Sunday afternoon. 3:30 and you can already see the sun going down. Where has the day gone? Oh, yeah, I was asleep until noon. Not sure how much I will be able to type, as my fingers are still in crippling pain from last night's bowling fun. It was totally worth it, though. Nothing can beat the feeling of comraderie amongst 20 crazy folks full of love, beer and bowling spirit. I honestly haven't felt so much a part of a group since college. Something I had been lacking the past 7 years or so. I finally am rid of the shackles of wanting to revisit that time, and now am intent on making the most out of now. Enough rambling. As an added bonus to anybody reading, I will now present an excerpt from my book that I am currently writing and will hopefully be finished in 2003. I won't tell you what it's about, but if you're reading this, you most likely know me, and therefore, know what it is about already. Enjoy...


Annette


Annette -- I’m pretty sure that’s what her name was. It’s a little fuzzy in the rearview mirror, I suppose. What is harder to see is why I never really paid attention to her. She was bright and funny, she had a great smile and long, curly black hair. Perhaps she was a bit too sunny, but otherwise, she was probably a better match for me than Penny, Penny, Helen or Tricia. You could probably say that college guys tend to be a trifle superficial, and you’d be right. I’m pretty sure she liked me, but then again, the amount of girls who I thought liked me and then made a fool of myself trying to impress greatly outweighs the number of women I’ve actually gone out with. Not that I would have done anything smart, like ask her out. I was much too stupid to do anything like that. Not that much has changed, really. I mean, if they had, would I have the time to write this book about misses, near-misses, outright failures and debacles? Where is that person willing to slather attention and affection on you when you finally are able to understand it all? But I digress.


Where was I? Oh yes, Annette -- she was the oft-ignored Delia to my bumbling Brian Krakow; her down-to-earth charm and radiant inner beauty (slightly shrouded by a few extra pounds) was no match for my deluded teenage male ideal of the outer beauty to which I was deserving -- an ideal, which, of course (with the glaring exception of Helen, for a few short months, at least) would never be attained. If they had cast me in the starring role of a kung-fu love story, they could have called it “Enter the Dumbass.” I could just play myself. Love would be personified as a heart with legs and fists which would kick my dumb ass.


She was always so nice to me. She was always so excited, and seemed so happy. I hope she wasn’t just putting on a brave face, Marge Simpson style. I wonder if she really did like me, and if I ever hurt her feelings or made her feel invisible. Especially since now I would give up so much of what I have to spend my nights with someone who could make my problems seem insignificant with just a simple smile. Someone who could make me feel that it was worth waking up every day, just to see that starry-eyed, crooked-tooth smile...


Right, I know what you’re thinking -- “Gee, this smug, egotistical, dough-brained bastard knew a girl who smiled at him a lot a decade ago, to whom he never gave the time of day in anything more than a literal sense, has come to the untenable conclusion (and completely out of the blue and as random as a Montana lightning-storm) that since the love of her life never so much as THOUGHT about asking her out, to even so much as coffee, she surely must have moved to Santa Cruz and become a lesbian, living a sham life with her Westie and a life-partner named Pat.” Well, think about it, you may be right. But now that she has reappeared in my consciousness, after such a long time burrowing deep below in the grey matter, I do wonder where she is now, what she’s doing, if she has found true love or realized any of her dreams. If she really is a lesbian living in Northern California, and what was her last name? Perhaps, more importantly, is she writing a book like this one about what a bastard I am? ---END---