By Big Grizz
I work Monday-Friday. I arrive at 7:30 AM, I leave at 5 PM. If I leave at 5:30 PM, that is a late night and a reason for me to drink several beers when I get home in an attempt to "take the edge off" after a long, terrible day at work. Thus any attempt at writing about my daily schedule of going to work, coming home, drinking 2 beers, and watching TV would cause me to not read my own blog.
I work Monday-Friday. I arrive at 7:30 AM, I leave at 5 PM. If I leave at 5:30 PM, that is a late night and a reason for me to drink several beers when I get home in an attempt to "take the edge off" after a long, terrible day at work. Thus any attempt at writing about my daily schedule of going to work, coming home, drinking 2 beers, and watching TV would cause me to not read my own blog.
However, in his eternal wisdom the good Lord created 5 PM on Fridays. It is at that point I take off my assistant's skirt and put on my party pants. This usually provides for infinitely more exciting material. Hopefully this will also cause me to use a little more common sense as I know have to ask myself the question, "Do you really want to blog about this?"
While I make this painful and slow transition to acting grown up from being in college, I feel myself going through an awkward period that can only be termed "Puberty II: A Young Man's Journey Towards Responsibility."
Prognosticators will often say that a sports team predicted to do well "looks good on paper", but time will only tell how successful they will ultimately be. This will be nothing like that. This sounds good in my head, but I'm fairly confident it will look awful on paper (if you happen to print it out and read it on the crapper). I've been meaning to keep a journal for awhile, but why write in a journal when you can write it for the whole world to see I always say.
So here it is:
All I really had planned this weekend was a Sunday trip to watch my alma mater engage in Dr. Naismith's beautiful game in which we deposit peaches into bushel baskets hung 10 feet above the ground. As irony would have it, our competition was Gerry McNamara's Orange of Syracuse.
Friday night.
I went to a fish fry. Fish fries are the single greatest thing about Lent. Hopefully the good Lord doesn't realize how little sacrifice it takes for me to go to a fish fry. That's all I'm really going to tell you about Friday.
Saturday
I woke up extremely early. I watched a tremendous amount of LOST. Saturday afternoon I went ice skating with some friends down at Millenium Park. It's a small, over-crowded rink but it seemed like the coolest thing ever. Funny, when I spent a good portion of my winters as a child skating on an empty pond with my family and friends. It's amazing how we long for what often turn out to be cheap substitutes for nostalgia. Either way, it was a great time.
Saturday night I had my buddy over to watch hockey and drink Labatt's. I challenge you to find two things that make more sense together except maybe hot dogs and baseball. We went out a bar with his co-workers and around 2 AM sat down for a nice meal at Taco Bell.
After that we parted ways, I started walking home. Well I run into an old friend from high school along with her three roommates. They convince me to drink more beers inside another bar...until it closed at 3 AM.
After leaving said bar and promising to reconnect with said friend (I believe that is standard protocol when seeing someone you haven't seen in awhile and probably won't make an effort to see again...but neither will she), I ran into yet another friend who happened to be visiting Chicago from college. I think the moral of this story is that I have a lot of friends I'm not particularly close with.
Here's where it gets good. I'm walking home at 3+ AM right through the gayest part of town. As I stand at a crosswalk the young female standing next to me looks at me and asks, "Are you gay?" I said no... as many of you might expect but a few of you might be surprised by. We walk across the street and find ourselves conversing in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. What she said next kind of caught me by surprise.
"Hey, I think you're cute, can I give you my phone number and let's get coffee sometime? I can do that, right?"
"Yes."
So now I have a girl's phone number in my phone that was retrieved in the gayest part of town. Apparently I've been hanging out in the wrong areas the past 8 months. My guess is there will probably be a follow up, epicly awkward column detailing the first date.
For those keeping score at home:
Big Grizz in Gaytown - 1
Friends in Straightsville - 0
So there ya go. If you were unfortunate enough to use this as bathroom reading material, do me a favor and either use it to wipe or recycle it.
8 comments:
Funny thing is Grizz, I've used the whole denying being gay method to hook up with a girl, too. It works like a charm.
A few comments about this post:
1- This is by far my favorite post yet.
2- I sent this over to my girl and gay coworkers (children's publishing should explain that) and there was 1 overwhelming question that surfaced- "Was this girl really a boy?"
3- You must continue this weekend update on a weekly basis for all of our amusements
4- Call the girl.
Garrett,
When Big Grizz was denying his gay-ity he was merely walking down the street in a neighborhood renowned for its gay-ness.
What were you doing when you were forced to deny your gay-ness?
I bet you are really looking forward to your trip to LA.
First stop West Hollywood.
(actually it will be second after a quad stack at in-n-out)
Chris,
Big Grizz chose to live in that same gay part of town. He wasn't merely walking down the street. He was walking further into said "zone" to his "lair".
I was forced to deny my gayness to a female because she couldn't believe that I wasn't ravaging her. So she insisted that in order prove that I was not gay I would have to make out with her.
A great moment in my life that happened at the Grotto.
Grizz, as long as no one has accused you of tapping your foot or rubbing your hand under the wall between two stalls, you are doing just fine.
Grizz,
I know it was you that put on that Bojangles display in O'Hare two weeks ago. Even though your picture isn't anywhere on here, who else could it have been? That scraggly beard? The hairy arms? Those huge, pawlike hands? If anyone deserved the nickname Grizzly, it was that guy.
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