Ten Years Ago Today

I thought about posting this last Saturday, when the University of Tennessee played (and lost to) the University of South Carolina, but instead I waited until today, which is the day UT played (and beat) South Carolina ten years ago. 

I was there for the game in 2002 (it was in Columbia), and as I sit here on my couch watching the UT-Troy game on TV, after having spent my Friday night at home, all I can think is:  Oh, how times have changed.

November 2002

I’ve been twenty for approximately two weeks.  I can’t drink legally yet, but this only a minor inconvenience, as I’ve been entering bars as twenty-four year old “Katie” for months now.  I don’t know it yet, but the impending weekend will be the wildest, most drunken (and, let’s face it, stupidest and most dangerous) two days of my entire twenties.  It will be a weekend I will never forget.  Except, of course, for the parts I don’t remember.

What follows is a timeline of what I do remember.

Friday, 6:00 p.m. 
Location:  Somewhere between Knoxville and Columbia.

My friend Lydia and I are en route to our first away game.  Rather than staying in a hotel, which my parents think would be unsafe, we’re going to be staying with Chad, a student at the University of South Carolina and the son of some friends of my parents.  I’ve met Chad once.  Why my parents think this is safer than a hotel remains a mystery.

Lydia and I discuss strategy.  I claim Chad for myself, having already developed a minor crush on him during our first meeting, and Lydia agrees that she’ll take the Hot Friend (TBD upon arrival).  We also agree that the two of us will remain in the same building at all times, no matter what.  For safety, of course.

Friday, 8:30 p.m.
Location:   Not Chad’s house

Chad directs us, via telephone, to the house where he is currently drinking (which is apparently down the street from his house, where we're supposed to be staying).  We arrive and immediately begin playing beer pong with a group of complete strangers, on what appears to be a dining room table.  Shots are taken of something called “99 Bananas,” which I’ve never drank before or since. 

Friday, 10:00 p.m.
Location:  University of South Carolina campus

Chad and his friend drive Lydia and me around on what they claim is a Campus Tour.  From their inability to focus and general excitability, Lydia and I quickly determine that they are both on some kind of "uppers" (cocaine/amphetamines/a combination thereof).  Time to head to the bars!

Friday, 11:00 p.m.
Location:  Five Points

We arrive at a bar and are carded at the door.  Lydia does not have a fake ID, but when I present “Katie” to the doorman, he looks up at Lydia and me and asks, “Is this for the two of you?”  I like this place already.

Saturday (technically), 12:00 a.m.

More shots.  Specifically, something called a Bar Code, which involves liquor, Red Bull, and Bud Light.  It’s, like, a seven-ounce shot. Again, never before or since.  Last thing I remember:  making out with Chad.

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.
Location:  Not Chad’s house

I awaken, in the bed of one of the residents of the house.  Thankfully, the only clothes I’m not wearing are my socks and shoes.  I wake the guy sleeping beside me, whom I barely recognize as my early-evening beer pong partner.  Among the many questions I have, the most important one is, where the hell is Lydia?  My bed buddy thinks she may be at Chad's (so much for my strategy).  Still barefoot, I stumble outside to get my bag out of the car and, in the process, slice my foot open on what I can only assume is a broken beer bottle in the yard.  I somehow don't notice this at the time.

Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
Location:  Chad’s house

My bed buddy, who I’ve now learned is named Justin, has walked me to Chad’s house.  I've tried to call both Lydia and Chad, but neither is answering.  (It is, after all, 8:30 a.m.)  Justin and I knock on various doors and windows, but when no one answers, we give up and decide to go get some breakfast.

Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
Location:  Chick-Fil-A

Figuring it’s best to stay drunk, given the little amount of sleep I’ve gotten, I wash my chicken biscuit down with a Goldschlager-spiked Sprite.  (Yes, I have airplane bottles of Goldschlager in my purse.  Who doesn't?)

Saturday, 10:00  a.m.
Location:  Chad’s house

Lydia and Chad are awake!  Everyone showers and dresses in their respective school colors.  The Goldschlager-spiked Sprite (now refilled) accompanies me in the shower.

Saturday, 11:00 a.m.
Location:  Not Chad’s house

The keg is tapped, and the pre-gaming has begun.  Lots of shit-talking ensues.  ("Tennesseans love Rocky Top like a mother loves her retarded child." - politically incorrect South Carolina student) Lydia and I use the CD player in  my dad's Explorer (which I had borrowed for the trip) to blast our beloved Rocky Top at least a dozen times.

Saturday, 2:30 p.m.
Location:  Fairgrounds near Williams-Brice Stadium

South Carolina fans know how to tailgate.  I do my first (and last) keg stand.  We head to the stadium for the 3:30 kickoff.

Saturday, 4:00 p.m.
Location:  South Carolina student section

Having smuggled in several airplane bottles of Captain Morgan, I begin mixing drinks.  Chad introduces us to his younger brother “SAM” (Sexually Active Matt), who apparently has only recently gotten laid for the first time.  Chad is so proud.  I have no idea who wins the game.

Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
Location:  Not Chad’s house

Everyone takes a power nap.  Everyone except Candy, who makes out with a stranger on a couch.

Saturday, 11:00 p.m.
Location:  Five Points

Bar-hopping.  Can’t say I really remember much of it. 

Sunday, 3:00 a.m.
Location:  Chad’s house

After-party.  Some guy asks me if I ski.  I naively respond that I've never been skiing, but I love to ice skate!

Sunday, 3:15 a.m.

I promptly pass out on a couch.  This is what I get for not taking advantage of the power nap.

Sunday, 3:00 p.m.
Location:  Somewhere in North Carolina

On our way back to Knoxville, Lydia and I stop to get gas.  The guy at the next pump over says, "Hey, Candy!  I met you in Five Points last night!”  Of course you did.

Sunday, 10:00 p.m.
Location:  My apartment

My foot injury (which I haven't noticed until now) has become quite apparent.   It's bleeding and swollen, and I literally can’t walk.  But, if this is the worst thing that happened as a result of the weekend, I consider myself lucky.  Thank God we didn't stay in a hotel.

Making Plans (i.e., What I Do Best)

Despite the fact that it was 90 degrees outside today, summer is, for all intents and purposes, over.  And as much as I hate to say goodbye to the lake, the pool, and my 426 pairs of flip-flops, I'm really looking forward to the festivals and events I'm hoping to go to this fall.  Although I'm sure I won't make it to every single one.

They are as follows:

Great Island Festival at The Sequoyah Birthplace Museum, September 8-9
I didn't even know this museum existed until my friend Chico told me about it earlier this summer.  Pretty sad, considering it's only one county away!  I went to the website and decided that this looked like a good time to go.

Bristol Rhythm and Roots Reunion, September 14-16
Philly and I went to this bluegrass festival last year, and we had a great time walking up and down State Street, listening to great music, and, of course, drinking beer.  We even watched a bluegrass band play in a Chinese restaurant, while we ate steamed dumplings and drank Coors Original (which I'd never had before, but when our waitress, who didn't speak much English, brought out two bottles of it, instead of the Coors Light we'd ordered, we didn't have the heart to send them back).

Fall Festival at the Knoxville Botanical Gardens and Arboretum, September 23
Another place I've never been.  Another good time to go.

Knoxville Brewers' Jam, October 6
I've been to the last FIVE Brewers' Jams, so at this point it's a tradition.

Keeneland Fall Race Meeting, October 5-27
I went to Keeneland several years ago, during the Spring Race Meeting, but I've never been in October.  Last year, Philly and I took a Thanksgiving weekend trip to Louisville and Lexington, and on the day after Thanksgiving we went to Churchill Downs, where they have fall racing during October and November.  If you're looking for something to do that weekend, I highly recommend it.

42nd Annual Oktoberfest in Helen, GA, September 22-October 30
 I'm hoping to take a lil' road trip to North Georgia during October, and this would definitely be one of my stops.

Georgia Mountain Fall Festival, October 12-21
This would be another stop on the North Georgia Mini Road Trip.  And if you're wondering what the heck else we'd be doing on this random trek, see here.

That's all I got so far, but I'm always looking for fun events if anyone has any suggestions.  I realize that I've left out the Foothills Fall Festival, which I went to last year (Reba and Chicago...amazing), but the lineup this year isn't really doing it for me, so I doubt I'll spend the money.  I've also gone to Wine on the Water and the East Tennessee Chili Cook-Off in past years, but I think I'm going to be out of town for both.  

Other plans for the fall include:

-Cheering on #57 (my brother) at the Webb football games

-Cheering on the Vols (a given in this town)

-Celebrating my 30th birthday!!! (theme:  13 Going on 30)

-Going to a show at The Shed (haven't picked one yet)

-A weekend in Atlanta (looking forward...probably more than would be considered "normal"...to eating at Six Feet Under and The Flying Biscuit Cafe)

I've also heard that someone's doing Haunted Ghost Tours of Downtown Knoxville this fall.  I might like to check this out, but I'd kinda like to hear a review first. (Hint, hint.)

Wow, just typing all of that makes me miss the lazy (and cheap) days of summer!

The Curse

This is so weird. But it keeps happening.

Whenever I've been dating a guy for a sufficient amount of time, Ron and Philly invite him to play golf with them at their country club.

(Apparently I only date guys who play golf, although it's not a formal prerequisite.)

And, for the last couple of years, every time one of these rounds of golf occurs, my relationship with the guy ends almost immediately.

No, it's not because Ron and Philly hate all of my boyfriends. As long as the guy doesn't act like Tiger at the Masters, Ron and Philly are cool with him.

And no, it's not some sort of hidden test that all these guys keep failing. It's just a coincidence. At least I think it is.

I've named it The Curse of the Club. Get it? Country club/golf club? Hehehe.

Sadly, the latest victim was the boyfriend I alluded to in my last post, Buzz Lightbeer. After seven months of dating, the poor guy finally got the invitation to play (it doesn't usually take seven months, but, you know, football season, winter, etc.), and whaddaya know, two days later, I called it quits.

It's a curse, I tell you. (Ron and Philly are like, what the hell? Can you give us a heads-up when you're about to do this??? Sorry, roomies!)

I don't really have any hard feelings toward Buzz, so I'm gonna try very hard to blog again in a few days (ha!) and tell y'all about the trip to California we took in March. I may even post some pictures.

Roommates 2.0

As I sit here typing this (instead of returning calls, which is what I should be doing), Ron's in the next room playing The Eagles' New Kid in Town on the ole six-string. So, obviously, some things never change. (See: Ron, Activities.)

However, unlike two years ago, when I posted about the various responsibilities, activities, and pet peeves of the members of our household, Ron is no longer performing as a solo artist. He's now accompanied by Philly, on the ukelele.

And this is what I have to endure in order to avoid paying rent.

Because I'm still living with the 'rents and because some things do change, I've decided to write an updated "Roommates" post, which will probably make more sense to you if you read the original one, the link for which is provided above.

Philly

In charge of:
-Interior design (It's not unusual for Ron and I to come home to rooms that bear little resemblance to the rooms we left that morning.);
-Exterior design (It's widely known...among members of our household...that we have the best-looking front door in the neighborhood, and we have Philly to thank for that.);
-Motivation (By frequently pointing out our "problem areas," Philly has motivated both Ron and me to begin running, and, not one to be left out, she has joined in on the effort. We'll be posting "after" pictures in our bikinis and Speedos in a few months, so make sure and check back.).

Activities:
-Strumming the ole four-string (And apparently she's not the only one: we were informed by employees of Guitar Center during the Christmas season that ukeleles were selling like hotcakes.);
-Law & Order: SVU marathons (Is it ever not on?);
-Touring America, one casino at a time.

Pissed off by:
-The stench of Ron's cigars;
-The stench of gently-used cat litter;
-Republican candidates.

Ron

In charge of:
-Financing Philly's extreme home makeovers;
-Keeping fridge stocked with beer;
-Lawn care (And let me just say, that ever since he discovered that he could smoke a cigar while he does yard work, our lawn is pristine.).

Activities:
-Golf and guitar (which would be an excellent idea for a new magazine, from the publishers of Garden and Gun);
-Eating Chef Boyardee (No one around here can figure out why this man consumes so much canned ravioli.);
-Words with Friends (And Ron has a LOT of friends with words.).

Pissed off by:
-Nothing (that we really care about).

Candy

In charge of:
-Scooping shit (Dolly's, not Philly's and Ron's);
-Making plans (whenever plans need to be made);
-Defending youngsters (on a more-or-less volunteer basis).

Activities:
-Hanging out with Buzz, 7/3 (That's seven hours a day, three days a week. And who's Buzz? He's...Luanne's boyfriend! [Sorry, quick Shag reference.] Actually, he's MY boyfriend! Which means I did really well with my big dating hiatus. But more on that later.)
-Daily polio naps (You can never be too vigilant in protecting against this potentially debilitating disease.)
-Live team trivia (I have really, really smart friends.).

Pissed off by:
-Cat that requires more attention than most toddlers;
-Laundry that, despite being told numerous times, refuses to do itself;
-Newsfeed (just, in general, these days).

Same Shit, Different Year

I couldn't very well END this blog with a post about how I cheated my way through 7th grade math, could I???

So, I'm back. Another year older yet none the wiser. Still practicing the kind of law that pays peanuts and still living with my parents. A real success story.

I spent some time thinking about what my readers (should any of them decide to check back in) would want to know about the last year, and I decided that, even though most of my readers were (and I guess still are) men, y'all ALWAYS loved hearing about the extensive array of losers I managed to seek out and date. Call me cynical, but I believe there may have been some schadenfreude going on.

Thus, I have compiled a list of all of the dudes I've gone out with during the last year, or at least all of the ones I can remember without exerting too much effort. I figure that if my miserable dating life ends up providing some sort of entertainment for a few folks, then at least it won't have been in vain.

#1: Larry Dave

I dated Larry Dave from June 2010 until...well, until recently. But we were never serious. If you're at all familiar with Larry David (Curb Your Enthusiasm), then you know why. Once, when I showed up at LD's apartment complex pool wearing, God forbid, a one-piece bathing suit, he announced to everyone there (and to my horror and dismay) that I must have thought it was the nineteen-fucking-fifties. Such a sweetheart, that Larry Dave.

Of course, I can't really say that our failure to launch into a full-on relationship was entirely LD's fault; there was that one time we were at SouthBound together and I made out with the cutest 22-year-old right in front of him, but that's neither here nor there. I can't be responsible for what happens after a couple of shots of Jager.

I'd also like to mention that LD was the last smoker that I've dated, as I quit smoking shortly after we started seeing each other and haven't smoked since. It's been a year and two months!!!

#2: The Pilot

This was more of a long-distance type thing, due to his profession and the fact that he only flew to Knoxville every few weeks. It was a fun little affair (and no, he was NOT married), albeit somewhat shallow. But, I did finally get my wings.

#3: The Russian

I've been known to peruse the Craigslist personal ads, mostly to look for myself as someone's Missed Connection (it hasn't happened yet, but I'm almost positive I'll see "Cute blonde in the black Mazda CX-7 picking her nose on Pellissippi Parkway" one of these days), but occasionally also to look at the Men Seeking Women ads. Don't judge.

Although this usually only serves to make me loathe the opposite gender, there have been exactly two times that I have found an ad worth replying to, and both times, said replies have resulted in dates. The first guy was nice but unbearably boring and didn't earn a spot on this list, mostly because I can't even remember his name. The second guy was The Russian.

The Russian was delightfully similar to me in personality, but also, unfortunately, in height. Call me shallow, but I really prefer a man who has a few inches on me. And yes, I realize how dirty that sentence sounds. I think what I liked most about The Russian was that he told me over and over how incredibly Jewish I seem, and given my near-obsession with the Chosen People, I took this as a total compliment.

#4: Joe Dirt

Philly has attempted to set me up with men two times this year, and Joe Dirt was the first. The initial red flag was that, upon meeting for our blind date, I recognized him as a friend of my friend LaToya's husband, which meant that we'd both been at LaToya's wedding and several other social gatherings. He, apparently, had found me to be extremely forgettable.

Also: Joe was an excavator. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But, when he consistently complained that I talked about work too much (which, I didn't), I had to stop myself from saying: "Well, I can't help it that what I do is slightly more interesting than moving DIRT." Moving right along....

#5: The Bodybuilder

Philly's second attempt at setting me up was another...interesting experience. The Bodybuilder was a car salesman she met while car shopping a few months ago, and while he was very nice to look at, he was, as most car salesmen tend to be, rather full of shit. Also, as much as I appreciate some nice muscles, anyone who goes to the gym seven days a week is either entirely too vain or sleeping with someone there, most likely another dude.

It only a took a few dates for us both to figure out that we weren't very interested in each other (I'm sure he wasn't impressed with my lack of gym-going); however, I was extremely impressed with myself on one of our dates, during which I picked up not one but two other men, one of whom I went out with the very next weekend. So, I have The Bodybuilder to thank for that.

#6: Brutus Buckeye

Flash forward to the very next weekend. Brutus was a recent transplant from...you guessed it, Ohio. And I'm probably gonna piss off some people by saying this, but I have NEVER been a fan of people from Ohio. My disdain for Ohioans dates back to college, where there was a certain contingency from Cincinnati whom I found to be particularly obnoxious. Later encounters have only solidified my belief that, in terms of residents, Ohio is truly the armpit of America.

So, when I met Brutus and we immediately hit it off (despite the fact that he rooted for Ohio State, ugh), I was shocked. After our first date, I even came home and told Philly that I was pretty sure he was going to be my next boyfriend. Brutus apparently didn't feel the same way, at least not for long. After our third date in two weeks, he never asked me out again. I can't say I wasn't disappointed, but Brutus definitely made me more right about Ohioans than I already was.

#7: Andy Tin Roof (a.k.a. The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back)

Andy Tin Roof (which is how he's listed in my phone) was the other guy I managed to pick up while on my date with The Bodybuilder. We texted back and forth a few times, but I quickly lost interest after he asked me send him a picture of myself. Sorry, dude. Not into that. It also kind of creeped me out (but, I'm not gonna lie, also intrigued me) that, when I told him to add me as a friend on Facebook, he said he wasn't on Facebook, "because he didn't want people to know his business." Hmmmm.

After a few weeks of not hearing from ATR, I received a text from him again last week. He wanted to know if I wanted to meet for drinks on Friday at 5. Sure, I can do that. I had already planned to take the afternoon off and go to the pool, but I could leave the pool by 3:30 or so, get ready, and be out by 5. I was dying to know what this dude's story was.

At 4:53, as I was just about to walk out the door (the place we were meeting is close to home), I got a text: "I got called out of town. Not going to make it. Sorry, sugar. We'll catch up soon."

Okay, first of all: Don't call me sugar. You don't even know me. Second of all: That story is bullshit. And third: Even if you did have to go out of town, I'm sure you could have told me more than seven minutes before our scheduled meeting time. I mean, for God's sake, I'd left the POOL for this crap.

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. The next morning, I announced via Facebook status (which, obviously, means it's set in stone) that I'm taking a dating hiatus. For at least a few months. I just don't want to deal with any more disappointment for a while.

Naturally, the very night of my big announcement, I went out for drinks with a friend I've known for years and years, and he confessed that he wants to date me. I told him to call me in January.

A True Confession

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it’s been 27 years since my last confession.

Okay, so I’m not really Catholic (hence the lack of Reconciliation). However, I did go to Catholic school for six years and am therefore somewhat familiar with the sacraments.

And if I were Catholic, I would have made this confession long ago. But since I’m not, I’m going to make it right now. I’m comin’ clean.

When I was in first grade, my teacher, Mrs. Pucker (cutest name ever), noticed that I was able to do certain things that a lot of the other first graders (apparently) couldn’t do, like reading and telling time. So, it was decided that Little Candy would go to the second grade for a couple of hours each day for Reading and Math. (This was a small Catholic school, so they didn’t have an accelerated program. Also: I guess I was the only accelerated child, because I don’t remember anyone else coming with me.)

Naturally, the next year, when I was actually in second grade, I had to go to third grade for Reading and Math, and so on, until I reached sixth grade. (And let me just say that the kids in the grade above me were NEVER nice to me. I’m still pissed about it.) When I got to sixth grade, the sixth and seventh grade teachers decided that it was too much trouble to coordinate their schedules so that sixth and seventh grade Reading and Math were at the same time (because, without coordinated schedules, I would have run the risk of missing out on a real subject, like Gym). So…I guess I just repeated sixth grade Reading (because, really, by that point, I doubt I was ahead of the other students anymore), but the kicker was Math: I was asked to teach myself seventh grade Math.

Seriously. During Math, I would sit in a corner by myself and “do homework,” and then, when I was sufficiently satisfied that I had learned all of the material in a chapter, I would take the test. Which meant that I would carry the teacher’s manual down to the office and make a copy of the chapter test, and then I would bring it back to the classroom and take it. And then I would grade it.

And during that whole school year, there was not one test that I didn’t cheat on. Sure, I would honestly complete the test, but when it came time to grade it (which, by the way, who the hell gives an eleven-year-old this much freedom???), I would mark exactly two or three answers wrong every time (so it wouldn’t raise suspicion), and then I would proudly present my grade of 94 or 96 to my teacher and announce that I was ready to begin the next chapter.

I never told anyone what I was doing.

But, despite all that monkey business, I did actually learn some math that year. I know this because, when I transferred to public school in seventh grade (because we had moved across town, and my parents felt that I had gotten everything out of private school that I needed…in other words, they were sick of paying for it), I took a test (which I didn't also grade) and qualified for eighth grade (or, accelerated) Math. But I still felt pretty ashamed of all the cheating and lying I’d done.

So, sixteen years later, I’d just like to say: I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenkinson. If I were Catholic, I would certainly do penance for my sin.

There, I feel better now.

Hello Dolly

Meet the newest member of our household, Dolly Pawton:


Of course, her "street name" will just be Dolly. But I wanted to make it (painfully) clear who she's named after. And also that I'm extremely corny.

I picked Dolly up from the animal shelter after work yesterday (we'd adopted her on Friday, but they had to spay and vaccinate her), and from the time I picked her up until, oh, about 11:30 p.m., she was a perfect angel. She followed us around the house and sat with us on the couch, and at about 9:30, she fell into a deep, deep sleep on my lap.

When I was ready to go to bed, I took her to my bedroom with me, thinking (erroneously) that she would just fall asleep again.

And that's when Dolly turned into a Gremlin. A crazy-eyed, biting, DEMONIC little Gremlin.

Things she attempted to destroy with her vicious fangs: my clothes, my shoes, my bedspread, my hands, my arms.... Those baby teeth may be small, but they are SHARP. And determined.

I could not get the little bitch to calm (the fuck) down. At some point I gave up and went to sleep, praying she wouldn't do anything too destructive.

And despite the fact that I'm almost positive I fell asleep on my side, when I woke up a few hours later, I was lying on my back with a little ball of fur curled up on my chest. Angelic as could be.

Until about five this morning, when The Gremlin reappeared.

No more feedings after midnight.




Postscript:

I've already told Dolly I love her. Too soon?

Also: Why can't kittens stay kittens? They are the perfect size, and they have the sweetest little baby meows. Is this how parents feel about their children???

Finally: I just found THIS on Dolly's Facebook wall (which explains the poor behavior last night):

Looks like she's gonna fit in here purrrrfectly.