Saturday, March 26, 2011

My Speech at Darron's Wedding.

When I told my college students I was going to my best friend’s wedding this weekend, they asked how long we had been friends. I had to stop and pause and think about the gravity of that statement. My first instinct was to say 10 years…then maybe 15…but as I thought back, I realized that it has been since 7th grade. 1988. So 23 years. Their eyes widened and I felt like we were really sharing a deep and powerful moment; a pause fell over the class…until one of my students said “Dude that is longer than I’ve been alive. You’re REALLY old.” Don’t worry…I’m going to fail his ass.

Anyway, 23 years is a long time to get to know someone, really know someone…and as Pam has already noticed, and is sure to continue to find out over the course of their marriage, there truly are two sides to Darron Evans. Let me explain.

Our first memories of meeting each other are tellingly different. I remember us meeting because our 7th grade history teacher had us exchange word searches that we created. I mistakenly forgot to put one of the words to find into the actual puzzle, so apparently he and his mom spent all night looking for something that wasn’t there. His first memory of me is in our PE class…remember, this was 1988…so we had VERY short shorts. So really, Darron’s first memory of me is of ogling my legs. So, Pam, this first memory demonstrates two things about Darron: His level of dedication and ability to forgive with the crossword puzzle…and from the PE class: his appreciation of nice legs.

A necessary attribute of a significant other, is that he/she needs to be there for you…and I think Darron does that. For example, as some of you may know there is this game called The Sims. The Sims, in short, is a game where you recreate life. You can create a character of yourself that goes to work or parties, whatever you want, and it must sleep and eats like a real person, or this character can die. It becomes a virtual representation of you. Anyway, at one point after college, I was having some serious problems with a roommate of mine; his name was Marty. Marty was a mean, nasty person, who was a drug addict, stole a bunch of my stuff, and refused to move out for a long time. When I told Darron of this issue, he, of course, did what any normal person would do. He went to his Sims game, and created a virtual pool with some virtual stairs. He then created a virtual Marty to walk into the virtual pool with the virtual stairs...and then removed the virtual stairs that led out of the virtual pool. So virtual Marty walked back and forth and back and forth until he died...and a virtual tombstone was created. So, Pam, this demonstrates Darron’s willingness to protect the honor of those he loves, which is a very important quality in a husband. Unfortunately, this may also mean he is a psychopath.

I understand that you two are going to Hawaii for your honeymoon. That’s great…and I’m positive that you two are going to have an amazing time. Just be careful if you go into the ocean while you are there…Darron seems to bring a bit of bad luck for his companions. One time, Darron and I were out in the ocean with my friend Armando, who Darron didn’t know very well at all. Unfortunately, Armando got stung in the face by a jellyfish. While we all raced to get out of the water, Darron turns to me and asks with hope in his eyes like a kid on Christmas morning “Aren’t we supposed to pee on it?” I respond “Yeah, but that’s his face…so…that’s not going to happen.” As we caught up to Armando, who is writhing in pain on the beach, and I’m about to ask him how he’s doing…Darron of course tactfully blurts out “So, did you want us to pee on it?" Oddly, he said no.

Not to mention, there was the time that Darron and I were snorkeling in Maui, looking at some sea turtles and I got stung all up and down my arm and side. I told Darron what happened and instantly swam to shore, thinking the entire time: “I’m going to punch him in the mouth if he asks to pee on it.” When I got to shore, I painfully turned around, and noticed that Darron was STILL snorkeling and thought something I never thought I would ever, ever think: “Hey…why doesn’t Darron want to pee on me?” So, Pam, these two stories demonstrate important information about Darron. First, we can interpret his actions when I got stung as showing true bravery because he was able to swim undistracted by the fear of jellyfish; not to mention, I discovered that being ignored by Darron is truly a badge of honor. Clearly, he only offers to pee on people he doesn’t really care about. On the other hand, I really think these stories could also show that Darron can be kind of an ass. I really could have died man…where were you?

This of course all leads up to Darron and me meeting you, Pam. The two of us, sitting around bored one day, looking for something to do probably after a long, crazy night of eating two-large pizzas, playing chess, and watching Lord of the Rings for the tenth time. Yes…we were some VERY eligible bachelors…and we just couldn’t understand why we didn’t have girlfriends.

So, I decided to post an ad on Craigslist looking for two ladies who wanted to hang out with me, and a vengeful psychotic, who likes to pee on people’s faces and ogle the legs of young boys. (I didn’t write that in the ad, but it was definitely implied.) Pam and a friend of hers (the infamous "Willow") responded to our ad...and the second we left that double date, Darron asked and he asked and he asked if it was ok for him to call Pam or if I wanted to. I still remember that moment as we walked back to our car…I thought to myself: “Wow, it’s like he is in love with her or something.” And I remember thinking that in all our years together, and all we had been through, I had never seen him like that.

The reason I know Pam and Darron are such a great pair is because, all jokes aside, he is by far the most intelligent, kindest, giving person I have ever known. He doesn’t talk the talk…he walks the walk…he lives a life that demonstrates a true desire for social change and equality. I think about all the lives he has touched as a teacher, and I am in awe at his passion and desire to make this world not just a better place for himself, but a fairer place for all. And what I notice about him when he is with Pam, is that she somehow takes the two sides of Darron and accentuates the positives while loving the quirks even more than I do.

Yes, I have known the two sides of Darron for longer than many of my students have been alive. This is true. But time is relative and we should keep in mind the old Japanese proverb that states “When 95% of the journey is over, you are only half way there.” So I, for one, am excited to see Pam and Darron continue to grow together, even grow older together no matter where they are in their journey with just a small a piece of advice… Never, ever get stung by a jellyfish when sea turtles are around...because he might leave you to die.

Cheers to Darron and Pam!

Sunday, March 06, 2011

Can A Guy Just Get a Normal Massage for Once?

We left dinner and the flashing lights to our left got our attention.

MASSAGE it blinked. MASSAGE it flashed with rainbow colors. Who were we to argue?

We went in, and surprisingly, they had instant openings? At 7? On a Saturday night? I guess we just got lucky...

They put us in a couple's room. Asked us to remove our clothes...and then the female Japanese manager asked as she slowly closed the door...

"You rike-a hard massag-e? Media' massag-e? O' sof' massag-e?"

That's an odd question I think as I respond "Hard, I guess?"

And then the fun began.

***

When we first got into the room, I got on my table and noticed that the headrest was too low for my neck and completely not adjustable. T's table was more well-suited for my body type.

"You want to switch?" as she rolls her eyes. She knows that I have massage issues, and she knew my dislike of the headrest was a little bit of my crazy coming out.

"Is that ok?"

So we switch tables, and I try to adjust my headrest that was working just fine for T.

I adjust it. It falls.

I adjust it. It falls.

I adjust it. CLANK! A huge screw falls out of the headrest and onto the floor. I look over at T in absolute fear as I have just broken the fucking massage table headrest! I am already having a slight mental breakdown because I really don't like massages and the fact that I have just broken the table is doing NOTHING to calm my fears.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH is her retort.

"Thanks!" I scowl as I find the screw, and hurriedly try to insert it back into the table as I fear the masseuses will be coming in any moment. CLANK!!!! again.

BAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAAH is all I hear as I fumble around, panicking, looking for the damn screw.

I pick the screw back up and shove it back into the headrest. The screw stays in this time, but the headrest falls limply along the table. The instructions are attached to the headrest still...and I feel a moment of relief.

Directions! I'll just follow the directions! I can do this!

But my moment of relief is taken away from me as I get to step three, the final step, and the headrest still lies limply on its side.

"Did you BAHAHAHHAHAHAH want to BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA switch back?"

The broken and battered headrest in hand and my tail between my legs, I respond, again, "Is that ok?"

We scurry our half-naked bodies back across the room, and as soon as we get under the covers...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The masseuses come in and T straight lies to them:

"Um, there seems to be something wrong with this headrest. It's not working for some reason."

The two girls try to work on it for a moment...and then go get the Japanese manager. She works on it for a few minutes, too...and emphatically apologizes and asks if we would be ok with a new room.

We tell them its ok...and the "massage" begins.

***

I found a number of things odd about this massage. Here they are in no particular order:

(1) My masseuse was wearing a lot of beads on her shirt, so every time she would lean over to do something, her beads would bang into my eyes or drop into my mouth. Not very relaxing.

(2) It wasn't hard..unless you count the part where my masseuse was at the head of the massage table and kept ramming my head. RAMMING my head with her pelvis. For some reason, I think she found it relaxing? to massage my lower back from four feet away...rendering my cranium the only way she could reach her area of desire.

(3) Speaking of desire, did I mention she tried to rape me yet? Oh. I didn't? Because that bitch fucking tried to rape me.

(4) You know when you get yourself in those situations where hypothetically your mom was supposed to say "At least he was wearing clean underwear when X?" Well, I had not planned to be at a massage parlour, so I was wearing my snow-flaked-ladened Family Guy underwear that has a gigantic "I've Been Naughty" quote on them. Excellent.

(5) Did I not fully explain number 3 yet? Oh, I didn't? Let me explain. In any massage I've ever had, the masseuse tends to not touch my boxers in anyway, shape or form. This seems to be qualified as a "no touch" zone. For all the reasons I dislike massage, the "no touch zone" at least gives me some semblance of security. This lady, at various points during the massage, seemed to look at my boxers as some sort of wrapping paper. She pulled my boxes down past my crack, while, at other times, shoved my boxers INTO my crack so she could have at it. I have never had anyone, ever, shove my underwear INTO my ass before. So relaxing...

(6) Did I mention she kept grazing my junk yet? Cuz she did. I wondered, initially, if she kept thinking whatever the translation for "Whoops" is in Japanese in her mind...because I hadn't had my balls handled so much since the last time my doctor checked me for a hernia. After about the fourth "accidental" swipe, and working my way through the fear that she might accidentally slip a digit in my butt with the wayward movement of her hands...I figured this was one of "those" places.

(7) I don't need to go into the biology of what happened when she eventually had me flip over to my front...but as a normal male, if someone is caressing and jostling your upper inner thighs...never quite touching...but oh-so-close-to-touching Broadway...most men (I would assume) would have some sort of physical reaction. I had said reaction. The masseuse then ensued to massage AROUND this "protruding" area, never TOUCHING but, instead, using the shape of a spade with her hands (her forefingers and thumbs touching together). I felt safer, though, because I was no longer in danger of having a digit in my rear and because T was just a few inches away from me.

***

There was no happy ending, literally or metaphorically. As we got dressed, I confided in T what had happened, hoping that she would not be angry at my reaction to the massage.

While lying on her back, she put her hand under her sheet by her stomach and pointed at the ceiling.

"Was it like this? BAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH"

"Shut it"

And then she said "My God. I was worried that lady was going to slip a digit in the entire time!"

So it wasn't only me!

We were basically both sexually assaulted, but we broke their property, too.

I guess it all evens out in the end.