June 5th, 2005

Bizarre Happenings, Round 2.

As we're all rushing from the BMW-smashing party before the cops show up, who other than Charles P. Mathis rides up on his brand new Honda vespa. I drunkenly hop onto the back of the vespa with him, greeting him with his much deserved hello and holding tightly onto his scrawny torso for balance. I think to myself that Charlie is fucking adorable. And we cruise around JP on his new toy as he playfully swirves about the road and I extend my legs outward and laugh. The breeze feels amazing on my skin on this humid night in Boston, and although we don't go that fast, the speed I'm feeling personally is certainly fast enough for me. We dominate the sidewalk and nearly kill ourselves trying to ride comfortably over the T tracks, as Charlie admits he's had a few drinks only after he parks in the driveway and I make my way up to the steps for a smoke.

We spend the next 45 minutes waiting for Jill to arrive at her apartment, locked outside contently in the beautiful night weather, with cigarettes and each others company. It's funny when you get to a point with someone when you can joke about the times in the past you fucked up around them. It's nice to be able to laugh at the times in the past when all you could do was hold your head in your hands and regret anything and everything you did. We sat our there laughing until the last possible second that we could. When we saw Jill and company making their way up the sidewalk and to the door, Charlie quickly gave me the kiss we'd been waiting to continue for months. Disregarding his girlfriend and my desire to lay low, I kissed him back, and I loved it.

Bizarre Happenings, round 3.

Every time I go to Red Sox games, something happens. Usually random things that don't effect me personally or emotionally, but they're entertaining nonetheless, just because Sox fans are so charasmatic and into the game that they frequently get swept away. Last time I went, two girls in the seats directly in front of me wanted to start the wave. THey succeeded after at least thirty failed attempts, but let me tell you something: these girls had little to do with their ability to start a wave that ran around the stadium seven or eight times. You see, it was all about the thongs they were wearing that were falling out all up in my face every time they moved. One of them came equipped with a massive teal bow, as if it was meant to stick out and attract attention. Later that night, I watched a dude-guy A's fan get kicked out of the stadium for trying to take on an entire section of Red Sox fans by himself, and losing miserably with his unwanted foul language and desire to "start shit."

Last night, against the Angels, another dude-guy wanted to start his own wave, but lost his voice in the process of trying to reach the whole section with his yells. He succeeded, too, and as the wave came around again, he opened up a small white box and popped the question to his girlfriend, who accepted. And of course, when the Angels hit a two-run homer to the Green Monster seats, about ten seconds after catching his homerun ball, the fan declined his reward and threw the ball back into the outfield. I also got my face on the big screen, and my picture taken by some random lady because she liked me "hand warmer."

I don't feel like paying ten bucks to buy a crappy picture of myself making a discombobulated metal sign, so you'll have to deal with the big "PROOF" sign in the middle.