i know…i was doing pretty good. writing for y’all on a regular basis…then i disappeared for a weekend. a romantic get away? a vacation? lotto winnings? perish the thought. it can be summed up in a simple song…
“when you think that life is shitty,
and you don’t want it to be pretty,
there’s a place i think that you should roam-uh
it’s a land that has no magic
shows your life has become tragic
this place that i call oklafuckinhoma…”
that’s what i was singing to myself as i crossed the red river leaving texas. not on a horse with no name, but rather in a grand cherokee with no cd player (it’s there, just broken). this was at 2:23 am on sunday.
don’t ask…although you know i’ll explain anyway.
i should have known the day would end this way when i headed into austin around 3:00. i got cut off. hard core. at the intersection of ben white and i35. that kind of cut off where all the stuff in your vehicle flies forward ’cause you slam the breaks so damn hard. did i lean on the horn? scream obscenities? give the “you’re number one” gesture? no. why? because i’m mature? realize it does no good? am above that sort of behavior? again, no.
’cause it was a cop.
not in hot pursuit. not on the trail of crime. neither protecting NOR serving. the shithead just can’t drive. no lights on or anything; just cut my ass clean off. what do you do? you can’t scream, gesture, or lean on the horn. if you DO give the finger, you have to do it below dash level, which offers ZERO satisfaction. so the anger just gets to sit in you and stew. i bet this is how that sniper guy got started…but, i digress.
part personal, part business is the best description of the reasons that lead to me not getting out of the office till 9:30, and with dinner not out of round rock till 10:00. then came the ultimatum…if i get to dallas, and don’t think i can make it all the way, i stay in dallas. my boss said it was only two or three hours to tulsa from dallas. now first off, i guess this is where you define the “end” dallas. the METROPLEX goes till mckinney from what i remember, which is about forty-five minutes to an hour north of what i consider “dallas”. from there, it’s another hour or so to the border, then another three hours to tulsa, ’cause you keep going through all these little towns where you have to slow down to an ass crawl (35 mph) for long stretches, and you just KNOW if you don’t you’ll get popped. so i do all of that, and end up pulling into the parking lot of the hampton inn at 5:45 this morning.
the person who greets me? some guy named “earl”, who was not only frighteningly flamingly gay, but also had stubble / razor burn from poor shaving techniques on his FOREARMS. couple this with the fact he now knows where i’m sleeping and undoubtedly has a universal pass key and you can wager the farm that all locks were locked on the door when i hit the bed at 6 am.
so why the fuck am i here? the WAC tournament, which i read is the 7th most popular ncaa cluster o’ teams. is that really something to brag about? “wuh-hoo…we’re number SEVEN!!!” just doesn’t have a ring to it.
did put me in a situation to make me feel like i fit tattoo number seven that i have (a two character chinese one that translates to “pervert”, located just below my waist line in front)…i took a break from server configging and walked out on the concourse to realize that i was ALL ALONE in the building. i walked into the basketball arena where the tournament will be held, down one of the aisles, and out onto the center of the court. as i stood where centers will be jumping and espn cameras will be focused, and realized that there was nary a damn soul in the house EXCEPT me, did i dream of being a basketball player? a coach? a ref? nope…only one thought crossed my mind…
i wish i had a girl here so we could fuck each other senseless here tonight and then giggle whenever they showed the center court on tv…
does this make me a bad person?