Indecipherable Blabber: March 2010

A week ago, I had an itch for some home cooking, so I did what I always do. I went on a culinary vacation to my parent's house in Brandon, Mississippi. I stopped by the new Five Guys Burgers and Fries at Renaissance on my journey, and can confirm that it really does live up to the hype. So after a week of feasting, chasing my displaced dog, drinking too much (sorry Matt, Jordan, Al, Tara), and soaking up some rays, I'm back in Oxford and ready for action. The only problem... everyone is gone!

Yes, it is that magical time of year known as Spring Break. I'm sad to say that the words Spring Break no longer light my lamp like they once did. Since early December, I have been on an amazing streak of holiday; Therefore, I have no reason to believe that this week is any different than the last. I'd like to wish everyone safe travels as they head to the Florida panhandle, the Rocky Mountains, or any other delightful destinations.

As for me, I plan on enjoying some college baseball (the Rebs play Louisville @ Swayze), the SEC and NCAA basketball tournaments, a John Mayer concert (FedEx Forum), St. Patrick's Day festivities (what a great excuse to binge drink?), and a writing trip to Clarksdale for some Blues exploration. I'm sad to say I'll be missing Malcolm White's St. Paddy's Day Parade for the first time in 5 years, but honestly, I've earned a year off from the Sweet Potato Queen mayhem. I'm sure my pals will represent my interests valiantly. Anyone else spending the next 10 days in Oxford is welcome to join my brother and myself in a sunlit lawnchair with drink in hand.

Cheers

Two weeks ago, a friend I had not seen or spoken to in months called for a favor. I’ll call this friend Belinda for the sake of discretion and because “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” by Belinda Carlisle is blaring on my iTunes right now. You know you like that song. So, “Favor” was how Belinda worded her request. Her definition of “favor” happens to be very blurry and is possibly a thinly-veiled synonym of “trap”. She called to ask if I would be her “date” the following night with two of her friends and their “dates”. I use quotations around the word date because that is what her voice implied over the telephone. I know what the word DATE means, but I’m not so sure about the word “DATE”. Now I’ve known Belinda for a couple of years, but never have I thought she was “interested” in me or vice versa. (Note: I’m definitely going to set a record for single-word quotations in this post.) I agreed to go out with her and the rest of the unnamed foursome.

We ate dinner at Lenora’s, in the old L&M’s, and it is a really cool, funky place with good food. If you haven’t been in there, you should check it out. Belinda refused to let me pay for our third of the bill, so I counter-offered with the “well…okay…I’ll buy the drinks later” line (the group had already planned to go hear some tunes at Rooster’s). Other than actually consenting to the “date”, I think the “I’ll buy the drinks later” line was my primary screw-up. Many twenty-something females have it engrained in their mind that guys who offer to buy drinks are “interested” in them. In a lot of cases, this theory is correct. Unfortunately in my situation, Belinda got the wrong idea.

See, Belinda happens to be a sweet, introverted, naïve young lady who still seems a little new to the loud music, late-night, binge-drinking society in which she is immersed. In contrast, I spent my last two years of high school and the past five years of college life partaking in such ill-advised rituals.

At Rooster’s, I followed through on my offer of buying Belinda’s drinks while also encouraging the rest of the group to follow me to the “dancing area” in front of the stage. Some rhythm-less people choose to stand aside and nod their heads during the whole show, but I have one of those flimsy baby necks so that is not an option for me. Okay, I’m lying. After a certain number of drinks, I begin to believe I am James Brown and then I go nuts. Fortunately for me, my remarkable talent for rallying peer pressure caused everyone to join me in some type of raucous zombie-dance. The hippies of the ‘60s would have certainly been impressed by the dancing exhibited by my seemingly “square” companions. Belinda and I danced for most of the night and everybody seemed to have a grand time. Apparently Belinda had too much fun. She slipped in an innocent kiss on my cheek while we danced and I thought nothing of it. When she attempted to drag me outside, I knew I was in for some trouble. I thought my best strategy would be to get her some water and keep her dancing with one of her friends. She responded by attempting to initiate one of those awful, standing-at-the-bar make-out sessions. I quickly avoided it by initiating a massive bear hug. This really is the only good option that doesn’t involve turning and running. My new strategy was to discreetly avoid eye contact.

More problems arose at closing time when everybody in our group was intoxicated, thus unable to drive. Unfortunately, we had discussed the fact that I live a short walk from the Square during dinner, so the peer pressure tactics I had already implemented were glaring back at me. We began the trek towards my residence, but everybody wanted a chicken-on-a-stick from Chevron. At the crowded convenience store, a massive stroke of luck appeared in the form of an empty taxi. I sneakily mentioned to one of the guys that they could take a cab home, and he agreed that was a good plan. I even offered to take him to his car the next morning. The problem occurred when smiley-faced Belinda began to hint that she would rather stay at my place than ride home with her friends. For most guys, this might seem like an awesome opportunity. All I could picture was her expressionless father, whom I had met at a football game a year earlier, smashing my head in with a 9-iron. I certainly was no expert on Belinda’s love life, but I could certainly tell by the look on her friends’ faces that this was not her typical Friday night. So how could I get Belinda into the cab without directly saying “you can’t stay with me?”

I tried to get one of the other girls to encourage her, but that didn’t work. Fortunately I remembered that her friends had mentioned that they had all “gotten ready” at Belinda’s condo. (I’m getting really tired of typing “Belinda”. I really wish Joni Mitchell had been playing on my computer at the beginning of this post.) I cleverly questioned one of the other girls as to whether they were staying at Belinda’s. Then I played the sympathetic “you can’t just leave your friends” card. Somehow, it worked. Ultimately, I made it home alone and alive.

It was a landmark occasion. I was proud of myself. It was possibly the first time I had exerted effort to not hookup with someone. I had turned down a beautiful girl for the first time in my life. Maybe I was not simply a hormone induced male, but instead a conscientious person. Shocking, I know. I was actually imagining seeing Belinda’s father in the Grove next year so I could shake his ice-cold hand with the confidence that he wouldn’t pound his sand-wedge into my overly inflated cranium. Well, I got it all wrong.

Belinda definitely thought I was “interested” in her, and the following day the flood of text messages began. She wanted to go out again on Saturday. I made up an excuse. She wanted to “grab lunch” on Sunday. I didn’t respond. Monday through Friday consisted of constant, meaningless chatter in which I would attempt to be completely polite and uninteresting. It didn’t work. The constant gossip continued along with my pitiful excuses. So last week, I thought I would do the mature thing and just call her and explain the situation. She immediately turned from cute, domestic house cat into vicious, blood-thirsty tiger.

I started by explaining that I thought she was a wonderful, beautiful girl, but that I just wasn’t really interested in dating anyone. This brought out the claws. She hit me with the “you led me on” rant. I calmly disputed the claim and told her that I really did appreciate her asking me to go with her on the “date” (that word is cursed), but that I simply didn’t like her like that. That’s when she went bonkers. Belinda claimed that I was trying to make-out with her at the bar and that she almost went home with me because I was “blatantly inviting her.” Whew, I didn’t know how to respond so I just laughed. This is where I tell any male out there who has suffered through this lengthy story that laughing during an argument with an angry woman (she was quickly elevated from “precocious 22 year old” status to “angry scorpion woman” status) will get you slaughtered. For the sake of ending this painful conversation with a person whom I genuinely thought was a nice girl and friend, I relentlessly apologized for any confusion I may have caused and got off the phone. Well, to make things even more exciting, I saw one of the other girls from “date night” at Kroger two days ago. I smiled awkwardly and asked her how she was doing. Not only did she fail to dignify my comment, she also gave me a Meryl Streep in “Devil Wears Prada” death stare. Yes, I watched that movie with my mother, don’t hate.

So what’s the theme of all this? I think it’s quite apparent. KIDS, MAKE SURE YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ANY MEMBER OF THE OPPOSITE SEX WHO OBVIOSLY WANTS TO HOOK-UP WITH YOU. IT’S MUCH EASIER TO JUST DO IT. Okay, that last sentence doesn’t sound right, but I’m sure you get the gist.

America, you’re welcome.