Maybe...

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I've done it. I've pulled the trigger. By the time you read this, I'll be... uploading more stuff on to my new 2GB black iPod Nano. Bet for a second there you thought that I was going to say something mildly moving like some sort of post-mortem, but blog-friendly suicide note. Nah, not this time. It'd give the people that hate me too much satisfaction. Any time I think about offing myself, even for a second, I think about the mindless dickheads in the insurance office that I worked in immediately following college, along with the loser that punched me in the face in high school while I was sitting in my parked Plymouth Horizon, and a few other choice douchebags in my checkered past, and there's no way that I would let them think for a second that they actually got to me. In case you haven't had that first few sips of liquid eye-opener that I like to call coffee, what I'm getting at here is that I bought an iPod. Yeah, it's one of the coolest things I own, and, as a matter of fact, I'm listening to it now. It took me a couple marathon sessions in front of the computer... but it's done. Every song that I want to listen to is on this thing. All that shit's really cool, but what's also great is that it matches my apartment... crucial, simply because I actually spend the majority of my day holding up random things in my apartment and deciding whether or not they match my decor. It was a pain in the ass when I had a roommate. He was a lot heavier than I expected, and it was a nightmare to see if he matched my four-foot vertical "Arts of Reform and Persuasion" print. His eyes were the wrong color anyway.

So, I once again digress into the portal that is the corner apartment. As I sit here at 10:18 PM on a Tuesday, listening to my newly acquired iPod, sipping a perfectly concocted Tangueray 10 martini (thanks, Darren) complete with blue cheese stuffed olives and taking a long, slow drag on a Marlboro Light from the Indian reservation just 40 short miles away (thanks again, Pataki), I write with a quiet contentment and subtle happiness. From where is my happiness derived, you may ask? Well, one of my best friends from my much maligned hometown of Jamestown, NY, Steve, called me this afternoon and told me that his lovely wife, Susan, gave birth to their second son, last night, around 3:30 AM. Steve had been up for about 18 hours, and they named him Noah. Perfect. If name is any indication of development, this kid is going to be a lady killer. For those of you that don't know, one of my best friends here in sunny Rochester, is named Noah. Yeah, I'll tell you right now, and I'm sure that Noah will thank me later... women love him. Again, he's my hero.

Sorry for that quick sidebar, but another one of my best friends is now married with 2 kids. While I was on the phone with Steve, going back and forth with the congratulations and all that stuff, he said something very poignant. He said, "can you believe I'm married with 2 kids?" My response was this; "uh, no... I never thought you'd make it past 30." Honestly, I didn't. I didn't think either of us would ascertain that life landmark. We were both a couple of rednecks from a redneck town in redneck Southwestern NY. We were hard-drinking, womanizing, getting-in-bar-fights-and-blaming-the-other-guy rednecks. I gotta say... Steve has turned into the family guy. No, I don't mean the TV show... I mean the wife, 2 kids, and stable job family guy. Kinda like my old man.

After hanging up the phone, I couldn't help but think that when my dad was my age, he was juggling a mortgage, 2 car payments, coaching my 13 year-old baseball team, paying for my sister's tap dance lessons, a wife, and a law practice. I'm 34. I can't juggle a job and a bowling league. Did I mention I shot a 300?

Regardless, I'll get this out of the way early in this post. Congratulations Steve and Susan, and welcome to the world Noah. Done.

Having said that, I'll get into the obligatory what-I-did-this-weekend post. Sorry, Chicago girls, it's not really that blog worthy... but I'll do it anyway. It leads me to another point. I'll get into that later.

So, there I was, Friday. I worked with the boss (which was less than a spectacular showing for the Rychkid, by the way), finished up around 3, and called Pat. After the standard, "what's going on?", I got a shocker. "Wanna go to the hockey game tonight?" I haven't hung out with Pat in about 2 months sans girlfriend. "Fuck yeah I do!" I was floored. He's been so wrapped up in hanging out with the girlfriend that we haven't had a beer together, much less been to a hockey game, in, well... let me just say that I had a lot more hair the last time we hung out. Kidding... I had a little more hair the last time we hung out.

Now, I know that Pat reads this thing, so I'll say this... and I say this with a staunch record of unblemished heterosexuality; I missed Pat. There. I think he'll be OK with that. Pat, along with Noah, are the two straightest guys that I know. They'd rather be circumcised by Stevie Wonder than see Brokeback Mountain. Moving on.

I got the tickets. Pat picked me up. We went to the game. Here's the good news; I got to wear my belt that has a flask for a belt buckle, and I did what anyone who owns a belt with a flask with a belt buckle would do; I filled it with Makers Mark. Pat made a good point; he said that most people would go into a store and see that belt and say, "that's pretty cool." I'm the only one that would actually buy it. I'm OK with that, and living by that type of virtue has served me well. So far, at least.

Well, three periods of hockey, a four minute overtime, a shootout, and three 16 ounce Budweiser plastic bottles later, we headed to our old stand-by; Johnny's. Again, for those of you that are not my loyal readers (damn you), it's about my favorite bar on the planet... Vegas bars excluded, of course. Regardless... decent band, but that's not what was great about heading there. I got to see a few people I haven't seen in a while... good stuff. Nancy... great to see you. You're hot. Bummer that we missed Meg.

After a few choice cocktails there, once again the move was to head to the Park Bench... on my beloved Park Avenue. By the way, I'll live here until I die... rent control and employment permitting. I do love that bar, mainly because it's a good cross-section of the populous of Rochester... young, old... whatever. I kind of hate like hell to go downtown because I'm at that stage in life when I look at a girl in the "hip" bars that are down there now, I can't help but think that one of these girls is the baby that my high school girlfriend gave up about a hundred years ago.

Here's a question for you; at what point do you just become too old to do the downtown bar scene? I'll tell you right now; I get annoyed really quickly in that whole area. I get bumped into about every other second, and invariably, one of my friends will return to our circle of friends with some girl that, one, needs a tanning intervention (it's Rochester, NY and the dead of winter for the love of God... you're not supposed to look like you're in the Bahamas), two, has the barest grasp of the English language, and three, although she may be well-versed in the intricacies of finding the perfect shade of lipstick that happens to be the same shade as her overly-tanned face, and how to be-dazzle a jean jacket, I'm looking for just a touch more intellectual stimulation. That's a great backpack, by the way.

Don't get me wrong... I don't think that 34 is old by any stretch of the imagination... it's really just a matter of being too old for that area. You don't want to be that "old guy" in the club. You know the guy that I'm talking about... not old, just a little too old to be in club. If I start wearing a Member's Only jacket, just tap me on the shoulder... I'll know what you mean, and I'll know what to do. I'll quietly leave, gather up the keys to my Camaro (or if it's winter, my Fiero), and take myself home to my single's gated community. I'll then throw a Tony's Pizza For One in the toaster oven, and sit down to finish reading "Dating for One" by Ted Kaczinski. It's a quick read.

Anyway, having said all that... my Saturday and Sunday were pretty uneventful... sorry to disappoint. Saturday I watched TV, and Sunday I watched the Super Bowl by myself. It was great. That's really all I've got at this point.

Am I wrong to think that I'm not at the place I should be in my life? Should I think about my friends being married and having 2 kids and think, "hey, maybe I need to settle down"? Maybe. Maybe I should be trying to settle down and having kids. Maybe I should go back to school and obtain a degree that would be worth a shitload of money to someone. Maybe I should shave my head. Maybe I should quit smoking. Maybe I should put that new David Powter song on my iPod. Maybe I should throw out the rest of this martini.

Nah... on all counts. Not just yet, at least.

Well, I've now been writing for over an hour... time flies when you know you really need to get some sleep. Funny... that made a lot more sense in my head than when I put it in print.

Having said that, I'm going to log off and get some sleep. My thoughts are all getting in the way of each other. Maybe I'm schizophrenic.

Regardless, I'm actually going to log off now. Gotta get some sleep before I go shopping for baby gifts and a new Member's Only jacket.

Maybe she'll call.

Until next time...

R