Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

The last week and a half has been pretty busy and basically just shameless fun, which is not the best excuse for my not following up on the empowering “lets change the world post” from last week. And yet, apartment hunting, drinking, kicking a ball and redneckin’ it up at a NASCAR race (yes, you heard me right), are the exact reasons it has taken me until May (!?!) to post. Soo, here’s what’s been happening (note the pattern):

Environmental Fail
I proposed to only use public transportation (no cars or cabs) for a week. I did not even come close to reaching this goal simply because I am an idiot. In fact, I probably used my car more this past week then I normally do. Why? Well, I can’t read. I could have sworn my annual gyno (so fun) appointment was schedule for this past Monday morning. So, I made sure that my bosses knew I’d be late Monday. I was so about this that I actually logged into my work email Sunday night to remind them (employee of the year right here). Anyways, I am running late to my appointment. I get all sorts of lost in the hospital trying to find the medical offices. Once I am finally there, frazzled but ready to get this shit over with (not a big fan of going to the doctor), the receptionist calls my name and informs me that my appointment is actually tomorrow. UGHH. So, long story short, I repeated the same process on Tuesday. Drove my car to work for the first time in months, twice. Nice.

Since this was a major fail, I’m going to retry this week (although I already know of two occasions I will have to drive). I’ll find something else environmentally awesome do to and have a better report next week.

NASCAR Fail
This title is a bit deceiving. I did have the pleasure of attending my fourth or fifth NASCAR race this weekend. I say 4th or 5th because this was the topic of a good 15-minute drunken conversation I had with my friend Polonius after the race ended. And, does it really matter? Am I proud of “my number”? Could it be higher? No, yes and yes are the answers to that my friend.

No, it doesn’t matter if you’ve been to 1 or 500 races. You will see the same shit each time: white trash old women in bikinis, hot firemen who ignore you to talk to skinny girls with small boobs (no we weren’t jealous), and old dudes from Syracuse offering you free, and likely roofied shots of Syracuse Punch.

Yes, I am proud to say I have attended numerous races. This is a little understood sport, which, to be honest, I don’t really understand. Watching the cars is exciting for about the first lap…and the last lap. The stuff in the middle….ehhh. But tailgating is what it’s all about. Oh, and people watching (see above). You really see all types there. And most people are uber friendly (Syracuse boys and roofies, how much friendlier can you get). But we had a mega B-word sitting in front of us at the race. She was a big woman who had hit up the tanning bed one too many times. And she was with a dude. Not sure if this man was her husband, but one thing is for sure….she was the one that wore the pants in that relationship. I have never seen a woman manhandle a man the way she did. I guess she thought our friend was going in for the kill when she grabbed a napkin out of a bag they had to wipe up something. The woman got PISSED, shook her head, snatched the bag and moved it far, far away from my napkin stealing friend. I thought we might have a fan stand rumble for a second. Our friend wouldn’t have had a chance against this best. But, again, it takes all kinds.

The fail came in the fact that not a lot of our favorite drivers drove in the Friday night race. I understand this isn’t the “big” one, but a certain racecar driver went to my high school and is from the hometown of this race. Doesn’t he owe it to his friends to be in this race? But noo, he is too cool for school, which honestly doesn’t surprise me.

I met this NASCAR "sensation" a few years back and while I still root for him as an athlete, I simply have no respect for him as a person. He is a true duck (read: dick, but less vulgar sounding or if you happen to text it wrong this is how it comes out and its funnier this way, just go with it…)! Flashback to oh, 6-7 years ago? We are all hanging out at a friend’s house and Mr. NASCAR is there. Mind you, he is a good up and coming talent, but he’s not at the top of his game yet. It’s getting pretty late and everyone is talking about plans and the possibility of going down town. Downtown is a good 30 minute drive from where we are at and its past 11:30 at this point. Now, if you ask any of my friends, I am never one to turn down a good time or a party. But I am also realistic, damn it. And at 11:30, going downtown was just a dumb idea. We wouldn’t get there until midnight-ish and last call is probably a little after 1. I say this, as nicely as I can. Mr. NASCAR turns to me and goes “Don’t you know who I am?” Not joking, dead serious. DUCk! Now, I can appreciate a good joke or witty humor just as much as the next guy. He could have made that funny, in fact. But no, because he is a duck, he had to be a jackass about it.

The best part of the race thought, was finding out what happened later in the night. It took her 6 years to let the truth out, but Friday night the beans were spilled. On that same fateful night years ago, Polonious, whom I warned not go, got swept up in Mr. NASCAR and followed him downtown. And, it was just revealed that she made out with him! She said she was so embarrassed she didn’t tell anyone for a year. BAHAHAHAH. As much as I still contend he is a duck, this is just too awesome to not mention. And sad that this is my biggest celebrity story to date. But that’s how we roll down South.

Boy Fail
Why, whyyy do boys not understand that: 1) girls have heard the “I got scared” bullshit line? We have seen the movies. We realize that I got scared = I have no better, nicer, more polite way to break up with you. What I do not understand is why a boy would bring this up months later and remind me. I heard your lame ass excuse the first time buddy Furthermore, when I say, I don’t understand what that means, you are not supposed to say, “Yes, you do” Fine, it means you are chock full of BS. 2) “I would like us to be friends” is re-tarded. Well, if we are talking right now, and have been for the past half a year and we aren’t getting it on, I presume we are already friends. Why get all formal about it now? And, if you want to be friends, then you shouldn’t inquire or care if I made out with the bartender. (Sidenote: No, I did not make out to the bartender in which the lad in question was referring. Does that mean I haven’t made out with another bartender recently? No, no it doesn’t.) But, none of my other friends care if I do, why should you? 3) It is hard for someone who still has feelings to “be friends” with said person. If they could get rid of those feelings, they sure as heck would. But, if you are going to be nice and want to hang out and be BFFs, that could make it a bit more complicated. 4) girls don’t appreciate it when you bring up an in-depth topic after consuming massive amounts of alcohol and then abruptly runaway mid-conversation.

I think the bottom line here is that talk is cheap and that I need to stick to Southern boys, they are far less complicated. This story was relayed to a few friends and each had a different reactions. My favorite so far came from Polonius at the race. Her take? “He’s either a player, or he’s gay.” Aren’t they all.

The whole exchange was fine except for the drunk texting that occurred after he left. Now, none of it made any sense, but it solidified my status is awkward person of the year. Actual text I sent:

“But you have succumbed to the ‘believe what you wanna believe’. Just miss you, omg! Inappropriate, but we are cool ;)”

REALLY? WHYYYY. First of all, that doesn’t make any sense, whatsoever. I have no idea what I was trying to say with that first part of nonsense. Secondly, just saying I miss you wouldn’t have been that bad considering I do miss our friendship and could have just gone with that. But by stating the obvious I just make it THAT much more inappropriate and awk. And then, of course I had to make sure it’s all good by following up with the we are cool. No, we aren’t cool, I’m confused but I’m going to pretend bc this just past into a new realm of weirdness, gracias to me. And the winky face? That is just so, so wrong. In case you were wondering (not sure why you would) there was no response text. Which I can respect, I wouldn’t respond to that chaos either ahhhh, wow.

Sleep Fail
After the race I got to relax down at the river. It was perfect weather and a great time despite the fact that my parents brought their new puppy. This puppy is the cutest thing ever…until you have to put her in her cage for the night. And she will.not.stop.barking. I was put up in the loft at the river, so actually didn’t even had a damn door sound barrier (not that it did a lot Friday night when I was trying to sleep in my parent’s house 2 rooms away from the dog). Luckily I still had my $2 earplugs from the race the night before so I stuck those suckers in. I could still hear the howling, but somehow I got a little sleep.

I was looking forward to a nice noise-free sleep tonight until I remember my landlord still hasn’t brought by my new AC that he promised me a month ago. I’m pretty sure it was in the 80s-90s today. WTF, man. It is hot as balls in my room and I can’t sleep in these conditions. Awesome. But it sure is quiet! I just cant win.

Sigh, well guess it’s off to the futon in the main room in front of the AC that actually works. I’ll be dreaming of cool air and my dignity. G’night!

Sunflower Seeds

Everything was different when he came back. When you realize you actually have strong feelings for the person that you’ve been pushing away it’s naturally going to be different. Maybe not for him, but for you. You will overanalyze everything he says, does, every touch – everything.

He had just got home and I was going away soon. But I had to see him before I left. I am under the impression that we were going bowling. I get to his house early to avoid the sluggish Washington traffic. I knew the combo for the garage, something a casual date should never, ever know. Then again, we were well passed the casual. I wait for him to get home from work, and my nerves get the best of me as my anticipation grows. I hear the door swing open. He walks through the door and my stomach turn to knots. Are those butterflies? That had never happened before. Was I losing my mind? I didn’t realize at the time it wasn’t my mind I was losing, but my heart.

He rushes upstairs to change out of his stylish work clothes into something more appropriate for bowling. Although he’ll turn your head in a button down shirt, he’s a t-shirts and jeans kind of guy at the core. I think are going bowling but he drives us to the metro instead.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see. I’m not telling you,” he says, as if mystery is part of his game. His innocence and genuineness is what draws me in, so this takes me by surprise.

I have to add money to my metro card. I wait in line only to find the machine is broken. I get a little flustered and finally add money to my card. He watches silently the whole time, before shaking his head and saying “Only you.”
The metro is full of people. Where are they going, I wonder? Where am I going? But where they were going, or where I was going, for that matter, wasn’t really important. All I saw on the train was him. As we rode along and switched lines, I grinned realizing where we were going. But I didn’t want to say anything, not yet. He had his poker face on, so I stayed clueless as he tells me to follow him and we switch lines. There is really only one reason to take a ride on the green line though.

We get off the train and not until we exit into the open streets of the Southwest riverfront does he smile, laughs his goofy laugh and says, “We’re going to the Nats game, if you couldn’t tell.”

A date to see a baseball game pretty much cannot be topped in my book.

“We should find a bar to grab a few drinks first,” he says.

Beer and baseball? You had me at hello.

He pulls out his iPhone. He leads me in the direction of some bar. He stops, laughs, tells me we are going the wrong direction. We turn around, determined to find our way, and do the same thing. He laughs again, tells me we were going the right way to begin with. The air is warm and the sky is still bright as the sun starts its slow, lazy summer descent. The late summer sun is just like him: warm, unassuming, with a purpose, but no rush to get there.

We finally reach our destination, according to his calculations. There is nothing there but an empty building. Neither of us says a thing, but we both die in fits of laughter at our many failed attempts to find a place that didn’t exist to begin with. Giving up, we join the crowds of others at the Bull Pen bar outside the stadium. We have a few drinks and the bartender jokes with Mr. Clean that he is very sorry, he simply cannot serve him because of the Yankees-hating slogan on his t-shirt. They laugh it off as I internally agree with the bartender and desperately hope he doesn’t think I share these sentiments. I’m going to go to baseball hell for kissing a Red Sox fan. But it’s a price I’m willing to play, and we head into the game to finally root, root, root for the same home team

The summer is drawing to an end; this is one of the last games the Nats will play that season. This, like many others, wasn’t their year. It’s a weeknight and the stadium is pretty empty. The wear and tear of another season is apparent; hotdog wrappers are littered around and leftover beer oozes out of empty plastic cups. We have the entire row to ourselves, but there is a younger woman and an older man sitting in front of us. We play the “what are they to each other game.” Father and daughter? Lovers? Friends? Are we being too loud? Did they hear us? We laugh at how silly we are acting.

“Want a sunflower seed?” he asks. Although my gut reaction is to say no, which with anyone else I would have, my honesty creeps out of me. “Actually, I don’t really even know how to eat a sunflower seed.” Maybe if I give it a chance, I think, I may just like it.

“And you call yourself a baseball fan, here,” he says rolling his eyes and smiling. His youth shines as he fiddles with the bag of seeds and I can imagine him during his days has a mischievous little boy playing catch in the backyard. “Just put it in your mouth and break the sides of the shell with your teeth, then spit out the shell. They are really salty, be careful” he warns, handing me the bag. “Try it. “ I look at him skeptically. “Just try one though,” he insists, laughing.

I take the bag and put the shell in my mouth. I follow his instructions as he sits there, patiently watching my attempt to eat a sunflower seed. I crack the delicate shell, and spit it out as politely as one can spit a sunflower seed shell. I taste the salty goodness of the seed and ask for more. Because, all I want is more. More of the seeds, more of summer, more of him.

He smiles at his new, successful pupil. I’m not sure what was happening on the field, nor did I care. He taught me how to eat sunflower seeds.