Make Mine Mike

What the hell am I still doing here?

I don’t actually leave for my trip ‘til tomorrow, but thought I might be too busy to blog before I left. Since I haven’t packed at all yet, that’s definitely true, but here I am like a moth to the flamewars.

Had Ryan’s bachelor party last night. It was a dignified gathering of esteemed gentlemen, doing manly things like discussing the latest sporting events and drinking straight from the carton. Right-O, ol’ chap.

Apparently I had too much, uh, juice, from the carton. I had to skip my morning run to attend to the pressing task of wishing my pulsating skull would fall off my body and fetch me some aspirin. By noon, I dragged my dilapidated bag o’ bones out and took my mom out to lunch at the ‘50s Diner, but my queazy stomach was doing the Watusi to the Elvis tunes on the jukebox. Visited Grandma, who’s home but still sick. I’m a little worried about her, but she’s being well taken care of, and should recover soon.

Then I had to go the engagement party -- it’s Ryanpalooza Weekend -- way up in Canyon Country, Take the 405 to the 5 to the 14 and turn left at Damn-is-this-still-California?

Couldn’t have anything to drink but liter after liter of water, and started to come back to life. It was good to see his fiancee again, and some familiar faces and meet some new ones. Lotsa quirkily cute girls... & each turned out to be married.

One person told me repeatedly that I was cute and handsome and charming -- I was floored with flattery -- but unfortunately it was a dude. Homeboy didn’t seem to care that I was straight, kept flirting, and dropping not-so-subtle hints that he was hellbent on converting me. "How do you know you don't like something if you haven't tried it...?"

So who saved my breeder-wannabe self from this playah proselytizing my proclivity? Ryan’s friends’ five year old son, Carter.

The adorable kid remembered my name after a brief intro, among dozens of other adults, from hours ago. "Mike, let’s play baseball." Okay. "Mike, now let’s play basketball." Okay. "Mike, let’s play catch." Okay. Then his parents told us to stop playing ball in the house. Tsk, fiiiiiine....

We sulked our way outside, but then Carter was surprised to see it was nighttime. "It’s dark," he said. "There’s monsters out here."

No, there’s no monsters, I told him. But yes, he insisted there were. "Monsters..." The kid was really scared. He stared around the obscured backyard, convinced, and I realized I couldn’t tell him what to believe or not to believe. I needed a new approach.

"Well, I’m the Anti-Monster," I said.

Carter just gaped up at me. I repeated myself, but then it occurred to me he didn’t understand the prefix ‘Anti-‘.

"I scare the monsters away," I said. He just gaped again.

"I go, ‘RAAAAARRR!’ and the monsters go, ‘YIPEYIPEYIPE!’ and run away."

Okay, now everyone at the party was staring at me, including the kid. Still gaping up at me. C’mon Carter, gimme a break, I’m tryin’ here....

Then a huge grin spread across his face, lighting up the whole place. "HAHAHAHA!" He laughed with glee and scampered off.

That kid just made my whole weekend.