My Debacles

The Book

2011-06-16T22:07:00.003-05:00

Obsessed with finding his future wife in seventh grade, our hero unwittingly sets himself on a collision course with dating disasters, vengeful exes and countless other relationship follies in this humorous, autobiographical tale about Debacle’s quest for the girl of his dreams. A Million Little Debacles takes us on a journey through the turbulent dating history of a thoughtful, well-intentioned, charming, yet naive narrator, Debacle, from the time he discovers girls up until his mid-twenties when he “finally” finds his wife.

As I was recounting my debacles on the blog, about three and a half years ago I realized that I had enough material for a book. Now I have a manuscript and I've just started the rejection.... errrr.... (hopefully the eventual) publication process.

Below, I've pasted links from numerous posts containing excerpts from the book.

Hope you enjoy my debacles! :)

How the Book got Started
Here's Looking at you Kiddo
My Life in Front of a Firing Squad
Mom Jokes
Catwoman
Torturous Bounces
Kosher Pizza
Physics Exam
Buttercup to Bubbles in one Date
Bubbles Lasts Only one Round
Speed Dating Five Minutes can be an Eternity
Shadowcat was a Trained Dancer
Shadowcat no More
Job Interviews
Could This ever Work Out
Bad Dates and Insomnia Too
Water Leak
Debacle does 'Yoga'
Scheduling Heartbreak
Food Poisoning
Death Star Returns
Split Pants

Food poisoning

2011-06-09T15:16:00.008-05:00

Water.

In the past few hours, I'd lost a lot of fluids. My throat ached like it was cracking along a fault line and my tongue resembled a worm drying out in the sun. I should've known better than to grab the vegetarian special from Copernicus' Bagels when the sign said they were going out of business in a week.

Water.

Unfortunately, getting water involved getting up. The 10 feet from the couch to the kitchenette sink might as well have spanned the Sahara Desert. It felt as though someone had wrapped a fifty-pound weight around my forehead and stuck a blender in my stomach. At least I wasn't whimpering from the nausea anymore. Hopefully that meant I was done praying to the porcelain god.

Water.

Food poisoning is exhausting. As much as I needed a nap, falling asleep without replenishing my fluids would put me at risk for severe dehydration. If I became seriously ill, it could be days before someone thought to stop by my one bedroom apartment and check on me. Maybe I was exaggerating the danger (especially since my cell phone was in my pocket), but I tried to avoid taking chances with my existence whenever possible.

"Ooh!"

Mazel leapt onto my stomach and I writhed in agony. My stupid cat gracefully bounded onto the floor and then mewed at me for attention. As soon as he sensed my displeasure, he rolled onto his back and stretched out his front paws. It was his way of saying, whatever I did, I'm too damn cute for you to stay mad at me, right?

Well, at least Mazel had gotten my blood flowing. I sat up and the world swam around me. As soon as the room stopped spinning, I braced myself against the armrest and rolled off the couch. Hunching over like a Neanderthal, I staggered into the kitchenette.

After filling up a red plastic Solo cup to the brim, I made my way back to the couch, not caring that small drops of water were trickling out of the cup with each step. Placing the cup on the shallow carpet next to the sofa, I lay back down. Mission accomplished!

Strider crawled over. He had a bizarre obsession with water that wasn't in his food bowl. If left to his own devices, he'd lap up a couple drops, lean in closer and spill the rest.

"Go away," I said, flicking my hand at Strider like he was a pesky bee. He paused, looked at me and took another step towards the water.

I produced a deep rumbling growl.

Strider whirled around, knocked the cup over with his tail and dashed into the bedroom.

"No!"

My salvation was a puddle on the carpet floor.

I forced myself off the couch again and repeated my trek with the Solo cup.

This time, I carried the water with me onto the couch. I wished I had a straw so I didn't have to lift my head up to drink. Propping up my neck up with a pillow, I brought the cup to my lips. I must've tilted the back up a little too high, because water shot into my nostrils.

I sneezed, released the cup and soaked my undershirt.

Ugh. This was a wonderful way to spend the second day of 2006. If I was going to get this sick, why couldn't it at least be on a workday? Food poisoning wasn't what I'd had in mind for the bonus Monday of the holiday weekend.

Take three. I made a side trip to the bedroom and put on a fresh University of Great Lakes t-shirt. This time, I braced myself on the kitchen counter and guzzled down a cup of water. Our refreshed hero stumbled back to the couch, finally ready for that nap.

It was a little cold, but I wasn't up for another expedition to the bedroom in search of a blanket. Too bad cats can't fetch blankets, procure straws, or rent DVDs. A back rub and comforting kiss on the forehead would've been nice too.

A couple hours later, I woke up with my arms wrapped tightly around a sofa cushion.

The trek to the kitchen no longer felt like a crawl across a massive desert, but I was still a little too dizzy to stand comfortably. After throwing back some more water, I made my way back to the couch, grabbed my laptop and checked out profiles on Tribe Date.

Successfully Scammed the Scammer

2010-10-06T19:18:00.011-05:00

I nearly got scammed trying to get tickets to the Michigan/Michigan State game off Craigslist earlier this week.

Someone was offering $600 for four tickets on the 50 yard line. When I inquired about the tickets, the scammer, using the fake name Dan Brenner, told me he could set up a transaction through ebay using Western Union - where the funds would only be released to him once I received the tickets. He sent a real looking ebay transaction with my user name/address and his user name and address in the UK. He wanted me to send the transaction number (MTCN) and a photocopy of the receipt.

I stopped at a currency exchange and after asking some questions discovered that Western Union functions like a Swiss Bank account in that all you need is a MTCN number to get your cash and there's no way to hold a payment until a transaction is verified. It's a very popular internet scam apparently.

I did some research and found that the London address that this scammer sent me (I felt like a moron trying to buy football tickets from someone in the UK) was an international call center and I found evidence of him using the same address to prey on an LSU fan.

After doing a little more research, I found out that he wanted me to send a copy of the receipt because people often send scammers fake MTCN numbers to mess with them. Thankfully, I found this gem, which provided the template for a fake Western Union receipt.

My friends, it was on! I created a fake email address for Angelina Graziano and responded to the ad:

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 1:18 PM
To: sale-bgkzy-1988585127@craigslist.org
Subject: Michigan/MSU football tickets!
hey there! hope im not too late. r u still selling the tix??? i would totally like to buy them.

thx!
Angie

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 1:19 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
The tickets are still available.If you are interested to buy them reply me with your full name, address and your eBay id so we can start the transaction.

Thanks

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 2:46 PM
To: dan Brenner
OMG! so excited!

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 2:51 PM
To: dan Brenner
sorry 4got to add my info!

Angela Graziano
ebayid: Angelove89

10382 Line Dr,
Sterling Heights, MI 48310

Thx!!!!!!!!! XOXO =)!!!

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 2:56 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
Did you received the invoice from eBay how to purchase the tickets from me?

Please read the invoice. You will send the money to an eBay agent. Not to me. eBay will send the funds to me ONLY AFTER you will send them the confirmation that you have the tickets in hand and they are real.

I will wait your reply

Thank You

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 3:12 PM
To: dan Brenner
i didnt know u were in london! Bonjour!!! lol! i was there last summer and saw pierce brozlin (sp?) on the london eye and got so excited i left ipod on the ride. one of your policemen with the funny hats had to help me find it!!!

im on my way to western union now! Thx!!!

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 3:15 PM
To: dan Brenner
OMG! my roomate says that bonjour is 4 france. you must think im so dumb. sorry...

off to eastern union!!!

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 3:28 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
Angelina,
Did you sent the payment?

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:31 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
still there?

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:33 PM
To: dan Brenner
hey u! i sent the payment!
sorry my scanner is so bad.

the number is: 3804117256

thank u so much! my ex-boyfriend will be so surprized!!!!

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:34 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
Did you sent the payment for next day or money in minutes?

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:42 PM
To: dan Brenner
money in minutes. why, is everything okay? my ex-boyfriend is so excited!!!!

XOXO. thank u!!!

ps do u have a picture of the tickets? lol. just cant wait to see them!

dan Brenner Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:45 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
Tomorrow morning i will email you the scanned paper from UPS...Please email me once you will receive them.ok?
I am at work right now

Angelina Graziano Tue, Oct 5, 2010 at 4:47 PM
To: dan Brenner
k, enjoy the rest of ur day. u made mine!!!!

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 9:41 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
Please call at western union and see what is the problem. the eBay agent can't pick up the money..i don't know why

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:26 AM
To: dan Brenner
OMG! please don't send the tix to someone else. i sent you the wrong number. so sorry! you must think im so dumb. :( a wrote a 1 instead of a 4! so sorry!!! :(

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:27 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
no problem Angelina..The tickets will arrive tomorrow.
It's ok?

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:29 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
what is the correct mtcn?

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:44 AM
To: dan Brenner
what's an mtcn? is that my sociatal security number?

thx!!!!

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:47 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
Angelina...the mtcn from western union

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:54 AM
To: dan Brenner
im confused. my roomate has a better scanner - should i send you a better copy of the recept?

thank u for being so patent with me. sorry i am so dumb.

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:57 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
Yes...send me a better copy

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 10:59 AM
To: dan Brenner

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 11:08 AM
To: Angelina Graziano
:)))) nice..i like monkeys:)))

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 11:36 AM
To: dan Brenner
i figured he could keep u company while i scan the recept. lol

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 12:28 PM
To: dan Brenner
sorry it took so long - i have the scan you ready or should i send you another monkey pic. lol!!!!

dan Brenner Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 12:28 PM
To: Angelina Graziano
send the scanned paper

Angelina Graziano Wed, Oct 6, 2010 at 12:40 PM
To: dan Brenner
Dan,

While I suspect you will continue to troll the internet, taking money from innocent people with this tired Western Union scam - I hope that posting this conversation to every internet forum I can get a hold of will not only alert people to your crap, but encourage them to mess with you and waste your time in new and creative ways.

Broken shoelace, split pants, nothing ever changes for Debacle

2010-02-05T22:34:00.003-06:00

As I made my way to services, the heel of one of my shoes kept slipping
off. Moving to the edge of the sidewalk, I started kneeling down to
retie it.

I froze in place as soon as I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric
tearing.

A woman walking in my direction snorted and covered her mouth. There was
a young couple behind her pushing a toddler in a stroller. The horrified
mother quickened her pace and veered her child as far away from me as
possible.

This was not just a rip. Rips don't cause women to rush their children
to safety. My pants looked like tectonic plates that had last fit
together millions of years ago. There was a massive fissure just below
the fly that ran the length of the crotch. The world no longer had to
speculate -- as anyone in the vicinity could tell you -- our hero wore
briefs.

I had to get home! But how? I couldn't casually walk down the street
with the front of my tightie-whities exposed to the world -- that was
borderline indecent exposure!

People kept snickering to themselves as they walked by and I made it
worse by standing there in a frozen half squat.

After using my healthy wrist to fold the exposed area shut, I stood up.
Of course, holding a hand over the crotch of my pants drew more
attention to my predicament, but at least my undies were no longer visible.

A guy with short greased up hair, giant grey sunglasses and orange
tanning-salon-skin took one look at me and shouted, "Look at his pants!"

My whole side of the street broke into hysterics. The commotion was so
loud that a small group gathered across the road. Thankfully, their view
was screened by the cars parked along the street.

Too bad I didn't have a plastic cup. Then I could pretend I was a street
performer and not some idiot who didn't recognize that his pants were in
danger of splitting when he put them on. At least this hadn't happened
in the synagogue...

As I held what was left of my khakis together and headed back towards
home, I no longer had enough fabric to work with in order to take a full
stride. Leaning side to side, I had to prolong my public humiliation
with agonizingly tiny steps. I have no doubt that Kiddo-style hickeys
were out in force. After all this time, why hadn't I learned how to
recognize when my pants were too tight!?!

I took a deep breath.

What was I so upset about? I knew better than to take myself too
seriously. Still, why was it that these sorts of incidents only seemed
to happen to me?

Regardless, retelling this incident to Jen was guaranteed to make her
forget how weary she was from her miserable ride home. Let's face it,
there were few funnier, harmless calamities than someone with split
pants. Still, good thing she was generally tolerant of this sort of
thing.

The Death Star Strikes Back

2010-01-03T21:23:00.001-06:00

On Friday, I left the office a little early in order to get a run in. A
quick three-miler was a guaranteed cure for my anxiety about services.
As a bonus, I hit the blissful Zen-like state of a runner's high just
before I got home. That'd probably be all I'd need to get me through the
night.

Optimus called me at the last minute. He was stuck at work and couldn't
make it. Despite my Zen-like state, I considered bailing. It wasn't like
I had any other good friends who would be in attendance. If The Death
Star pulled---

Our hero was being paranoid.

Arriving at services a little late, I took a seat by myself towards the
back. At six foot tall, with super long hair held back in a ponytail,
Aldy2323 was hard to miss.

I needed to stop identifying Aldy2323 by her Tribe Date username. How
embarrassing would it be if I went up to her and said, How do you do,
Aldy2323?

Alderaan. Her name was Alderaan.

My intuition had been spot on -- The Death Star had a boy with her. I
didn't recognize him, but the name Grand Moff Tarken seemed
appropriate. As soon as I saw them, I kicked off a rousing mental
rendition of the final movement of Mr. Beethoven's ninth symphony and
relaxed into the service.

After services as everyone exited the sanctuary, I walked past Alderaan
and said, "Hello."

She nodded and her cheeks flushed. "Hi."

Excellent, that was all I was looking for.

As I milled around, chatting with some of the other regulars, The Death
Star greeted me with a warm smile. Why had I been so paranoid? We were
adults going about our business on the most peaceful night of the week.

The synagogue was hosting a free dinner with a speaker. I took my time
kibitzing and was one of the last people to get into the food line. By
the time I got my plate together, almost all of the tables were full. My
one-time ping-pong nemesis, Harry Osborne, was sitting next to three
vacant seats. It wasn't until I put my coat over the chair next to him
that I realized that I was directly across from Alderaan. **

"Hey, Debacle. Any idea what's in the rolls?" asked Harry as I sat down.

I took a bite. "Pork rinds topped with shrimp and... hmm... Munster cheese."

Alderaan chuckled. She smiled at me and looked like she was about to say
something.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up.

"Would you be comfortable if I sat next to you?" asked The Death Star,
loud enough for everyone to hear.

All conversation at our table ceased.

What the hell was she doing? So much for the extra endorphins from that
runner's high.

If I kept my cool, I could probably avoid making a scene. Laughing, I
said, "Sure, go for it."

"You're sure you're comfortable with this?" asked The Death Star.

Harry raised an eyebrow at me. I didn't acknowledge him.

Was The Death Star trying to embarrass me out of the synagogue?

"You're golden," I said.

After her bizarre line of questioning about my comfort level, it had to
be obvious to everyone at our table that we used to go out. If I failed
to get this situation under control in a hurry, there was no way I'd
ever get to take Alderaan out on the town.

The Death Star waved her boy over and then whispered in my ear, "You're
sure you're okay with this?" While it was nice that she hadn't asked
loud enough for everyone to hear, by appearing to tell me a secret,
she'd made this situation even weirder.

I gave her a thumbs up. What else could I do? It's not like I could
respond, Not anymore! Go sit somewhere else. This is a Death Star free
zone!

I braved a look over at Alderaan. She was staring at me, mouth wide open.

Tarken took the final seat.

It was possible that I could still salvage the night by injecting normal
conversation into the table. Turning towards Harry, I desperately tried
to think of something to say. Before I could get a word in, The Death
Star asked, "So how are your cats?"

The Death Star is clear to fire. The Death Star is clear to fire.

"You have cats?" asked Harry.**

People were always taken aback when they found out that I owned cats. It
was probably because the only persona weirder than the crazy cat lady is
the crazy cat dude. As a result, it wasn't something that I
broadcasted. The Death Star knew this. She was out for blood tonight --
in a synagogue, no less.

I gave my usual song and dance about how I grew up with cats, but I
liked dogs too. Given I lived alone, worked full time and occasionally
went away on weekends, cats were ideal pets because they could fend for
themselves. All the while, I was too nervous to brave a look over to the
28-year-old Alderaan to see how she was holding up.

The Zen-state was long gone, but I was still maintaining my poise. At
least I thought I was. For all I knew, my neck had broken out into the
splotches that'd earned me the nickname, Hickey Boy.

"So, how do you two know each other?" asked Tarken.

A small sigh escaped before I could regain my composure. This was
Michael Scott from The Office awkward.

The Death Star looked over at me like she expected me to answer. Why had
she brought her new boy over here without explaining that I was her
ex-boyfriend? I met her gaze and waited...

Kapow Kapow pow pow pow

2009-12-30T12:28:00.002-06:00

We are corrupting the neighbor's kids with our Wii.

Between Wii boxing matches, they would both request water and then go at it again. It made me feel like their trainer.

Scheduling heartbreak

2009-12-20T15:11:00.002-06:00

Looking at a calendar, I decided to break up with The Death Star after
work on Friday, November 4th . It was a bit further off than I would've
liked, but it was the first date that worked. I wanted to avoid ending
it on a weeknight because we'd both be far too physically and
emotionally drained for work the next day. A Friday night was ideal
because it gave The Death Star a full weekend to recover. I would've
selected the weekend of October 23rd , but I'd made plans that weekend
to travel to a Great Lakes game against the Corn Hawks with my old
friend Baloo. The weekend of the 30th was out because I'd acquired
tickets a while ago to see Star's favorite singer, Bernadette Peters, on
Tuesday, November 1st . That concert was as important to her as a Great
Lakes/Mordor State game. I'd feel awful devastating her a couple days
before it.

On our way to the Bernadette Peters concert, The Death Star mentioned
that I'd been distant lately. I told her that we'd talk about it later.
She tried to bring it up when we got back to her place afterwards, but I
knew that if we got into it, we'd break up that night. Not only was it a
weekday night, but dumping her after the concert might cause her to
associate Bernadette Peters with heartbreak. I pretended to be overtired
and suggested we go to bed and get into it another time.

The next day, I called The Death Star and asked if we could "talk" on
Friday. While the can we talk bit was necessary to avoid pulling an
Axis of Evil and catching her completely off-guard, the
pre-breakup-breakup was not a great alternative because she'd end up
worrying herself sick over the next couple days. Unfortunately, there
was no good way to ask, "Hey, can we schedule some time for me to
devastate you on Friday?" As expected, The Death Star broke down from
the very suggestion, begging me to at least sign up for relationship
counseling. I lied, claiming that I'd think it over.

On the day before the breakup, Xena called me shortly after I got home
from work. Apparently, The Death Star had been repeatedly calling her
cell, hoping that Xena could provide the necessary magic formula to
avoid losing me. Behind the scenes, Xena supported my decision, knowing
how bothersome I found The Death Star's anti-social grumbling. After
Xena relayed The Death Star's desperate messages about how much she
loved me and wanted to be with me, I encouraged Xena to remain friends
with The Death Star. She had a way of bringing out Star's old charm.

Debacle Does Yoga

2009-12-02T00:36:00.002-06:00

Hoping that a balanced chi would not only extinguish the pain and
anxiety, but allow me to get a good night's sleep, I gave Yoga a shot.

Even though I was the only person who consistently lost his balance
attempting basic poses (especially when they involved standing on one
leg), after each class I felt as though there was an invisible cloak
wrapped around me, minimizing all my anxieties. However, by the time I
went to bed, my chi became destabilized and it was a tossup whether or
not I got a good night's sleep. When I told the instructor that I wasn't
getting better, having only managed a couple hours the night before, she
offered to give me a free private session after class.

Unlike the quacks I'd wasted my time on, these yoga people really wanted
me to get better!

Once everyone finished the end of class ritual -- drinking tea and
briefly discussing what was on our minds -- the instructor led me to a
tiny room with old wooden floors and an overpowering smell of incense.
She mentioned something about being a healer and had me lie down on a
mat in the center of the room. After telling me to close my eyes and
relax, she began twisting me about, shaking my limbs and torso. It
seemed bizarre at first, but before long a powerful vibration rippled
from the center of my chest through my outstretched fingers, drowning
out the anxiety and muscle pain.

I hadn't felt this good in months!

Following the massage, the instructor had me remain on the mat and she
gave me this Korean electronic device that was supposed to encourage my
brain to produce the wavelengths of a natural sleep cycle. I put on the
headphones and these grey plastic glasses that looked like a knockoff of
Cyclops' X-men costume. Once the instructor turned it on, red lights
flashed out of the corners of my eyes and there were these repetitive
buzzing sounds as though a whole beehive was drumming in unison.
Whatever that crazy device was doing, it must've worked, because I fell
asleep shortly after turning it on. Four hundred dollars later, I came
home with my very own Korean brain wave thingy. My insomnia troubles
were over!

A week later, the Korean sensory device was buried in my nightstand
drawer for good. There's no way that piece of junk actually helped. If
anything, the annoying flashing and buzzing noises kept me up longer.
I'd probably conked out during my appointment from a combination of
sleep debt and the relaxing massage. Unless the instructor was willing
to offer those massages regularly, I was done. When I told the
instructor I was dropping out, she said, "Before taking yoga, I had
similar problems to you. It's up to you if you want to get better. At
least consider a weekend seminar."

After researching the yoga studio, I found out that centers all over the
country had been accused of encouraging members to take out loans to pay
for expensive seminars and worthless brain wave devices. In fact, the
studio only added yoga to its name in the past few years to take
advantage of the national yoga craze.

You know you want to read more.... but wait until Debacle memoir is
published ... (soon?)

The Water Leak

2009-11-29T21:19:00.008-06:00

Apart from Xena and Star, who had become really good friends themselves,
I didn't surround myself with anyone else. How could I make new friends
when I spent my days fearing that I wouldn't be able to sleep? Sure, the
person who woke up everyday and went to work had my history, my face, my
friends and my background. However, the real me joked around and had a
laid-back disposition. I didn't want people to know me as a shell of my
former self.

The only significant additions to my life were the two kittens I'd
adopted. They were brothers with medium length black hair. I named one
Mazel -- Yiddish for luck. I'd need plenty of it. The other I named
Strider, because looking at his thick pitch dark fur reminded me of
Strider from The Lord of the Rings silently sitting in the shadows at
The Prancing Pony. I knew that dudes with cats had a negative cultural
stereotype and that naming a cat after a king from a fantasy series was
super dorky. However, I had companionship. In the loneliest hours of the
night, Mazel was always up for being scratched behind the ears and
Strider could be counted on to flop onto his back and request a belly rub.

Friday October 22nd started off as one of the most promising days in a
while. I only took half a sleeping pill, but I still managed to get a
long, sound night of sleep. One of Star's friends was throwing a party
that night and I told Star that I didn't care how late we stayed. In my
former life, I'd been out late plenty of times and I'd be damned if any
of this sleep stuff was going to hold me back. It was the first time I
felt empowered in a long time.

On the way home from work, I relaxed into the back of my plastic bus
seat and took in the start of the weekend. As always, my body ached, but
I was determined not to let that dampen my enjoyment.

My cell phone rang. It was Xena. She probably wanted to know what Star
and I were up to. "Hey, what's up?" I said.

"Heyyyy," she said. "I don't want to alarm you, ummm... but there's
water leaking out of your room."

"What!?!" The woman next to me shot me a look and got up and moved to a
different seat. Ugh! I'd become that guy who shouted into his phone...

"The carpet's wet in the hallway outside your door."

"Is it leaking into your room?" I asked as my heart thumped away.

When I lived with Clark Kent, our room had flooded. On a winter morning,
the next-door neighbors' window had blown open. The sprinkler pipes had
frozen, causing water to explode out of the damaged ducts. We got off
easy, as only our carpets were soaked, but none of our belongings had
been ruined. However, a waterfall soaked our downstairs neighbors in
their beds, destroying many of their possessions in the process. The
crooked management company had claimed that the windows couldn't have
opened on their own (even though they did all the time) and they'd tried
to get anyone whose property had been damaged to sue my neighbor.

How could I have been so stupid? I didn't have renter's insurance to
protect me from a lawsuit. If I'd flooded other apartments, I could be
out tens of thousands of dollars that I didn't have! Still, it was
relatively warm out. The pipes couldn't have frozen. In fact, the only
time I could remember turning on the water that morning was when I took
a shower. Whatever was going on, this couldn't have been my doing.

"No, it isn't leaking into my room," said Xena. "Do you want me to open
your door?"

"Yes, please do." I'd given her a spare set of keys to feed the cats
when I went home over Labor Day weekend.

"Okay, I'm going in," said Xena. I could hear the door creak open, and I
was pretty sure that Xena gasped. "Debacle, don't panic."

"What?" I asked, shifting in my seat.

"The bathroom sink was on," she said. "I just shut it off."

Oh shit! That sink didn't drain well. I'd been meaning to mention that
to maintenance for a few weeks. Why was it on? I must've forgotten to
shut the water off after I'd brushed my teeth. "How bad is it?"

"Well..." Xena hesitated. "Don't panic."

"How much water's in the room?"

"It's about an inch deep."

An inch!?! If an inch was standing in my room, my downstairs neighbor
must've been experiencing a torrential downpour!

"How are the cats?" I asked.

"They're on the desk. They look upset, but I think they're okay."

"Oh my god!"

"It'll be okay. I'm going to go get someone. I'll see you soon. Don't
worry, it'll be okay."

Pain exploded across my neck, chest, jaw and upper back with a
vengeance. So much for feeling empowered. It wasn't until just before I
got off at my stop that I realized I'd been rocking in place. No wonder
there were so many people on the other side of the bus.

I raced home and found Xena standing outside my open door with a
maintenance man. Beside him was an industrial sized water suction device
that resembled R2-D2.

Xena gave me a hug. "It'll be okay," she said.

"This room yours?" asked the maintenance man with a thick Eastern
European accent.

"Yeah," I mumbled. I poked my head in the open doorway and was assaulted
with heat. My apartment must've been 100 degrees! A light mist rained
down from the ceiling into the inch-high pool below. My pile of dirty
clothes in the middle of the floor was drenched.

The kittens sat wide-eyed at the high ground on top of my desk, their
hair sticking straight up and their tails wagging furiously. Strider
made eye contact with me and let out a soft, pathetic, mew.

Water sloshed against the maintenance man's feet as he wheeled the
suction device into my room. As soon as he turned it on, the grinding of
the motor caused both cats to curl back and lower their heads onto the
wood as if to say, Haven't we been through enough already?

A drop of water drizzled onto my head. Looking up at the wet ceiling, I
said to Xena, "The water must've come from upstairs."

"It was your bathroom sink."

"That's not possible! The ceiling can't get wet from the bathroom
sink!!!" No matter how upset I was, it wasn't right to take it out on
Xena. I couldn't imagine how I would have reacted if I'd opened the door
to my place without her warning. I sighed. "Sorry, I..."

TO READ MORE, HELP DEBACLE FIND AN AGENT AND PUBLISHER FOR THE BOOK....
CLICK ON HIS FACEBOOK PAGE.

Bad Dates and Insomnia Too

2009-11-21T19:11:00.001-06:00

I debated taking a sick day, but who knew when I'd start sleeping well
again. Perhaps I'd have to learn how to fight through the workday
without sleep. While no one seemed to notice that I was a little off, I
got little accomplished that day -- spending the majority of my time
obsessing about my inability to sleep.

While I wasn't feeling well during my date with Star, I blocked out my
issues well enough to go out for dinner, rent a movie and end the night
with a series of passionate kisses. Still, the experience was hollow.
Instead of becoming absorbed in the excitement of the moment, I was
merely going through the motions required to secure a wonderful
girlfriend. As soon as Star left, the anxiety returned and I knew I was
in for another rough night.

For the next month, I began living a dual life. At times I thought about
how lucky I was to be with Star. We were falling in love and even
beginning to openly wonder if we had a future together. At others, I was
overwhelmed with anxiety, fearing that I'd fall asleep at my desk one
day and find myself in an unemployment line. As the physical pain
worsened, spreading across my jaw, temples and upper back and sometimes
even muffling my hearing in one ear, I wondered how much my body could
take before it fell apart. Would the resulting anxiety not only rob me
of joy, but also shorten my life?

The worst part of my insomnia was that I couldn't take a break from it.
No matter where I went or what I did (shy of poisoning myself with
methamphetamines), I couldn't take time off from my circadian rhythm and
come back to it a week or two later. My days were haunted by fears of a
rough night.

Even though I can't imagine where I'd be without Star, I hated bringing
all this sleep and anxiety baggage into our relationship so early on.
What could I do? I couldn't pretend I wasn't going through a difficult
time. Apart from Xena, I had no one else in the city.

Star responded like a champion. When she wasn't spending the night, she
made a point of calling to talk for a half hour before I went to bed.
Once I shook this insomnia, pain and anxiety, I knew I'd be the kind of
boyfriend she deserved. The kind of boyfriend I would've been at any
other time in my life.

When Star asked about my past relationships, I told her all about The
Axis of Evil and The Gozerian. She thought the stories were funny, but
insisted upon hearing good things about my exes. I told her all about
the "endless" email I would trade back and forth with Goz and how Eve
and I spent long summer days in the Arboretum. Star seemed relieved that
I could humanize my exes. I appreciated that Star wouldn't let me get
away with just telling stories that painted them as one-dimensional
psychos.

As Star asked more questions about my prior relationships, I explained
that the biggest problem with both exes was their inability to deal with
stress. When adversity made them moderately uncomfortable, they became
emotionally incapable of handling themselves. "You're not like that,
right?" I asked.

Could This Ever Work Out?

2009-11-10T20:04:00.002-06:00

I considered writing a book during my sabbatical from dating about a love triangle between two male friends (one of them strikingly similar to our hero and the other a composite of Marty and Indiana Jones) and a girl they grew up with. Through a series of dramatic situations that would hopefully be amusing – “Marty Indiana Jones” would get the girl. “Debacle” would be able to get over his jealousy and remain friends with both of them. The book would close with the three of them walking off into the sunset together, “Debacle” feeling fulfilled because he’s lucky enough to have such good friends.

When I sat down to get started on it, I realized that I had accidentally plagiarized the love triangle from Keeping the Faith. Romantic comedies were my least favorite genre because they usually had unrealistic story lines and predictable characters. Why would I waste my time writing one?

I kicked-off my post-sabbatical search for potential ladies in The City of Wind by attending events in the Tribal community. At these functions, I began the painstaking process of meeting new people. While it’s exciting to be in a room full of unfamiliar friendly faces, making conversation is brutal. Everyone asks the same boring questions. Where are you from? What brought you to The City of Wind? Where do you live? I can’t blame them. What else is the new guy going to talk about?

At one such Friday night dinner, I met a girl named Gozer. With a skinny face, dark hair and sharp green eyes, this girl had little in common with the original Gozerian, except her first name.

I sat next to Gozer at dinner and she cracked me up, telling me about the time she’d locked herself out of her apartment. Unable to get in touch with her roommate, Gozer was somehow able to Spiderman her way up the side of the building. From her balcony, she entered her apartment by moving the air conditioner. The girls in her living room greeted her with a series of screams. That’s when Gozer figured out that she had accidently broken into her downstairs neighbors’ place.

Given how much we talked that night, I was concerned that Gozer was looking for more than just friendship. Even though I enjoyed her company, dating a Gozerian again would be a little weird. Besides, I got a bitter vibe from her. It could’ve been that I was reading too much into her casual cursing, but she was as crass as a middle school boy during a game of touch football. Needless to say, she didn’t seem like the sort of girl I’d want to bring home to show my parents.

Job Interviews

2009-11-06T23:54:00.006-06:00

Just another of the million little debacles I faced.... this one on the way to a job interview, with a broken shoelace...

I stopped in the engineering library, hoping that maybe the information desk had some glue. On the way, I happened upon an open utility closet. While I searched for some form of adhesive, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those times where I was probably going to make a bad situation worse. There was an old white tube with the label worn off lying on a shelf. Even though it had a pungent odor, I was about to give it a shot when I stumbled across some electrical tape. Perfect! It blended right into the lace.

The shoe held during the interview. I had successfully pulled off a MacGyver (even though getting out of a jam by fixing a shoelace with electrical tape would’ve made for a super lame episode)! After flying me out to The City of Wind for another round, the trading firm offered me a job! Our relieved hero accepted.

On July 12^th, 2004 I left The Ace Deuce to start work in The City of Wind.

My only friend in my new locale was Xena Warrior Princess. She still lived in the same apartment that She-ra, Iron Man and I had crashed in a few years ago. Not only was the rent reasonable, she had a view of the lake. It was an older apartment building, constructed back in the 1920s. As far as I could tell, it was well maintained. Once Xena assured me that she’d never heard of another car going up in flames in her neighborhood, I rented the studio apartment next door. Being good friends with my neighbor made me feel like I was back in the dorms!

Work itself wasn’t a difficult transition. I’d gotten used to sitting in a cubicle during my internship last summer. The strangest part of cubicle life is that you overhear conversations between co-workers as if you’re right next to them, but they have no idea who’s listening. You pick up some odd tidbits from time to time. At my internship I’d heard someone say, “Wireless internet is great. After the wife and kids go to bed, I can break out the KY and jerk off in the family room.”

Writing software is equivalent to solving a series of logic problems. I dislike spending nine hours a day in a sterile office, but (apart from being a professional athlete), earning a living tackling logic problems is about as good as it gets. As long as I had enough to do, the day flew by. However, if I ran out of tasks, I was expected to sit at my desk and surf the internet until closing time. Apparently this was standard business practice.

Not long after I started, my manager complimented me on my ability to get work done on time. The next day, he suggested I work longer hours. As opposed to heading out at 5PM, I’d look at Great Lakes football message boards for a half hour and go home at 5:30. He seemed satisfied.

While I got along with everyone in the office, there was one high-strung socially oblivious guy who tested my sanity. If I wasn’t careful, he’d draw me into meaningless conversations for hours at a time where he’d enumerate various apocalyptic scenarios in which some new project could bring down the firm. Once I started taking alternate routes to the bathroom, I was able to avoid him.

The only difficult adjustment I had to make to life in the big city was to the crowded rush hour bus rides to and from the office. When I got a seat, I happily passed the time reading a novel. However, when I was squished up against the other standing sardines, I became much more aware of people’s B.O. I would’ve expected people who work in office buildings to have better hygiene.

The worst rides were the ones where someone was screaming into their cell phone. When the din of a conversation made it impossible to concentrate on my book, I’d make eye contact with all the other annoyed passengers, silently sharing their agony.

The most exciting part of moving to The City of Wind was that it was Summer in the City – as The Lovin’ Spoonful song suggested, it was time to go out and find a girl.

During my last year of school, I’d taken a sabbatical from dating. Since seventh grade, I’d felt that I needed a girlfriend. That mentality had been a perpetual source of bad judgment. In order to be a better boyfriend down the road, I felt like I needed to take time off to become more comfortable with myself. Of course my sabbatical had an Awesome Girl Exit Clause – which I considered a few times, but never exercised.

Shadowcat no more

2009-09-14T21:45:00.006-05:00

A couple days later, I wrote Shadowcat an email inviting her out to dinner on Saturday night.  She replied with:

Hey Debacle,

Things are just crazy busy for the rest of the semester, so I won’t have time to go out.

Crazy busy for the rest of the semester was a rejection.  Even if Shadowcat really was swamped, she could’ve found a way to make time.  What had happened?

Sighing, I closed my laptop and lay down on my bed.  Could it have been my poor excuse for a pasta dinner?  Each of the last two times I’d cooked dinner for a girl, I’d never gone out with the girl again.  It was time to cut my losses and retire from the kitchen.

Perhaps it’d had nothing to do with my cooking.  Had I been too cautious physically? The dinner and salsa date was the third time we’d been out and I hadn’t even gone in for a hug yet, let alone thrown an arm around her.

Still, it’d seemed like we were so good together.

Had I been oblivious to the signs that Shadowcat wasn’t having fun – in the same way I’d missed them with The Axis of Evil?  Was I reading only the cues that I’d wanted to see?  Perhaps Shadowcat was simply a better actress than she thought.

Shadowcat was a trained dancer...

2009-09-01T21:09:00.002-05:00

While it would be easier to go out to dinner before we went dancing, I wanted to exorcise old demons from The Axis of Evil and cook a meal.  Shadowcat was super enthusiastic when I offered to make dinner.  She even seemed fine with a menu of pasta and vegetables, which is good because that was the extent of my culinary abilities.

The cooking hadn’t gone as well as I’d hoped.  I must’ve left the angel hair noodles in too long because they came out a bit mushy.  While I’d stirred the tomato sauce diligently, I’d forgotten to turn on the burner.  The peas gave me no problems, defrosting in the microwave to my satisfaction.  However, just peas was kind of underwhelming.  Why didn’t I think to pick up some fresh broccoli?  I considered stuffing the noodles into the fridge and saying that we should go out for pizza because there was a problem with the stove.  However, Shadowcat knocked on the door before I had a chance hide the food.

Once I let Shadowcat in, my anxiety melted away.  I’d warned her I was not a gourmet chef.  Mushy pasta was edible and cold sauce was better than no sauce.  The meal would at least be serviceable.

Shadowcat helped me carry the food to my room, which I’d spend all day cleaning.  We sat down on the loveseat where I’d placed two TV tray-tables side by side.  While we ate, only the warmth of her smile matched her intense eye contact.  A part of me wished I could skip the salsa dancing, take her to her door and get that first kiss out of the way.

Besides, was going dancing a mistake?  Shadowcat was a trained dancer and I struggled with the Cha Cha Slide.  How could I even pretend to keep up with her?

However, once the music started, Shadowcat seemed quite content to take on our hero as a project.  She explained and re-explained the foot movements, patiently putting up with my abnormally slow learning process.  While I wouldn’t call what we were doing dancing per se, as my steps were independent of the beat – it was wonderful to feel her tiny hand clasped in mine as I held her around the waist.  I could get used to this!

I was watching Shadowcat’s feet so closely that I was taken off-guard when someone’s head smacked into my collarbone.  Letting go of Shadowcat, I staggered sideways for a couple steps before regaining my balance.

Standing beside me was a teary eyed Axis of Evil.  Without a word, she continued towards the door and Dark Helmet jogged after her.  What could he have done to upset her so?  Perhaps he’d tried to surprise her with flowers.  Hard to believe that I’d nearly lost my mind over that girl.  Being dumped by her was a blessing in disguise.

“You okay?” asked Shadowcat.

“Great!”  I said as I massaged my collarbone.  “While I may not have the steps down, I’m not crashing into anyone.  It’s comforting to know that I’m not the worst one on the floor.”

My soon to be girlfriend laughed and we resumed “dancing”.

The more I spent time with Shadowcat, the more I appreciated just how calm and comfortable with herself she was.  She didn’t even seem to mind that her future boyfriend was hopeless both as a cook and a dance partner.  I couldn’t imagine her allowing a situation to escalate into the drama and absurdity I’d experienced with girlfriends past.  In short, she was a keeper!

Speed Dating - Five minutes can be an eternity

2009-08-07T16:01:00.004-05:00

Speed dating was this new craze that was supposed to help you pre-screen dating candidates. After a bunch of five minute conversations, you could decide if anyone you’d spoken to was “date worthy.” If nothing else, the Valentine’s Day Tribal speed dating program seemed like a fun way to meet people.

The campus synagogue had been filled with over 200 singles. Circular groupings of chairs had been spread out across the room. Which section you sat in was based on some pre-screening form. Despite all the time I’d put into my answers, my form had been lost and I was randomly assigned. The women were seated on the inside of the circle and every five minutes, the men would rotate clockwise.

As the logistics of the program were explained, I faced my first speed date – Uhura, the cancer survivor whose heart I’d broken. No random pairing in that room could’ve been less likely to work out.

Sometimes I mused that the choo-choo-choose you disaster was somehow related to my breakup with The Axis of Evil. Perhaps when Uhura roomed with The Axis of Evil, she had passed on the karma from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre and that’s what caused The Axis to run out on flowers.

This was the first time I’d seen Uhura since high school. Unfortunately, she’d only made it through one semester with The Axis because her cancer had come out of remission. Did being back on campus mean she’d fought it off again? Given how open she was about her experience in high school, I was sure she’d be willing to discuss her health. Besides, this speed date was my chance to apologize for my lack of tact in high school and forever put that incident to rest.

As soon as speed dating commenced, Uhura sighed. Fighting back a sneer, she’d asked, “So, how are you, Debacle?”

I couldn’t blame Uhura for not wanting to be on a speed date with me. Back in driver’s ed, I should’ve followed up Uhura’s note with an in person explanation instead of sending her that crappy reply explaining that the joke was on me. Still, why was she this angry? It’s not like that flower incident was my fault… but Uhura didn’t know that. She probably thought I was a party to the prank! It made sense. When Ms. Hoover had questioned me about it the following day, I’d claimed not to know the identities of the perpetrators. At the time, I’d thought naming names would drag out that stressful ordeal. However, I could see how Uhura might’ve thought that I was protecting my co-conspirators. She must hate me – and deservedly so.

“Not bad, how about you?” I’d replied, tapping my foot on the carpet. How could I break through this awkwardness and give her a substantive apology?

“Good.”

“Uh … That’s good.” We had looked at each other in silence for a few seconds before I’d continued with, “So, what are you majoring in?”

Five minutes can be an eternity.

As I’d rotated about the circle, Storm was by far my favorite speed date. It was embarrassing how quickly I’d recognized her. While we’d never met, I had looked at her Tribe Date profile last fall. It was shocking how much I remembered – she was from the State of Peaches, liked country music and had just transferred to The University of Great Lakes. With answers to all the basic getting to know you questions under my belt, I avoided going through the standard rigmarole. Instead we spent our time discussing southern colloquialisms.

“So, can you just always drop in a y’all in place of you all?” I’d asked. “Or are there specific situations that call for a y’all?”

She’d laughed. “You can always use it.”

“So instead of you all right, can you say y’all right?”

While it would have been difficult to stretch the y’all material more than five minutes, I liked the way Storm smiled and maintained eye contact with me the whole time. To top it off, I walked her home that night. It’s a shame that our coffee date hadn’t worked out. So it goes…

My second best speed date was with Blossom. She was only a sophomore – but from what little I could tell she seemed like a nice Tribal girl. I remembered little from our conversation, except that she seemed to get excited when I mentioned that I liked to run. While it never crossed my mind to pursue her afterwards, she seemed sushi worthy.

The worst five minutes of the night were spent with a 35 year old woman who’d driven over an hour to go to a college Tribal speed dating event. The first thing she’d said to me was, “Well, we’re all here for the same reason.”

She had 13 years on me. Easy there Mrs. Robinson!

One nice side effect of speed dating was that I’d been temporarily relieved from my usual inhibitions around women. During a break, without even thinking about it, I’d walked up to an attractive blonde who was standing by herself. “How’s speed dating treating you?” I’d asked.

Before I knew it, we were joking around, comparing notes on some of our worst speed dates of the evening. Her least favorite had been with a dude in his forties who had followed up his hello with a dinner invitation for the following night.

While I still hadn’t discovered this girl’s name, based on the vibe, I knew I’d be seeing her again.

“Speed dating needs color commentary,” I’d said to her. “Someone ought to be watching over the conversations and let people know how they’re doing. ‘You over there, that’s nice. Way to incorporate your family.’ ‘Hey, you, she doesn’t want to hear about your bowling technique. You’re the worst speed dater I’ve ever seen!’”

The mystery girl had laughed.

Before my intriguing lady friend had a chance to put in her two cents, Uhura had snapped, “That’s awful! Debacle, you’re just a sweet as you were in high school.”

How long had Uhura been standing beside us?

The anonymous girl had taken one look at Uhura’s glare, shook her head and disappeared into the crowd.

Uhura had given me a nod, and walked off.

Awesome!

No incident in high school had troubled me like Uhura’s tears after driver’s ed. Seven years later, Uhura had avenged the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. While I’d lost my chance with the intriguing blonde, I no longer had to carry the burden of guilt.

While I’d wanted to catch up to Uhura and give her a high five, it was best to let her have her moment.

Bubbles lasts only one round

2009-06-18T22:45:00.002-05:00

Oh no. Was I excited because I liked Bubbles or because I’d kissed a girl who wasn’t The Axis of Evil?

I was hit with a dizzy spell and got off the phone shortly thereafter. After laying down on the bed, I closed my eyes and replayed my evening with Bubbles. At dinner she’d brought up how homeless people seemed to single her out when they asked for change, her gay dogs and her concern that her computer might have been haunted.

Bubbles seemed nice enough that if we’d met under different circumstances, we probably would’ve been friends. However, had she not contacted me on Tribe-Date via her haunted computer, I doubt I ever would’ve considered going out with her.

The excitement of having someone to flirt with was what had made the night enjoyable. Instead of asking critical questions about whether this was someone I wanted to be in a relationship with, I had let my hormones turn me into a conquistador with the absurd end goal of proving I was over The Axis of Evil.

I’d thought that my recently adopted Fiddler on the Roof Czar policy would forever keep The Axis out of my head. At the beginning of Fiddler, the rabbi claims that there’s a blessing for everything. Some smart aleck asks him if there’s a blessing for the Czar. The rabbi replies, “May God bless and keep the Czar… far away from us.” While I wished The Axis well, her immature batshit breakup had stung so badly that I wanted as much distance from her as possible. However, based on how I’d just kissed a girl I had no feelings for, I had no business laying claim to the moral high ground.

Nonetheless, it was time to take down my Tribe Date profile and end this blind dating experiment. Choosing a girl based on a picture and a couple of paragraphs was too unnatural.

As for Bubbles – how to end it? In fact, what was ‘it’? We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. What were the rules? It would feel strange to call, have her get all excited and then tell her I was out. Based on how our date had gone, there’s no way she could’ve guessed that I was having second thoughts. Bubbles probably drove away in bliss, anxiously awaiting round two.

What should I do? A non-breakup, breakup phone call sounded miserable. An email was almost as bad as using IM. I decided to stop fretting about it – it wasn’t like I had to get in touch with her that night. In the meantime, my housemates were still up. There was some rotten fruit in the fridge. I grabbed a baseball bat and headed downstairs.

“You’re such a spaz,” said Indiana Jones. “Just a minute ago it was Bubbles, Bubbles, Bubbles time.”

Setting down the bat and sprawling out on the living room couch, I said, “But I don’t have any feelings for her at all. I only kissed her—”

“How much can you really tell about someone from a single date?” he asked. “If you liked her at all, you should go out with her again.”

“I’d be stringing her along.”

Indiana sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe I am, but I don’t want to date anyone again until I’m in a situation that feels right.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

* * *

I kept putting off getting in touch with Bubbles.

After a couple of weeks, I knew I’d waited too long. A non-breakup-breakup call would probably only insult her further. Thus our hero joined the cowardly club of weak sauce dudes who kissed a girl and never called her again.

Buttercup to Bubbles in one date

2009-06-05T21:33:00.003-05:00

After putting it off for almost a week, I finally picked up the phone to call Buttercup. It was weird not being overwhelmed with anxiety. Maybe this was to my advantage. Since I'd never met Buttercup, it was impossible to come to the conclusion that she was a goddess who belonged on a pedestal. All I knew about Buttercup was that her roommate went to high school with Indiana Jones.

I read over my pre-written answering machine statement one last time and punched in her number. Our hero had entered the game again.

"Hello," sang an angel. With a calming phone voice like that, I could talk to her all day!

"Hi," I said. "Is Buttercup there?" Please be Buttercup! Please be Buttercup!

"One sec, I'll get her. Who is this?"

"It's Debacle." Damn, there's no way Buttercup could compete with that voice. I preferred her roommate already!

"Buttercup, Debacle's on the phone!" announced the voice of sweet Rapunzel.

"I'll be right there," replied a troll. I imagined an eight foot tall Buttercup wielding a club in one hand and yanking the phone away with the other. "Hi Debacle, how's it going," grunted Buttercup.

Buttercup's voice really wasn't so bad that it sounded like she belonged under a bridge. However, compared to her roommate, it was deep and coarse. Why was I making such a fuss about what she sounded like? I guess there wasn't anything else to be over-analytical about... yet. "Not bad. How about yourself?"

"I'm good," said Buttercup.

What was I supposed to talk about? Should I have been making idle chit chat? Is this a getting to know you call or should I just set up a date and bail? "So, how's the Ace Deuce treating you?"

"Getting used it."

"That's good," I said. This was brutal. What are you supposed to say to someone you've never met? Maybe I was jumping the gun, but it was time to wrap this up. "Ummm... so do you want to grab lunch on Sunday?"

"Sure. Can we get it near south campus? I have a study group in the afternoon."

"No problem," I said. "Let's see... over there you've got China House, Pizza Gate and Great Lakes Deli."

"Those all sound good."

"Where do you want to grab it at?" I realized the double-entendre as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

Buttercup laughed uncomfortably. Our hero was back in familiar territory.

* * *

I was glad that Buttercup selected China House. Its quaint but crowded atmosphere gave it an informal feel, making it an ideal location for a blind lunch date. The only complaint I ever had about that restaurant was that after you finished eating, the wait staff would sometimes give you dirty looks until you gave up your table. I supposed that wasn't so terrible - if Buttercup displayed any troll-like tendencies, I'd have an excuse to head out.

As I approached China House, I spotted a short girl with frizzy dark hark standing outside the door.
"Are you Debacle?" she asked, voice sounding far more normal than I'd expected.

"Buttercup?" " I asked.

She nodded.

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand. Maybe you weren't supposed to start a blind date with a handshake, because she hesitated for a moment before clasping my hand. Ugh, Here we go again...

Thankfully, at barely over five feet, Buttercup bore no resemblance to a troll. I like to pretend I'm not overly superficial, but I doubt it would work with an eight foot tall woman who looked like an evil fairy tale creature - especially if she ate General Tso's chicken off her club.

Once we'd ordered, I asked Buttercup all about the school of Public Health. She went over all kinds of horrible scenarios in which super viruses and bacteria could mutate and destroy us all. Eventually, Buttercup wanted to get a job with the CDC where she could help to prevent the destruction of civilization.

I wasn't particularly attracted to her, but that could change as we spent more time together. Did I want to? Apocalyptic diseases made for interesting conversation. Around the time the waitress dropped off the check, I decided that Buttercup had made it to round two.

She looked at her watch. "I've got to meet my group soon."

"Okay," I said as I inspected the bill. Paying for a first date could be awkward. Some girls' egalitarian sensibilities would be insulted by a guy who insisted upon picking up the check. Others would accept nothing less than a chivalrous treat. It was up to the dude to figure out the least offensive way to handle the bill.

I pulled my wallet out.

"How much do I owe?" Buttercup asked. Her polite opening was as standard as leading with the king's pawn. The payment dance was on.

"I've got it," I countered. Her next move would show her hand.

She shook her head. "No, that's okay. How much do I owe?"

Egalitarian it was. "It's 16 total," I said. "So, eight each plus tip. Tip is ummm... about three bucks"

"But mine cost more - yours was vegetarian."

"By less than a dollar," I said. "We can call it even."

She yanked the bill out of my hand and poured over it. Geez, she could've just asked me for it.

At least I could still take care of tip. I threw down two singles on the table.

"Now you're paying more than me for tip!" she exclaimed. Buttercup got up and darted to the register, dodging waitresses and patrons along the way. I wasn't sure what to do, so I followed. "We want to pay separately," she said, startling a waitress as she ran a customer's credit card.

If it was this difficult to figure out a check, I hated to think how Buttercup would react if I burnt some popcorn or left the toilet seat up. So much for round two. Oh well - I was planning on going out with Bubbles soon anyway.

I was a bit embarrassed about how I met Bubbles. After returning from The City of Wind, I put up a profile on this online dating website called Tribe Date. When I first heard about Tribe Date, it seemed like a place for desperate losers to advertise how lonely they were. Still, I felt that the best way to get past The Axis of Evil was to put myself out there - even if it meant joining the ranks of the desperate losers.

The opening of my two paragraph long profile had turned into an all Saturday afternoon activity. I tried to think up clever ways to make myself sound like an easygoing, nice Tribal dude. After numerous attempts, I gave up on trying to be subtle and settled on:

I've been described as the quintessential nice Tribal boy. I work really hard, but make a point of enjoying the hilarious moments that make up each day.

From there - I went into how I'm looking for someone who can challenge me, put up with my college football obsession and tolerate how I relate every waking moment to a Seinfeld episode.

Giving money to a service in order to get a date was a little too close to prostitution for my taste. I went the free route which allowed me to get emails from paying members, but didn't allow me to contact anyone. Even though there was no way to get in touch with anyone on the site, I spent a while looking at profiles. How was I supposed to determine if I wanted to date someone from a picture and a few paragraphs? Low maintenance could in reality be absurdly high maintenance. What if their face had been touched up or the picture had been taken before they began eating half a dozen doughnuts for breakfast every morning. Would someone who claimed to be down to earth realize it if they weren't? How did I know I was actually looking at a girl's profile? Some dude could be playing a practical joke. For that matter, who's to say the MCP from Tron wasn't having a little fun?

Really funny... in concept

2009-06-02T23:11:00.003-05:00

Last Sunday I went to our bridal shower. Well, it was more General Tolerance's shower and I was there to open gifts.

I won't lie, opening everyone's gifts in front of everyone else seemed a bit odd to me. During elementary school birthday parties, I'd pay attention to who gave each gift, so I could decide what tweener friends I should invite my future parties. Once I hit middle school, it seemed everyone was too busy worrying about what everyone else in the room thought about them to pay attention to gifts. Truth be told, I kind of figured gifts were between the gifter and giftees... This is true, except at showers, where friends and family are excited to see what your kitchen will look like once you're married.

This whole shower culture was new to me, so it came as a suprise when I found out it was expected that I get General Tolerance a gift. Well, it wouldn't make sense to get her a gift off the registry. And, I shouldn't get a gift for our home, because I didn't want all the women who kept commenting on how nice everything was to be horrified by my lack of taste or understanding of which colors clash.

So, I got this great idea. Hillarious in fact. Everyone I told it too thought it was a great idea. In the midst of plates, coffee makers, and serving spoons, General Tolerance would open her gift from me in front of everyone waiting in anticipation to see what sweet gift I came up with... and she'd unwrap a Star Wars action figure! Then I'd pull out the real gift and everyone would laugh.

Well, it all went according to plan. I handed General Tolerance Yoda hidden under a sloppy giftwrapping job. I said, "I wrapped it my myself" and the whole room laughed. I was off to a good start. She opens it up, give me a look. People see it... silence...

"I didn't know he was that obsessed with 'Star Wars'" someone said.

More Silence....

I pull Yoda out of her hands, hand her the real gift and say, "Uhh... wrong gift."

Even more silence...

I guess I'm just not very good at wedding showers.

Torturous Bounces

2008-11-12T08:18:00.001-06:00

The trotting horse showed no signs of tiring as it circled the barn. Clinging to the reins, I attempted to hook my feet back into the stirrups.

Goz stood in the center of the imaginary oval that the horse kept tracing. “Just pull back,” she said.

“Um… I can’t,” I replied, voice rattling as I bounced on the saddle. Without stirrups to brace against, I didn’t feel safe leaning back and yanking the reins.

“Just sit up and pull,” she said with a hint of panic in her voice.

Goz didn’t know the half of it. The male body wasn’t built to bounce on a saddle. In addition to being in danger of falling off, our hero was risking permanent sterilization!

I tried to hide my agony, but my tear ducts betrayed me. Hopefully Goz was too concerned for my safety to notice. Our hero inched forward with each torturous bounce – eventually I’d scoot onto its neck and get thrown to the ground. Given that I started college in less than two weeks, this would be a terrible time for a serious injury.

A horrible repetitive gurgling sound emerged from the horse’s stomach. I gripped the mane for a little more support. “I don’t think I can.”

“Wooooooah,” said Goz. “Woooooooah. Woooooooah.” The bouncing subsided and the horse came to a halt.

Taking the collar of my University of Great Lakes t-shirt to my eyes, I did my best to make it look like I was wiping sweat from my brow.

Goz extended her hand. “Maybe we should call it a day.”

“Sure, just… (gasp)… just give me a minute,” I said, pretending to be winded. As much as I hated lying to her, I had little choice. There was no appropriate way to explain that my balls needed a minute to recover.

“How are you out of breath?” asked Goz. “I thought you ran track?”

“The season… (gasp)… ended a while ago. I must be… (gasp)… out of shape.”

Kosher Pizza?

2008-11-06T21:58:00.001-06:00

Did it make sense to date non-Tribal girls?  Sometimes I wondered if that question made me sound like a brainwashed zealot.  While my parents made it no secret that they’d prefer me to stay within the Tribe, I wasn’t going to pick a girl just to win their approval.  Still, I had a lot of holidays to celebrate as it was and I’m not sure I wanted to be dragged along to any more.  Besides, it’d be nice to be with someone who also grew up lighting a menorah, eating matzah and had traditions I could incorporate into my own.  Was I limiting myself with that mentality?  Who’s to say I wouldn’t be happy with someone who wasn’t Tribal?  What if I ended up falling madly in love and having a bunch of kids with a non-Tribal girl and then we got divorced because she wanted to raise our children Zoroastrian?  At only 17 years old, was it ridiculous to waste all this mental energy worrying about religious differences?

If Goz was a member of the Tribe, my anxieties would be academic. While the long bleach blonde hair, fair skin and bright blue eyes didn’t give her a Tribal look, you could never tell for sure – our hero had similar recessive traits.

“What do you like on your pizza?” asked Goz.

Here goes.  “I’m good with most veggies, but I can’t have any meat because I keep kosher.”

She furrowed her brow.  “Keep what?”

So she wasn’t a member.  “Kosher.  I’m Tribal.”

“What’s Kosher?”

“Eating guidelines.  One of them is you can’t mix milk and meat.

“You didn’t order milk.”

“Any dairy product.  Plus the meat isn’t kosher – has to do with how the animal is killed and the meat is prepared.”

“Uh, okay,” said Goz, raising her eyebrow at me as though I’d just told her that I’d been born and raised on Neptune.

Once the vegetarian special arrived, I did my best to nibble away at my pizza, but it was slow going.  Goz kept her eyes on my plate, never letting her piece get smaller than mine.  After I maxed out at two slices, Goz shifted her gaze to the half-full pizza tray between us, but she didn’t eat another bite.

Throughout the evening, I broke uncomfortable silences by asking Goz about her favorite music, foods, books and movies.  By the end of the night, I was running out of “favorites” to ask her about.  While I’d hoped that my first date would give me an opportunity to get that elusive first kiss out of the way, the thought of it seemed so forced and unnatural that I didn’t give it any serious consideration when I dropped Goz off.

I'd figured that Goz had probably found me so boring and awkward during our uneventful night of small talk that I didn’t expect to hear from her again.  Maybe I would’ve been disappointed if it was earlier in the summer, but with both of us about to kick off college, we weren’t about to start up a serious relationship anyway.  I’d successfully gone out with a girl – a serious accomplishment that I could build upon with a new girl at The University of Great Lakes.

Apparently, I’d underestimated my standing with Goz.  Perhaps first dates are expected to be uneventful nights of small talk and I’d held my own.  Goz called me the next day and suggested we go riding at a horse farm near her house.
Riding a horse fit MegaHot’s uniqueness criteria.  Perhaps it would’ve matched her “special” requirement if I hadn’t almost neutered myself during a simple trot around the barn.

Catwoman

2008-10-18T01:47:00.002-05:00

While the quest to find the girl of my dreams had extended into sophomore year of high school, Catwoman had been worth the wait.  There was much work ahead – as my crush was only a few minutes old.  Still, I was closer to walking off into the sunset with the love of my life than I’d ever been before.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before I’d be spending these bus rides with an arm wrapped around her tiny shoulders, admiring my reflection in those chocolate eyes.  In the meantime, my boundaries were marked by a chunk of foam leaking out of a tear in the seat.

Early on into my sophomore campaign, I finally had an opportunity to unleash my enhanced suaveness.  Based on how well Catwoman had responded to my anecdote about Coach Wolverine, it appeared that my plan to win over the girl of my dreams with funny stories was no Bogartian fantasy.  Our hero couldn’t wait see her reaction to Chun Li’s tantrum about not being able to resurrect Tinkerbelle or Bruce Banner’s orchestra meltdown over a mom joke.  Since the ride to practice guaranteed us 10 minutes of alone time everyday, I’d be able to share those tales soon enough.  Once a barber tamed the overgrown Luke Skywalker-style mop on my head, I’d be unstoppable.

Game on!

physics exam

2008-10-11T16:51:00.003-05:00

The night of the exam, I arrived half an hour early.  While I’d planned on poring through the book, trying to absorb one or two more nuggets before go time, my heart was beating so fast that the words were impossible to read.  I was as ready as I was going to get.

Just before the exams were handed out, I put away my book and notes and took out several mechanical pencils, a graphing calculator and my 3 by 5 inch note card containing every possible useful formula in the tiniest print I could legibly produce.

As soon as we were allowed to start, I flipped through the test packet, looking for an easy question to give me a confidence boost.  Our hero went through all 20 problems without finding a single gimme.  Four of the questions were so foreign that they might as well have been asking me about Sumerian philosophers.

As I struggled to figure out which formulas applied, I couldn’t help but curse myself for wasting a week on this crap.  Frequently the result displayed on my graphing calculator wasn’t anywhere close to any of the potential choices – sometimes by a factor of a hundred.  My only solace was that since the exam was multiple choice, none of my incorrect answers would be so outlandish that Dr. Wiley would feel the need to pin them to his fridge and laugh at my stupidity each day as he made breakfast.

Walking home from the exam, I faced a harsh reality.  Our hero wasn’t cut out to be an engineer – at least not at The University of Great Lakes.  At best, maybe I’d gotten lucky on a few questions and wound up in the D range, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up getting more than half of the problems wrong.  My only hope for a decent grade was if there was any truth to the old adage about ‘c’ being the most likely answer on a multiple-choice test.  On the four “Sumerian philosopher” questions, I’d circled ‘c’ and hoped for the best.

A week later, I received the bad news at the beginning of physics lecture: 65%.  The most disturbing part of my score was that it could’ve been a lot worse.  I’d been correct three of the four times I’d blindly picked ‘c’.

A lump formed in my throat.  While I’d expected that college would be tough, I never imagined that it’d be so relentless that I’d work my butt off and fail.  Our hero considered leaving the lecture, throwing my test in the trash and dropping physics.  Would I retake it again the following year?  Maybe I should drop out altogether and join the Peace Corps or live on a farm until I found something I was good at.

Before I had a chance to get up, Dr. Wiley turned on the slide projector.  On the screen was a picture of a bell-curve showing an average of 41.2%.  According to Dr. Wiley’s scale, my dismal 65% was an A.  He said that a number of people had sent him emails complaining about the difficulty of the exam.  It may have been tough, but it was clearly a fair test because the scores lined up with a normalized distribution.

How did a bell-curve make it okay to fail an exam?  What about learning the material?  I still sucked at it.  Did it not matter how well I understood the concepts, but rather how well I matched up against my peers?  All that separated me from the center of that curve was my faith in the letter ‘c’ – without its help, I would’ve gotten a 50%.

Once you accounted for the mean, I’d aced the exam.  Still, was I actually supposed to feel good about my score?  College was shaping up to be an awfully strange time.

Mom Jokes

2008-09-23T19:57:00.002-05:00

Thanks to the sketch comedy show In Living Color, the early nineties was a golden age of mom jokes. While I was not permitted to watch because my parents thought the humor was too crude and they didn’t like how women were depicted, it was impossible not to roam the hallways without picking up the punch line to just about every popular mom joke – even the ones I didn’t understand.

They were perfect for ragging on each other in a group setting. Their one-liner structure allowed everyone to get their favorites in quickly and their absurdity made them harmless fun amongst friends. Some of the more common zingers were: “Your Mom is so dumb she got locked in a grocery store and starved to death.” “I would’ve been your Daddy, but the dog beat me over the fence.” and “Your mom is so fat her blood type is Ragu.”

* * *

“Debacle,” said Bruce with his usual sneer. “Your mom is so dumb it took her two hours to watch 60 Minutes.”

It was an old one, but at least he was playing along. I retaliated with, “Your mom is so fat that when she wears a yellow raincoat people shout, Taxi.”

He drilled me with an open-handed smack to the back of the head.

“What the hell?” I exclaimed.

“What the hell?” mocked Bruce in a whiny falsetto.

Only Bruce Banner could take a mom joke seriously. I wanted to ignore him, but the bastard moved in front of me and was trying to stare me down. Who tries to pick a fight in algebra over a mom joke? I looked around – the teacher was talking to some group on Kiddo’s side of the room. Unfortunately, due to the middle school anti-tattling code, Banner was going to get away with this one.

It was time to unleash the mom joke I’d been saving up. “Hey Brucie!” I exclaimed. “What’s the difference between your Mom and a bus? … Not everyone rides the bus!”

There’s a Reason Kids are Scared of Escalators

2008-09-09T23:29:00.004-05:00

(If you’re reading this on facebook, the pictures won’t show. Go to http://www.mydebacles.com).

I can’t stand it when people stand and wait on an escalator, especially if it isn’t wide enough for someone to walk by. This morning, I was especially annoyed when two severely obese dudes got on the escalator in front of me and blocked my path. From my short experience in London, if they’d pulled a stunt like that, they’d have been bowled over. Sadly, people in the City of Wind aren’t that civilized. Rather than burning a few needed calories, these pork chops stood silently and slowly rode the escalator up.

Maybe I was being a little harsh. I normally don’t make shallow fat jokes to myself. But, it was early in the morning, and I was tired and entitled to a grumpy judgmental personal monologue. I’d walked up the escalator to them hoping they’d take the hint, but the just stood there taking up space, unaware that I had a reason for haste.

I’d just left the gym and this co-worker I’d never seen there before, had worked out and just left before me. I was hoping to catch him going up the escalator. I’m still somewhat the new guy in the office; I’m up for any opportunity to be social and get to know people. Yet, my co-worker got on the escalator and walked up just ahead of me, and I’ll have to catch him on the street, because I’m stuck behind two super sizes.

I got to the top of the escalator just after the larger gentlemen, and felt a sudden pulling sensation. My right foot was stuck. I tried to pull back on it, but it wasn’t budging. My tennis shoe had gone under the teeth at the top of the escalator. One of the boards of teeth must’ve been loose, because it was slanted up, and my shoe was stuck under it. The escalator kept going, pushing up against my foot while the steps flattened out at the top.

I braced the hand rails, planted my left foot and tried to pull my foot back. Nothing. Thankfully, no one was coming up the escalator. The force of the escalator pulled my foot farther under. I had to make fists with my toes, because the escalators teeth had eaten the front of my shoe, and it was still hungry. Holy shit! I could lose my foot.

Some guy in a business suit on his way to work looked down at my peril, laughed and walked by. I was about to shout at him for help. Couldn’t he see that I was in danger? This was real life, not a youtube video.

Escalator’s all have emergency stop buttons. I looked for one on the top rail. Nothing. There was no stop button. The escalator Guantanamo style torture device gobbled another half inch of my shoe. Ow! This was really starting to hurt. Wait, why was I trying to save the shoe? I leaned down and wedged the shoe off with my right hand, and it slid halfway under the board.

I planted my foot covered with only a sock on the ground, thankfully it felt fine. Another few moments and I likely would’ve been in trouble. I walked over to the security guard at the front desk and explained to him that I lost my shoe in the escalator. He did a double take, walked over to the escalator, where a crowd had gathered.

“Oh my god, are they alright?” asked a woman pointing at the lone shoe at the top of the escalator.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, putting my sock foot forward.

“Are you sure you’re okay,” asked another woman.

“Yeah, thanks I’m fine,” I replied. Damn, where were these people a minute earlier when I needed them. Instead, I got some joker who laughed at me and walked away while in peril. I’ve always thought that sterilization was immoral until that moment. One point and laugh guy is enough.

The security guard pressed this tiny button on the bottom of the escalator railing and stopped it. There’s no way I could’ve seen it from the angle I was at, while I was trying to not get eaten by the machine. I hadn’t really looked at the security guard. He had a grizzled veteran look about him. Especially, in how he wasn’t showing any emotion to the situation. “Has this happened before?” I asked.

“25 years on the job,” he said. “Never seen anything like this.”

I thought about saying, You know, I have a website mydebacles.com and I'm writing a book called "A Million Little Debacles." I guess it goes without saying that this sort of stuff only happens to me.

I gave him the necessary information to file a report and assured him that I didn’t need any medical attention. A maintenance team came and fished what was left of my shoe out.

I spoke to the building manager later that day on the phone. She was cool about it. They’re going to pay for the new pair of shoes I had to buy and the orthotics that got ruined. She was probably relived that I wasn’t threatening a lawsuit. She said she was watching the security video, and it looked like I was riding the escalator as anyone else would and then got stuck.

Generally, after something ridiculous happens, it’s easy to blame yourself. For example, when I drove into Marty’s garage door, or got my shoelace caught on top of the fence in Columbus and nearly fell to my doom. But, thinking about it, this wasn’t my fault at all. Not one bit. I was just riding the escalator. It’s almost a good thing that this happened to me and not a woman with an opened toed shoe.

As for the security video, I’m going to request it. And believe me, if I procure it, it’s going on the blog, youtube, break.com, you name it. But, I'm willing to bet they won't give me a copy.

I left the shoe on my desk during the day at work today, as a shallow attempt to create a conversation starter. It worked. It’s not everyday that you see a fangoriously devoured shoe.
As for what to do about the shoe, one co-worker recommended that I keep it and tell my kids someday before going to a shopping mall, “This is why you don’t horse around on an escalator.”

Here’s looking at you, Kiddo.

2008-08-07T17:50:00.002-05:00

In addition, I’d get to hang out with the half-dozen or so members of my clique on a daily basis. After befriending Mega Man in sixth grade, he’d introduced me to some friends of his whose lives revolved around sports and video games. Going into my third year with them, I could finally take it for granted that I had a group of friends!

I carried my excitement about eighth grade right up until third period of that first day – then I entered the orchestra classroom. As soon as I sat down, my eyes went for the all too familiar wall clock. It was time for another one of the longest 45 minute sessions in the history of the universe…

As it turned out, Mrs. Krabappel was overwhelmed with administrative tasks and she actually told us that we could talk quietly while she sorted everything out. I wandered over to Koopa Troopa. “Hey Koopa,” I said.

Koopa was too busy talking to some girl to acknowledge me.

“Hey, aren’t you Debacle?” asked the girl.

“Yeah,” I said to this unfamiliar petite girl with bleach blonde hair.

“I’m Kiddo,” she said. “We were in the same summer orchestra a few years ago.”

“Oh yeah! I remember you,” I lied.

“That’s two people I know now,” she said, high fiving Koopa.

Kiddo was new to school and seemed very friendly – This had a lot of potential! Still, I knew better than to get too excited. She could be a red-herring. “Why did you switch schools?” I asked.

“I live on the boundary and I needed a change.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Eighth.”

“Ease up on the third degree there, Holmes,” said Koopa.

What? Had I overdone it with the questions? Regardless, I’d found out what I needed – Kiddo was the girl I’d waited almost 13 years for!

While Kiddo stood an inch or two south of five feet with a few large moles on her cheeks, I wasn’t looking for a future wife who looked like she belonged next to Kathy Ireland in the K-mart ads. Excitement danced through her bright blue eyes and warmth exuded from her deep laughter. Our hero couldn’t wait to caress her soft cheeks and say, Here’s looking at you, Kiddo. I had a feeling I’d be repeating that phrase a lot this year. Brushing the rim of my imaginary fedora, I joined her conversation with Koopa.

Kiddo was complaining about the orchestra teacher at her old middle school. Apparently he made you stay after school if you were late to class – even by a minute. If you weren’t one of his favorite students, he’d give you a C if you failed to practice at least a half hour each day.

“What a jerk,” I contributed.

“Actually, you know him,” said Kiddo. “He taught summer orchestra.”

Really? I’d always thought he was a kindly older man with a good sense of humor. However, if

Kiddo wasn’t a fan, I would not disappoint. It was time for my first stoic Bogart-like lie: “He’s so old and boring. I was scared I’d fall asleep during class and wake up to find him shriveled up into a raisin.”

She burst into laughter. I could feel a tiny smirk of success cross my lips, but I did my best to suppress it. Humphrey Bogart would never laugh at his own jokes.

Once Mrs. Krabappel took care of the paperwork she’d been futzing with, the last twenty minutes of class flew by. Whenever I got bored, I glanced over at Kiddo and imagined her long hair flowing in slow motion while she played her violin. Never before had I met anyone capable of combating the oppressive doldrums that made up each orchestra class. Even though I’d known the girl of my dreams for less than hour, her existence had already exceeded my expectations.

Kiddo’s laughter at my brilliant raisin comment had me smiling the rest of the day. It turned out that we had three classes together: algebra, orchestra and gym. To think, I’d spent first period in algebra and completely missed Kiddo. The girl of my dreams had been well camouflaged.

After that first orchestra class, we were already on a hello-in-the hallway basis – by far my greatest accomplishment ever with the ladies! In another week or so, we’d be ready for our song and a piano player named Sam.

What a start!

My life in front of a firing squad

2008-08-06T15:13:00.001-05:00

During gym, I took my usual seat on the bleachers next to Kiddo, Koopa and Mega Man. On any other day, I would’ve attempted to think up a funny anecdote to add to their conversation. However, I wasn’t sure how to act around Kiddo. Had Greedo spoken with her yet? Did she confess her feelings for our hero? What if Greedo forgot or if Kiddo refused to tell Greedo who she liked? I needed to relax. Everything was guaranteed to work out – this was the day that the basketball had chosen.

During our lunch touch football game, I was so distracted that I dropped two perfect passes thrown by Mega Man. After the second one, he tried to trade me to the other team. Ugh, there was still no sign of Greedo.

After lunch, I opened my locker to put away my mud-stained jacket and grabbed my black L.L. Bean backpack overstuffed with books and loose papers. Before I could get my hand into the strap, Greedo tapped me on the shoulder.

“I spoke to Kiddo,” he said.

“Oh!?!” I exclaimed, dropping my backpack to the floor. His face conveyed neither excitement nor disappointment. Why would it? He was only a mercenary.

“She wouldn’t tell me who she liked, but it isn’t you.”

A dizzy spell came over me and I braced myself against my neighbor’s locker. Wait a second, this didn’t make sense. “How do you know it isn’t me? You weren’t supposed to tell her that I sent you.”

“Because she asked if you put me up to this. She just wants to be friends.”

How was this possible!?! I hadn’t mentioned my feelings for Kiddo to anyone else. “But—”

“She said that your face turns red whenever you talk to her.”

“Oh.” I clenched my jaw.

This wasn’t fair. My pasty complexion had undermined my Bogart-like stoicism. If I had been running Rick’s bar in wartime Casablanca, I would’ve blushed and ruined everything. Instead of walking off into the sunset with Louis to begin a beautiful friendship, the movie would’ve ended with The Nazis in possession of the transit papers while I begged for my life in front of a firing squad.

Rejected Save the Date Card

2008-06-14T15:44:00.003-05:00

This was my suggestion for the save the date card for my upcoming wedding with General Tolerance. Sadly, she rejected it, even though I think it's a great card. Well, the card speaks for itself:

Okay, loyal readers. Since my card got rejected, mydebacles is sponsoring another contest! Submit all of your suggestions for save the date cards. Winners get displayed on the blog!

How the book got started

2008-01-10T18:16:00.003-06:00

My mom had signed me up for a summer orchestra program to get me out of her hair for a couple hours each morning. During one of the first classes, my epic lightsaber battle with Darth Vader was interrupted when a delicate voice whispered, “Hey… uh… excuse me.”

As I looked up, I couldn’t help but notice the fairy tale-like curls at the ends of her carefully brushed hair and the way her plain white t-shirt hugged her chest. I finally understood what it meant when someone called a girl cute.

“Umm…” she muttered, displaying an uncomfortable smile.

Oops, I’d been too busy taking in the moment I discovered girls. “Oh, sorry,” I said getting up. As she scooted past, I caught her hair’s sweet berry scent. Did she think I was acting weird? Had I been staring at her? If only I could rewind and start over…

When the girl returned to her seat, I noticed that Allison Arrington was written in black marker in the upper right-hand corner or her music folder. As names go, Allison’s fine for a girl, but kind of boring for a fantasy. I mean, when I take on Jabba the Hutt, I have Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca at my side. The adventure would seem kind of lame if we saved the day rescuing “Allison.” It made a lot more sense if I thought of her as... Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman gave me a reason to look forward to orchestra. I did my best to make a good impression, going the rest of the summer without being scolded for talking in class. However, I never said another word to Wonder Woman. What was I supposed to talk her about?

When summer orchestra ended, I knew that there was a good chance I’d never see Wonder Woman again. We didn’t go to the same middle school; otherwise I would’ve recognized her from sixth grade orchestra. All was lost – unless she transferred schools. If that happened, Wonder Woman would have to talk to me on the first day of class because I’d be the only other violin she recognized! I spent the waning days of summer preparing myself for that possibility. However, when September rolled around, Wonder Woman was nowhere to be seen.

I pledged to never again let a girl slip away.

Life would be a lot easier if I met my soul mate while I was still 12 years old.

Debacle in Progress: I have a Stalker

2007-12-27T10:49:00.000-06:00

I have a stalker, and I'm both creeped out and slightly amused by how weird it is. Stalker, if you are reading this, please identify how you know me and got my contact information.

On Friday, November 30th at 1:37PM, our hero is sitting at work programming away, when he receives a text message from a number he doesn't recognize with a Chicago area code:
Any plans tonight?

I had no clue who this person was and sent an embarrassed reply that said:
sorry, who is this?

At 2:49PM, I received a reply:
It's cool. It's rob

Oh, Rob, of course. Wait, Rob who? I don't know any Rob's in Chicago. Except for a friend of a friend that I'd seen last a couple weeks prior. I guess it was him. I had plans anyway, so I sent a text back:
Thanks for the invite. But, I can't make it.

Rob then sent a reply at 5:31PM:
We're going out tomorrow on halsted let me know

Okay, well I guess it's nice how much he wants to hang out. But, it's a little weird given how poorly I know him.

On Sunday December 2nd at 5:46 AM, I'm woken from my slumber when my phone buzzes with another text message:
Hi!

Okay, that was a little creepy. I mean, wanted to hang out is one thing, but needing to say hello... I went back to bed and later called up my friend, we'll call him Fozzie, who I met Rob through and asked what Rob's deal was. Fozzie said he doubted those texts were from his buddy and later confirmed that his "Rob" wasn't my "Rob". Then who is my Rob, he must have a wrong number!

Nothing prepared our hero for what came next. At 11:30PM on Thursday, December 6th, Rob sent a new text:
3 some

Alright, this is no case of mistaken identity. This is clearly someone messing with me and it's starting to get annoying. It's 10cents a text! Messing with me is fine, but this was starting to get expensive! I sent Rob a reply:
I think you have the wrong number. I figured this would end the whole Rob odyssey.

At exactly midnight, I got the following text:
You don't want a 3 way? We can suck on your cock and balls

Woah! That's a bit over the top. I immediately dialed his number:

Stalker Rob: Hey, my partner and I are about to get started if you're interested
Debacle: Hey, who is this
Stalker Rob: It's Rob, Rob (mumbles last name)
Debacle: Do you know who I am
Stalker Rob: Yes, it's Debacle

He knows my first name! This must be a prank call.

Debacle: How did you get my information
Stalker Rob: We met at a Computer Science conference and I got your information there.

First off, no one in the programming world, calls it a computer science conference, this has to be someone pranking.

Debacle: What conference?
Stalker Rob: It was at McCormick Place a few years ago, a bunch of the big names were there Micrsoft, IBM, you know, it was a conference.

Well, he was partially right. I had gone to a presentation a few years ago at McCormick Convention Center, because of some new product that IBM had launched. But, it was IBM only. And, it just sounded like a lucky guess. I mean, every programmer has been to McCormick place for one reason or another. However, I don't remember ever giving my number away at that conference, and I think I would've remembered giving it away to Stalker Rob. Plus, even if I had, why would he call two years later sending me a lewd text message to switch teams and party it up.

Debacle: Why are you prank calling me?
Stakler Rob: I'm not pranking. I wouldn't have given you my name and number.
Debacle: Seriously, who is this?
Stalker Rob: This is Rob. Dude, I'm not pranking.

I needed to get to bed. It was too late for this. I wish I could've been more awake and played along.

Debacle: Whatever, have a good night.
(click)

The following morning, I revealed Stalker Robb to my co-workers. I had no idea who it was pranking me. My co-workers andI agreed, the only way to handle this was with prank text messages. So, we sent a couple pretty absurd text messages from fake number. Nothing as lude as what he sent, but about partying it up with him on Halsted.

On December 10th, at 10:50 PM, I heard from Rob again: ?

He had sent me a question mark. Were my fake text messages any weirder than the crap he sent me. I figured that was the end of it, finally. Until last night at 7:48 PM, Stalker Rob sent me another text:
Hey, i'm having a new years eve party. You should come

Okay, sure Stalker Robb, I'd love to come to your fake New Years Eve party. I'll play along. I'm curious who you are. I replied with:
Sure, what's your address

At 7:59PM, he replied with: (Chicago address I've never heard of) you can bring a friend if you like. We don't want nothing too big. With some cool lounge music!

The first thing I did, was look up the address, and it existed, way south east side of Chicago. Actually a decent neighborhood as it turns out. But, even so, he was just messing with me and giving me a silly address. Who has it out for me like this to mess with me this way. After the Death Star, I can't think of anyone who had it out for me, and that was a long time ago.

He followed immediately with a text message that said: Drinks. Also bring a drink of your choice. Cool, down to earth people only :-)

So, this morning at work, I was talking about Stalker Robb some more and showed them the new texts. They were as baffled as I was by the South Side address. We talked about it, I couldn't do a reverse lookup. I had to know who this was, just for curiosity's sake. Well, then it was called to my attention that for $15, I could do a reverse phone lookup. What the hell, I was game. Who was Stalker Rob. I couldn't wait to find out who was messing with me.

So, I looked up Stalker Rob, and what should I find, but... well... a Hispanic name, where the first name was Roberto. Roberto? Who the hell is that? I don't know any Robertos.

Then, I looked up the name in the Chicago White pages, and the address listed for the name was the same as the address of the party. It's a real address! Stalker Rob is real! Soylent Green is People! Stalker Rob is real!

Now, I'm freaked out...

ZOLTAN: Savior of Middle Earth

2006-02-01T23:45:00.000-06:00

This is part of a series of guest writers telling the story of Zoltan. Together, we shall assemble the most extensive Zoltan litergy on the world wide web.

Special by Chun Li,

Ok so how about this one time ZOLTAN was wandering around Mount Doom and Frodo was all like, "never mind I'm a little halfling weakling and I'm totally going to keep the ring for myself" and Gollum was all like, "no you don't, bitch" and totally chomped down on his finger and the Sunbelt ref was all "no flag on the play" and then ZOLTAN was totally like "this is lame" and called down his minions and while the minions were tearing and devouring the guts of the Sunbelt ref, Zoltan drew back his mighty leg and kicked Gollum into the fire, thereby saving Middlearth.

ZOLTAN's First Word;
Mrs. Mesko was sitting in her rocking chair in Olde Romania, knitting a suit of chain mail for her six month old son. In his crib, Zoltan was sucking on his blood pacifier and meditating on the mobile above him. The rotating circles and animals and rainbows made him think of the enemies he would one day PUNTINATE, and so with a mighty effort he stood up in his crib, drew a deep breath and roared, "AWESOME!"

His mother threw him his rattle and he raised that in the air, a blue rattle shaped like a scepter with a Z on the crest and he roared his second phrase, which was "GO BLUE!"

Keep the Haiku's coming, and please contribute to the ZOLTAN litergy.

ZOLTAN!!!! The Drawing Contest

2006-01-30T22:26:00.000-06:00

Loyal readers, speaking both for myself and the other judges, thank you for your submissions to the first annual ZOLTAN!!! The Drawing Contest. If you are unfamiliar with the specifics of ZOLTAN the Puntinator, I strongly suggest you take a look this past entry. Much thanks to Benito for hosting the drawing contest on his webspace.

After several late nights, we were able to shrink the submissions into a top five. Before scrolling through the results, please take between 10 and 20 seconds to take in the majesty of ZOLTAN!!! After taking in each picture, you have to shout out ZOLTAN as loud as you can... If you don't, his minions will not be happy.

FIFTH PLACE:
LISA IS ZOLTANED!!
Submitted by Benito

What a brilliant display of ZOLTAN’s power. I mean, there are many super hero’s in the world, but name a super hero with the power to make the Mona Lisa frown? Now, who would've thought that super hero was merely a punter. ZOLTAN!!!!

FOURTH PLACE
ZOLTAN IN CHARGE
Submitted by the Red Dragon and Spilly McDrink

Wow, I never realized until I saw this picture that Zoltan went back in time and replaced Scott Baio with himself. Give him some credit, he looks a lot like Mr. Baio. But, those ciggys and sunglasses are a dead giveaway. Plus, the dragon sweater. Nice touch Zoltie. How many Vampires do you know that can carry a lead role in a series for six years!? ZOLTAN!!!!!

THIRD PLACE:
TOTALLY SWEET MORPHING ZOLTAN
Submitted by Benito

Not only is Zoltan a totally sweet Daywalker vampire, but he can morph into a Lion thing with a spiky tail. I think Michigan is saving this for the Ohio State game. ZOLTAN!!!!!

SECOND PLACE:
CLOUD THAT WON'T RAIN
by Optimus Prime

Wow! So much to love about this picture. Clearly a labor of love against the Decepticons. How about those buckets of dead bodies? Plus, the single bar face mask. Go ZOLTAN! Imagine the power to make an asteroid frown or a cloud not rain. I really like how the artist chose to show the injustice in the world by adding a picture of a Big Mean Guy. ZOLTAN!!!

FIRST PLACE:
ZOLTAN THE PUNTINATOR
by Gannon

Perfection on a canvas. ZOLTAN!!!!! Gotta love the minions surrounding Michigan Stadium.

Okay, so as promised, I'll add my own ZOLTAN drawing. You see, I made an effort, and that's the key word... effort. I've had success with Microsoft Paint drawings in the past. However, this looks more like ZOLTAN!!! the Bug Thing. Yeah... ummm... glad my fan base picked up the slack. Yeah, it's kind of a debacle. Well, without further ado, here's ZOLTAN!!! The Bug Thing:

Ummmmmmm... ZOLTAN!!!

This is hardly the end of the ZOLTAN liturgy. I mean, we're going to have stories about ZOLTAN's first day of school, ZOLTAN learning to walk, ZOLTAN learning to puntinate and ZOLTAN overthrowing Nicolae Ceausescu. Seriously, feel free to submit your own ZOLTAN story, poem, picture (just because the contest is over doesn't mean I'm done putting up pictures) or Haiku. MyDebacles is happy to host the story of the half-vampire man behind the Z.

And, the next ZOLTAN contest will be the ZOLTAN Haiku contest. Let's 5-7-5 it up. Feel free to email me Haiku's or drop them in the comments. I'll start us off with the inaugural ZOLTAN Haiku.

Crowd boos on Fourth down
He summons justice minions
All hail ZOLTAN's punt

Think of the possibilities. Submit your ZOLTAN Haiku today!!!!!!

ZOLTAN the Puntinator

2006-01-11T22:43:00.000-06:00

Okay... in order to experience this post in all its majesty, you need to listen to the TROGDOR song. Click on the link, then click on songs, then click on TROGDOR!! You probably need to listen to the song a couple of times, and whenever they sing TROGDOR, replace it with ZOLTAN. And replace "Burninating the Peasants" with "Puntinating the 'ponents". Not to worry, all will be explained.

As everyone knows, if you're going to be a ridiculously good kicker, you need to be from another country. See the Polish Sebastian Janikowski or the Elvish Gramatica brothers. Also, if you have a totally sweet name, you have magical powers. See He-Man, Launchpad McQuack and Splinter.

Well, when you combine forces, what do you get? ZOLTAN MESKO, the Puntinator!!! Michigan has a punter on their roster named ZOLTAN MESKO. He redshirted his freshman year, probably because the coaches didn't have the gameplan ready for him yet. Yes, that's right, a gameplan for the punter. ZOLTAN will change the game.

Now, before I explain the gameplan, I'm going to have to explain his powers. From the name alone, you know ZOLTAN is no normal dude. Seriously, think about it. You're in class, and they're reading the attendance sheet.

"Katie Martin" -- "Here".
"David Melville" -- "Present".
"ZOLTAN" . Zoltan extends his fist and a being (not to worry, it's a being of justice) he summons from the underworld flies out. This being's baritone voice shakes the classroom as it blares, "ZOLTAN IS PRESENT AND READY TO LEARNINATE!!!!!"

I wish I was in that class, because I bet if it was a sub, she'd get really confused and forget where she was in the attendance and I'd tell her she left off at David Melville just so the learnination being can fly around the room again.

Also, ZOLTAN is probably a vampire. You see, he's from Romania originally and we all know he has powers. So, I'm just guessing he's a vampire. I don't know this for sure. If he isn't, it's no big deal. I suppose he could have a different source for his powers. He's wouldn’t be the full-fledged Draculaesqe evil blood sucking vampire. He's more of the Wesley Snipes good guy, bad-ass half-vampire that can dodge bullets. How do I know this? Well Wesley Snipe's Blade character can go out during the day, and I don't remember reading anything in ZOLTAN's recruiting reports that said he couldn't punt during daylight hours. So, you gotta figure he's only a halfling.

Now, just imagine the possibilities for ZOLTAN! It's fourth down, Michigan has to punt. Probably the first time ZOLTAN's sent out, people are a little unhappy that we’re punting. But, after ZOLTAN rides his glow-in-the-dark chimera onto the field, holding his mighty flaming "Z" sculpture, throws the sculpture into the ground, then the scepter disappears into his underworld minions. The minions rock the stadium and break the windows in the press box with a shout of "ZOLTAN THE PUNTINATOR!" You've gotta figure that he'll become a fan favorite. Personally, I wouldn't feel comfortable catching a ball he kicks. I bet it flashes in the air, and if you look really close, you can see the “Z” fade in and out.

I wonder if he's ever shanked a punt? I'd guess if he did, we'd never know. He'd just summon another ball, and kick that one so fast that it would spin around the world, go back in time and prevent the bad punt from ever happening, al la Superman I. That's technically illegal, but seriously, who's going to prove that he did it? I don't know how to prove it without a flux capacitor, 1.21 jigawatts and a Delorean. And, seriously, when was the last time you saw a Delorean?

If I'm Michigan, and I'm blowing someone out late in the game, I’m hoping we punt on second down. Hell, if I'm losing, I punt on 1st down, just to get the crowd into the game. Besides, the punt is likely to blow up whoever catches it, and that's a live ball. In some ways, it's like an onsides kick. Now, I bet the chimera, minion shtick would get old after a couple years, but not to worry. He's ZOLTAN the Puntinator. I'm sure he'd find some way to mix it up.

I hope he doesn't go pro early. Michigan football won't be the same without him.

I tried to draw a picture in Mirosoft Paint, kind of an artists depiction of what ZOLTAN will look like he will when he rides on the field with his glow-in-the-dark chimera. I figured it would help the post. Sadly, the picture looks like it was drawn by someone with my mental age. ZOLTAN kind of looks like a bee thing with a cheap plastic “Z” scepter that he got out of a “Happy Meal”. I thought about sending it to him and telling him that I was a four year old and he was my favorite player. However, he's ZOLTAN, he'd probably see through that and send his minions to laugh at me and my picture. One person laughing at you hurts enough, imagine minions. However, I am starting the first ever ZOLTAN drawing contest. If I get three submissions from the separate people, I'll post the winner's picture and show you my picture so you can laugh at me (yes I wasn't joking, he really looks like a bee and not like a half-vampire puntinator). I’m serious about the contest too.

In upcoming posts looks for:
Taco Bell 7-Layer attempt on my life
ZOLTAN contest winners
We're Dancing baby!
My Least Favorite Mid-Major: Notre Dame
Getting the Tag off My Running Shoes (when it happens. Wishful thinking perhaps)
Classic Looks: Don't forget the flowers
60 Seconds in a Minute
Nostradamus can eat my Nuts!
More Bogart Advice
Speed Debacling
Bench Clearing Orchestra Brawl
My Guardian Rubber Alligator

Debacle Index: Orange Alert

Detroit Lions... It's Over

2005-12-14T22:55:00.001-06:00

Dear Detroit Lions,

I have put off this post for quite sometime. But, I can't keep going through my life with a relationship as unfulfilling as ours. I'm sorry to do this over a blog and not in person, but... sorry, give me a second.... I just don't feel you're making any effort here. The Matt Millen era has pushed this beyond the point of no return.

I can change. Just give me a chance. Sweeping new changes are coming. A new era of Detroit Lions football...

Shut up! You always promise me a new era of Lions football. You've won one playoff game since 1957! Do you have any idea how many people have been born and died since 1957? You've won 20 games since the end of the 2000 season. You've tied up a ludicrous amount of salary cap money in young wide receivers without addressing the obvious concerns, such as the horrendous offensive line or the quarterback position.

It's not my fault Joey Harrington sucks.

GAH!!! I've wanted this to work so bad. But you're showing me why it can't. You need to grow up. All you're doing is pointing fingers and not addressing the obvious problems. Harrington has not worked out as you would hope a #3 overall pick would. But, you haven't exactly put him in a position to succeed. You've surrounded him with a second rate offensive line, an almost non-existent running game (except for 2004) and a wide high priced receiver corp. that has been MIA. Don't you realize, Payton Manning and Joe Montana would've struggled in this environment.

You expect too much of me. All Detroit fans are too negative. Not everyone can be the Red Wings and win you a championship every other year or the Pistons go to work every night with Ben Wallce. We can't all have awesome froes!

Oh Detroit Lions, how do you live with yourself? Detroit wants nothing more than a winning NFL franchise. Do you remember the support that was always drummed up during the Wayne Fontes "save my job" playoff runs? The fans don't need the New England Patriots. They'd settle for the consistently mediocre and unimpressive Kansas City Chiefs. That's all we need from you. Just make it fun to watch games. The only thing I was thankful for during the 27-7 loss to the Falcons on Thanksgiving was that I wasn't in the stadium. The previous year you lost 41-9 to the Colts on Thanksgiving. The only reason there's a Thanksgiving game in Detroit these days is so the other NFL franchises can be thankful they're not you.

Maybe you just need to go to a game. It really doesn't look so bad in person.

The last time I went to a Lions game, I got to the stadium an hour early, had to walk all the way around the stadium, spend an hour waiting in line at Will Call, and then walk all the way back around the stadium. By the time I got to my seats it was 17-3 Tampa Bay and the game was over. I'm tired of the excuses. I hope we can be friends down the road. But, I don't know if it's possible.

You're so ungrateful! I gave you Barry Sanders. The greatest running back in the history of game.

Yet, you only approached a Super Bowl once, never tried to build a team around him. He spent half his career in a run-and-shoot build around Rodney Peete. Rodney Peete! And Barry was so fed-up with you that he left when all he needed was a year to break the career rushing mark. And I'm going to leave you too. I can pick up another NFL franchise. Just because I'm from Michigan, and my Dad and Grandpa grew up watching you lose, doesn't mean that I have to take it to. I am not doomed to this abuse cycle. I am empowered. I and my own man. I see a wonderful future with myself and the San Diego Super Chargers!!!!

You don't mean that... you can't. You're killing me debacle, you're killing me!

This is hard for me to. Harder than you know. My whole life, fall Sunday's were Detroit Lions days.

Well... enjoy the Chargers. I hope they can bring you the happiness that I never could. It may not have looked like it. But, I tried. I tried Scott Mitchell, Ty Detmer, Gary Moller, Marty Morningweg, Charlie Batch, Jonnie Morton, Joey Heisman, Jeff Garcia, Mike McMahon, Charles Rogers and Steve Mariucci. It may not have worked. I made some bad choices. I'm sorry. But, I'm going to keep fighting, and one of these days, I'll bring Detroit something it'll be proud of. Maybe even a playoff win.

Oh Lions! How could I be so crass, I'm sorry! I don't know why I hurt you so. It's all my fault. I couldn't not be a Lions fan. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I know one day you'll treat me right.

It's okay Debacle. All I want is for you to be happy (not the best to open this at work). It's forgiven. Just don't scare me like that again...

Just one thing.

Oh debacle, for you, anything!

Could you fire Matt Millen and bring in someone who knows what they're doing personnel wise. Someone who won't point fingers, but addresses problems. You know, someone with experience.

I'll consider it at the end of the season. I'll do what's be for the organization.

Then we're on a break!!! As long as Millen is there, I'm no longer a Lions fan. I renounce the Detroit Lions! Go San Diego Super Chargers!!!!

In upcoming posts looks for:
Taco Bell 7-Layer attempt on my life
Remember the Alamo!
We're Dancing baby!
My Least Favorite Mid-Major: Notre Dame
Getting the Tag off My Running Shoes (when it happens. Wishful thinking perhaps)
Classic Looks: Don't forget the flowers
Nostradamus can eat my Nuts
The Victoria's Secret Incident

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert

I'm a single guy with cats

2005-12-12T20:10:00.001-06:00

Near the end of my final tour of College, I was talking with my roomates about how I was going to get cats when I moved out on my own. I was somewhat surprised by how hillarious this idea struck them. Apparently, there's a bit of a stigma associated with a single dude owning cats. For some reason people think owning cats is somewhat effeminate... People tend to think of the crazy cat lady when they hear about a single guy owning cats. Let's face it, as a single dude, making people think about crazy cat ladies (these links are worth going to) isn't going to make the best first impression.

Well, the crazy cat ladies of the world have really hurt my game. I'm on a mission to dudify the stigma of cat ownership. Because, let's face it, I don't see what makes owning cats so girly. I was originally thinking about taking pictures of my cats when they look at porn, watch football and drink beer, just to show that cats can be good pets for dudes. But, I thought about it, and I wasn't sure that was the best course of action. I mean, I'm only a big fan of one of the three personally. And, I've met ladies who are game for all three. Besides, it's rather shallow to attempt to prove a point with tired stereotypes.

So, instead, I decided to just tell it like it is. I'll give you a window into what its been like since I got home and caught up with my cats. So, like I said, I have two. Their names are Mazel and Strider and they're brothers, both a year and a half old. It's really fraternal owning cats and it's amazing how two cats, both brothers, raised in basically the same environment, can have such strikingly different personalities. Mazel definitely got the looks and the charm. It can be a bit much sometimes, because it's like he always has something to prove and he won't stop talking about the "lats" (lady cats). But, he's pretty hilarious, and fun to have around. Strider on the other hand is a wonderful compliment. He's got a few extra ounces, which doesn't seem to bother his so much. Nothing phases him. He's the perfect wingman for Mazel, and he much prefers to let the "lats" (ugh, I can't get used to that word. Worst part of cat ownership) come to him.

I could tell they were home when I heard Usher's Yeah! blaring down the hallway. I asked them to turn it down a notch while I made dinner. They're good roommates, they had no problem with that. Mazel was in a good mood. He told me that the "smokin' lat" in the window was giving him serious vibe during the day. Strider gave him a high five as if to say, "You know it bro!" Mazel popped his collar up and confidently nodded.

Apparently, the "lat" (ugh, so painful to type), fell asleep in the window closest to my apartment, and was "totally pawing glass" at Mazel. During the glass pawing, Strider went to Limewire and downloaded Some Barry White song and blared it during the “glass pawing”. The "lat" left not long later, but she'd been on the window sill all day and was probably hungry. Also, trying not to show she was too interested. Yeah, that didn’t really make sense to me either. Mazel told me that if there was ever some cat food under the door, I should find somewhere else to crash. I mean that's fair, I don't want to be a game wrecker.

I was asking Mazel about this "lat". You know, what she was like. He just told me about how smokin' she was. Strider interjected several time some "Yeah dudes, she's totally fine" But, I was curious about personality and stuff. You know, what she was into. Wet or dry food, mice or spiders... etc... Neither of them knew how to answer the question. They just kept telling me about her thighs, front paws, utters, etc... I mean, I didn't see what the big deal was, I know what she looked like, I felt we didn't have to keep talking about it. To be honest, I got a little bored. But the two of them kept yapping up a storm about her. They still are... I can't say I understand cats. But, I think you'll agree, cats can be quite "dudish".

Although, at the same time, I haven't been around many female cats. Maybe they're different. Strider told me some stories about how they like to circle the fat on each other and eat nothing but catnip in an attempt to lose weight. I dunno... maybe that's different. Maybe crazy cat ladies only have "lats". I'm happy with my two cats. Kind of annoying how they want me to get Tivo just for "Desperate Housewives." I mean, I just can't always relate to them. But, it's fun. I have no regrets about being a single guy with cats.

As a side note, I promised to write a rant about the Lions today. Don't worry, that's coming. In addition, also on the horizon is a MyDebacles classic look back at "Two Thursdays Ago".

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert

I'm no MacGyver

2005-12-11T22:40:00.000-06:00

If I could be any television character, it'd be MacGyver. For 55 minutes, his show would ramble on about some international private foundation that would go around the world helping people... I'm getting bored just thinking about it. But, for five minutes, he would draw innovation from his classic 80s mullet and build something to save the day. Be it, a defibrillator from some power cords and silver candlesticks, a bomb from swamp gas and bamboo chutes or stopping the boat carrying him to Heaven with rope and several other household objects so he could come back to life and stop the terrorists (well, that might've been when it jumped the shark). He could salvage any show, no matter how bad, by building something. Imagine the everyday uses of this ability... You're on a date, it's going bad, and using a fork, a rubber band, and your watch and a bike helmet, you build an escape pod and run away. Best superhero ever...

Well, today we learned that I am no MacGyver. I purchased some running shoes yesterday, and I took them out this morning to go running and found that they still had the security tag attached. Well, as I saw it, I had two choices, I could take the shoe back, or break off the security tag and go running. For any MacGyver fan such as myself, the choice was obvious. Besides, I had some scissors, a wine corker, a manual can opener and a Phillips screwdriver.

I quickly tried to cut through the metal wire holding the tag on... no dice, my scissors broke and the wire was in tact. I blame my mullet for getting in the way. I discarded the scissors, and attempted to use the screwdriver to break through the plastic of the tag. After approximately 45 minutes (the time it would take to get to the shoe store and back twice), I managed to break up all of the plastic except for the inner plastic piece which was much stronger.

Enter the manual can opener. Perfect size for the plastic piece. Well, it didn't work, but I didn't break it either. I'll say that's an even trade. There was a small opening on the top of the plastic, perfect for a wine corker. Well, that didn't work either....... After approximately one and a half hours of my life wasted, I still had the small plastic piece attached. I could probably run with it on. Although, if someone looked at my shoe, they'd think I'd zoinked it. I can't take it back to the shoe store, because they probably wouldn't be so happy that I destroyed their tag and didn't bring it back to them in the first place.

This is a debacle. And, I am no MacGyver. I need a Mullet of Knowledge. Starting today, I will begin growth of my Mullet of Knowledge. I'll just explain to people I'm growing a mullet to get the tag off my running shoes.

Just saw the Lions lose to the Packers... For my next post I shall rant about the Lions.

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert.
Mullet of Knowledge Index: Long way to go...

Debacles

2005-12-11T22:16:00.000-06:00

Well, after enough ESPN Classic style debacles, I decided it was time for a blog. We'll see how well I keep up with it (don't worry, it won't ALL be about my debacles). But, I figure I'll webize it and see what I got....

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert.