Last Friday was a night of destiny. At least that's what I decided. Hurricane Ike cancelled the prep schedule, which meant I got off work at a much earlier time. That gave me the chance to attend the Molly Ringwalds concert at Southport with Kelly and her friends.
I had a good time at the concert, but as the evening was winding down, I was starting to wonder if this was an evening of destiny. Getting off work early and going somewhere I wasn't expecting to when the day started had to be happening for a better reason than to have a good time. For some reason, our group had shifted farther away from the stage as the night progressed. By the time "Don't Stop Believing" came on, I had shifted from standing in front of the group to standing behind the group. All that put me in a much different spot than I had started the night.
And that's when I saw this girl. I sing a little bit of the song and look back at her. She smiles at me. Now that's the destiny I was talkin' bout, ya heard? Don't stop believing. Hold on to that feelin.' (That was the name of my Maroon column for like three years.)
After the final song, the girl and her friend head to the bar. As she passes me, she smiles again and gives a little wave. Not like the queen's wave. The wave where your hand stays still and you move all your fingers.
At the end of these concerts, they play rap music for anyone who stays in the joint. You get that? An 80s cover band followed by hip-hop. A true journey through the music of my lifetime.
The girl and her friends stay, which is good, and they hit the dance floor. Two girls and a guy. I couldn't decide if the guy was with the other girl or gay. Kelly's friends also are hanging around. I decide to wait for the first song (Back that Ass Up, which is the most popular song of all-time among my age group in the New Orleans area. To this day, it gets a crazy reaction every time it gets played.) to finish to talk to the girl. I sit on a nearby chair and let the nerves build up. The song ends, and I tap her on the shoulder. Apparently not hard enough. She doesn't turn around.
I panic and don't tap her again. The second song (which I don't recognize) hits. That song comes to an end, and I walk back over to make the move. I'm cut off by two Six Beers, who swoop in to hit on her and her friend. They realize at the start of the third song (My Humps) that their schtick isn't landing and retreat. I can't wait any longer. I put my hand on her shoulder and gently turn her around.
Girl: Hi.
Me: Hey. ... What is your name?
Girl: Ashley.
Me: I'm Gene. Did you enjoy the concert?
Ashley: Yeah. It was fun.
Me: Are these your friends?
Ashley: That one (pointing to the girl) is my friend. He's my roommate.
Me: So you have a guy for a roommate. How's that working out?
Ashley: Good. He's like a brother to me. (Boyfriend or gay? We may never know.)
Me: I see. So are you in school?
Ashley: Yeah. I just started my first year of Tulane law.
Me: Did you go there for undergrad?
Ashley: Yeah. You?
Me: I went to Loyola.
Ashley: Oh, cool. So we're neighbors. Are you from the local area?
Me: Yes. Mostly the Metairie area. You?
Ashley: I'm from a small town right outside Baton Rouge.
Me: And you went to Tulane.
Ashley: Yup. (My Humps ends.) Oh. My friends are ready to leave. It was really nice to meet you. (She smiles.) But I got to go.
Me: OK.
And I froze at that. You read that right. And I froze at that. I'm not kidding. I didn't say another word, and she took a step to the side and left. I thought about chasing her down but thought that might be too dramatic. I think my head went all out of whack. I didn't ask for the number because I thought maybe she would say no. Well, you big dummy. That's why you ask.
She smiled several times, though I've been burned by that before. The conversation was going OK and could have gone somewhere. I should have asked how her family made out in Gustav. I missed that one. My paranoid side thought: Did her friends "leave" to rescue her from me? But overall, I think we can all agree she would have gleefully given me her number. When I got to my car, the words came to me: (As she's leaving) How bout we continue this conversation later. Can I have your number? It was a night of destiny all right. It was, as Jelly so eloquently put it, my destiny to blow it.
This seems like a good time to point out that this girl was right in my wheelhouse. These other chicks I've written about recently were way out of my league. I feel like cute-as-a-button Ashley was not only in my league but in my division. This made blowing it an even bitter pill to choke on. She could have made it easier, you know, and just given me her number.
But, my friends, I didn't let it go there. Smiling + Waving + The Convo = Number. Of course, I didn't divide by me being a numskull. I didn't have her number, but what I did have was: her name and school. So, when I got home (yeah, I know, you can see where this is going), I brought up facebook and typed in Ashley and Tulane into the search. I got 112 results. Ashley #107 was the only one that kind of looked like her (it was a faraway shot) and had Grad Student '11 (which is when she would finish law school).
I googled her last name to confirm. Which it did in so many ways. I found the program from her undergrad graduation. A picture of her on the Tulane orientation program. Her profile on reunion.com. Her hometown is right outside of Baton Rouge. Also, she's 22 and was in the National Honor Society. More than good enough for me. I sent her a friend request and called on a favor from the facebook gods.
As you may have guessed, she has not accepted. The possibilities are: 1) Because she wouldn't have given me her number in the first place. 2) I already blew it. She's not bothering with me. 3) She was drunk, got drunker later and doesn't remember me. 4) She hasn't checked facebook since.
I wonder if I should send her a link of this blog entry.
THE TINA CURSING CORNER
My mom wanted Memphis, a bartender, to win Big Brother 10. Instead, Dan, a Catholic high school teacher and football coach, took home the big prize. "Fuck. They all picked Dan. Fuck me." The DVR recording cuts off. "Motherfuck me. Fuck. I didn't even get to see who won the fucking $25,000. That's one thing about a VCR. I can make it not cut off."
Mom walks into the kitchen. "It's a fucking disaster in here. This is so fucking ridiculous. And nobody gives a fuck."
Mom reads this article in Tuesday's paper about two honor students who were expelled and arrested for trying to give 22 cupcakes filled with laxatives to their teachers. "That article is fucking funny. They almost went to fucking Angola." One of the students was sort of traumatized by the thought of Angola and the whole expulsion. "That kid is shitting on himself. Oh fuck. I didn't even mean to make that pun."
Mom looks at me watching TV. "I got a son who can't do fuck."
The big project Tuesday was filling the windows with new cork. The window people gave mom the run-around, so she decided Monday to do it herself. "All I can do is fuck it up."
First, the old cork had to be removed. "I bought the fucking thing (a tool) that fucking gets it out. It wasn't easy. I mean it was fucking labor. He (across-the-street neighbor) said use a grinder. I don't know what the fuck he's talking about. Everyone fucking told me something different. Jerry (next-door neighbor) told me to use a fucking kitchen knife. I'm glad I got the tool."
Next, the new cork had to be put in. Mom tried to hired the across-the-street neighbor to do the job. He started and then stopped to go do something else. "He barely did anything. I ended up doing most of it. If it rains tonight, I'm totally fucked. His phone rings when he was working. And I had to fucking hear him talk like a fucking fuck. I felt like saying, 'Get the fuck out of here.' I could tell he wanted me to hear certain things. Bragging, you know. Like I give a fuck."
Late Tuesday night, I'm talking to Jelly on AIM and watching the Cubs in the dining room. My is watching TV in the living room. The following were said:
"Terrebonne. Plaquemines. They call that Jefferson Parish. I don't even know where the fuck that is. Where is that?"
Mom: What's that fucking school in St. Charles Parish?
Me: St. Charles?
Mom: No. The public one. (It was Hahnville.)
"The cafeteria at John Curtis got hit by a fucking tornado. Those kids are eating in class."
I'm updating Mom on the Cubs game. 5-4 Cubs. Guy on second. Two outs. Ninth inning. "That could last another fucking hour."
"Nagin said all those Texas people could get a Nagin special at the New Orleans hotels during Ike. Then, they got there, and there wasn't no special. Nagin fucking lied."
FANTASY FEVER
Both of my fantasy teams won again. The Dos Agateers are doing it with defense. Not our defense because the league doesn't use defense. But it's like we're playing defense against our opponents. Neither of them have done well, and we're 2-0. We didn't even need Brian Westbrook's three touchdowns Monday night. Hope he didn't blow his load.
The Gene Poolers are looking really good. I lost Tom Brady in Week 1. I still had Tony Romo on my bench. And now my other quarterback is Jay Cutler. I'm 2-0 and Tomlinson hasn't done shit yet. When we get to the end of the season, my lineup will look like this: QB: Romo; WR: Jennings, Santana Moos, TBD receiver I trade Cutler for (I'm hoping Wayne); RB: Tomlinson, Gore. Champ-ion-ship.
PARTING SHOT
I wasn't at work Tuesday, but this comes from contributing writer Lopes. Slot F4 was filled up early Tuesday but not with Skittles. The new five-cent bargain is for Starburst. Jelly eats one.
"Uh oh. I think he's (the vendor) on to us. These are hard as a rock."
Retro quote: Sept. 16, 2004 (in B.R. for Ivan)
Bert: Did you see Big Boobs McGee at bowling? Nice body. Nice face. Her boobs were just disproportionate to her body.
Paul: Did she have a penis?
(I show this quote to Paul on Tuesday. He says: I said that? I would not say that now. I want that quote retracted.)
THE DAILY TOP LIST
My top five personal sports losses. These still hurt.
5) Cleary soccer league. February 1996.
This was the league in which I averaged a hat trick. Of the 11 starters who played on the All-star team (which Cleary won), nine of the starters came from our league team. As you might imagine, we dominated the league.
But on the penultimate game of the season, we were upset 1-0. We were struggling on offense, and that was the only goal we allowed the whole season. On the play, our goalie was busy chatting with a friend, who was standing behind the net. By the time he realized somebody was approaching to score, it was too late.
4) LSU racquetball championship. October 2005.
While I was at LSU after Katrina, I played in a racquetball recreational league. I consider racquetball my best sport. Both of the finalists cruised into the title match, which Bert came to watch. It was an epic best-of-three encounter. I won the first set 15-3.
I didn't get overconfident because despite the score, the first set was back-and-forth. My opponent found a weakness in my game in the second set and won 15-12.
In the third set, he jumped out ahead 11-0 and then 14-3. He was in better shape, but I found a second wind. I won nine points in a row, but the deficit proved too much. I don't know what the deal was to start the third set, but it cost me the title.
3) Flag football semifinals. August 2005.
This version of the Slackers was the underdog against the X Factor, a veteran team with two players who were on college rosters. We had quite the crowd come out to see us play. These are the people I remember being there: My dad, Paul, Minkus, Lisa, Amy, Christina, Amanda. Plus more people the other players on the team brought.
X Factor was driving with the Slackers ahead by four points and less than three minutes remaining. I jumped a pass on the sideline, but the throw was low. It went off my fingertips as I hit the wall. The play still could have been made, though. If the quarterback would have made a good throw, I would have had a touchdown. On the next play, the quarterback ran for the winning score, crossing the line as I pulled his flag.
2) All-star basketball opening round. January 31, 1995.
I played for the 9-10 year-old All-Stars at Harahan. My dad was the coach. We had no chance of winning it all, but we had a chance to win a game or two. We had a back-and-forth game with Metairie in the opening game of the All-Star tournament. Overall, they had more talent, but we shot well and limited our turnovers. I blew it at the end, though.
Metairie made a shot with 40 seconds left to take a 41-39 lead. We came down and missed with 15 seconds but forced a bad outlet pass after they got the rebound. We stole the ball with 10 seconds left, and I got the ball in my hands with eight to go. Instead of calling timeout to set up a play, I dribbled from halfcourt to the corner with three defenders on me. I turned to the middle of the court, and the other two defenders jumped in the way of making a pass. I scrambled back into the corner with two guys on me. I forced up a shot at the buzzer (after shaking one defender), but it was swatted away by the last defender.
You can also blame the loss on the eight foul shots we missed. How do I remember that? I didn't. I just watched mom's tape of the game. She kept stopping and starting the tape at whistles, so every play isn't on the tape. We probably missed more than eight.
1) State soccer quarterfinals. February 3, 2002.
There were four teams considered to have a chance to win the state title. The three Catholic League schools and some other team I can't remember. But the crazy schedule had us playing Brother Martin in the quarterfinals. During the regular season, both of our games went to penalty kicks, with each team winning one.
This game was a 3-0 slaughter. Our only scoring chance came with the score at 1-0 in the first half. I took a free kick and put it near the head of our best scorer, who flicked it just over the goal post. Besides that, it was all Brother Martin. At the final whistle, I crumbled to my knees, fell to the ground with my hands on my head and cried.
That was the biggest game I had ever played in, and I knew there would never be another one even close to that big. We had the talent to win it all, and we came out flat. Maybe part of the reason was that our coach was in Mississippi coaching his recreational team (his main job). His boss would not allow him to miss the tournament in Mississippi. Talk about fucked up.
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