True stories from last night:

- I got there early. Way early. I came straight from work and couldn't sit there at the PC any longer. Got there, ordered a beer. About the agreed upon time, I don't see her first, I see dude and his kid coming in. Immediately, I am chagrined. First words to waitress (while pointing at beer) - "I'm gonna need another one of these please."

- Me, trying to make conversation with K (girl) in regards to the book she's lent me (fiction, about the black struggle in the Reconstruction era) -
BG: "You know, if you liked this book, have you read anything by Richard Wright?"
K: "I don't know, what did he write?"
BG: "Books about the black struggle, like 'Native Son' and 'The Outsider.'"
K: "Oh, I've read 'The Outsider.'"
BG: "You know, that's not the one with 'Pony Boy.'"
K: "I guess I haven't read that."

- Ordering dinner with K, the boyfriend (T), his son, and the child she's a nanny to (both almost 3 years old) -
T: "I'll have cheese fries..."
BG: "Oh, does ____(his son) like cheese fries?"
K: "No, they're for T. That's pretty much all he eats."

- T gets his beer, which matches his NASCAR visor (same sponsor) -
BG (ever so willing to pick the brain of a NASCAR fan to see what makes them tick): "T, just curious. When you order a Bud Light, is it because you love the beer, or because they support your favorite driver?"
T (very serious): "Definitely a lot of both."
(memo to NASCAR advertisers - this couldn't be any easier for you, right?)

- Discussing youthful indiscretions -
T: "K, I bet you couldn't name 20 bad things I've done."
BG (both wanting to get into the game, as well as trying to pigeonhole this guy to some extent): "I bet I can guess some of them."

I guessed wrong on "mailbox baseball," where you swing at mailboxes as you're driving by in a car. I also guessed wrong that he once used a dirtbike to tear up the lawn of someone he didn't particularly care for. He did admit to doing donuts in his truck on public property though, which I count as a half a point. I also guessed that he was in a car once or twice, either driver or passenger, that was running from the cops. I did get that one right.

I Kinda Met a Girl Update...

What's the worst thing that could have happened? Yep, and his 3 year old kid too. Fuck it, I'm done dealing. At least I took the shot of trying to get together, no?

More confessions and regrets, simply because I've got 45 minutes to kill right now:

- I shoplifted once. I wanted to see if I could get away with it. And I did. Boy, did that twenty five cent pack of Extra gum stolen from the campus convenience store taste Extra sweet. Or minty. It was probably peppermint.

- Aside from the shoplifting from my college, I engaged in petty theft of another sort. I worked for three years as a cook and then manager of an on-campus student-run steak-house (every-thing is more fun with a hy-phen!). I wasn't bold my first year, but I also lived on campus and had a meal plan. I took the occasional big huge cut of prime rib for my "employee meal," and had the other cooks looking the other way. No biggie. My second year, off campus, I was pretty good as well. Year three, I had carte blanche. There were many nights where I was the sole person left to lock up the nation's largest non-military cafeteria, in which our steakhouse was located. We were a prime rib joint, and the unused slabs of cooked rib were usually plastic-and-foil wrapped and thrown into a distant corner of a distant freezer, rarely to be heard from again. So I started taking them home. My biggest take was about four pounds. Imagine all the fun a college kid can have with four pounds of prime rib (not like that sicko). I'm talking Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches for days and days. There was plenty more, but that's where the story ceases to be interesting.

- On the topic of things I have stolen, I'll tell the amazing but true story of JG and her too-trusting boyfriend, who she married years later. Summer after my senior year, I was friends with JG and her boyfriend M, as well as our mutual friend PK. Of course, I had more friends than this, but anyone else mentioned here would be purely tangential. Anyhow, PK had regaled me for a couple weeks with "Don't tell M" stories about how JG had come to P in a moment of P's sorrow (an aunt or some shit), and P took advantage of her, banging her in the back of his shitty Datsun with the too big woofers (his speakers, she wasn't packing anything up top). Of course, she continued to bang him every chance she got (Nice call going to Boy Scout camp that summer M. Good move.).

So one night, after P, J, and I (and tangential friends) had hung out, J offered to drive me home. OK, and I hop in her little Fiero. We get thirteen inches out of her driveway, and she's in tears confessing how badly she feels about cheating on M. With PK. And, of course, "I don't know this," so my sympathy level is on high for her. Which she appreciates. So I tell her to pull into what I now call "my spot," a sort of clumsy place outside of town where a kid can park his car and do any sort of sordid thing without being caught by the cops at night, and I ask her if I can, uh, hold her (shit motherfuckers, she's weepy, this is going somewhere, hold your pants) so she'll feel better.

Within two minutes, she's all over me kissing me.

Of course, my warped sense of morality tells me "don't sleep with her because of M, but making out is super cool!"

This turns into an every night thing. Her getting weepy about fucking around with P, and then turning around and making out with me for a couple hours before sending me and my blue balls home.

By the way, M is still at Boy Scout camp during all of this, no doubt teaching some chubby thirteen year old with a neckerchief how to tread water or some shit.

So eventually, J and I spend a night over at my house. It's late, we're alone, and she's an animal (always was, every time), pushing me around, clawing at me, damn near kicking my ass (in a good way, and I returned the favor thank you) while making out with me. This time, in bed. Clothed, mostly, though. So she starts biting my cock through my jeans. Like REALLY biting. Luckily, it's through the zipper, which means she's got the bottom of the fly and the top of the fly to get her teeth through before she does damage. It feels kinda good.

(Here's where I take earlier blog content and put it into proper context)

As she's gnawing on my jeans as if she's trying to clean a rib bone, I grab her by the hair and pull her head up (remember, a little violence between us never hurt anyone, it went both ways kids) and say the line I'll never live down, "Either do it or don't."

Of course, it's much funnier in P's company, as we've had bonfires where five of us will be sitting around a fire with M and three of us besides him have at least been blown by the poor girl, while they were dating, completely behind his back (P: "M, you need a beer?" M: "Sure P." BG: "You want me to get those P?" P: "Either do it or don't.").

Anyway, it was my first blowjob. Good stuff, but she wouldn't swallow. Prissy bitch. Made me spew into a towel. How sweet. I really should have fucked her. Really. The sad thing was, it wasn't because I was a chickenshit, which is usually the reason, but because I held some sort of regard for the friendship with M, which wasn't that deep anyway. I like the guy, but if his girlfriend's a slut, what do you want a horny 18 year old guy who doesn't know where his next BJ is coming from to go?

On a side note, it's probably good we didn't sleep together, as, by chance, we ended up on the same floor in college, and she had that specific brand of drama no one wanted to deal with.

And to this day, M, I hope, has no idea.

I Kinda Met a Girl Update...

Due to a well placed phone call, I'm having dinner with the lovely Queen Titania from my most recent play tomorrow night. At least I think it's dinner. It's 630PM at a restaurant to meet and exchange books (if you remember, we had discussed this as a possibility). Her supposed "boyfriend" (NASCAR guy) lives in the neighborhood, so I'm curious to see if she brings him. I would suspect not.

Not quite a date, but not not a date either. Not too shabby.

Oh, and I did decide on "A Prayer for Owen Meany." From a height of three copies, I think I'm down to my last one, so I'll at least have a reason to make a point to see her again to get it back.

Dissatisfaction...

I spent almost ten years shaving my head. Every two weeks or so, I'd buzz cut myself, and didn't pay for a haircut or shampoo for ages. Not only that, but with three misbehaving colics on my head my whole life, I've really only worn my hair, when I had some, one way.

So when I landed a role in a community theatre production in February, the director asked me to grow my hair out. I agreed. Thankfully, it all came back in where it belongs. Problem is, now that I have some length back on my head, the only thing it will do is what I had it doing through high school.

So now, when I look in the mirror, I'm just seeing the older, fatter (I'm 5'10", 200lbs, not FAT fat, but more than the 155 I weighed in HS) version of myself with the same haircut.

I oughta pay someone to figure out what I can do with this head of mine.

On the topic of Anna and another life...

Yeah, I'm not much for those past lives either, but maybe if prodded I will tell the spooky true story of the night of dialing many phone psychics...

I think I know who you see in me.

You can see every guy in high school that could never dazzle you with his looks but sometimes could surprise you with his wit.

You can see the shy guy at age 19 who was a friend of a friend that you all but gave a lap dance to and still couldn't get to make a move back on you in return.

You can see in me the guy who was the king of his own court at age 20, who impressed you with a good show of confidence in close quarters, but was unable to be the same man in new and different places.

You can see the friend you remember who made the tragic mistake of believing in love when everyone around saw how badly it was going to end long before he did. Twice. Three times.

You can see the guy one of your friends lets tag along here and there that for the longest time you couldn't figure out what he adds to the group. But once, maybe twice he surprised you. And it was intriguing.

I think you definitely see the guy, who maybe over a bottle or four of wine or a long night of getting stoned, loosened up enough to actually keep you entertained until two or three in the morning. Completely unexpectedly.

I'm guessing at this, but this is who I've been, and this is who I am. Am I close?

My latest celebrity crush...

She's been all over that "I Love the 70s" show VH1 is running, and played Rico's girlfriend in "Six Feet Under." Plus, she really resembles that restaurant hostess I used to... well, you get the picture. That is, if you click the link.