Before I Forget Part 1

So I was walking up the stairs this evening after I came home and I started thinking about why I felt full. I was thinking: well this is weird. I haven’t eaten very much today, this is NORMALLY the time that I eat, and I feel perfectly content.

So I started changing. I got comfortable, sat down in my chair, and continued to reflect upon this incredible mystery: why am I full right now? Are the planets aligned? Have I starved myself to the point of satisfaction? Am I incapable of feeling hunger from this day forward?

And then it hit me: I just ate at Chipotle 30 minutes ago.

Well isn’t THAT wonderful. I’m losing my mind. Didn’t think that would happen until I hit that mid-life crisis around 40, but I suppose I’m just getting a head start.

What is wrong with me? How could I completely BLANK on something so stupid?

Now I’m concerned. And with that concern came two of the best ideas I’ve ever had: Tom, first, you need to grab a beer.

Done.

Is it a dark beer?

Yes.

High quality?

Surprisingly, yes.

More than one available?

Wow. I’m like 4/4 or something.

Secondly, I need to write. This is one of the first opportunities I’ve had in the last week to write, and I need to capitalize. But, because SO MUCH has happened to me in the last week, and I want to get it all out before I forget these wonderful memories like the freakin’ Chipotle burrito I had for like $8.27 (a magnificent number by the way) 30 minutes ago, I need to write down everything at once. So at this point, I need to declare a state of entropy for this website. Now I’m not proud of it. Normally I like to have some sort of chronological order or method to my madness, but throughout this post (as I hope you will see) I am going to embark on some of the biggest tangents you’ve ever seen. I’m going to set the world record. If such a thing could be scientifically quantified for study, that “random walk down Wall Street” could be reduced to a freakin’ Special-Ed kid riding through New York City on a blue bus.

You see where I’ll be going with this post? Hide your kids. Don’t tell your mother. I hope any of you women aren’t pregnant, and I hope nobody has a stroke. You guys are about to enter my brain.

Oh, wait. Hang on a second. I need to crack open this beer and take a big swig. Oh wow. That was almost better than sex. Almost.

Okay, so today. Today I was driving over to another account to continue my Jedi training as a Caddie Master.

Last night the current Caddie Master called me and said he had everything all set up: two groups were going out in the morning, he had 3 caddies coming in to fill the slots, and I was to read a good book and help him out in the afternoon with a WOMEN’S Member-Guest. Never heard of that before. But it should be fun. Kind of like beating yourself with a hammer.

The only problem with this phone call was that I was COMPLETELY worn out.

Why was I worn out? Because yesterday I sat from 9 am to 5:30 pm before I got out on my loop. I was supposed to go out at 3:30, but the group decided they needed more time in their precious meeting, so I didn’t see anybody out in the circle until 5:30.

The loop itself was alright.

(swig)

I mean, I guess is was alright.

(swig)

I uhhh…saw another man’s penis.

(rather large swig)

Yeah, crap. For the first 5 holes, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Why? I was forecaddying for 6 people. Yeah, that’s right. 6. The other caddie? Yeah, he was caddying for 2 people. And after 4 holes, one of them left. Meanwhile, I’m running like a speed freak at girls’ soccer practice with drunk men screaming out things like, “how far do I have?” or “where should I hit it?” or “I wish I had a FUCKING PENIS.”

And yes, that last comment? The guy whiffed a chip and felt a little bad about it. But I was all over the place. And on the 5th hole, after raking the bunker and running across the fairway to help out one of these “Special-Ed” kids find their ball, I came across a cart in the middle of the fairway. On the other side, a drunk man decided it would be a great spot to pee. Now don’t get me wrong, I LOVE relieving myself. But right in the middle of the fairway FACING towards the freakin’ hole so some poor caddie has to feel awkward around you even though we’d never date and I’m not gay and your mom’s a whore and I heart good beer and Chinese Checkers has no point and I’ve never tried to light a fart.

Yeah, that’s exactly how I felt right then. And come to think of it, I didn’t actually look down at the thing. The guy locked eyes with me and tried to make small talk while we BOTH tried to pretend he was doing something else. My God. At this course? Really? Anyway.

(swig)

DAMN this beer is good.

So these guys only played like 8 holes because they realized there was this little thing called sunlight that made a habit of going away at night. I mean I was just a flabbergasted as these guys, but I decided to trust their instincts and help them pick a few good holes to finish on.

And by the end, I was tipped better than if I had forecaddied for them all 18 holes. So that was pretty sweet. It was almost worth the awkward fortnight I spent trying not to notice this guy watering that beautiful fairway. Bastard.

So I finished the loop around 9 pm. So I had been at the course for 12 hours.

So you can bet your bottom dollar when this Caddie Master called me I wasn’t about to remember what the color RED looked like. Well unbeknownst to me but now knownst to the rest of us, that little piece of forgotten information would make me look bad in the morning. Surprise surprise.

Did you guys know I have 2 pictures of Jennifer Aniston on my desk? Both of them are signed, one is fake, one is real. It’s nice to have them on my desk, don’t get me wrong, but every so often I get pissed because I never got to meet her in person for that ONE real signature. And to be honest, I’m not sure WHERE that comment came from or WHERE my initial fascination of Jennifer Aniston came from, but you know what? I said it anyway, and I don’t care. I love that girl. I was initially bummed because Brad Pitt had her, which I got used to after a while because I really respected his acting abilities, but I tell you. After this divorce and my separation with my girlfriend, the SKY is the limit my friends. THE SKY. You hear that Jennifer? THE FREAKIN’ SKY.

Wow. Wouldn’t THAT look good if she was reading this right now and came to the INCORRECT conclusion that I’m a bit of a “weirdo.” Well, maybe that’s pretty true. But I tell you, I can be normal. I know it can be done. So don’t give up on me yet Jen.

Ahem. Sorry. Wait. Why the hell am I apologizing? There’s no reason for it. You guys decided to keep reading and go a little further into my brain WHILE I’m drinking incredibly tasty beer. It’s not MY problem you guys don’t understand what’s going on. That’s it. I have HAD it. No more apologies. If you can’t follow me, you can just shit-a-brick or something on your neighbor’s freakin’ LAWN for all I care.

I’m having so much fun writing right now that my ARMPITS ARE SWEATING. Doesn’t that happen to you when you start to rant? Ahem. Attention all deodorant providers. Send me free stuff so I can write without incident.

(swig)

Damn damn damn. It’s a shame this stuff doesn’t come out of a woman’s breasts when they LACTATE. I mean sure, milk is good. But what about when the boys grow up? That would be awesome. Then again, how productive would our society be if good beer came out of women’s breasts? Wow. There’s an economic dilemma. I mean, forget the Great Depression. Men wouldn’t know what to do with themselves, and women wouldn’t know what to do with the men. Productivity / Reproduction would halt for like 15 YEARS until the men built up a big enough tolerance to actually do something OTHER than enjoying breast beer.

Okay. End of that little side-track. Not really sure if that would ever happen, so I don’t really think it’s worth debating.