So my first attempt at "blogging" was relatively well received...by that I mean two people said they laughed, three chuckled, and one claims to have laughed out loud. Encouraging news...almost like being told you are an "adequate lover" your first time around. It's not a home run and no one in the crowd was screaming "YOU DA MAN!" but you made contact and didn't embarrass yourself.
Well here is my second effort....as in the situation mentioned above I hope that I have learned a little and slowly become more comfortable with all of the moving parts. I wanted to provide some perspective on my commitment to “late night juice”. While the story itself is not significant in the grand scheme of things, it will help explain why I’m perpetually in the situation of hearing a somniloquist.
I’m originally from the world’s coldest capital city and at the time this story took place it was bitterly frigid. I was roughly 12 years old and sporting a sweet Theo Huxtable flat top. I awoke in the middle of the night and made my way downstairs for a soothing glass of Old South. As I made my way to the kitchen I was immediately frustrated the moment I opened our avocado green fridge (neighbors so jealous)….NO JUICE. I say frustrated because that now meant I was going to have to go even further in to the abyss and make my way to the deep freezer to retrieve a can of frozen nectar aka liquid cocaine. Like a Pavlovian dog or a recovering addict going through withdrawl, my body had begun to react in anticipation. Mouth was dry and there was some panting…..somewhat reminiscent of the “adequate lover” scenario.
As I made my through boxes of frozen Jamaican patties, Eggos purchased at A&P, and what I now understand to be my father’s secret stash of Lean Cuisine frozen dinners I couldn’t find a single can of juice. No Old South. No Five Alive. I would have taken prune juice from concentrate….. sooooo thirsty. Now I know what many of you are thinking….”have a glass of water Theo and call it a night!”. What you need to understand is that I was TWELVE. You’ve been there…you want what you want when you want it and juice was my drug of choice.
So I had to make a decision. Risk dehydration or become a MAN. So rarely does one remember the exact moment in time when they leap from adolescence to adulthood. This was that moment. The moment Theo becomes Heathcliff. Alex P. Keaton becomes Stephen Keaton. Steve Urkel becomes Stefan Urquelle. Long story short – I threw on every piece of insulation in my possession and walked three miles in minus 35 degree conditions to get a “hit”. I can still see the face on the Mac’s Milk store clerk. It was a glorious mix of utter confusion and euphoria….logical given the time of night. I bought 5 bottles of juice, slammed one down right in front of him without saying a word, and made my way back home. That was my level of dedication to juice (or contempt for water depending on your vantage point) at the time.
To this day I’ve never told my Dad that I found his stash of nutritionally balanced frozen meals. If you see him, please do avoid the subject:
You can tell by his choice of headwear that he considers the sun to be a serious health risk... see the irony?
My next story……”Are you DRUNK?!” (as spoken by SO)
Sleep Well,
C.
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