what I mean.”
I looked up and met his gaze squarely. “I'm fairly sure women aren't entirely impressed by guys who profess their undying love while reeking of Jack Daniels.”
“I didn't say to bathe in it. I'm just saying a shot or two to calm the nerves...maybe three or four in your case.”
I chuckled slightly at that. “Maybe you're right, oh wise one. At any rate, I probably couldn't have fucked it up any worse than I did.”
“Fortunately for you, it's not too late,” Ed said.
“I'm pretty sure I screwed up asking her out.”
“Oh, it's too late for that . I meant it's not too late for some liquid fortification. You, my friend, need a drink, several of them in fact. Who knows, maybe I'll even buy one or two for you,” he said, walking over to get his jacket. “And when you're finished, you're going to go to your parents’ house this weekend and do it again until you are so shitfaced you don't even remember your own name. You kill off enough brain cells, and you won't be able to help feeling better about things.”
Sage advice, if ever there was any.
Here, Kitty Kitty
Note to self: don't listen to advice from Ed ,I thought as I watched the miles slide by. Traffic was surprisingly light for a Sunday night. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Ed's two-seater piece-of-shit, and my roommate was behind the wheel driving. We were heading south on Route 287 towards the Outerbridge Crossing. Ed had been good enough to come down and give me a ride back home, which kind of made sense as it had been his advice that had given me cause to want to flee back to the relative safety of Brooklyn. Nevertheless, I was glad for the ride. It had turned out to be a long weekend, and I was in no mood to deal with the idiocies of mass transit to get back home.
Since it was early fall, there was no Jersey Shore traffic to contend with. Even so, considering it was only about six PM, traffic was pretty light heading towards Staten Island. Oh well, it was that lull that tends to happen around late September / early October. People were still burnt out from the summer, and the holiday rush was a good month or so off. This was one of those rare times when people just stayed put. In short, the asshole ratio on the roads was low. I liked times like this. Sadly, they were too few and far between as of late.
Ed and I had been listening to some rock music on the radio, or at least what the DJ was calling rock music. There were very few real rock stations left in New Jersey. Most played either classic rock, which was mostly tolerable, or a combination of lousy ballads and pop rock ( which had just enough guitar riffs to be outside of the Justin Beiber demographic...barely ). We had been discussing how real kick-ass rock music was such a rare commodity when my cell rang.
I had been expecting this. I picked it up and answered with a “Hello.”
“William, is there something you would like to tell me?” asked the voice of my dad.
Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. If he was calling me William, it meant he had noticed the little mistake I had left behind from my weekend of house sitting.
I decided to do what I did best, play dumb. “Nope. It was a quiet weekend, dad.”
“I'm sure it was,” replied my father's voice in a tone that said he didn't even remotely believe me. “Your mother and I appreciate you coming down and keeping an eye on the place while we were at the beach.” The beach in this case being some of the many casinos down in Atlantic City.
“No problem, dad! Anyway, well I gotta...” I tried to end the call on a chipper note.
“Hold it!” said the voice on the other end. “I guess I won't beat around the bush. What the hell did you do to Angel?” At the mention of the name of her favorite cat, I could hear my mother in the background. She started wailing and carrying on. It pretty much sounded like she was in the middle of a
I looked up and met his gaze squarely. “I'm fairly sure women aren't entirely impressed by guys who profess their undying love while reeking of Jack Daniels.”
“I didn't say to bathe in it. I'm just saying a shot or two to calm the nerves...maybe three or four in your case.”
I chuckled slightly at that. “Maybe you're right, oh wise one. At any rate, I probably couldn't have fucked it up any worse than I did.”
“Fortunately for you, it's not too late,” Ed said.
“I'm pretty sure I screwed up asking her out.”
“Oh, it's too late for that . I meant it's not too late for some liquid fortification. You, my friend, need a drink, several of them in fact. Who knows, maybe I'll even buy one or two for you,” he said, walking over to get his jacket. “And when you're finished, you're going to go to your parents’ house this weekend and do it again until you are so shitfaced you don't even remember your own name. You kill off enough brain cells, and you won't be able to help feeling better about things.”
Sage advice, if ever there was any.
Here, Kitty Kitty
Note to self: don't listen to advice from Ed ,I thought as I watched the miles slide by. Traffic was surprisingly light for a Sunday night. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Ed's two-seater piece-of-shit, and my roommate was behind the wheel driving. We were heading south on Route 287 towards the Outerbridge Crossing. Ed had been good enough to come down and give me a ride back home, which kind of made sense as it had been his advice that had given me cause to want to flee back to the relative safety of Brooklyn. Nevertheless, I was glad for the ride. It had turned out to be a long weekend, and I was in no mood to deal with the idiocies of mass transit to get back home.
Since it was early fall, there was no Jersey Shore traffic to contend with. Even so, considering it was only about six PM, traffic was pretty light heading towards Staten Island. Oh well, it was that lull that tends to happen around late September / early October. People were still burnt out from the summer, and the holiday rush was a good month or so off. This was one of those rare times when people just stayed put. In short, the asshole ratio on the roads was low. I liked times like this. Sadly, they were too few and far between as of late.
Ed and I had been listening to some rock music on the radio, or at least what the DJ was calling rock music. There were very few real rock stations left in New Jersey. Most played either classic rock, which was mostly tolerable, or a combination of lousy ballads and pop rock ( which had just enough guitar riffs to be outside of the Justin Beiber demographic...barely ). We had been discussing how real kick-ass rock music was such a rare commodity when my cell rang.
I had been expecting this. I picked it up and answered with a “Hello.”
“William, is there something you would like to tell me?” asked the voice of my dad.
Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. If he was calling me William, it meant he had noticed the little mistake I had left behind from my weekend of house sitting.
I decided to do what I did best, play dumb. “Nope. It was a quiet weekend, dad.”
“I'm sure it was,” replied my father's voice in a tone that said he didn't even remotely believe me. “Your mother and I appreciate you coming down and keeping an eye on the place while we were at the beach.” The beach in this case being some of the many casinos down in Atlantic City.
“No problem, dad! Anyway, well I gotta...” I tried to end the call on a chipper note.
“Hold it!” said the voice on the other end. “I guess I won't beat around the bush. What the hell did you do to Angel?” At the mention of the name of her favorite cat, I could hear my mother in the background. She started wailing and carrying on. It pretty much sounded like she was in the middle of a
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