It's Time To Go Big Or Go Home!
As I lay sleeping in the most wretched position imaginable, I am awaken by the malodorous smell of stale beer and hours old vomit wafting through the air. A scent I have dubbed, Eau De Boat Club. My stomach lurches and my head is spinning. I have yet to open my eyes because the idea of daylight searing through my skull is just something that I cannot handle at this point in time. I am incredibly uncomfortable, but I do not want to move a muscle for fear of uncontrolled projectile vomiting. No, I need to keep my gastrointestinal tract undercontrol until I can get up the nerve to make my way to the bathroom. I bravely open my eyes and attempt to focus on the my white ceiling. Maybe I need to put in my contacts, because as I gaze confusedly to my ceiling I do not see the hospital white I anticipate. I have a blurry view of a Guns and Roses poster hung on an angle on the ceiling. Now, Axl Rose is kind of cool and all, but I would NEVER buy a Guns and Roses poster, and wait a minute, I don't wear contacts either. Then it hits me. I am not in my room but in a strange place. I look around to get my bearings to see dirty laundry on the floor, a computer with a naked lady screen saver, an ashtray full of cigaretts, a guitar propped up against the wall and blank sheet music strewn about the floor. Then it dawns on me. I am not at all at home but in the bedroom of some starving artist frat boy who values expressing his soul through music and cigarettes as opposed to keeping a clean apartment and appearance.
Then I roll over to see it. The horror which lay beside me was none other than a random boy laying on top of bed sheets that probably have not been washed in months wearing only boxers and sporting morning wood. What the hell happened last night? The last thing I remember was dancing to Tone Loc with a beer in one hand and a pitcher of Red Bull Vodka in the other. Who was this strangr who lay next to me? And what diseases had I contracted from what I can only assume was a night of red hot passion followed by an abrupt passing out by both parties.
OK people... the above story did NOT happen to me, nor to anyone else I know (I dont think)! This was just an example of how I do NOT want to break the streak. The overwhelming number of times it has been suggested to me that I just get blacked out drunk and hook up with some random guy. People, if I'm goign to break the streak, I WANT TO REMEMBER IT! I'm not saying it has to be special or anything, but I would like to have some sort of mental confirmation that the streak had in fact been broken the next day. The thought of waking up in a strange person's bed with a hangover, a swollen vajayjay, and venerial disease is not exactly how I want to go out in a bang of glory. Yes, its true. I am hard up for some action. But I've learned to embrace it. In fact, considering that I advertise it on the web and I could probably wear a sign around my neck that begs for some action, I dont think that not remembering the voyage to Bone City is an option.
Things cannot be rushed into. Playing the game is part of the fun. I mean so is getting blacked out drunk and finding out what you did the night before from a third party is too, but I'm never going to find my way back to Bone City if I don't have a map in the car.
Anyway, I was forced to take a week off from my manhunt due to the visitation of Big Momma: Game Killer. But now, it's a new week and a new era. I'm halfway through the tips and it's time to step up my game. I should at least have some prospects by now, but all I have in my back pocket is Slut Bag's Sophie B. Hawkins singing friend who said he'd go out with me if I "cleaned myself up a little." Sweet. People, I may be a little rough around the edges, but there is no mistaking my cleanliness. There can't be, I HAVEN'T BEEN TOUCHED IN AN EXORBITANT AMOUNT OF TIME!!! So tonight, I will be taking the GSSM's tip and going to a Bar on an off night to see what's available. Trifecta enforced and ready to spit some hard core game!
Damn! I Wish I Was Your Lover,
Anita Mann
Then I roll over to see it. The horror which lay beside me was none other than a random boy laying on top of bed sheets that probably have not been washed in months wearing only boxers and sporting morning wood. What the hell happened last night? The last thing I remember was dancing to Tone Loc with a beer in one hand and a pitcher of Red Bull Vodka in the other. Who was this strangr who lay next to me? And what diseases had I contracted from what I can only assume was a night of red hot passion followed by an abrupt passing out by both parties.
OK people... the above story did NOT happen to me, nor to anyone else I know (I dont think)! This was just an example of how I do NOT want to break the streak. The overwhelming number of times it has been suggested to me that I just get blacked out drunk and hook up with some random guy. People, if I'm goign to break the streak, I WANT TO REMEMBER IT! I'm not saying it has to be special or anything, but I would like to have some sort of mental confirmation that the streak had in fact been broken the next day. The thought of waking up in a strange person's bed with a hangover, a swollen vajayjay, and venerial disease is not exactly how I want to go out in a bang of glory. Yes, its true. I am hard up for some action. But I've learned to embrace it. In fact, considering that I advertise it on the web and I could probably wear a sign around my neck that begs for some action, I dont think that not remembering the voyage to Bone City is an option.
Things cannot be rushed into. Playing the game is part of the fun. I mean so is getting blacked out drunk and finding out what you did the night before from a third party is too, but I'm never going to find my way back to Bone City if I don't have a map in the car.
Anyway, I was forced to take a week off from my manhunt due to the visitation of Big Momma: Game Killer. But now, it's a new week and a new era. I'm halfway through the tips and it's time to step up my game. I should at least have some prospects by now, but all I have in my back pocket is Slut Bag's Sophie B. Hawkins singing friend who said he'd go out with me if I "cleaned myself up a little." Sweet. People, I may be a little rough around the edges, but there is no mistaking my cleanliness. There can't be, I HAVEN'T BEEN TOUCHED IN AN EXORBITANT AMOUNT OF TIME!!! So tonight, I will be taking the GSSM's tip and going to a Bar on an off night to see what's available. Trifecta enforced and ready to spit some hard core game!
Damn! I Wish I Was Your Lover,
Anita Mann
posted by KAKalac @ 10:54 AM
1 Comments:
At 4:46 PM,
Anonymous said…
Kim,
You will never break your streak if you don’t lower your standards. To use lacrosse as an example of your situation:
I tell kids to be realistic when choosing which schools they want to play for in college. For example, while all 100 kids in my lacrosse organization want to play college ball at Hopkins, Syracuse, Virginia, Princeton, and Maryland, realistically there are probably 5-10 kids that are good enough to make the team at the mentioned schools and out of those kids, only probably 2-4 would ever see playing time. So basically, I’m killing the dream of roughly 85-90 kids when I mention to them that they probably want to look else where when they begin to think about the recruiting process. But hey, rather I say it nicely than have them contact the coach of those school and listen to him laugh in there face.
Kim, the moral of the story is: you want to play for Virginia (2006 national champion), when your skills are probably more up to par with say, JMU (currently no varsity lacrosse program).
Long live the streak!
The Lion, Leader of the Pride
P.S. I’m a straight shooter so don’t take this the wrong way. I also tell my kids that there’s a college out there for everyone to play lacrosse at, you just have to be realistic.
Post a Comment
<< Home