You will all now address me as The Graduate, your supreme overlord. The Graduate is the most powerful being in the universe, and with his trusty diploma, he can accomplish virtually anything–except picking up girls. Wah-Wah.

I’m kidding. Don’t say it if you don’t want to say it, but, if you are feeling generous…

Well, folks, this whole year has been leading up to this moment. I have graduated from the institution in which I have been held captive for four years, suffering the tyrannies of  the Board of Education and their malevolent curriculums! Oh, I can’t stand to think of it now, makes me shiver and tingle inside, or is that because I have to pee?

T’was a brilliant ceremony, quite sophisticated, since, as you know, I am the most sophisticated person in the world. I top Jay Gatsby in the amount of bad ass parties hosted–ahem, at least, that’s what last year’s census told me. I received my diploma with excellent poise and form, an act to make the strongest of men break down in tears of utter respect for the beauty of simplicity.

I shook hands with my teachers, many of whom smiled and gave the customary good luck, and, in the past week, I have accumulated quite the sum of money. It is a lot. I can sleep on the stuff; although, much to the contrary of what millionaires–like myself–confess, it is not comfortable sleeping on a mattress of one dollar bills.

Our family ate at a German restaurant, aptly named Edelweiss, otherwise known as the greatest German restaurant this side of the Colorado-German border–and, yes, that is a thing. Musicians played for us, an accordionist and a guitarist; in between songs, we spoke about our various heritages and how much Indian traits we had, considering the guitarist was of Cherokee descent, and I, and my mother, are from Oklahoma.

But enough of history. Shall we focus on the present, or the future?

The future is college–and I have talked about it countless times in countless posts, so I will not bore you with repetition. Rather, let’s start a conversation about how damned frustrating tassels can be, because I am sure many of have gone through the hell of flipping the tassel out of your eyes and onto the top of your cap; but, you’re S.O.L, seeing as how the cap is a flimsy piece of cardboard that does not allow to bend your neck downwards for one second.

Screw you, Cap and Gown Manufacturers, wherever you’re hiding! I have no idea how you sleep at night, and whether or not it’s on coins or dollar bills! But I stopped caring five seconds ago, so there!

Whew, that felt nice, just like graduating.

Good-bye high school, and hello college.

Dammit! I mentioned college again!

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Swimsuit Actually

Can we talk about the pool? I like the place–I hate water; but I like the place. There is the smell of chlorine; the tanning beer-gutted fathers; the children frolicking in the seriously too warm kiddie pool–someone better install a Piss-O-Meter in there, I swear, because if I ever walk over there and see a yellow cloud in the water I will not think one of those kids coughed up chalk.

As well, some perks can include girls…for me, at least.

I did not used to think this way: call it a supernatural hormonal imbalance, or whatever doctors are saying they put in our milk cartons these days–by the way I am calling bullshit on the whole hormones give you unnatural body thingies; for one I have not received any radioactive spider powers and I still don’t have a six pack. You suck, Hormone Milk.

Back to girls–that is probably what is drawing most of the attention to this post.

I am a generally self conscious guy. I can still throw off my shirt with the best of them; however the idea of doing so around…ahem, members of the opposite sex, is a tad frightening–I lie awake in a cold sweat and dream of their horrendous laughter…all night…

Thankfully I have somewhat overcome this social barrier–that sounds like serious psychologist vocabulary—and am adjusting to hanging around the pool, most of time by my lonesome; but in rare cases I attend this special spot with friends and family.

It so happens, and this is by no means coincidental–well, maybe a little–that on a particular expedition to the pool I went with…a member of the opposite sex; however her real name is Crush.

Yes, I hear the concealed giggles in the crowd tonight–and do not think I will not boot you out on to the street. This is a serious thing, you hear me? It is so serious that, on this day, I was scareder than a scaredy cat–and that is saying something.

So, here I am, going into the pool and she comes out wrapped in a towel the moment I submerge. Nearly I go down into the water–notice I said nearly–and yet I stay my hand and ride out the fear; in this case fear is a giant motorcycle rimmed with spikes and flamethrowers gunning it down the pavement at never-ending miles per hour.

That’s right. I am not a coward. I stayed my hand.

While doing so I become chilled to the bone–

The wise guy say what? I was in a pool? A cold pool? Get out of here! Go on!

Anyway, while doing so I become chilled to the bone and think to myself: boy, did that bagel I ate this morning stick in my stomach and give me a weird bagel shaped lump? I hoped not; but we cannot always predict the strange crap in our lives–otherwise we’d all be underpaid psychics.

Crush enters the water; she swims a ways in and floats about.

At this point I tell myself, Okay…do I or do I not look at her? To do the latter might convey avoidance and the other–I feared we would meet eyes and I would again become chilled–

Enough with telling me how temperature works! I know it was cold water!

You get the point. I did eventually look at her, despite the voices in my head warning me against such an action; and I found out quickly that she was stunning…then there was me, flapping around like some kind of demented Flounder and concealing myself beneath the water…the warm water.

Got to get those Piss-O-Meters up and running soon.

But the experience had to be a building moment; so I ponied up and surfaced and floated around; and who knows if my cheeks were stark red, maybe they were. I smiled at her. She smiled back.

Did I feel like I owned the world right then? You betcha.

It was the first time at the pool I had supreme confidence; and here is to hoping there are many more moments which inspire similar feelings in the near or distant future–more so betting on the near.

But, hey, we can’t all be psychics; the world would go nuts.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Note: Apologies about the seeming lateness; however there was a malfunction with the posting and I had to figure out how to fix it. It ended up taking a while…

Talking to Girls. It’s A Craft.

You are standing right beside her and are currently tasked with catching her attention. She  has to notice you–by God it was you who saw her from the corner of your eye; it was you who walked over here! If that isn’t courage, then you would be better off engaging the girl  talking to the water cooler!

Take a deep breath. Loosen up a bit.

Ah, is she turning? Her eyes find you and a smile spreads on her face. She says, “Hello.”

Brilliant work, my friend. You have succeeded up to the point where others back down–walking up to the girl you’ve had your eyes on since she first walked into the room. Truly, well done; now all is left is to talk back. Go ahead. Say something. Don’t stand there stuttering! And…you missed your chance; either way she was smiling at the guy behind you…yes, that guy.

Time for review:

The first thing you missed–saying hello back, even if it was not to you. Don’t you know girls like it when you intrude on their conversations? Kidding, of course; everyone hates it when people intrude on their conversations. Take Anti-Eavesdropping 101.

The second thing–

Nope. No second mistake because you didn’t make it past the first step.

What? A retry?  Sorry, pal, she walked away; and unless you cross paths on the dance floor the chances are slim she will know your name by the end of the night. But maintain hope–she’s going to have to refill her drink at some point…and would not it be a coincidence if you were standing there at exactly the same time?

Searching for her, are we? Not a bad plan…could be refined. Watch out for the tall guy carrying the tray–ouch, you probably have to pay for those drinks. Go ahead and brush past the gossipers; and–my, my, you did find her.

Okay. Take a deep breath. Loosen up a–

You forgot to loosen up! Flexibility is essential! 

And now you’re reaching for her shoulder–amateur–wait, she is turning and it is a smile; and she says, “Hi there.”

Tip number one: say “Hello.” The rest is rocket science.

Think daily,

A Southpaw