Is it my back, my hips, or from my belly button down that hurts?

So, it turns out that I'm getting older......

Chicago, Illinois; "the windy city." This is such a fantastic city. I happen to be in one of my favorite vacation spots because one of my favorite fraternity brothers is getting married in a few weeks and it's his last "hooray" before that long ride off into the sunset. The bachelor party. A time honored tradition and an experience that fraternity men take very seriously.

I have to say that the best man has put together quite a weekend. We're golfing at a little course on Lake Michigan this morning and then we're off to a VIP patio party as we watch the Chicago White Sox host the Texas Rangers and then it's a change of clothes into a collared shirt, washing off the long days activities, and applying cologne and, in my case, lots of deodorant, for some night clubs and evening cocktails. Then tomorrow, it's up bright and early to get home for Mother's Day festivities with my special ladies.

My fraternity brother, this weekend's bachelor, has a great apartment in downtown Chicago and the early morning golfers stayed at his home last night. It has been great. The nighttime drive to the big city, followed by some chips and pizza and John Madden football until the wee hours of the morning.

So I'm laying on an air mattress on a hard wood floor in this great downtown Chicago apartment as I was unpleasantly greeted by pain, the morning sun over Lake Michigan, and this horrible, horrible realization: "I'm getting too old for this!" I'm laying here with my back and hips in knots and I couldn't believe I was trying to think of where to find a soft piece of ground to lie and stretch before we hit the links this morning! Ashby doesn't need to stretch! Not to mention the discomfort is only being exacerbated by the one beer and three hours of sleep. Now don't get me wrong. My friend is a wonderful host and he has a great home with an absolutely incredible view of the water, but sadly...... "I'm getting too old for this."

So, as the I can see the morning sun glissen off the lake as I'm taking in the 3 part harmony of gentlemen slumber, I can't help but think about how this sunrise seems to make a new chapter in my life. With the discomfort of older age, followed by it's realization, came competing thoughts of:

"I wonder if they've got some eggs...... we need to be up and moving by 7 am tomorrow morning.... How am I going to do that with 15 other guys in two apartments...... How am I going to get my hips to move for golf...... I'm hungry, I wonder what I can make for breakfast..... Should I be cooking in somebody else's kitchen without permission? That seems rude..... I wonder where's the nearest Starbuck's...... Where are we going take "my Queen" for Mother's Day dinner? ..... I need to get a card and wrap her present.... I wonder what she's doing right now.... I need food to take my morning medicine; what can I eat???? I'm going to need food this evening to take my medicine; what should I do???? How am I going to pull this off with 15 other guys in an apartment???? I'm not getting drunk today! I'm not getting drunk today! I'm not getting drunk today! Even if I came back early to sleep, there are going to be early drunkerds that are going to be filing in as the night rolls on and it's going to be a re-telling of the night's events that I experienced and I'm just going to be a mess tomorrow..... AHHHHHH!!!!"

So, this calming sensation came over me as I pulled my laptop out of my messenger bag, found the nearest unsecured wi-fi networks (thank you "WillisTRondos crib" and your free internet), logged onto Hiltonhonors.com and found the nearest hotel to this location so that I can collect points.

"Wow, the Drake Hotel, I didn't know that was a Hilton hotel. How swanky! 129? Dollars? Not bad! Badass! I should get the breakfast buffet for $7.50. That's a good price and you know it's going to be an awesome breakfast. If I'm in by midnight, I can get up at 6:30. Get a good breakfast to make up for less sleep than I'd like and a busy yesterday, not to mention today, and then roll back over to the apartment by 8 to pick up the no doubt hungover or possibly still drunk "Dial" and "the Switzer King" (obviously not their real names or even nicknames) and be back home by noon because we gain an hour."

A frequent fly er number and a few clicks later, and hurricane of swirling thoughts and concerns rolled away and I re-gained control of my environment.

I really don't like the idea of getting older to the point of needing these extra considerations in my life; not necessarily the Drake Hotel, but legitimate meals and a decent night's sleep in order to function. Those things just didn't use to be so important. I could get by for days on $3.45 General Tso's chicken, Taco Bell, and two and a half hours sleep on a couple love seat cushions on a cold concrete floor, but those days are clearly over. I should also mention that as frustrated as I might be by these extra "guys weekend requirements," I'm more relieved that I've got a life that's actually worth the extra effort.

So, I'm going to try to work out another half hour of semi-fulfilling sleep before a very long day, but this wouldn't be my writing if I didn't quote somebody smarter or more articulate than me.....

"Oh, I'm much too young to feel this damn old......"

Here's to new beginnings!

Winnie Cooper, where have you gone?

So, I'm on campus today and I keep seeing this girl that looks so familiar. She walks by, I stare and smile, she smiles, and we go our separate ways. Two hours later, we pass each other in the hall, and I could just swear that I know this girl. I mean, this is a beautiful woman. Long, flowing black hair, great smile, petite figure, a face that looked like an expensive porcelain doll, and she looks like somebody I've seen at least a million times. At this point, I almost say something, but I’m hesitant because she doesn’t seem to recognize me, and I’ve got one of those faces that everybody recognizes. I wish I was just being arrogant, but not a week goes by that somebody doesn’t ask me if they know me, or did I go to school in Terre Haute, or didn’t you get arrested once in…… As I’m sitting in the lunch plaza, this girl walks past me again and by this point it’s driving me crazy.

“Excuse me miss, do I know you from somewhere?” She stops looks around and asks, “Me?”

“Yes, you. I swear you look so familiar and it is absolutely driving me bananas!”

“Bananas, huh…. That’s a funny expression. I’m sorry, but you just don’t look familiar. Sorry.”

I thanked her for her time and she found a table to sit and eat. I finished my lunch and was in the process of throwing my tray away when it hit me like a bolt of lightning. I ran over to her table, which was full of about twelve, 18 to 21 year old women that looked like the cast of 90210 and I exclaimed, “Holy shit! You’re Winnie Cooper! You look just like Winnie Cooper! I’m sure guys tell you that all the time!”

“Who?” she asks…. If you only saw the look on her face, you’d swear I had been speaking Vietnamese or told her about a cowboy that rode into town on Tuesday, stayed two days, and left on Tuesday!

“That’s Samantha….. What the hell are you talking about?” asks another one of the lost dozen.

“Winnie Cooper, she was a character on the Wonder Years….. She was Kevin’s dream girl….. She was everybody’s dream girl! You know; from the TV show…. Not ringing a bell?”

As I’m staring at 12 zombies, I fade off with a, “yeah, I think her real name is Danica Mackellar or something.”

“Oh, you mean Danica Patrick? She’s super hot! Are you trying to tell Samantha that she’s hot? Are you asking her out? Who are you?”

I put my head down and walked away with a “sorry to bother you” and “enjoy your lunch.”

I don’t generally get embarrassed, but that encounter left me at least a little anxious, to say the least. So I threw away the rest of my lunch and headed off to my next meeting. After the meeting, I’m walking down the hall and I don’t believe it; I’m crossing paths with Winnie Cooper, or Samantha whomever, for a fifth time today! I keep my head down as I pass, but she puts her hand on my shoulder and stops me.

“Hey…. I wanted to thank you…. That girl, Winnie whatever, she’s like really pretty. That was a really nice thing to say, and you don’t even know me. I’m touched.”

I just about jumped out of my skin. It wasn’t because of the hand on my shoulder, or her level of attractiveness, but because somebody actually understood what I was saying! I kept my bone structure inside my skin, washed all emotion from my face, cleared my throat (unsuccessfully I might add), and responded in this raspy, emphysema type voice and said, “Oh… (throat clear; this time successful) you do know what show I was talking about.”

“Oh no….. I’m sorry,” she replied. I looked up the Wonder Years on IMDB and that girl is really pretty, but uh….. Maybe I’ll watch that show sometime.”

“You know,” I responded, “I wouldn’t bother. The show was pretty terrible and Fred Savage hasn’t been in anything good since The Princess Bride (again, blank stare), but that Winnie Cooper was something spectacular.”

And as I was walking away, something occurred to me….. Where have all the dream girls gone?

By dream girls, I mean the type of women guys would fall in love with on network TV and resent their girlfriends for not being as hot and cool as those Thursday night beauties. You know, the beautiful dream of some poor sap’s life that was so unattainable that she could be considered the antagonist of the show. The match that wouldn’t ever happen in a million years, but as the show’s final episode would premiere, this hapless son of a bitch gets the girl and America celebrates in joy and relief as Kevin and Winnie ride off into the sunset or Ross and Rachel finally make it work!

I used to all but pray to see that moment when I was growing up. If Ross could end up with Rachel, then maybe there was a hope with the girl I was smitten with on the cheerleading squad or even the girl in the science club. And in the final months of my long trip down to the bottom of the barrel, as I lived “protected” from the world by my piles of pizza boxes, empty liquor bottles, and newspapers from the floor to the ceiling, I was inconsolable as Dr. Shepherd left Meredith Grey to get back together with his wife. Meredith was heartbroken, and I’m ashamed to say so was I. I thought he could see past her dysfunction and love her no matter what, and as my weight climbed to one quarter of a ton, and the depression continued to sedate the neurons in my brain, I too was losing faith in that dream girl to save me.

I will clarify by saying that I was no doubt extremely drunk, but the general trauma stuck with me for weeks. Why would Meredith (me in this case) go on living if she didn’t have anybody that understood her?

And the problem was that these protagonists, in my mind, we’re totally deserving of the glory. Of that group of friends, Ross was the smartest and most successful. Kevin’s determination was admirable, to say the least. Ed was an accomplished lawyer, handsome, charming, and charismatic as he perused after Carol Vesey. Meredith was a surgeon from a famous family, but season after season, America would scowl together as asshole after asshole joined the show and didn’t appreciate the gift of America’s dream girl as our hopeless little hero would be devestated before trying to find new ways to steal away her heart. For me, it was just too close to real life, but there I was, looking for the instance that broke the rule.

Now all of this talk no doubt seems pretty irrational, but that's just it. I was absolutely irrational! I was operating under a very misguided set of ideals. I was emotionally ill.

What’s funny is that type of show doesn’t even have an ounce of my interest for me anymore. If it isn’t Entourage or Heroes, then it isn’t even worth my time. I just don’t care if “Grey and McDreamy” get back together and I think Scrubs is over and I don’t even want to know what happened to “JD and Elliott,” because the truth is, I found my dream girl. She’ll be the first to admit that she doesn’t look like Jennifer Anniston or Sarah Chalke, but through episode after episode, she’s got me inspired to overcome and endure whatever obstacles arise to bring about a happy resolution at the end of the day. I find her absolutely irresistable. She is my happy ending. She is my best friend.

I wasn’t intending this to be so sappy, but my “Queen” has been out of town for the last few days helping a good friend who is being treated for breast cancer that has metastasized to one of her lungs. I couldn’t believe just how lost I was when she was gone. Not to mention that when I was presented with the opportunity of doing just about anything I wanted with my free time, I watched a few movies, caught up on some sleep, did some laundry, straightened up the house, and read a little. This beer swilling, overindulgent, life of the party has finally found his life’s center. I have finally found home.

Thinking back about all of my dream girls, both from television and friendships in the past, I don’t think that I really wanted them, but I wanted to be good enough to deserve them. I wanted to have the appearance, skill set, and confidence to be somebody that the “top girls” wanted to be with. It’s almost as if it was a way for me to imagine that my inabilities and insecurities didn’t exist. That would also mean that these issues have been developing inside me since I was in junior high school! I wanted to be Ross, Kevin, Ed, JD, and Dr. Grey because I was going to mixers and running away from girls that asked me to dance!

"All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone
tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were
often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naïve. I was looking
for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I,
could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my
expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born
with: that I am nobody but myself."~Ralph Ellison, “Battle Royale”

I can’t believe it, but I finally found me! It took me almost 27 years, 507 pounds (less my 165), countless trips to Taco Bell, pounds and pounds of skittles, more beers than I’d like to admit, a few recreational drugs, and a minor arrest or two, but I found my center; my peace. With this knowledge in my back pocket, it is only upward from here. Sure, there will be the occasional bump in the road, there always is, but as long as I stay true to who I am, happiness and peace will be close by for the rest of my days. What’s funny is that I actually planned on having it all figured out by now. Since I was 14, I had it all planned to be done with graduate school, get married at 27, and to live out my days in peace, harmony, and bliss. So, I’m not married and I’ve broken just about every moral absolute I grew up with, but as I see it, I’m right where I wanted to be, when I wanted to be it. I thought I was lost. It turns out that I’m right on track!