So, you’re sitting there having a nice dinner with your friend, and a large group of ladies sits down at a table next to you. Within 25 seconds, they get up and move. No biggie. Then another large group walks in and sits down in their place. The two of you are looking at each other like “Jackpot! How cool is this?” until they get up and move. A normal guy would be paranoid, but not us…until the third group did the same thing.

That’s when my friend deadpans, “I guess they don’t want to see the gay guys kiss.” Damn him.

…My Pants
The meal was pretty good, although we failed to get one of the pretty waitresses, getting the only waiter in the joint. Everything was moving fine until 10 minutes after the meal. That’s when my stomach started churning and cramps set in. I was sitting there thinking, “Ok. Act cool. Maybe it’s just gas. A few minutes and you’re out of here, and you can lock the windows, pollute the vehicle, and make your friend cry.” That’s what being a guy is like: destroying each others nostrils and laughing.

Then, I started to sweat. I don’t mean worry, I mean sweat: droplets on the forehead, clammy hands, the whole nine yards. My stomach began initiating a gurgling dialogue:
“Stomach to Brain. Stomach to Brain. Come in, Brain. We seem to be in a seated position. Permission to evacuate. Over.”
“Negatory, stomach. Repeat: Negatory. Visual confirmation of porcelain unconfirmed. Begin immediate clenching procedure. Over.”

With me still sweating, and my friend blissfully ignorant of my current digestive situation, we left. My friend is up at 5 every morning, so he goes to bed at around 9 PM. It was 9:15, and he was about ready to be dropped off. Right before I got to his street, another friend called on the cell, and we decided to go pick him up and go out for a bit. I wasn’t sure if it was a great idea, but I figured that this all might go away if given a little time. Two words:

Wishful thinking.

Ever been in that situation where your stomach is so bad that if you even attempt a test fart, there is a great possibility that you might actually shit yourself? This was one of those magical times. I was afraid: very afraid. So, we pulled up to my old apartment to pick up the second friend, who I really haven’t seen in over a month. I walked in, said, “Hey, man. Great to see you. Use your bathroom? Great.” I don’t think I actually waited for a response before bombing down the hall and slamming the door, leaving my two friends standing dumbfounded at the other end of the apartment.

“Visual confirmation, stomach. Visual confirmation. You are clear to engage.”

I have never, without being horribly ill, become dehydrated so fast. And the noise. Jesus. My two friends were laughing like idiots from the other side of the apartment, and trying to engage me in a dialog as to the root cause of my issue. “Well, what did you eat today?” said one.
“Or last night?” said the other.
“What are you two…Jesus…doctors or something? Aw Christ…Chinese food, I think.”
“Chinese food? Two days ago? Well, that’s your problem. He had Chinese, dude. It can’t be the chicken from dinner.”
“Yea, it’s too fast. He should be puking if it was bad chicken tonight.”
“Seriously though, are you ok? Do you need a Midol for your cramps?” [laughter]
“Holy shit. Listen to that.” [laughter]

After a brief recover period of a less than sensible amount of time, we all went out. Now, this is the type of situation that would only happen with men, and only with old friends without completely destroying a relationship. With a date, it would be the absolute first and last (if it’s not, it should be…), but with old friends it becomes one of those, “Remember that time you nearly shit yourself? God that was funny. Oh, you didn’t hear that story? Well, a few weeks ago, me and Jon went to dinner at XO, and…”

I can’t believe that I just told that story. This blog thing is really falling to an all time low.

Spent the day making sauce. It’s the first batch of the year, and it’s only been going for six hours, but it doesn’t taste right to me, yet. The pork has broken down pretty well, and the two ponds of sausages have been added, but I’m out of wine. I’m sure that it’ll all come together in the next six. I’ve been relaxing inside for two days, and thanks to weather, I don’t have to feel guilty about it. Sometimes I just need to sit, and if the weather is really good, I end up driving around trying to get things done, rather than enjoying doing nothing. I seek to “enjoy the day” and end up realizing that I would’ve enjoyed it more with a good book and complete disregard for hygiene.

The sauce should be done tomorrow night, and if you would like some, please e-mail me above. Three things: I have plenty, I’m not mailing it and there is a limit of enough sauce for two people.

So, I made sauce, sat watching movies, and played some video games. This isn’t to say that I didn’t get anything accomplished, though. I went out to get a winter hat, gloves, and a new set of hair clippers. Even though it’s pretty far, I headed for Wal-Mart because I was positive that they would have all three. I hate Wal-Mart. It might be the type of sweatpants wearing, pushy, heavyset, toothless freaks that seem to congregate there, or it might be the slow checkers and long lines. I don’t know what it is, but it produces a feeling that I don’t want any part of.

Yet, I spent twenty minutes deciding whether I would put on sweat pants expressly to go there, just to say I had done so. I was laughing like hell to myself, and eventually gave up on the idea, as none of the people would get it, wearing sweats there might become routine, and I would lose all my teeth and gain 100 pounds. I decided not to risk it, showered, and put on jeans like a normal person.

Last year, I got a ski mask there for a buck. It was $.96 before tax, to be exact. That is enough to make me go back this year. I lost a lot of stuff in the moves, and I’m not going to tear apart my storage space for a dollar. I wouldn’t do it for a Lincoln, I’m sure not doing it for a Washington. I opted for a regular knit hat this year, even though the ski mask is way funnier, and much warmer for my face when shoveling. The problem with the mask, when used as a hat is that the little eye holes let snow in. Because I wear it as a hat more often than a ski mask, I figured that I would go with the plain hat as my primary hat this year. I regretted my choice the minute I pulled into the 7-11, low on funds.

I picked up gloves, too. They were around $5, blue and black, and extend halfway up my forearm. They look like something a space gentleman might slap an insulting robot with. They are 100 grain fleece on the inside, so I figured despite the look of them, I made a good buy. And don’t think that if an insulting androids steps up, that I’m not prepared to use them to get into some intergalactic space duel. My honor will remain in tact.

I also picked up the clippers to extend the length of time between haircuts. A little trim of the neck beard, and you’ve saved a week. I also decided to start growing a really crappy beard like I do every couple of years when I forget how bad a beard actually looks on me. It’s been going for 3 weeks, and needs to be trimmed as evenly as an Asian teenagers mustache can be. Oh, well.

The goal is to grow a really long beard. A beard that moves when I talk. A beard that I can store things in. A friend. Wait, scratch that last one, and change it to “A beard that I can put rubber bands in like Lou Albano“. I’ll get tired of it long before then, though, I’m afraid.

Anyway, most of the clippers on display came with 27 attachments. Some clipers claimed “attachments” that were, in reality, posing as brushes, combs, tarps, and videos. One even came with a rotary nose hair clipper and a brush, and masqueraded them as attachments. I’m not sure how they would be attached to the clippers, and I wasn’t interested enough to find out. I just wanted a bunch of combs for different lenths, maybe a regular comb, and possibly a big blue jar of alcohol to store them in. I got what I wanted, and did it for under $20. Nice deal. The one I bought even has a video with it, although it doesn’t attach well to the clippers. It actually sort of gets in the way. I don’t have a VCR, but it looks like it could be entertaining.

My new clippers also have a turbo button. What the hell it’s for, I’m unsure. It says that it’s for tough to cut patches or something. I think they mean when you have to cut gum out of your hair or shave the dog. As I haven’t had gum in my hair since middle school, and I don’t have a dog, my only joy with the button it to press the button while holding the clippers straight armed above my haed and yelling, “TURBO!” It’s not useful, but it makes the button feel good about itself, rather than a useless marketing ploy. Poor button. Maybe I should try it with my space gloves on. I think I smell a super hero brewing…

I’ve taken most of the things that have happened to me over the last couple years in stride, but I must admit that last night’s news caught be slightly differently. I thought to myself “Enough’s enough. When is this going to stop?” And the adaptive happiness that has really become a core of my personality broke down, and a true weariness emerged. Not sadness, but weariness. And I sat there just shaking my head thinking back on all the other stuff that has happened in the past few years that I thought was really big: the elbow, the car theft, the car wreck, buying the house, burning the house, dividing the house, showing the house, divorcing the wife, and getting the MRI…

Bigger and bigger things keep happening to me. Over and over. But, the amazing thing is that I always seem to come out better than I went in. The experiences affect my outlook and somehow develop a deeper sense of calm. On that note, and laughing to myself at my misfortune, I went to bed. And I felt alone in the world. Not lonely, but alone. And I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

During the night, I looked around and thought my clothes, the bed, the room, and everything in it were white. I looked around and thought to myself “Geez, I hope I’m not dead.” The dream didn’t strike me so much as how non-chalauntly I thought it before plopping back down onto my pillow.

And I slept deeply once again.

Today, I woke up naturally and fully refreshed. No alarm clocks, no sunlight burning the sleep off, no Viking Pillagers storming the front gate challenging me to a battle for riches. And I awoke at 7:30 AM. 7:30 is not the time for a growing boy to be waking up. It is the perfect time for an old Italian guy to wake up and start cooking.

So, that’s who I was to be today. My name today is..uh…Dominic. I put on the opera, my nice pants, and my tank top t-shirt on and went down-a stairs to make-a the sauce. As-a Dominic, I can-a tell you that-a nothing fills-a the house with-a the goodness more-a than-a the smell of-a the sauce. Nothing. No. Not-a that, either. I’m-a telling you. Issa good-a smell.

What? You want-a the smell a too? But-a you too a lazy to get up offa you couch to come-a see Dominic? O-a K. We a good a friends, no? I tell a you how to make-a the smell for-a you self.

Before a you start, put on a you nice pants and a the wife-beater t-shirt. If a you don’t a have a the wife beater, put on a goddamma red a shirt, in case a you get a the sauce on a you self. And put on a some opera, or a some a that Louie Prima. All a set? OK. Now a yell at a something. And a wave a you hands a like a you crazy. Yes, that’s a it. Now, you gotta kiss a whatever you a yell at and a say,”Oh cara mia, I’m a so sorry. The opera she a make a me so crazy. Will a you forgive a me?” Now you a getting into a the swing of things!

OK, now a open a the window and yell to Bnoog to have a anthony run a down to a the market to get a the onions and the pork a chops for mama. And then stand in the garden for a bit.

I’m a so proud! Now a you all set a to make a the sauce! Oh, and don’t expect-a to eat a the sauce today unless a you get up at a the crack of a dawn.

1. Get a the biggest a pan a you have, unless a you an old Italian a lady, then a use a the second biggest.
2. If you are an a old Italian a lady, you a stop a reading right a now! Make-a you own a sauce. You don’t a steal a my recipe! You gonna have a vendetta on a you hands!
3. Put a the pan on a the stove and put a some olive oil a in a there and turn it on medium high
4. Chop a the onion and put it in a there to a brown.
5. Cover a the bottom of a the pan with a the basil, the parsely, and a the garlic.
6. Chop a 1 lb. of a the nice a pork a chops into the cubes and brown
7. Add a 2-3 6 oz. cans of a the Contadina tomato paste and brown that a little
8. Add a 2-3 1lb. cans of a the tomatoes and a can of water
9. Drop a the heat down to a really low: I said a the goddamma really low. The sauce shouldn’t even a bubble. It should just a steam. And a put a flat strainer on the top so a the sauce no get on a you nice a pants.
10. After a 2 hours, throw in a pound each of sweet and hot Italian sausage and drop a them in a the sauce un-a-cooked.
11. After another couple of hours, fish out a the sausages and cut them up into a the bite a sized cuts (not a fat a Joey sized cuts, little Joey Jr. sized cuts) and put them back.
12. After 4 hours, add a some red wine and a pinch of the salt
13. After a 10 hours, add a some more wine.

By then, all of a the original pork a chops have a disintigrated and are a part of a the sauce.

During a the process, you may have a to add a more water to the sauce. That’s a OK. You can even spice it up as you go by adding more garlic or wine. 12 hours of cooking time is plenty of time to remedy a bad batch.

Just a whatever you do, remember that a you have to stir a the sauce with a the wooden spoon at least a once an hour.

Good a luck!

-Dominic