LOOK WHO I FOUND

When I left work Monday night, I had a decision to make. Well, first I listened to Jelly express her love, not so much in words though, for Jack Johnson. But then I had a decision to make. Paul was meeting me at my house for around 1 a.m. I could either go home and watch some Monday night television (I had taped six shows) or I could kill the time at the casino. Because I didn't make it to Harrah's last week, I decided to gamble for an hour and a half. 

I'm cruising down Canal Street when I catch a red light. I think it was at Baronne. I'm looking at the passers by while waiting for the light to change. I'm a little antsy thanks to my gambling itch. My eyes move up the street, and I see two familiar people walking in my direction. I was more excited than Kelly when they bring out the bread at Olive Garden.   

OK. So I didn't get a good picture. As soon as I noticed the couple, I began scrambling through my bag for my camera. I took a quick shot, but you couldn't see shit. I deleted that picture, but now the couple is almost past me. Not to mention (sorry T-P kids, I couldn't resist) the light was about to change, and there were cars behind me. 

I decided this second shot was good enough. What was I going to do? Make a U-turn and follow them to their car? Pull up next to them and ask them to say cheese? Paul saw this Hall of Fame photograph and said: "Couldn't you have at least rolled the window down?" Good suggestion. I think I was too giddy and in too much of a hurry to use any of my five trillion brain cells. If I had rolled down the window, however, I could have called out to them and invited them to hang out at the casino. Would have been an interesting interaction.

Wait. I almost forgot. I didn't tell you who is in the picture. That, my friends, is Ashley and her gay boyfriend. Though he didn't look so gay in person. Of course, I was 50 feet away. I recognized her right away by her bright smile. Then, I remembered reading her facebook status for the past week. She was counting down the days until she was going to the Maroon 5 concert Monday night. Maybe I should have been off work and gone to the concert myself. I like that band.

You could tell she had had a good time at the show. I also noticed that the two of them were not holding hands. I estimate that 90-95 percent of couples who walk together down Canal Street are holding hands. There was a couple behind them holding hands, and I saw another couple holding hands and making out a few blocks later. Hmm.

Ash (that's what I call her for short) was wearing a magenta dress. I like that color. Perhaps this whole ordeal really is a part of my destiny. And me seeing her randomly Monday night is just the latest chapter. I'll let you know if any further developments take place.

 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I'm pretty sure my mom was watching As the World Turns when I woke up Tuesday. "It's about fucking time. He's (main bad guy) dead again. When are they going to learn, though. You need to drive a fucking stake through his heart."

Mom wears headphones when watching her programs while I'm sleeping. Very thoughtful. "Damn, I've been wearing these fucking headphones for eight hours." 

Mom and I are watching Two and 3/4 Men. Mom is upset at Allen. "Fucking living there for free all those years, and he's worried about fucking $38. What a dick."

I leave the room real quick to jot down that curse and miss the next joke. Mom is upset. "You're missing the whole fucking show." (For Lopes and Marcus: I never missed it when RVD did his thing.)

I got Gillie and Brian's save the date in the mail. Nice work, guys. Mom is foreign to the concept still. "I ain't never heard of that. (I tell mom they put a lot of work into the presentation.) You still have to pay someone to print them. And then spend 40 cents on every fucking envelope."

I used mom's VCR to tape Heroes. It messed up and didn't tape. "What the fuck? It has got to be that fucking sunglasses symbol. ... I have no fucking idea."

Mom tries to sum up my life in five words. 

Mom: TV. T-P. Sports. Wrestling. Poker. 

Me: What about sleeping?

Mom: Oh yeah. Anyone who sleeps more than six fucking hours is sad.

I ask mom where a certain item went. She says she threw it out. "That's the only way to get rid of your shit. Like the pants with the fucking holes. I threw that shit out last week."

FANTASY FEVER

My two fantasy teams are going in opposite directions. The Dos Agateers (2-2) lost for the second week in a row. Brady is already out. And our second best player (Brian Westbrook) missed last week. We got blown out. I'm worried about the team. DeSean Jackson is our most dependable receiver. Trent Edwards is our quarterback. Oh boy.

The Gene Poolers (4-0) scored the most points in the league last week. I already had the most points in the league through three weeks. My team is so good that my three bench players (Tony Romo, Earnest Graham and Larry Johnson) combined to beat several other teams by themselves in Week 4. If I don't make the money, I'm never playing fantasy again. Ever. 

PARTING SHOT

I call Lopes after snapping the picture of Ashley.

Me: Guess who I just saw walking down Canal?

Lopes: Megan?

Me: No. But that's sort of close. 

Lopes: Ashley?

Me: Yup.

Lopes: That's some crazy shit.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

The top five things that happened to me in September. 

5) Mom's reaction to canceling school due to Ike.

You remember that comment, right? Something about little boys and their instrument.

4) The not-happening 3 Doors Down concert.

Paul and I went all the way to Lafayette for nothing. Ha. Ha.

 

3) Attending both Saints home games.

Saints record when I'm there: 2-0. Saints record when I'm not there: 0-2.

2) Hanging in Baton Rouge for Gustav.

The storm ended up being worse there than at my house. Not having power sucked. It seems like Gustav happened a lot longer ago than the beginning of the month.

1) The whole Ashley debacle.   

From not getting her number to not getting a response to my message on facebook to seeing her on Canal on Monday, this situation dominated the headlines in The Gene Pool.