So the mole I have on my back isn't really a mole. It's a cherry angioma and it's completely benign. I've never really been worried about it, but it always seemed kind of weird, so I asked what it was. Anyway, dermatologist says I have no moles that are worrisome. I hadn't worried, but the general practitioner wanted me to check them out. Now all I have to do is wait for the results of the last couple of blood tests and I am home free.
I know that sports aren't exactly like real jobs, but even so… ESPN.com reports that M.L.B. is suspending and fining a number of baseball players for arguments and
bumping referees. After yelling at an employer once, I was let go three weeks later. These guys are ticked that they face any discipline at all. Were I to get physical in any way, I'd probably be summarily canned and maybe have the police called. Just goes to show you what a different world athletes live in.
Yet another relatively short story. Was at The Vogue with spirochete one weekend. Lance was doing his gay schtick. Well, at least we think it's a schtick. A rather lovely girl made a comment to Lance's ex that Lance seemed rather gay, not knowing the two had previously been involved. Hilarity ensued and when Lance returned to the table to hear the story, he started in with
whatever makes you think that? while pawing me.
Her expression said she was intrigued, so we started kissing, and well, if it helps a friend get some, I have no problem with kissing a handsome man. I have no idea if Lance got anywhere with that girl, but it sure looked like she was getting all hot and bothered.
Similar thing the second time. emmrldize heard about the previous incident. Being drunk, she wanted to see it. Since she was kind enough to make out with me, I figured it was the least I could do to provide her with a show. So Lance and I did again. This time, Lance reported a successful night.
Plus, Lance ain't a bad kisser. At least when he doesn't have scratchy stubble.
Went off to college in August 1987. I was 17 years old and about as stupid as they come as far as making good decisions. My mom dropped me off on a Friday, and I was soon after partying with the guys who lived in Gault Hall. Monday was Labor Day. I spent most of it drinking. Sometime that evening, Gary something (can't remember his last name) said he could get all of us in to The Garden Lounge. So the troupe sauntered off through the back door of Gault Hall and across the field by married student housing heading toward downtown. Halfway across this field, I realized I had no money on me. SO I turned around and headed back. Found money, then ran after everyone. Only I was quite drunk and having a hard time seeing. I only vaguely knew where this bar was.
I found it. But not before everyone else had already gotten in. Blearily I tried to enter, telling the bouncer I was supposed to meet someone. He steadfastly asked for my I.D. I decided to not push my luck, told him I really didn't need to drink anymore, and turned around.
Just outside the Lounge is Friendship Square. I vaguely recognized a bench, and decided it looked very comfortable. Over the next 2 hours I drifted in and out while laying on that bench. Every once in a while I remember hearing a girl giggling as she and a guy played at heavy petting on the other bench. Then oblivion.
Then sometime around 4 a.m., I woke up suddenly and decided I needed to get home. Only I didn't know where home was. Wouldn't have were I sober even. So I headed off down Main Street, feeling my way along the side of the buildings. Soon I came to 6th St and started to cross. I looked up. I saw the street sign. I realized I lived on 6th St. So I turned right and headed toward the University. After another block, the gentleman who had been on the other bench showed up out of nowhere (well, from off Jackson St. actually). He lived in the same building I did and helped me the rest of the way home.