The week of coldness
The cold weather has finally arrived. My toes are frozen, legs shriveled up like raisins in Florida, and my brain mystically awed by the guy running in shorts by the lakefront. Riding bikes or doing anything besides walking in this weather saddens me to the thought that people in my state are just plain dumb. For someone that has that urge to reach into their closed dresser drawer and get pants out for the statue freezing run their about to embark on probably has the same mentality of Tyler Durdan. In-sane. At this cold and depressing time of year, there is nothing better than going to an ice cold hockey game. The sounds of slap shots and fists being thrown is what the midwest is all about, only with hockey it's legal.
I arrived at the Bradley Center with a few friends, stiff jointed from the 10 mile walk we had because I'm the dumbass that didn't want to pay for parking. We sat at our seats, and immediately the national anthem commenced. I removed my hat, closed my eyes, and waited to silently enjoy whoever's voice the organization had chosen. All of a sudden, from 2 inches away, I hear the singing of the anthem directly in my ear. "Was the singer next to me? Am I the lucky winner of the 'stand next to the non-famous national anthem singer' contest? What's going on?" I opened my burning eyes to realize it was my friend, whom we can call Randy Travis. There may be many people who are Randy Travis fans, (hopefully none of which read my blog) but I definitely am not. It was similar in tone-deafness, ear invading, and ugly physicality. To have my eyes and ears burning simultaneously was a first for me. The shrieks of cats in a bag, the cries of a baby with a full diaper of Indian food, and the voices of the Indigo Girls all rushed at me with furious vengeance. I thought maybe his horrible attempt to impress me like Simon Cowell would cease after 'the bombs bursting in the air,' but I had no such luck. It continued for the entire anthem, the smile on his face bigger than ever.
He really thought he was good. It was almost a gay serenade, but, with the national anthem.
I found myself accepting it, like a hairdresser fucking up your haircut. Nothing you can do about it.
The 3 minutes of tortuous dying animal sounds finally ended, and I was so relieved. So relieved that I said to Randy, "You sing well."
What the Hell was I saying? Had he used subliminal singing to steer my thoughts?
He replied, "Really?"
I came to my senses.
"No, I'm sorry. It was awful. I mean, REALLY awful. My dog has a better voice."
He spent the rest of the game on his phone.
I returned home later, satisfied with the Admirals win and ready to relax. I went upstairs and flipped on the tele. Smatrick, who went to the game, was surprisingly well behaved the whole night. He didn't make an ass out of himself once. I was proud of him, the little cocksucker. He came upstairs, eyes red and dancing in place like a ballerina kangaroo. I asked him what was up, and he said, "Dude, I gotta use the bathroom. The one downstairs is broken."
What am I supposed to say? No, continue dancing like an idiot in front of me until you eventually shart? No thanks. I told him to proceed.
All of sudden, I hear the water running. Why is the water running? Is he washing his face?
No, no face washing. Wait, is he trying to cover up the sounds of his dump?
Exactamundo. Didn't surprise me because my female friends do it all the time.
He exited, and I asked, "Hey, you know only women leave the water running when they're using the restroom, right?"
He hesitated, looked nervously around, and said, "Uh, I gotta get up early. Too bad. See ya around"
I heard him go outside and I swear I heard sobs of shame on his way to the car.
What a weirdo.
