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.

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 happenend 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 att 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, cut up a some a sweet or hot Italian a sausage into a the bite a sized cuts (not a fat a Joey sized cuts, little Joey Jr. sized cuts), and drop a them in a the pan un-a-cooked
11. After 4 hours, add a some red wine and a pinch of the salt
12. 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