CHAPTER III. UM, THE GAME IS ON.
(the third in an occasional series)

Previously on High School Girlfriend Saga: Regina and I fell in love and first said the words "I love you" in a romantic, touching scene on Christmas Eve.

And action.

As we were falling in love, Regina and I went to both Chapelle's and Rummel's homecoming dance. We had a group of 14 at her house for Chapelle's Winter Formal. That was a wild time. And I'm glad to see those compromising pictures have never surfaced on the Internet.

As the calendar turned to 2002, however, I began to notice something disturbing. Regina and I were in a rut. We didn't get out much. Our routine consisted of me going to her house and then maybe watching a movie, fooling around and falling asleep before waking up in the middle of the night and heading home. I tried to get us out of this rut by taking her out to dinner on Saturday nights. That helped. Sort of.

The best part of our relationship in early January was sports-related. She would come to all my soccer matches, and we'd go out to eat after, sometimes with friends. After Christmas, she went to Disney World with her family and brought me back this Mickey Mouse soccer jersey. I would wear that under my Rummel jersey. How cute. She'd also come with David, Bert, Paul and I to Damon's to watch football on Sunday's.

Our biggest problem was sexual. She wanted to do it; I wanted to wait. She'd say things like, "I want to know you" and "I want to show you how much I love you" and "I want to feel you inside me." Real romantic stuff. I tried to avoid talking about it as much as possible. During these talks and at other times, I began to get aggravated with her incessant nagging.

I think the relationship had also sort of jumped the shark for me. The girl had major insecurity issues, and I was about as prepared to deal with that as a high school quarterback facing a zone blitz from an NFL team. She had problems with abandonment, which became more clear to me much later (and will for you folks as well), the thought of me cheating (which I actually could of done but didn't) and something about her previous boyfriend and anal.

It all came to a boiling point January 20, 2002. I'm at home Sunday all excited to watch a day of NFL playoffs. Granted, I felt the Dolphins should have been playing. But my plan was to sit back and watch football for six hours alone. Regina calls during the Steelers-Ravens game and starts yammering on about something. I get off the phone, but she calls back during the Rams-Packers game. I'm trying to enjoy Brett Favre having one of the worst games of his career, and Regina wants to talk about the week ahead, her feelings and whatnot.

I say, "That's it. I'm coming over." She greets me with a big kiss, but I turn away. "We need to talk." She knew exactly what that meant and broke down into tears. Much like Megan, some six years later. Whereas Megan resorted to making fun of me, Regina took a vase, emptied out the flowers and hummed that sucker across the room into a full-length mirror.

I stared at all the shattered glass in utter horror. I didn't know whether or not to hold her and let her cry it out or get the fuck out of there. I tried to tell her it wasn't her, it was me. That I just wasn't mature enough to handle this relationship. Which was true. She eventually stopped crying, and I felt satisfied and left. I returned home to learn that Favre had thrown two more picks for touchdowns while I was gone. I can never get back those beautiful moments.

I didn't give another thought to Regina. It was over, and I was moving on. I thought about her so little that I didn't even tell my mom or my friends that I kicked her ass to the curb. Strange, I know. But after a few days, I wanted to see how long I could go without telling anyone. The answer? Seventeen days.

On Wednesday, Feb. 6, I was with Paul in the game room of the Elmwood Palace. He hadn't talked to his girlfriend (same one from previous part) in nine days. Everyone knew they both wanted to breakup. I make him take out his phone and call her to get it over with already. He does, and I watch as they have the most mutual breakup in high school history. But the closing words of their conversation left both of our jaws on the floor. Like other movie-goers had to step over them, for about an hour.

Paul's ex: Is Gene with you?
Paul (pointing at me): Yeah. He's here.
Me: Are ya'll talking about me?
Paul: Shh. I'm trying to listen.
Paul's ex: Has he talked to Regina?
Paul (confused): I hope so. That's his girlfriend.
Paul's ex: No. I don't think so.
Paul (to me): You broke up with Regina?
Me: Uh. Yup. I did.
Paul (to me): When?
Me: Seventeen days ago. Crazy that I kept it a secret this long, huh?
Paul (weirded out): Yeah. Good for you.
Paul (to his ex): OK. Apparently, they broke up a few weeks ago. Why you asking about her?
Paul's ex: Well, she hasn't been in school since the break-up. (That's 13 school days.)
Paul (to me): She hasn't been in school since you dumped her.
Me: What the ... What's she saying now?
(Paul finishes the conversation with his ex. Says OK a few times, talk to ya later and hangs up.)

Me: What the fuck is going on?
Paul: Regina hasn't been in school.
Me: Yeah. Yeah. I got that.
Paul: She's in a mental hospital.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom and I are discussing polling machines on college campuses. We talk about out-of-state students changing to being a voter of the state where they are attending college. "Why even put the motherfuckers up? I bet none of those kids takes the fucking time to fill out the paperwork."

Mom is mad about me not wrapping up boiled shrimp in foil before throwing them away last week. "What were you thinking? You can't just throw them away. Here's a hint: Seafood smells! ... If you lived by yourself and had crawfish one day, you'd leave it out and not throw it away. Then the next day, you'd by like 'What the fuck is that smell?' "

I return home with our seafood from Bobby's. Mom opens the brown paper bag to take out the pound of boiled shrimp. The package has a big rip in it. "What? There's a fucking hole in it."

Mom wants to get a new cell phone. One that opens and closes. "The numbers are wearing out on this one because it bangs around so much in my purse. It's a pain in my ass."

THE GENE POOL DIP (I MEAN TIP) OF THE WEEK

Tired of paying to park downtown or leaving your car on a dark French Quarter street for multiple hours in the middle of the night? Not me. Why? Because I don't pay to park downtown, and I put my car in a semi-secured parking garage.

The only drawback is I have to walk a little further to get Bourbon or wherever. Where is this magical place where you don't have to pay $10 to park to enjoy a little Nawlins nightlife? Well, Harrah's, of course. I believe they have a few cameras in the garage, and there is a patrolling car assigned to keep an eye on things. Then you just walk out onto Canal, which is pretty well lit, and stroll over to the club.

When entering the parking lot, you can see a sign displaying the parking rates. Don't pay any attention to that. Those rates are for suckers. You're not a sucker, are you? You can either validate the free parking right away and then head over to the strip club (if you're into that sort of thing) or wait until it's time to go home.

I'd advise validating before partying. 1) To get it out of the way so you don't forget later and end up paying because you're too lazy to go inside the casino. 2) Because it'll probably be busier at the time you arrive than at the time you're headed home. Let me explain.

One way to get free parking is to play on your player's card for thirty minutes. Of course, that cost money, and who has thirty minutes to waste just to get free parking? Here's the skinny dip, kids. (That doesn't sound right.) The poker room will validate your parking ticket, and you don't have to even go near a table. Yup. You read that correctly. I'm alive serious.

This works at any time, but especially at night on the weekends. Just go up to the front of the poker room where the manager stands next to a set of computer screens. Tell him you want to play one of the games on the list. Pick a game that has a waiting list. He'll ask you for your name for the list. Tell him your name (or heck, give a fake name for funsies) and hand him your parking ticket as if you've done it 458 times. You know, like me.

He will punch in your name on the list and stamp your ticket for validation. Then, you kind of walk around the room pretending to wait for your name to be called. After a minute, you leave the poker room and the casino. (In reality, you can take back your validated ticket and sprint out of there. They don't care. Or go to the bathroom. That's a safe move, too.) When your name is eventually called, he'll think nothing of you not being there (it happens all the time) and move on to the next name on the list.

If there is not a game with a waiting list, simply pick any game. He'll validate your ticket and tell you what table to go to play. Then, just go to the bathroom or casually walk out the back way on your way to the table. On Friday or Saturday night, they are too busy in the poker room to ever come close to noticing this. I've done it four or five times without a hitch. It's like scamming an old couple. Too easy.

Of course, Sandy tells me a Diamond card member can park in there for free at anytime. So I guess becoming a Diamond member or borrowing someone's card or stealing one would also work for this tip. And if you want any other helpful suggestions regarding Harrah's (like how to best use reward points) or any other casino, direct your attention to Sandy. She's a getting-the-most-out-of-your-money-in-a-casino guru.

PARTING SHOTS

We're discussing Lopes not catching a mistake. In his defense, it would have been a tough one to catch.

Liam (deadpanned): You fucking piece of shit.

D finishes reading a prep football story. (I can't wait for this shit to end.)

D: That's a two-beer edit there.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

With Midnight Madness going down in the world of college basketball, I should probably tell you that I care more about college basketball than any other sport on any level. And I probably care more about the UNC Tar Heels more than any other team. I think they're a lock to win the title this year, so we'll have running commentary on the journey to a championship. For now, here are my all-time top 10 Heels. Keep in mind, I've only seen tape of Jordan, Worthy, etc., and since I never sat in front of the TV live and cheered for them, they are not eligible.

10) Marcus Ginyard. 2006-present.

Stout defender. Perfect fit on the fastbreak. Always seems to get offensive rebounds out of nowhere.

9) Jerry Stackhouse. 1994-95.

Left too early. If he and Sheed stay, then the Heels start them, Carter and Jamison. And we're still calling that the greatest foursome in college basketball history.

8) Donald Williams. 1992-95.

1993 Final Four MVP had some stroke. I watched the championship game on a really small TV in my room. Mom thought I was doing my homework.

7) Ed Cota. 1997-2000.

Didn't score much. Couldn't shoot a lick. But boy could he pass. I love an assist man.

6) Antawn Jamison. 1996-98.

Was a better player in college than Vince Carter. Had a beautiful mid-range game.

5) Rashad McCants. 2003-05.

Sweet shot. During sophomore year, he was my favorite on the team.

4) Sean May. 2003-05.

Struggled with injuries early in his career. Rebounded (get it?) to become the biggest beast in Carolina history on his way to a Final Four MVP.

3) Vince Carter. 1996-98.

The most athletic player I've seen at UNC. I could watch him weave through defenders to the basket all day. Let's just pretend like he didn't have a pro career. K?

2) Raymond Felton. 2003-05.

I love Raymond. Everybody loves Raymond. Incredibly quick. Developed a long-range shot in his junior year. Made the winning steal in the championship game.


Besides their skills and the joy they brought me with the championship, the McCants-May-Felton trio will always be special to me because they were in the same class as me. Maybe I too should have left after my junior year to become a professional.

1) Tyler Hansbrough. 2006-present.

I don't think I can properly convey how I feel about Tyler in words. I have a stuffed animal Tar Heel that I won in Orlando. I named him Tyler. Bake (fellow UNC supporter) and I gave Hansbrough the nickname First Two (I'll be referring to him as this in future blogs) because the first two words of any Carolina story (no matter what happens in the game) are always Tyler Hansbrough.

The kid gets a bloody nose and wants to keep playing. He gets fouled 17 times on his way to the goal and still makes the shot half the time. He runs the floor like his spot on the team depends on it. He uses the spin move almost 10 times a game. And still nobody can stop it.

If they don't win the title on April 6, 2009, the most disappointed thing about it will be the fact that Tyler will leave without a title. If they lose, my sorrow for him will be far worse than any sorrow I have for my favorite team not winning. He's the greatest competitor I've ever seen play.

You think he would accept me as a friend on facebook?