Long story short: I had a best friend growing up. I mean best friend. We've known each other since we were born and did everything together. We were the odd couple. Cute little, Lynne and her sweet, innocent smile and matching personality. Me? Rude, crude tomboy with an in-your-face attitude and no regard for rules or authority. And yet we were each other's perfect match.
Inseparable. That is, until, we got to junior high.
"I can't be your friend anymore." She tells me at the lunch table in front of all my friends. "Kelly said I had to choose between the two of you. That I can't be best friends with both."
"Tell Kelly I said she can fuckin' blow it out her ass." I was such a pleasant 12 year old.
***************************
I ran into Lynne at a bar just a few days before her engagement party. "You're coming, right?" She seems to happy to see me. "I know that you wouldn't want to be in the wedding party. It's all boring girly stuff. I know you hate that stuff. But I really want you to be involved."
I start thinking to myself... Is she... doing me a favor? I can't tell.
"Write a poem for me."
"A what?"
"A poem! C'mon! You were always so good with words." Notice the 'were' she threw in there. She thinks I don't write anymore. That's how out of touch we've been. I guess she doesn't know that I wrote a novel, a few actually, and am finally attempting to get one of them published. Next weekend. [And I'm nowhere near ready.]
"What do you mean, 'a poem'? I'm no poet."
"Yea, but you're so good with words. C'mon, you've wrote poems before!"
"Yea, but I'm sure you want something about love and marriage, no?"
"Yea!"
"What makes you think I know anything about either one of those things?"
"I have faith in you. It'll be perfect. I just know it. And you'll read it at the wedding, right?"
She forgets that I've had horrible stage fright since... I was born.
"No way! I can't even promise that I'll be able to write anything."
"Well, we can talk about the reading thing later. Just promise me you'll do it. It would mean to much to Jimmy and me."
The poem is for the wedding but she wants it by the engagement party. So she can read it and make changes no doubt.
Geeeeeeeeeehhhhhh.
So here I am. Three days before the engagement party attempting to write a poem-on demand-about love for someone I hardly even know anymore. I couldn't even write a poem about love for myself.
...As if I don't have enough shit on my plate.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Finding my place.
Been looking for that spot. You know, where I fit in this universe.
It's funny, I never really gave it much thought before. But lately, I can't seem to get it out of my head.
Am I destined to be who and where I am today? Working two/three/four jobs? Living in a great place... alone. Dreaming of fantastic adventures in various different countries, but settling for weekend trips to Atlanta, Boston, and Baltimore? Writing, writing, writing, and getting nothing published?
Where do I go? The "average" category? The ones who just get by and unless you know them personally, you hardly even notice them. Walk right past them everyday without realizing they're the ones who actually make the world go 'round.
The "successful" ones? Do I get my book(s) published? Make tons of money and quit my job and enjoy the free lifestyle of a writer. Drift from place to place connecting with people along with the way, but never actually connecting with people.
The "nobody"? I quit my job so I can focus on my writing and my painting full-time. Really put the effort in. Try to make it all happen. Just to end up a starving artist. That person whose friends constantly brag about. "She's really got it! The talent that girl has is amazing." Too bad their opinions are biased and I would never really make it anywhere anyway. Because who can these days?
******************************************************
So the universe is calling. She's knocking on my door and she demands to know where I want to be next year, in five years, in 30 years, for the rest of my days.
And I tell her that I've never really known where I've wanted to be. Because life's too short to be in one place/be one person forever. I need to know things. Learn things. Accept things. Try to change things. Effect things/people in some way, shape or form. I have to be ever-changing. Because this world, and the universe are ever-changing.
And besides all that... I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I did ask the universe one small favor, perhaps a bit on the selfish side. No matter what the result of things to come for the next three weeks, just please them all work out for the best. Meaning, let everything turn out the way it's supposed to be, not the way I want it to be at the exact moment in time.
Because this time tomorrow, I will already be a different person than I am right now. And by then, I may want different things.
Maybe.
It's funny, I never really gave it much thought before. But lately, I can't seem to get it out of my head.
Am I destined to be who and where I am today? Working two/three/four jobs? Living in a great place... alone. Dreaming of fantastic adventures in various different countries, but settling for weekend trips to Atlanta, Boston, and Baltimore? Writing, writing, writing, and getting nothing published?
Where do I go? The "average" category? The ones who just get by and unless you know them personally, you hardly even notice them. Walk right past them everyday without realizing they're the ones who actually make the world go 'round.
The "successful" ones? Do I get my book(s) published? Make tons of money and quit my job and enjoy the free lifestyle of a writer. Drift from place to place connecting with people along with the way, but never actually connecting with people.
The "nobody"? I quit my job so I can focus on my writing and my painting full-time. Really put the effort in. Try to make it all happen. Just to end up a starving artist. That person whose friends constantly brag about. "She's really got it! The talent that girl has is amazing." Too bad their opinions are biased and I would never really make it anywhere anyway. Because who can these days?
******************************************************
So the universe is calling. She's knocking on my door and she demands to know where I want to be next year, in five years, in 30 years, for the rest of my days.
And I tell her that I've never really known where I've wanted to be. Because life's too short to be in one place/be one person forever. I need to know things. Learn things. Accept things. Try to change things. Effect things/people in some way, shape or form. I have to be ever-changing. Because this world, and the universe are ever-changing.
And besides all that... I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I did ask the universe one small favor, perhaps a bit on the selfish side. No matter what the result of things to come for the next three weeks, just please them all work out for the best. Meaning, let everything turn out the way it's supposed to be, not the way I want it to be at the exact moment in time.
Because this time tomorrow, I will already be a different person than I am right now. And by then, I may want different things.
Maybe.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
As promised.
West Coast travels: Flight from JFK to San Francisco.
My sister had a panic attack at the airport (despite the Valium that was so graciously given to her from a family friend who - for reasons I'd rather not know - has a bottle of them at home). She decides she's "not going to California" but assures her husband and myself that we'll have a great time and she'll gladly pick us up from the airport when we arrive home.
10 days on vacation with my brother-in-law? I'll pass. But thanks.
By the time I convince her she's going and really has no say in decisions regarding this trip, they've locked us out of the plane. Can't really blame them. They called last call for boarding... twice. So I start weighing my options.
A) Fight with whoever I have to to ensure that we get on that flight.
B) Call the airline and see what they can do.
C) Go to jail for murdering my sister in an airport with my bare hands.
Option A it is.
I tell the flight attendant at the adjacent terminal desk to radio the plane and demand that they reopen the door. She radios over: "Sorry ma'am. There's nothing we can do. Once they've locked the doors, that's it." Despite her really sweet southern belle accent, I can sense the attitude she is giving me. I explain to her that my sister is a big baby and that the plane is not scheduled to take off for another half hour anyway. "Sorry ma'am" is the only response I'm getting. Fucking southerners.
Two more terminals down I see a male security guard who looks like he might have a soft spot for my poor, pathetic sister who was early having breathing difficulties due to anxiety and is now having breathing difficulties because she's crying like a little girl with a skinned knee. She "feels really sorry!" and now she "wants to go really badly!" The security guard radios the plane once more and eventually gets the flight attendant to open the door for us. What a peach.
This woman is nothing but sunshine and rainbows. "I'll have you know you've held up our flight and if the other passengers choose to voice their anger in the matter, I'm not going to stop them." Yes, thank you. I'm so glad I'm paying your salary right now. "We've given up your seats and the flight is booked, so you'll have to just take the only three open seats." Awesome.
My sister, the scaredy-cat, sat in the first row in the window seat. Lucky fuck. I sat about 15 rows behind her sandwiched between some stuffy, up-tight business man who frantically attempted to do math in his head while writing spreadsheets. And the kid to my right looks like he was just flying home from the Olympics. Seriously. Red Nike track suit, white Nike baseball hat, white Nike speakers, white Nike backpack. He either likes Nike a whole-helluva-lot or he just got sponsored. My brother-in-law sat another 10 rows behind me on the aisle next to a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.
Jet Blue is pretty sweet because they all have TVs in the back of the headrests. I would have really taken advantage of this had the flight been smoother. We had straight turbulence for almost the entire 5 hour and 40 minute flight. The "fasten seat belt" light never shut off and my brother-in-law had my headphones.
So I watched Sports Center, nearly the only channel (aside from the weather channel) that does not require sound. I had seen the same 17 sports loops over and over. And I have to say, Delgado's pair of three-run home runs against the Astros looked less and less impressive with every replay (and in an almost six hour flight, there were many) only because they both narrowly qualified as home runs.
...And this coming from a Mets fan.
The Olympian next to me almost arrived at the West Coast with a bloody nose. If he leaned on my arm rest one more time resulting in my TV changing its channel, I swore I was going to elbow him so fast in the face he would've been out cold.
*************
After, what seemed to be a hellish morning, we landed in San Francisco where I was ready to ditch my sober sister and her loving husband and let the festivities begin.
Which I did.
(And will write more about that later. Some of us have work to do, you know!)
My sister had a panic attack at the airport (despite the Valium that was so graciously given to her from a family friend who - for reasons I'd rather not know - has a bottle of them at home). She decides she's "not going to California" but assures her husband and myself that we'll have a great time and she'll gladly pick us up from the airport when we arrive home.
10 days on vacation with my brother-in-law? I'll pass. But thanks.
By the time I convince her she's going and really has no say in decisions regarding this trip, they've locked us out of the plane. Can't really blame them. They called last call for boarding... twice. So I start weighing my options.
A) Fight with whoever I have to to ensure that we get on that flight.
B) Call the airline and see what they can do.
C) Go to jail for murdering my sister in an airport with my bare hands.
Option A it is.
I tell the flight attendant at the adjacent terminal desk to radio the plane and demand that they reopen the door. She radios over: "Sorry ma'am. There's nothing we can do. Once they've locked the doors, that's it." Despite her really sweet southern belle accent, I can sense the attitude she is giving me. I explain to her that my sister is a big baby and that the plane is not scheduled to take off for another half hour anyway. "Sorry ma'am" is the only response I'm getting. Fucking southerners.
Two more terminals down I see a male security guard who looks like he might have a soft spot for my poor, pathetic sister who was early having breathing difficulties due to anxiety and is now having breathing difficulties because she's crying like a little girl with a skinned knee. She "feels really sorry!" and now she "wants to go really badly!" The security guard radios the plane once more and eventually gets the flight attendant to open the door for us. What a peach.
This woman is nothing but sunshine and rainbows. "I'll have you know you've held up our flight and if the other passengers choose to voice their anger in the matter, I'm not going to stop them." Yes, thank you. I'm so glad I'm paying your salary right now. "We've given up your seats and the flight is booked, so you'll have to just take the only three open seats." Awesome.
My sister, the scaredy-cat, sat in the first row in the window seat. Lucky fuck. I sat about 15 rows behind her sandwiched between some stuffy, up-tight business man who frantically attempted to do math in his head while writing spreadsheets. And the kid to my right looks like he was just flying home from the Olympics. Seriously. Red Nike track suit, white Nike baseball hat, white Nike speakers, white Nike backpack. He either likes Nike a whole-helluva-lot or he just got sponsored. My brother-in-law sat another 10 rows behind me on the aisle next to a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.
Jet Blue is pretty sweet because they all have TVs in the back of the headrests. I would have really taken advantage of this had the flight been smoother. We had straight turbulence for almost the entire 5 hour and 40 minute flight. The "fasten seat belt" light never shut off and my brother-in-law had my headphones.
So I watched Sports Center, nearly the only channel (aside from the weather channel) that does not require sound. I had seen the same 17 sports loops over and over. And I have to say, Delgado's pair of three-run home runs against the Astros looked less and less impressive with every replay (and in an almost six hour flight, there were many) only because they both narrowly qualified as home runs.
...And this coming from a Mets fan.
The Olympian next to me almost arrived at the West Coast with a bloody nose. If he leaned on my arm rest one more time resulting in my TV changing its channel, I swore I was going to elbow him so fast in the face he would've been out cold.
*************
After, what seemed to be a hellish morning, we landed in San Francisco where I was ready to ditch my sober sister and her loving husband and let the festivities begin.
Which I did.
(And will write more about that later. Some of us have work to do, you know!)
Monday, September 15, 2008
Taking advantage.
...What I wouldn't give to be back in California or Vegas right now instead of in my office doing damage control and playing referee.
Only 16 days until my trip to Atlanta. (Original trip got pushed back two weeks.) Short trip, but it's not work, so I'm alright with it.
Approximately six months until my trip to India. That should be a good one. I'll be gone for about 3 weeks and undoubtedly missing my dog like crazy. Have to attend a friend's wedding in Mumbai (you may know it as Bombay) but decided if I'm spending a few grand on a flight to and from, I might as well make a REAL trip out of it and see the sites. Packing a backpack ONLY and will be moving throughout the country soaking in all its history, architecture, culture, and wonder. I can't wait.
Oh, New York! I love you so, but often yearn for so much more! With a world as big and wonderful as this one, I cannot honestly say I am satisfied staying in the same place forever.
Currently: Shopping for a house boat on Long Island that Doc (my puppy) and I can inhabit for Summer 2009. A bit ahead of myself? Perhaps. But I am not the happiest camper in the world to be back to work (and in full swing, might I add). So to pass the time I dream of future adventures. I'm thinking of quitting my job before the start of Summer 2009 and only working on art part time (while enjoying the house boat of course) and traveling as often as possible.
Life's too fucking short.
And if anyone should know that, it's me.
So I'm taking advantage. And I suggest you do the same.
Only 16 days until my trip to Atlanta. (Original trip got pushed back two weeks.) Short trip, but it's not work, so I'm alright with it.
Approximately six months until my trip to India. That should be a good one. I'll be gone for about 3 weeks and undoubtedly missing my dog like crazy. Have to attend a friend's wedding in Mumbai (you may know it as Bombay) but decided if I'm spending a few grand on a flight to and from, I might as well make a REAL trip out of it and see the sites. Packing a backpack ONLY and will be moving throughout the country soaking in all its history, architecture, culture, and wonder. I can't wait.
Oh, New York! I love you so, but often yearn for so much more! With a world as big and wonderful as this one, I cannot honestly say I am satisfied staying in the same place forever.
Currently: Shopping for a house boat on Long Island that Doc (my puppy) and I can inhabit for Summer 2009. A bit ahead of myself? Perhaps. But I am not the happiest camper in the world to be back to work (and in full swing, might I add). So to pass the time I dream of future adventures. I'm thinking of quitting my job before the start of Summer 2009 and only working on art part time (while enjoying the house boat of course) and traveling as often as possible.
Life's too fucking short.
And if anyone should know that, it's me.
So I'm taking advantage. And I suggest you do the same.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Vegas, baby. Vegas.
Current Location: Hotel Suite in the Paris Casino
Current Mood: Fucking shocked.
Current Outfit: The skimpiest thing I've ever worn. (Something involving A LOT of skin, some glitter, tight materials, and heels bigger than my head.)
Current Financial Situation: A few grand more than I came here with. Fuck yea.
Will update fully when I'm a tad on the sober side. (Note: My liver packed up and went home about 9 days ago. She's had enough. And just might forgive me if I bring home lots of [non-alcoholic] goodies for her.)
Tonight's Plans: A dash of lipstick then off to club Rain in the Palms Casino to meet up with a handsome, young, Southern thing that hit on me at the Three Card Poker table. Things go well? Then we'll see where the night [morning] takes us. If they don't, I'll head over to club LAX in the Luxor for some free cocktails and killer 80's music.
Catch you kids around the bend.
Current Mood: Fucking shocked.
Current Outfit: The skimpiest thing I've ever worn. (Something involving A LOT of skin, some glitter, tight materials, and heels bigger than my head.)
Current Financial Situation: A few grand more than I came here with. Fuck yea.
Will update fully when I'm a tad on the sober side. (Note: My liver packed up and went home about 9 days ago. She's had enough. And just might forgive me if I bring home lots of [non-alcoholic] goodies for her.)
Tonight's Plans: A dash of lipstick then off to club Rain in the Palms Casino to meet up with a handsome, young, Southern thing that hit on me at the Three Card Poker table. Things go well? Then we'll see where the night [morning] takes us. If they don't, I'll head over to club LAX in the Luxor for some free cocktails and killer 80's music.
Catch you kids around the bend.
Friday, August 22, 2008
The IRS can suck my ass.
The City Cynic is getting more and more cynical as the days go by. I'll be the first to admit it, I've been very bitter (even more bitter than normal) this past week. My boss is all over my ass. And not in a sexual way. The IRS is trying to rape me of hard earned money I've received from side jobs. (1099 What? Yea... I'm new at this.)
Let's review the logic.
I do a side job. (Painting murals and/or framed artwork and/or sell framed photographs.) The client simply cuts me a check for an amount we both think is fair for time/materials. I finish the job/produce the product. I cash the check. We call it a day.
APPARENTLY, the client is obligated to send me a 1099 form at the end of the year for work done. None of which I've gotten. So when I filed my taxes, got my returns (thank you US Government for pretending to give a shit and sending me some of my rightfully owed tax money back including the stimulus check) then five months later, I get a call. "Ms. City Cynic? You're being audited."
Fucking sweet.
Turns out I owe roughly $3,018.75 in taxes on unclaimed income. Whoops. Now here's the kicker. Had they known about that in the beginning, when I filed my taxes... They would have known that the amount I owe was not too far away from the total they gave me back. They could have just kept their fuckin return and I could have paid the difference.
No. They wait until they're sure you've spent the return. Just to REALLY screw with you. And then they expect you to just have a few grand lying around. "You have 90 days to settle the debt with the United States Government before late fees and interest are assessed."
Awesome.
Yea. That makes sense. If I can't come up with the money now. Just add more and give me a 15 day extension. I'll definitely be able to come up with it by then.
How do I come up with the money you ask?
I sign myself on to another side job. One I don't really have the time for at the moment. (What with my birthday party tonight, leaving for California in six days, leaving for Atlanta in 35 days, my step-sister's wedding coming up which involves, trying on dresses, planning a shower/bachelorette party, etc, and my social life all getting in the way.) But I signed on for it anyway. Getting a deposit from the client in a week.
Taxes paid!
[[Fuckin 1099s...]]
Let's review the logic.
I do a side job. (Painting murals and/or framed artwork and/or sell framed photographs.) The client simply cuts me a check for an amount we both think is fair for time/materials. I finish the job/produce the product. I cash the check. We call it a day.
APPARENTLY, the client is obligated to send me a 1099 form at the end of the year for work done. None of which I've gotten. So when I filed my taxes, got my returns (thank you US Government for pretending to give a shit and sending me some of my rightfully owed tax money back including the stimulus check) then five months later, I get a call. "Ms. City Cynic? You're being audited."
Fucking sweet.
Turns out I owe roughly $3,018.75 in taxes on unclaimed income. Whoops. Now here's the kicker. Had they known about that in the beginning, when I filed my taxes... They would have known that the amount I owe was not too far away from the total they gave me back. They could have just kept their fuckin return and I could have paid the difference.
No. They wait until they're sure you've spent the return. Just to REALLY screw with you. And then they expect you to just have a few grand lying around. "You have 90 days to settle the debt with the United States Government before late fees and interest are assessed."
Awesome.
Yea. That makes sense. If I can't come up with the money now. Just add more and give me a 15 day extension. I'll definitely be able to come up with it by then.
How do I come up with the money you ask?
I sign myself on to another side job. One I don't really have the time for at the moment. (What with my birthday party tonight, leaving for California in six days, leaving for Atlanta in 35 days, my step-sister's wedding coming up which involves, trying on dresses, planning a shower/bachelorette party, etc, and my social life all getting in the way.) But I signed on for it anyway. Getting a deposit from the client in a week.
Taxes paid!
[[Fuckin 1099s...]]
Friday, August 8, 2008
Naughty By Nature (Not 'cuz I hate'chya)!
Headed back to the old homestead again last weekend for the Metro New York Balloon Festival. Three days of music, monster trucks, helicopter rides, hot air balloons in the shape of Darth Vader's helmet, the Energizer Bunny, and a T-Rex with WWF wrestlers, vendors galore, some good rock cover bands, a beer tent fully stocked with Sam Adams Summer and Heine, and a little bit of hip hop.
This year, Long Island's Party 105 (otherwise known as Long Island's most annoying radio station playing nothing but "party hits") hosted Saturday's night's musical talents (or lack thereof is some cases) and called it MegaJam.
*******************************
A group of about 25 of us, all friends and family, occupied the beer tent for the entire duration of the festival on Saturday. [I'm not sure if this is a disgrace or an accomplishment.] We made friends with the skydivers teaching them what it means to NOT break the seal, watching videos of their jump earlier in the afternoon from Eddie's helmet cam, and "breaking it down" to some really bad local, no-name rappers.
My buddy Ben gangs up on me with Eddie (our new sky diver friend) and convinces me that I need to go sky diving. Ben has been before and has been dying to go back but can't find anyone to go with him.
"Come on, Dean! You have to come! You're the only broad crazy enough to do it."
"Fine." I've kind of always wanted to anyway, just been too afraid. Ben won't let me be afraid, so I guess now's a good a time as any.
Then. Here it comes. The highlight of my evening. When the radio personalities came on stage to announce the headliner for the weekend... NAUGHTY... BY... NATURE! I was pumped. How could I not be? Christ! I practically grew up on "Feel Me Flow" and "Ghetto Bastard". This is when I turn to Eddie (who had gorgeous blue eyes, shaggy blond hair and a boyish smile to die for) to see the look of excitement on his face.
Turns out Eddie grew up just a few blocks from my house, went to the neighboring school and is a few years older than me. So Naughty By Nature should be something exciting for him to see. Even if he didn't listen to them back in the day, it should take him back a bit, which can be a great thing.
"Who's this?" He asks.
"What? This is Naughty By Nature! You don't know who Naughty By Nature is?!"
"No."
"Where the hell were you during the 90s?"
Thinking to myself, maybe he just doesn't know their name. But I'm sure he'll know who they are when they play "Hip-Hop Hooray" and "O.P.P."
...He never heard of them. They didn't sound familiar to him at all. This is when I realize, after doing the statistics in my head (12 jumps a day, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year) that after some 21,000 sky dives over the last seven years, he must've hit his head a lot.
Or he's musically retarded.
He asked for my number at the end of the night, and I was tempted to give him the old "It's not you, well, who am I kidding, it is you." But instead I just gave him my number and said I would be by sometime soon to sky dive.
When I say soon... I mean when I get over the fear of shitting myself on the way down and get the balls to go down to the airport. That, or when Ben drags me there/tricks me into going. Whichever comes first.
****************************
Eddie hasn't called. Which is a good thing.
Though I am afraid. He mentioned being out and about in the city this weekend and was looking for a tour guide/companion to spend the weekend with.
Fingers crossed that he doesn't call.
This year, Long Island's Party 105 (otherwise known as Long Island's most annoying radio station playing nothing but "party hits") hosted Saturday's night's musical talents (or lack thereof is some cases) and called it MegaJam.
*******************************
A group of about 25 of us, all friends and family, occupied the beer tent for the entire duration of the festival on Saturday. [I'm not sure if this is a disgrace or an accomplishment.] We made friends with the skydivers teaching them what it means to NOT break the seal, watching videos of their jump earlier in the afternoon from Eddie's helmet cam, and "breaking it down" to some really bad local, no-name rappers.
My buddy Ben gangs up on me with Eddie (our new sky diver friend) and convinces me that I need to go sky diving. Ben has been before and has been dying to go back but can't find anyone to go with him.
"Come on, Dean! You have to come! You're the only broad crazy enough to do it."
"Fine." I've kind of always wanted to anyway, just been too afraid. Ben won't let me be afraid, so I guess now's a good a time as any.
Then. Here it comes. The highlight of my evening. When the radio personalities came on stage to announce the headliner for the weekend... NAUGHTY... BY... NATURE! I was pumped. How could I not be? Christ! I practically grew up on "Feel Me Flow" and "Ghetto Bastard". This is when I turn to Eddie (who had gorgeous blue eyes, shaggy blond hair and a boyish smile to die for) to see the look of excitement on his face.
Turns out Eddie grew up just a few blocks from my house, went to the neighboring school and is a few years older than me. So Naughty By Nature should be something exciting for him to see. Even if he didn't listen to them back in the day, it should take him back a bit, which can be a great thing.
"Who's this?" He asks.
"What? This is Naughty By Nature! You don't know who Naughty By Nature is?!"
"No."
"Where the hell were you during the 90s?"
Thinking to myself, maybe he just doesn't know their name. But I'm sure he'll know who they are when they play "Hip-Hop Hooray" and "O.P.P."
...He never heard of them. They didn't sound familiar to him at all. This is when I realize, after doing the statistics in my head (12 jumps a day, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year) that after some 21,000 sky dives over the last seven years, he must've hit his head a lot.
Or he's musically retarded.
He asked for my number at the end of the night, and I was tempted to give him the old "It's not you, well, who am I kidding, it is you." But instead I just gave him my number and said I would be by sometime soon to sky dive.
When I say soon... I mean when I get over the fear of shitting myself on the way down and get the balls to go down to the airport. That, or when Ben drags me there/tricks me into going. Whichever comes first.
****************************
Eddie hasn't called. Which is a good thing.
Though I am afraid. He mentioned being out and about in the city this weekend and was looking for a tour guide/companion to spend the weekend with.
Fingers crossed that he doesn't call.
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