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The Best of Ides, the Worst of Ides

Hey, folks. Welcome to the ‘Ides of March’. Beware the Ides! Be-waaaaare!

Yeah. Whatever. It’s just another day. There’s good and there’s bad, just like any other fricking day. Let’s take care of the ‘bad’ first. You know, to give us time to get the taste out of our mouths.

Here’s my ‘bad’: Woke up. Still sick. Showered. Still sick. Went to work, to meet obligation to talk at group meeting. Talked at meeting (sickly). Immediately left for the day. On the (sick) way home, the car’s ‘Service Engine’ light came on. Drove — again, while sick — to garage. Garage sez: ‘Not today. Come back Thursday.‘ Pfffft. Thursday. Makes me sick.

Okay, that’s plenty of ‘bad’ for one day. You people aren’t here for ‘bad’. Let’s try some ‘good’, for a change. And here’s the ‘good’:

Today — for the first of what I hope is many, many times — I can bring you two full posts. Count ’em, two! And with virtually no effort. How fucking cool is that?

And how can I manage this near-Christlike miracle of drivel distribution? Why, thanks to my good friends at Zoiks!, of course. You see, Zoiks! is published twice a month online, and includes — as of the first of this month — a little snippy snippet by yours truly. However, Zoiks! doesn’t archive these gems — nay, these national treasures of wit — and so, I’ve decided to do the archiving for them. Or rather, for me, for them, meaning: on the day the new issue comes out, I’ll post my ‘outgoing’ story here, just in case you didn’t make it over to the mag for a look.

(Though really, you should. Zoiks! has wrangled itself a full eight regular contributors — including my good friend Jenn — and has plenty of features and extras, to boot. If there’s anything even remotely tickling your happy humerus here, then you’ll have a good chuckle over there. Guaranteed.)

Anyway, before this ‘with virtually no effort’ thing turns into a big fat stinking lie, let’s do this thing. Below, you’ll find the piece I submitted for the March 1st issue of Zoiks! — that’s Volume 2, Issue 5, if you’re keeping track of such things.

(Although, if you are, you should really see someone about that OCD. I imagine you’re already a danger to yourself, and probably to others. Seek professional help immediately.)

For most of you, the drivel below will be new — unless you stopped by the old Zoiks! site in the past two weeks, of course. Ah ho! But even if you have, then you can always pop over there to have a gander at my latest piece, which I penned a few days ago, and has been freshly and lovingly published this morning. But first, the old crap:

Allow Myself to Introduce… Myself

Meeting new people is often awkward for me. I tend to be chatty when I’m anxious, and nothing gets the sweat a-dripping quite like an introduction. I’m always afraid that I’ll overdo it and say too much, so I end up saying next to nothing at all. I suppose that’s preferable — I’d rather seem dull and uninteresting, instead of sharing that I love my rubber ducky and ‘cake is fun to eat’. There are certain personal details that really shouldn’t be revealed in a first conversation, and I don’t seem to have that filter. So it’s better that I clam up completely, rather than blurting out where the bodies are buried. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

It doesn’t help that I’m terrible at remembering names. I’ve had long, lasting relationships with people known to me only as ‘dude’, ‘baby’, or ‘you’. I’m sure they gave me a name when we first met… and I’m sure I promptly forgot it. And at a certain point — after you’ve been sharing an apartment for a few months, say, or started a business or fan club or prostitution ring together — it seems somehow inappropriate to ask again. So the dance of ‘hey, buddy’ and ‘yo, chica’ goes on. Thank goodness my wife wears a nametag, or I’d really be in trouble.

Of course, I’ve tried that mnemonic of repeating a new name during the introduction, to burn it into memory. But apparently, my brain is flame-retardant; by the time I’ve got a handle on the name, I’ve spouted out a Rain Man monologue, and the owner of the name is long gone:

‘Hi, Tina Goldman! It’s nice to meet you, Tina Goldman. Why, I’m doing fine, Tina Goldman — how are you, Tina Goldman? Oh, I’m sorry, Tina Goldman — I’m just trying to remember your name, Tina Goldman. Don’t mind me, Tina Goldman. Wait, wait — where are you going, Tina Goldman? Tina Goldman, I thought we were hitting it off. Tina Goldman? Ok, then — bye, Tina Goldman! *sigh* Bitch.’

Honestly, it just seems easier for me to not meet new people at all. For a while, I even considered moving into a hermit cave — but I think you’re required to grow a long, crazy beard and stop bathing, and that sounds way too itchy. Plus, I’m afraid of bears. And where would I keep my rubber ducky, if I don’t have a bathtub? These are important considerations.

And so, I struggle along. I meet people from time to time, and just try to survive the experience without driving them away or sounding like an idiot. Or rambling endlessly on some tangent when I’m supposed to be introducing myself. Like right now, for instance. See, I told you — I always say too much. I should have clammed up when I had the chance.

Anyway, I’m Charlie. I’m the new guy around here, and it’s good to make your acquaintance, whatever your name might be. No, no, don’t tell me — I’ll just call you ‘Scooter’, and we’ll leave it at that. Much easier. It’s nice to meet you, Scooter, and I hope to see you again soon… Scooter. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, you and me. Me and Scooter. Yeah, this’ll be downright peachy. You’ll see, Scooter.

Oh, and for the record — cake really is fun to eat. I’m just saying. Scooter.

So there you have it — two posts in one, not counting the long-winded setup I spewed above to tell you about it. Hell, that’s nearly three posts in one day. What’re you, the Princess of Wales? Who gets that kind of special treatment, anyway? You, that’s who. So enjoy, my pretty, pretty Princess, and adieu until the morrow. Who knows what I’ll cook up for you then, eh? All the world’s a blog, apparently! Pip pip!