When I was a little kid, my coaches used to give me shit for not putting high enough expectations on myself. They all felt that I basically just went with the proverbial flow and had little to no interest in forcing myself to achieve certain goals. They were probably right.
Goals suck.
But one of my major and most important goals is to get five days of week worth of material up on this site, either through this blog, a combination blog/column or a combination blog/column/front pager.
One of my sub-goals is to make sure that material is funny.
Sometimes it's hard being funny.
You see, thanks to my awesome driving ability, amazing people skills and a dose of bad luck, I have shelled out twenty car payments worth of cash to a lawyer, the City of Tampa, and the IRS (remember kids: they are THE IRS and every thing is theirs). On top of that, my car is about to die and unlike Fearless Editor Court Sullivan, I live in a town where public transportation is a very bad joke (like Carl Everett).
And, to add insult to injury, my apartment recently flooded and now reeks like a poolside locker room in Orlando. Life is a fucking shit storm sometimes.
So I'm trying to find the bright spot. Here it is: my girlfriend.
When my girlfriend met me, I always had money. No dinner was out of bounds and no drinks were paid by her. The mere thought of it was inexcusable. I was simply not raised that way.
And now here she is with a loser boyfriend who has no money, a questionable driver's license, a broken down car and an apartment that smells like Aquaman's living room. And how has she dealt with it?
By being awesome. By making great suggestions. By loving me until sleep hits me over the head like a roundhouse. She could have thrown her hands up and said, “fuck this mess” but she knew what she got into when she started. Hell, perhaps she even knew it was only a matter of time until my flare for the stupid and obnoxious threatened her good times, but whatever. She's sticking around. She's trying her best to help me through this. And no woman not related to me has ever helped me through a problem (or group of problems, in this case) before.
So maybe it's good that all this is going on. Maybe it's nice because it lets me see how loyal she is. And maybe she is, in fact, very loyal.
Or maybe I'm just that good in bed.
You know, six of one…