.:||:. Controlled Spin .:||:.

::5.04.2004::

Go Hang Salami I’m A Lasagna Hog!!!

Life, love it, hate it, it still is life. You personally think it sucks or that it’s great, but others will find your life interesting to the point of being highly annoying to you and having to tell the same story over and over. Take for instance the title of this post. Though you may not realize it, that simple (yet extremely strange) statement reads the same backwards as it does forewords. What’s the point of my telling you this? Read on, shiny diamond, read on.

*** Disclaimer ***
*** Since the will of many out weighs the will of a few, I’m going to amend the policy of no longer talking about my love life, those who don’t want to hear about it can kiss my tanned (I went to the pool… ::taunts:: nanny-nanny-boo-boo :-p) Asian ass. ***

Saturday April 17 –
Walking Tiff out to her car she confesses to me her attraction to Michael one of the kitchen guys at ‘The Burb’. Michael is a pretty cool kid… yeah KID, he’s only 16!!! Tiff is 18 and going to West Georgia this fall, I mean am I the only person who sees something odd in that?

Saturday April 24 –
Having been sick for the past week and having suffered the better part of said week with a very bad migraine, I take a very large hit of Dayquil and head to ‘The Burb’ praying that I survive my shift. We got slammed there were orders coming in left and right, and this did not help my mood much. I got to sit and watch Tiff flirt with Michael, and normally it doesn’t bother me, I mean most of my female friends flirt with me all the time, so I’ve grown accustomed to it. This time however, something welled up in the back of my mind and for some reason it got to me, and that’s what pissed me off, is that it got to me (I hope that makes sense). Josh (one of the kitchen heads, and one of my best buds) asked me what was wrong, and I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it (All the kitchen guys work in a very small area, so it would have been very difficult to talk to Josh about it and keep Michael from over hearing). As the night continued, Tiff asked me what was wrong (she’s always had this sixth sense about how I feel, and can tell exactly what and when something is wrong with me) to which I only responded “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Josh let Michael go early, and once the evening slowed down he again asked me what was wrong.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I replied.

“Well then, I’m going to take a stab at what’s bugging you. Since you normally tell me everything, I’m going to guess that it has something to do with Michael.”

“Maybe.”

“Okay,” Josh continued. “I’m also going to guess that this has something to do with Tiffany, as you haven’t been very sociable to her this evening.”

“Damnit, am I that easy to read?”

“Only when you’re sick. Medication tends to dull not only illness, but one’s entire persona.”

“Thank you master, have I earned a new belt yet?” I think my dry wit is what makes me such a great guy…

“Heh, seriously dude, just talk to her about it. It probably won’t make you feel any better, but you’ll at least get your head out of your ass and make a decent pizza.”

“Yes sensei.”

“Jackass.”

I don’t think he could have forced his point on me any more when he let me off about twenty seconds before he had Shawn let Tiffany off… (I’m gonna kill that bastard)

I was almost to my car when I heard Tiff, “Alan wait, what’s wrong?”

Looking back on that evening now, I begin to question what impulse made me heed the advice of a 23 year old man who makes pizza for a living.

I spilled the beans, told the whole story. I let it all go. I told her how I feel about her, how when she’s around everything just seems right, I told her how she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I told her about how the last time we watched movies I just sat there with her in my arms and watched her falling asleep. I told her how just seeing her face, hearing her voice, holding her close to me humbled me to my very soul.

However, even the most beautiful of sunsets, carries an obsidian shade of twilight. I told her how looking back on it now, I wish that we’d never dated. I told her that maybe if we hadn’t dated we wouldn’t have to deal with these things, and that maybe our friendship would be a friendship and not my continual fools hope for a second chance. I told her how I was probably going to go home and do as I’d done for god knows how long; get drunk and pass out (I was supposed to go out with some friends that night instead of staying home and getting drunk, but by the time our conversation ended they’d left without me). This she didn’t take lightly, but I wouldn’t expect her to. In fact I half expected some self righteous bought in which she’d go on about how I had no right to dump all of my sorrow on her, or how I should know better than to drown my sorrows night after night, or at the very least for her to slap me in the face and go home.

Quite the contrary, she stood there shocked and awed. “You’re going to give me a big head talking like that.”

“I wasn’t ‘talking’, I was telling you how I feel.”

She told me how she felt; how she wouldn’t trade the time we spent dating for anything. She told me how I’m one of the greatest guy’s she knows. She asked me not to go home and get drunk, that she wouldn’t pursue anything with Michael if I promised not to drown that which cannot sink. She tried to reassure me that I’d find someone else who would make me as happy as I was with her, if not happier; that I’ve got school to look forward to this fall how I’m probably going to meet so many people that it’s not even funny (while I don’t doubt her, she acted as though I’ve never spent a decent amount of time on a college campus… ahhh… U of L, how I miss the smell of cheap beer and the sounds of two all night keggers going on next door to each other… man that was a great week… but I digress).

Being the stupid totter that I am, I was too far gone to compromise, too pissed to be reasonable and too tired for any of what she’d said to settle in. I looked at the clock, it was one thirty, and we’d been sitting and talking for 2 hours. I told her that I was tired and had to go. I got in my car and went home. I think she followed me home to make sure that I didn’t go do something stupid. When I got through the door I pulled out the bottle of wine that I’d bought earlier and poured myself a glass. It’s funny I didn’t even drink any of it before I passed out.

When I awoke the next morning, it all came rushing at me. You know how sometimes when you do something stupid, like maybe you’ll be out playing catch with one of your friends and you’ll get distracted, turn around and there is a ball about a foot away flying right at your face. You see it coming and it’s almost like a slow-mo replay. You know it’s going to hurt, you have every chance to move, but you stare at it like a deer in the head lights. This is very similar to the morning after my talk with Tiffany. It had all come full circle; it began to read the same backwards as forwards, and it left me as confused as she had when she asked me to make out.

I haven’t talked to her about any of this, and I don’t plan too (unless she brings it up). I’ve realized who in the hell am I to question her judgment and opinion. I mean how many people my age can say that they’ve found that one person that makes all the difference in the world, even if only in your eyes? I should be happy that I’m so lucky as to know that feeling, the elation that comes along with it. I may not have won the girl, but I know she’s out there, I know who she is and what she is like; and that is better than knowing nothing.

>> Alan spun round and round on 5/04/2004 02:44:00 PM

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