I think I might be going a little crazy; even more than what I am now. I have found myself really talking to myself a lot lately. I’m not saying you’re driving down the road and something pops in your mind so you say something quick to yourself talking. I’m not talking about pumping yourself up to go get ask the only woman in the bar that you definitely have no chance with out talk, or cuss out loud when you stub your toe on a corner kind of thing. I’m talking flat out having a conversation with myself.
I mean I’m having arguments with myself on a consistent basis and it tells me one thing; I think the country is starting to get to me. So instead of arguing over political views and Reds games with the imaginary person to my right I’m going to tell a story to you all. To be completely honest the story really has nothing to do with BMD but it will stop me from talking to myself for awhile which has to be good for my mental health.
So it’s the summer before my third year in college (I’m not sure if it’s my junior or sophomore year due to the five year plan) and I’m living on campus with some peeps that would eventually grow on me (well some of them) and enjoying the single life. Prior to this my first two years in college I was what some would call (ok most would) a whipped little bitch; I always felt that was a little harsh though. Any matter the summer of single Derek was going pretty good.
The majority of the time on the weekends I could be found enjoying an adult beverage or keg stands throughout the day to relax. I wasn’t alone (most of the time) and on this particular day Jamin and the second coming of Robert Downey Jr. were partaking in the celebration of me not being pussy whipped (ok I admit it, it was true). I’m not making excuses here but I had been drinking a lot when my youngest brother, Monkey showed up.
Monkey was a starter and played both ways on the line for our high school football’s playoff team and I was a 160lbs (maybe) hurdler so naturally my first thought was:
In case you didn’t grow up with idiots Blood Alley is a game where one participant stands 10 yards back with the football and tries to get past the defender anyway possible. Everyone except for me at the time thought this was a bad idea but I insisted; I knew I could take him.
It didn’t matter how sweet my moves and jukes were it was like Monkey knew what I was doing. I started out by faking left, juking right and then spinning left only to get de-flip flopped and come to on my back and my buddies laughing hysterically at me in the back yard. I of course blamed the first run on my sandals and take those no traction P.O.S flip flops off and it didn’t help at all. This time I went right and then straight backyards five yards after Monkey’s hit. I decided right then offense wasn’t my thing and switched to defense (Jamin & Rob Jr. really thought this was a bad idea; and they were right). I lasted one run, threw myself at his knees and then didn’t move for ten minutes as everyone laughed. It didn’t have to go the judges, I lost and got my ass kicked by my little brother in doing so.
Wow I must admit it feels good telling that story to other people and not just having another conversation with me; but do you know what the moral of the story is? Nope it’s not about binge drinking (well maybe), or that I need to get out of the country (well sort of) it’s that you really shouldn’t tie-up and leave your little brother to a basketball pole when you’re a kid because he’ll eventually find a way to kick your ass for it later (if I was talking to myself right here I would have laughed at that).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!