Gil (fenyx) wrote,

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Last few days have been uneventful. Work, home, car troubles, fawkin' bullshit, drama, repeat. But I guess that's what life is, right? An endless cycle of crap, you get little moments of happiness and/or joy, crack a few smiles, hear a few jokes, have a few laughs, and that's supposed to make up for the other 97.8% of the time.

Something's got to give.

Anyway, yesterday was alright. Have to keep busy you know. The weather's finally ok around here so Rob and I headed to the driving range on Oakton. We each hit 134 balls, to be honest with you, I was freakin' wiped after them. I had some nice drives, I was killing my irons for some reason, drives were nice and straight, but I'm sure none of that will carry over to an actual golf course. We'll see, Rob's truck is a beast, Expedition, but it's nice. I might have to upgrade in size, lol. On the way out we decided to try the batting cages.

So we step in, wearing these lame ass helmets of course, carrying scuffed up aluminum bats, and probably a little anxious about facing the pitches. We started in medium, my timing was on but my swing speed was so slow. The bat kept getting heavier and heavier. I'm sure the fact that we were exhausted from the range didn't help. I was just happy I still have the coordination, just not the strength. I guess the smart thing to do would have been to call it a day, but who says we're smart. Of course latin machismo takes its course and we step into the "get hit by one of these and you're going down, super fast, psycho" fast pitch. I don't think he hit one, I fouled off a few so I didn't feel so bad. I think at one point he tried bunting them off, friggin' nuts. Next time we're hitting the cages first or not at all. The saddest part was as we were walking (struggling) back to the truck, some punk kid was in the cage rocking every pitch. Aging sucks.

I get home and most of the crew's at Mullen's. They call and of course I grab the cue and head over. I get in and they're all f'ed up. Fuckin' lightweights. Don't get me wrong, I get my drink on too, but I never get to the sloppy drunk point, f' that. Besides, with the Mexican and Irish blood in me, and my size, I'm built for this shit. So we get there, D'Ray was there again so it was cool to see him, guess he was throwing darts with his girlfriend. I was playing pool like shit, and still managed to win a few shots of Tequila. I quit while I was ahead, besides my arms were feeling like limp spaghetti. (Still sore as I write this) Kristyn was also there, I guess people haven't been telling her about things, so she's been out of the loop. She gave me her number to call her next time. Eh, we'll see. It was a good night, Shenel, Rigo, D, the whole crew, they rock.

I was a bit apprehensive about going at first, I just haven't been a great mood. Don't want to really be around people, they all went right after work pretty much, but I decided to do the range and stuff instead. It was a last minute decision to actually go, I'm kind of disappointed that no one hung out over the spring. It's the same shit all the time, Christmas, Spring Break, Summer, we're all the best of friends while we're working, but other than that....I don't know, it just seems fake to me sometimes. So I've considering just distancing myself from the crew. I guess I'm kind of doing the same thing here too, people online, friends, what's the point of getting to know people, getting close to them, if they're just going to poof on you. If one day you'll wake up and they could be gone.

Mullen's was a good time nonetheless, of course it was brief and temporary. At some point during the consumption of shots of tequila, jager bombs, irish car bombs, and jack and cokes, someone got to the jukebox. I remember lots of Moby, but I also remember that "Sugar, sugar, how'd you get so fly" song. I don't even know who sings it or the title, but it just brought me back...I hate my mind, it's the only prison I'll never escape. Hell, I don't even get conjugal visits in there. I guess I've rambled on enough, now it's time to get ready for work and for the hell that is report card pick up. I can already imagine:

Parent: Why does my son have 23 absences and 41 cuts?
Me: Well...(I explain attendance policy, print reports, etc.)
What I want to say: Because your kid's a moron.


Enjoy your 2.2% everyone. Carpe Diem

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