My friend Dick Bell
My buddy Dick Bell
My buddy, fellow teacher, neighbor and running partner Dick Bell (remember, on this site I’m using everybody’s real name so I truly have a friend named Dick Bell) phoned me tonight (Sunday January 2, 20005) at 10 after being M.I.A. for over a week to tell me, “I’m fucked.” I responded, “Me to buddy.” We haven’t been to work since December 22, 2004. Tomorrow, actually, seven hours from now is our first day back and I realize as I type after midnight with a glass of wine by my side that I’m even more fucked now than I was fucked then when he phoned two hours ago. I’ve gotta be up in six hours, at work in seven and dealing with emotionally disabled children in 7.5. Of course I’m not prepared. But that doesn't matter. Do you know how hard it is to fire a public high school teacher? Very difficult I assure you.
Along with telling me, “I’m fucked,” Dick apologized for not calling me back the past week. A college girlfriend whose step dad owns a chalet in Vermont called him Christmas night to see if he wanted to go skiing for the week. He left the next day at noon and returned late last night. Bad for me. Good for Dick. I had no idea what happened to this guy. I called three times over break. Nothing. Monday before Christmas we sat at the bar and laid out our strict regiment for the break. We planned on going running all this week. We’ve run before. He’s a good partner. Monday - to Penn’s Landing and back. Tuesday - University City and back. Wednesday- along Forbidden Dr. and so on until at last we were on our fourth pint and estimated a total of 49.5 running miles, hitting the street each day but Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years Day. I thought maybe I’d offended him last time we were drinking because I was like, “Man, who named you Dick?”
But that’s not the case. He went skiing. I stayed in Philly the entire 10 days, most of them going to parties. I actually averaged 1.10 parties a day. Every time I turned around someone was sticking a beer in one hand and a meatball in another. I’m really gassy as a result. I feel like a fat shit. Tomorrow I’m going to feel like a fat, hung over piece of shit. I gotta stop writing. I’m going to go see if my girlfriend wants to have sex with me.
My buddy, fellow teacher, neighbor and running partner Dick Bell (remember, on this site I’m using everybody’s real name so I truly have a friend named Dick Bell) phoned me tonight (Sunday January 2, 20005) at 10 after being M.I.A. for over a week to tell me, “I’m fucked.” I responded, “Me to buddy.” We haven’t been to work since December 22, 2004. Tomorrow, actually, seven hours from now is our first day back and I realize as I type after midnight with a glass of wine by my side that I’m even more fucked now than I was fucked then when he phoned two hours ago. I’ve gotta be up in six hours, at work in seven and dealing with emotionally disabled children in 7.5. Of course I’m not prepared. But that doesn't matter. Do you know how hard it is to fire a public high school teacher? Very difficult I assure you.
Along with telling me, “I’m fucked,” Dick apologized for not calling me back the past week. A college girlfriend whose step dad owns a chalet in Vermont called him Christmas night to see if he wanted to go skiing for the week. He left the next day at noon and returned late last night. Bad for me. Good for Dick. I had no idea what happened to this guy. I called three times over break. Nothing. Monday before Christmas we sat at the bar and laid out our strict regiment for the break. We planned on going running all this week. We’ve run before. He’s a good partner. Monday - to Penn’s Landing and back. Tuesday - University City and back. Wednesday- along Forbidden Dr. and so on until at last we were on our fourth pint and estimated a total of 49.5 running miles, hitting the street each day but Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years Day. I thought maybe I’d offended him last time we were drinking because I was like, “Man, who named you Dick?”
But that’s not the case. He went skiing. I stayed in Philly the entire 10 days, most of them going to parties. I actually averaged 1.10 parties a day. Every time I turned around someone was sticking a beer in one hand and a meatball in another. I’m really gassy as a result. I feel like a fat shit. Tomorrow I’m going to feel like a fat, hung over piece of shit. I gotta stop writing. I’m going to go see if my girlfriend wants to have sex with me.
posted by Frank at 5:10 PM
1 Comments:
Hehe...crossing my fingers, hoping you get laid...lol
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