Or, as I was told… the Hall of fame of Douche Bags.
Is that harsh?
I really didn't think so either, after I thought about it. Of course, that conversation happened before another ill-fated date. I guess, I really have made a career of it. People always wonder why they feel like they have the worst love life. Then some of them meet me. Others, end up at the other side of a table from me at dinner. They are the unlucky ones in this. Tonight, we tried a rather nice, talkative brunette, and a low key place in the early afternoon. I then spent the early evening trying to get the hell out of Davenport for a few hours. Eventually I realized, there wasn’t much point in running away from it. I managed to sit through dinner; what keeps me from just sitting through it in Dport? For that matter, what keeps me from sitting in the chair, awaiting my induction at the Hall someday? That’s what keeps me going I guess.
For the longest time, people never believed me when I would tell some stories. Then, inevitably, then never wanted to stop hearing stories. Now, they seemed to have stalled or stagnated on the stories. Some are asking pesky questions. Or loosing interest. So. At dinner, we sat. I tried to make idle conversation. It wasn’t working. There wasn’t really any kind of middle ground. I also noticed, she wasn’t particularly making any eye contact at me. Always a great sign. I hate being so uninteresting that people ignore me. Especially in one on one settings. So, sensing it was a lost cause, I shut up for a while. She was talkative. But not interesting. People Magazine would be interested. I wasn’t.
“So what kind of porn are you in to?” The question just sat there on the table for a few minutes. There was the awkward time where neither of us really wanted to touch it again. But. She finally answered. I win again.
Eventually I got my 10 minutes of fun out of her discomfort in approaching the answer. Squirming. Making funny faces, forcing the outward look of appall. But I forced the issue as best I know how. So, I think it couldn't have gone any worse than it did. Would it really go much better than that?
Here and now, I guess I laugh about things like this. Its pathetic. I understand that. I also understand, I put myself through great and unnecessary duress, to not end up in the Hall. I don’t want to end up in the Hall of Fame. When has anyone ever said that? When has anyone, with numbers like mine; with stories of the chase like mine; that has just gone through the grind every day, to play the game; when has anyone ever said that? That I don’t want to be in the Hall of Fame. But, I’m on my way.
As a career, it really isn’t about what I’ve played for that is going to get me in; it’s how I played. Take for exampled my most recent dinner date fiasco. I pulled that can of gas out, and doused everything in sight. I didn’t need to do that. I didn’t wasn’t to do that… not initially. But I did it. Like the one winter night, where I sat and just screamed obscenities at someone, to make her cry, and to watch her cry. It didn’t matter what she had done to me, most people might say. It didn’t matter what I was playing for. It only mattered what happened when I went to bat. And, I keep going to bat. I never miss my turn. I bat third. Because for every shit situation I keep getting into, I always have to make the last out. Make the last out, or make it count. That is what defines a Hall of Famer. That is a career guy.
I always sit up, those moments before I get out of bed, but after the alarm goes off, and ask myself; What kind of day am I going to have? I ask myself, if today is the day I can make it happen. So I go out there and get ripped every time. I go out there, when I know that I had an awful game the day before. I know I have to swing again when I hear the cat-calls, and the jeers. I know too, that I have to hit again in 3 innings or less. Like it, or not. Like it or not; I’ve gone back to girls I shouldn’t have. I’ve faced them again and again. I’ve seen people I’ll never see again. I’ve seen people that wouldn’t ever want to see me again, every day. But I go back out there.
Like it or not, 3 innings is coming up fast on me again. Maybe it means, this is my last few at bats before I have to call it off. I’m pressing, but I need a hit. I can do it in my last AB. Ted Williams hit a homer and walked off on his final shot, and look where he is… Cooperstown. Teddy Ballgame. Ted Williams was a ball player. The best I’ve ever known. Ted Williams, made the Hall of Fame. I’m on the path to the Embarrassment-town. I’m probably going to make the Douche Bag Hall of Fame. Because I don’t want to end up that single guy, over 30. I don’t want to be the one, everyone laughs at. The guy that doesn’t have a family. That doesn’t have a real job, or real money. The guy that doesn’t really have the respect of anyone that knows him. The guy, everyone looks at, and treats differently. So I play. I play the game. I keep playing because I want it. I want it to work out for me…. or maybe just for someone like me. Maybe that doesn’t matter now. What matters is, I’m getting older. I’m getting fat. I’m getting so opinionated, I’m divisive and called a separatist. I’m so dedicated to my interests, people abandon me. But I’d like to think I’m not a bad guy. I’d like to think, it isn’t entirely over yet. My name might be on a ballet some day though.
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