Monday, June 25, 2007
Let's hear it for high school football.
Hello everybody! Good weekend? Good… good. My weekend? Just peachy… if it weren't for my dumb FEELINGS! I'm really trying to shake this Trudy (the bank teller) thing, but it's really hard! (Confused? See my previous blog posts in which I practically destroy my life, with a little help from that jerk Damien.) That's why my thinking has been all ka-blooey lately. Like last week? When I threatened to play all sorts of practical jokes on Damien in order to win Trudy back? I've decided against that plan. Why? Some high school football players talked me out of it. Here's how that happened…
On Saturday I woke up all super-duper bluesy, and so me and Karen (that's my lamb, FYI) decided to go out and make some new friends. That's something we do when we feel bluesy. However, only dumb non-new people were at the park, so I put Karen in the bike basket and we were riding to the blood bank when all of a sudden a bunch of shirtless young men standing on the corner started screaming at us.
"WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed.
"WHOOOOOO!!!" I screamed back.
"WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed.
"BAAAAAAAA!!!" Karen screamed back.
"WHY ARE YOU WHOOOOING AT ME?" I screamed.
"WE'RE HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL PLAYERS, AND WE'RE HOLDING A CAR WASH! WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed. "WANT YOUR CAR WASHED?"
"I DON'T OWN A CAR, I JUST RIDE A BIKE, AND CAN WE STOP SCREAMING FOR A SECOND? MY THROAT HURTS! WHOOOOOO!!!"
"Oh. Okay," they said.
Turns out they were washing cars at the hamburger stand to raise money for their high school football team. Did I mention they weren't wearing shirts? I think this fact was getting Karen kind of excited in a particular way. (Pardon my thoughts.) Anyway, I said, "How much to wash my bike?" and they said "Well, a car costs $5, so how about $3?" And I said, "Well, how about I give you $10 if you wash my bike and tell me what to do about Trudy?"
They didn't know who Trudy was (she's a bank teller), but said they would be happy to hear my tale. So I told the high school football players the tale of Trudy (see past 55 blog posts for details), and informed them I felt pretty bummed about the way things had turned out, and that I was planning on playing a series of elaborate and cunning pranks on Damien in order to win her back.
They universally agreed this was not a very good idea.
"Jesus dude," one of them said, "Chicks are like so NOT impressed with revenge."
"Totally," said another, "Makes you look insecure, dude. Chicks dig dudes who act nice and stuff, and are comfortable with who they are."
"Quite so," said yet another. "The female of the species is a wondrous, but ultimately fathomless creature who can never truly be deciphered. One must simply sing a song for their heart, and trust that one's tune rings true."
Another football player burped in agreement.
Sing a song for Trudy's heart. I like that.
Anyway, I realized the shirtless high school football players were right, and I really liked them, so I ended up helping wash cars for the rest of the day.
I made 18 new friends, but that's not all. I helped a high school football team buy new uniforms, which is always a great way to beat the blues. Plus I learned—from some cheerleaders who happened by—that I have a "wicked hot bod." Did I mention I wasn't wearing a shirt?