Shadowcat no more

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

(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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!!!!!!