation for what it was and decided to make my way up the hill and to the road to flag down some help (my cell phone battery was dead - of course). After a bit of time I made it home and decided that going to work just wasn’t going to be an option for me that day. The ice had won.

The story continues on from there with funny occurrences of me trying to climb up the hill while in my slick soled dress shoes, a kind woman picking me up and driving me the long way to my house taking a total of 30 minutes in the snow rather than taking a back road which would only have been three blocks total, and the 70+ year old man that the towing company sent to hook up my car even though he had had three heart attacks in the past year and couldn’t even lay on his back to attach the chain to my car for fear of not being able to get back up. All in all it was an adventurous morning as this all happened before 9:30.

The goal of this tale is three-fold. First, I wanted to let you know that the mythical black ice does indeed exist and should be feared. Second, I wanted to instruct you on the different stages of fear and how they affect people in their daily lives. And third, I wanted to let you know that due to my belief in the awesome powers of the great Anthony Michael Hall, the only things that I lost on that cold, icy, winter morning were a little bit of urine and a few drops of my delicious QT French Vanilla Cappuccino.

All hail Farmer Ted.

Thanks for reading

The Announcement

I have made quite possibly the dumbest decision of my entire life. Well, maybe not THE dumbest decision – that might go to the time that I made out with the girl with the large adams apple and 5 o’clock shadow after going on a 7 hour brannigan, but my friend’s suspicions were never confirmed as I passed out prior to getting far enough with her/him to know for sure. But that’s beside the point. The fact of the matter is that up until about a month ago

I’d been wrestling around with different ideas on what to do for my upcoming 100th blog. I thought that since I reached 100 and that my readers have faithfully followed me along for this ride that I should do something special to mark the occasion. If writing this blog was financially beneficial to me in the least I would have loved to send you all money, but unfortunately the only compensation that I receive from spewing out this drivel is in the form of compliments and people telling me that they read it. And while I appreciate that very much, it isn’t going to get you any 100th Blog cash. Sorry.

When I started thinking about it I thought that maybe I should make a list, but what of? Should I list the 100 greatest songs of all time (which would be fact and not opinion based on my impeccable taste in music and the fact that I’m brilliant)? Should I list the 100 greatest movie quotes of all time (You’re stewed, buttwad)? What about the top 100 (as there are so many more) reasons that I am awesome? While I like those topics and very well might write those blogs in the future, they just didn’t seem worthy of a special occasion blog. For my 100th I needed to do something different. I needed to do something awesome. I needed to do something that reflected the theme of so many of my past blog entries. But what?

Finally, one night while laying in bed (calm down ladies) it came to me. It was so obvious that I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it yet. In fact, I have no idea why I haven’t even tried it yet at any point in my life. I began working through the logistics of it and it sounded like something that I could do but it was going to be tough to complete. But who cares? This was for my readers! Luckily, my first calculations were wrong and I was WAY overstated as to what this was going to entail, but it was still enough of a challenge that I wanted to undertake it. I knew my readers deserved something big and I was going to give it to them (again – calm down ladies).

After some more calculations, I went to my friend Melissa (who is an expert in this field) and asked her exactly what this would entail. We did some quick math and discovered that even though I had been way off in my original calculations, this was still going to be an undertaking and would not be easy to do. I began to waver a little in my decision thinking that maybe this was dumb and that I could certainly come up with something better to do, but at that moment, Melissa offered her assistance. I had never thought about having someone do this with me as it was mostly me trying to make my readers once again laugh at my expense, but once she offered to join me I became very excited. I became so excited, in fact, that I immediately called and recruited my buddy Dan to join in our endeavor. This was going to be fun.

Now what, you ask, could I possibly be talking about? What could I possibly do that was so big? What I’m talking about folks is what I’ve talked about in many of my blogs. What I’m talking about has been the subject of many stories and the cause of much turmoil. What I’m talking about has added to many fun times in my life and subtracted from so many following days. What I’m talking about has made me dance with Playmates, vomit on various pieces of furniture, and made me avoid Olive Garden for the past 10 years. What I’m talking about, my friends, is drinking.

I know that I talk about drinking a ton and that a blog about drinking is really no different than what I’ve done in the past. But I must assure you that this is decidedly different. This will be like no other blog that I’ve ever written. This time I’m going to challenge myself. This time I’m going to set the bar high and try to fly over it. This time, I’m going to join the Century Club.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the Century Club, it is a contest to see if you can drink 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes. Now, while 100 shots of beer may not seem like a lot to some people (it sure as hell does to me) it is, in fact, a shit ton of beer. Assuming that there are 12 ounces in a random can of beer and that each shot will be of the 1 ounce variety ( I had originally calculated 2 ounces per shot), that’s one beer every twelve minutes. Now I’ve easily downed a beer in 12 minutes before and have most definitely downed two in that time frame, but it doesn’t end there. After you’re done with that, you have to consume 7.33333333 more beers in that same fashion within the next 88 minutes – and that’s assuming that whoever is pouring the shots doesn’t over or under pour each one. Plus, while many people think they can simply chug a ton of beer right away and then chug more as the time expires, that is not the point. The point is to sit down with a multitude of shot glasses and drink one shot every minute on the minute for 100 minutes. And if you puke - you're out. That’s gonna be tough.

To test this out Melissa and I grabbed a couple of beers (did I mention that her expertise comes from being a bartender and that I went to visit her – at work?) and started the timer. We went through one or two beers based on this timing and immediately discovered that this was going to be tough. For one thing, choice of beer is going to be critical. I could easily go with a light beer in order to delay the intoxication for as long as possible, but then I would have to go to the bathroom WAY more often. And, if you have to go to the bathroom, you have to bring your next shot along with you so that you can drink it at the appropriate time. My choice of beer, of course, will be the one and only Stag. Yes, it will get me way drunker way earlier than I want to be, but I can a) hold off on peeing that much longer, and b) possibly avoid an even worse hangover the next day due to a lack of sugar in the beer (scientific fact). Plus, if I didn’t choose Stag after all of the glory that bestowed upon it, I’d look like a sellout.

Another thing that was going to be difficult would be keeping the timer going as we get progressively drunker. To fix this, we decided that a neutral place with a (semi) sober time keeper would be ideal. As a result, we decided that Jeff’s house would be perfect as he doesn’t drink beer (allergic to carbonation – pansy) and we could pass out on his couch if and when we needed to. Plus, he has a fenced in back yard so if somebody is heaving in the bathroom, the others could go outside to hurl without the neighbors staring.

Once the plans were set, more people came into the picture. Melissa asked Chris who seemed more than willing to participate (I didn’t ask him because I knew he would have to work the next day and doubted his ability to bounce back. He will prove me wrong) and I asked Sasha who has yet to give me a response. So, technically, we could be looking at five possible people doing this. This could be fun.

But how does this affect you and what does this have to do with my blog? I’ll tell you how and what. I am going to document each shot, one by one, from the moment that we start until the moment that we end. If somebody spills, you’ll read about it. If somebody throws up, you’ll read about it. If somebody has a big wet spots on their pants because they had to get back to their chair for their next shot before they were done peeing, you’ll read about it. To help me document this (and mostly to help me remember anything past a certain point) I will be videotaping the entire incident. It will not be pretty and it will not be smart, but it is a gift that I want to give to you, my readers, as a thank-you for your support.
The date of the extravaganza will be Monday, December 27th (I’m on vacation that week) but I HIGHLY doubt that the blog will be posted the next day.

I may need a day or two to recover.

Thanks for reading

Randumb Thoughts - The Holiday Season Edition

Something about the winter months makes me not want to do anything. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to watch TV, I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to stay inside, and I certainly don’t want to write. But, because my fan base is rabid and if I go a week or so without a blog I start getting nasty emails, I will attempt to escape from the doldrums of my day and entertain you with a brand new batch of Randumb Thoughts (yes, I capitalize it now. I may even get it copyrighted. I’m that damn cool.)

In all honesty, I could give a shit about the royal wedding coming up between Prince William and the winner of the “I can put up with more of your bullshit than any other girl in England just so that I can one day be a queen” contest. Really, what do I care? I don’t know these people, I don’t live in England, the royal family has basically no real control over anything in that country, and I wasn’t even invited. Even if I were close friends of the family, I probably wouldn’t even go because I’m imagining the cost of a plate at the reception would be much more than I could afford to make up for in a wedding gift. “Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I took out a loan so that I could buy you a gift to put in your PALACE. I’m sure that you could’ve afforded to buy one of these for yourself and that you have at least three already somewhere in your PALACE, but here’s your original Monet painting that I bought for you. If you need me, I’ll be at the homeless shelter.”

If Christmas is a time of peace and love, why do I want to rip the head off of anyone in line in front of me at Target who is buying non-Christmas related items? “Hey jerkoff! There’s this place called a grocery store that sells mustard and frozen pizzas. From Thanksgiving through December 24th this store is only for people buying shit for their loved who don’t even need the crap, but because we’ll end up feeling guilty about not buying something for somebody that we love we’re forced to be here to ease our guilt and by buying these ridiculous items you’re only making the situation worse. Now get out of my freaking way before I shove my three rolls of Christmas Story wrapping paper straight up your non-holiday-appreciating ass. By the way, Happy Holidays Reverand.”

I ate veal for the first time yesterday. Screw you PETA!

I feel bad that I haven’t mentioned anything about my Class of ’95 get together over the Thanksgiving weekend. It was nothing “official,” but more of a gathering of anyone who got the Facebook message and who was going to be in town that weekend. We had a nice turnout and had a really good time. I was shocked and humbled by everyone who said that they read my blog and enjoyed it. I would thank you all by name, but quite honestly, I didn’t know your names in high school and I’m sure not going to learn them now. But seriously, I would like to give a personal thank you to Buddy, Hey You, Girlie, and Dude It’s Been Forever!

Regarding that night, I would like to say that I had the honor and privilege of hanging out with someone who was once voted “best ass” by some of their co-workers. You know who you are : ) Be proud!!

I just realized that I forgot my lunch today and am going to have to venture out into the cold to get myself something to eat. I would just skip lunch, but we have a corporate happy hour for the holidays tonight with an open bar. Sure, you may be thinking that I could just limit myself to a few beers but you obviously don’t understand the term “open bar.” Some people see it as a luxury but I see it as a challenge. I like to see how drunk I can get on the company dime while still putting forth a professional demeanor. I’m gonna place the over/under at 8 beers – unless there are shots involved.

I may use tonight and my alcoholic courage to finally present my Schooner Tuna approach for the next fiscal year to the CEO. I may be unemployed tomorrow.

Yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon. I was going to write an entire blog on John Lennon and/or the Beatles and my love for them and the effects that they’ve had on my life, but as you can probably tell so far I am not in a good mood and I couldn’t have done it justice. I’ll simply say that Mark David Chapman should not only be in jail for murder, but he should also receive an additional sentence for burglary because he robbed us all of one of the most musically gifted individuals ever put on this earth. RIP JWOL.

I think I’m going to need to bust out my Andy Williams Christmas Album this weekend to break me of this sour mood. Hearing it usually gets me in the Christmas spirit so maybe that’s what I need. Either that or 3 hours with Lindsay Lohan…

We had a holiday luncheon for my department yesterday and I wanted steak. Granted the majority of the items on the menu were only half the cost of the $27 filet mignon, but I tried to use my powers of reasoning, charm, and a little bit of The Force to get my way. When I mentioned to my boss that I wanted the filet she said no way because it was too expensive. I then brought up the fact that my co-worker Jim had called in sick that day and since they were planning on buying his lunch anyway, I could simply use what they were going to spend on him and add it to the cost of my lunch to equal the cost of the filet. Needless to say, but as rational as this line of thinking was I was denied and ended up eating the aforementioned veal instead.

My radio station is now throwing the occasional Christmas song into the mix and I don’t like it. If I wanted to hear Christmas music I would turn to one of those stations that my sister listens to that play Christmas music 24/7. Since I don’t want to hear Christmas music quite yet (give me a week or so), I should be able to listen to the greatest hits of the 70s and 80s without being hit with that horrible Paul McCartney “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time” song. You’ve done some great things Sir Paul. This was not one of them.

As an update to me quitting smoking a while back, let’s just forget we ever had that talk. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

Have you ever had the feeling that you’re being watched by someone who is expecting you to do the job you’re paid to do rather than sitting at your desk writing some stupid blog? Have you ever had that person come up to you and ask what you’re doing only for you to tell them to mind their own damn business because as of two minutes ago you’re on your lunch break? And have you ever had them tell you that they’ve been walking past your cube for the past hour or so and every time they do that you’re obviously not working so that you’ve technically already used your lunch hour? And have you ever told that person that once you’re a famous writer that you’re going to write an entire book about how they’ve suppressed your creativity and, as a result, suck? Me either, but I feel that it’s coming soon.

By the way, the Schooner Tuna thing from above was a Mr. Mom reference.

Thanks for reading.

Dipshoots and Ladders

I always start out with the best of intentions. Really, I do. As you may well know by now, however, I have a small problem with realizing my limitations yet still carrying on despite them. I like to think that I am challenging myself but, unfortunately, I usually end up just making an ass of myself.

Case in point.

Last year was the first year that I had put up Christmas lights on the house. I had always thought that lights made a house look pretty and wanted that for my house as well. I had seen my father do it with much success over the last few years at both his old house in Belleville and his new one in Millstadt and figured that I could do it as well. I don’t have quite the eye for exterior decoration that my father does, but I knew that at the very least I could string a couple of strand of lights up around the roof line of the house to add some holiday cheer for all those that pass by my home.

Sure I could.

I had actually been buying strands of lights for this reason for the past couple of years but had just never pulled the trigger on putting them up. So, when it came time for me to actually do it, I was stocked with everything except for clips to attach them to the house and an extension ladder. I was able to buy the clips at Ace Hardware (along with a couple of light up signs for the yard – one of which I’m using again this year and one that I have kicked and beaten to hell due to poor craftsmanship on the manufacturers part and a severe lack of patience on my part) and was able to get an extension ladder from my wonderful neighbors Joy and Nikki.

It was a cold day, but luckily the wind wasn’t blowing excessively hard so that I was able to accomplish most of what I had to do without freezing my buns off. I started off at the left side of the front of the house and, while not knowing what I was doing at all, was surprised by how easy this was and how quickly it was going. In less than an hour, I had run the lights all along the front gutter, down and around the metal posts that hold up the overhang to our front porch, and then around the overhang itself. From what I could tell, it was looking pretty nice. Additionally, I was able to accomplish all of this with my trusty 6 foot wooden ladder that I trust more than most things in my life. It is solid, sturdy, and has never let me down whether it’s balancing on four or even two legs. I would stand on top of this ladder juggling newborn babies while balancing on one foot – and I don’t even know how to juggle. I trust it that much.

But now it was time to use the extension ladder.

I didn’t like the idea of the extension ladder for two reasons. First, I don’t trust standing on things that have parts that extend. I vividly recall the scene in “National Lampoons Christmas Vacation” when Clark is at the top of the extension ladder when the safety gives way leading to him falling rung by rung down to the ground. Sure, that’s funny in the movie but I didn’t like the possibility of that happening to me. Given my luck with tools and any type of household project whatsoever, I was bound to be injured by something like that. Second, the higher you extend the ladder, the less stable and more wobbly it becomes as you move towards the top. Now I know that I could lose a few pounds, but I don’t see 200 pounds as being an excessive amount of weight to place on a ladder. I was well within the limits of the ladder (believe me, I checked), but whenever I tried stepping a few rungs up, I felt the ladder bend just a bit. This had me freaked out.

Having already started the job, however, there was no way I was going to pull them all down, nor was I going to just decorate what was essentially a straight line across the front of my house with a little pizzazz thrown in the middle. There was more to be done and I wasn’t going to let a fear of falling off a ladder and breaking my legs/arms/pelvic bone/ spine/skull keep my neighbors from enjoying my little bit of holiday cheer. This job had to be done. I had to climb the ladder to the roof.

As I climbed the ladder, I could feel it bow beneath my weight. I had never used an extension ladder before and really had no idea how high it needed to be extended for any particular job. My main goal was not to dent the aluminum siding on the house so I figured that the best bet was to rest it against the gutter (I never claimed to be a genius – oh wait, yes I have. Nevermind.). Lucky for me, I wasn’t going to be standing on the ladder for a long period of time and just needed it to reach the roof so my gutter was spared the indignity of being crushed beneath my weight. As I ascended the ladder further and it bowed even more, I finally reached a point where I could grab onto the front section of the roof (the part of the roof I was climbing was recessed from the main portion of the house) and use it to balance myself as I climbed the rest of the way up there.

Now, I had never been on my roof before. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that I’d ever been on any roof before. Needless to say, it was a little overwhelming at first due to both the lack of things to hold onto and the much steeper grade than I had anticipated. I had seen roofers just walking around on roofs like it was no big deal and thought that my experience up there would be similar. After all, I may not be the toughest guy around, but I have never really been hesitant about trying something after I’ve seen someone else do it and learned from their mistakes. The roofers didn’t have any problems so why should I?

I’ll tell you why.

I’m not a freaking roofer. I don’t have special roofer shoes that give me additional traction while up there (I really have no idea if such a thing as “roofer shoes” exist, but just go with me here). I also don’t have the experience of walking on multiple roofs over the years and learning the different balancing techniques that prevent you from falling and sliding down multiple shingles to near certain injury or death. I am just a man. A man who wanted to add a little holiday joy for his family and friends by putting some stinking lights up around his house. And now I was up on my roof, unable to stand up, but determined to finish the job that I had started.

As I began to maneuver my way around the section of roof that I was currently decorating, I began to get my footing a bit and realize what I could and couldn’t do. What I could do was hold on to the upper section of the roof for balance as I made my way towards the apex. What I could do was place the clips and the light in that section of the roof as I made my way up. What I could do was just jet the lights hang loose along the lower section which pretty much finished my small job up there. What I couldn’t do, however, was something that I had not really contemplated prior to getting up there. What I couldn’t do was a huge part of this whole process and without being able to do this I really couldn’t even finish the job. What I couldn’t do, was get down.

As I mentioned before I had placed the ladder against the gutter to prevent dings and dents to my aluminum siding. In doing so, I had extended the ladder quite a bit so that the ends would not be resting directly upon the gutter itself but instead would be high in the air. Now, while that worked on the way up on to the roof, it was proving to be quite an inconvenience on the way down. The way that it was currently set up I could not simply climb over the top of the ladder, but instead I had to turn around backwards to get back on the ladder so that I could climb down. The other option was to try and shimmy my way down the roof on my ass and try to maneuver my way around the side of the extended ladder without my weight pulling it towards me and both of us crashing into either a living room window, the burning bush which we had just planted, or the cold hard ground below me. I could have worked my way down the roof while holding onto the aforementioned front section like I had when I climbed up, but that too would involve turning myself around and I just did not see any good coming from that. I could also have jumped off the roof onto the grass below, but I have a fondness for my knees and would enjoy keeping my original ones for as long as humanly possible. As a result I did the only thing that seemed appropriate at the time.

I just sat there.

Carol’s mother was in town and the two of them had taken Ben shopping, otherwise I would have called for them to get their help in this situation. My neighbors whom I had borrowed the ladder from were also gone for the day so screaming for them (and it would have been screaming as I was on the opposite side of the house - and outside) was not even an option. I thought about possibly calling one of my buddies to come over and help, but a) I didn’t even have my phone on me, and b) I would have never EVER lived it down. As a result I just sat there.

I must have sat there for 10 to 15 minutes thinking of ways to get down. Ideally, somebody would walk by the house and I could call to them for assistance, but no one walked by. I also thought that maybe someone sitting at home might look out there window and see the doofus wearing the plaid flannel coat and the wool lined baseball hat with the ear flaps (I like to get into the spirit of things) sitting on top of his roof for an extended period of time and wonder if he needed any help, but that didn’t happen either. Eventually, after about 20 minutes, I decided that I really just had to take my chances.

The first few attempts at getting down did not go so well. I knew that I had to just suck it up, shimmy down the roof, get a foot on the ladder and take my chances of falling over, but I just couldn’t do it. I would position myself and make my way down, but would then second guess myself and climb back to the top of the roof. This probably went on for 10 minutes or so as I was still hoping that somebody might walk by and offer some assistance, but the assistance never came and I finally had to just suck it up and do it.

I began to motivate myself by telling myself how easy it was. I could do this. All of a sudden, I had motivational movie quotes going through my head: “Eye of the tiger, Scott. Eye of the tiger.” “Use the force, Scott.” “It puts the lotion on its skin.” Before I knew it, I had stood up, maneuvered my way down the roof, grabbed hold of that damn ladder and carefully swung myself around to where I was able to climb down. When I reached the ground I took a deep breath, looked around to see if anybody had witnessed the amazing act of bravery that had just occurred, and saw at least four different groups of people now walking their dogs down my street. Tardy bastards.

Well, eventually I finished the lights on my house and was pretty impressed with my work. For never having done it before, it actually looked like I knew what I was doing. The Christmas season came and went and, being the timely fellow that I am, I took the lights down on the last day of February. I never lit them after Christmas; I was just in no hurry to go out there in the cold to take them down.

But do you think I learned my lesson?

Of course not.

While I was generally pleased with what I had done last year, I was always a little bummed that I had missed the side of the house facing the driveway. The reason I didn’t do it was because it would have involved getting back on the roof right after I had worked my way down the first time. This year, however, I really wanted to decorate that portion also as I thought that it would really complete the feeling of holiday cheer that I was trying to spread. So first thing this past Sunday morning, I got out the extension ladder that my parents had gotten me for the prior Christmas and got my ass up on the roof. Again, it was steeper than I remembered and, with the exception of the chimney which leads to our nonexistent fireplace, I really had nothing to hold on to.

Despite this, I was able to easily add the lights to the frame of the roof by sliding on my belly on the way down and then clawing my way back up, but alas, when I was done I had the unenviable task of once again climbing down the ladder. I don’t know why I thought it would be any easier this time, but of course it wasn’t and I was left once again sitting on my roof looking for a savior. Again, I went over various options of how to maneuver my way back towards the ground and, again, none of them seemed like anything I wanted to do right then and there. Once again, I just sat there.

After about five minutes of contemplating my next move, I decided that I had no choice but to call for Carol (who I was smart enough to make sure was home this time around in case something like this occurred again). Just as I was about to call for Carol to come out and hold the ladder, my neighbor Nikki came home and I was able to call for her to come and rescue me. Still fearful about getting on the ladder as I was over concrete this time, I made the decision for her to move the ladder around the house to where I had my problems last year, but not before Carol had heard the commotion and had come outside so that they could both openly mock me. Eventually, I bear crawled my way across the length of the roof and was able to climb down after she placed the ladder against the house rather than the gutter at a 90 degree angle from me making it very easy for me to access the rungs with no fear involved at all.

What a novel concept. I’m gonna remember that for next year.

Who am I kidding.

No I won’t.

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Thanks for reading