2:00 AM

It’s 2:00 AM after a long Saturday night. I should feel relieved because the thing I’ve been dreading has passed. I reality, I am acutely aware of why I was dreading it. It’s 2:00 AM after a five month relationship, and I just broke her heart. I, ironically, am now crying in the arms of my roommate. It would seem that I should be the one who chalks it up to bad luck or makes some other weak excuse, pulls the covers up, and goes to sleep. Instead I have tears streaming down my face, as no doubt she does. It’s 2:00 AM after a half hour of telling her everything she needed to hear and nothing she wanted to. I wish like hell that there were something else I could have done and still had any self-respect on which to hang my pride, but there just wasn’t. What started as curiosity and became love has taken a turn for me, and I just can’t bring myself to fake my way through and let her fall deeper in love while I remain static. I just couldn’t break down and cry and say, “Baby, I’m sorry, I take it all back. Come back over.” I just couldn’t drag her along for weeks or months more and hurt her a little more each day until I had completely ruined anything we ever had because I didn’t have what it took to tell her that I’ll never be the man she needs. I just couldn’t take the easy way out. I just couldn’t tell her I was still in love and that it wasn’t over.

These were the words that tore both of us open until we each bled from that most vulnerable place.

“Do you love me?”
“Not like you need me to.”

She hung up. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Pain like that travels silently across the human experience and hits with a sickening thud. I knew that with those words I had shattered every ounce of trust she had to give. In a moment the memory of how it felt to be told that the love is gone came rushing back, and my tears came rushing forth. I cried because I know that pain. I cried because I just put that pain on her. I cried because I had to choose what the best time was to hurt her so that it turned out the best for her in the end. I also knew that I owed it to her. I couldn’t let her believe that somehow this was all a riddle that needed only the right words to be solved. I couldn’t do to her what was done to me. For that matter, I couldn’t do to her what I’d done in the past. Across those months she had given me her trust, and now the only thing I could do to honor that was to tear down her world in the name of honesty.

As I wipe away my tears, my roommate tells me that someday I’ll have her respect for having been honest with her. My roommate tells me she respects me for “doing the right thing.” From somewhere inside me, that idealistic child wants to scream out that I deserve no respect, because I used to have love and now it’s gone. There is nothing to be respected about that. If I could have taken adversity and turned it into greater love, that deserves respect. If I could have embraced every moment of pain and tension and used it to understand more and battle less, that deserves respect. If I weren’t one of two people crying at 2:00 AM because a compromise couldn’t be reached, if I still felt on top of the world and if I were still making her feel like the luckiest girl in the world, that would deserve respect. Right now I just feel like the inconsolable kid on the soccer field after a tough loss. Hand me my orange slice and give me the condescending hair tossle and “you’ll get ‘em next time”, but I still just wish we could have won. From somewhere, the frustration starts to seep in. What went wrong this time? Why couldn’t I have fallen hopelessly in love and stayed that way until death did us part? What is it about two people that makes them irreconcilably different when everyone is so remarkably similar to begin with? Why does “doing the right thing” hurt so deeply?

Beav Loses Football Argument With Tucker Max

Those of you who know me well and frequent my AIM profile how no doubt heard of Tucker Max (www.tuckermax.com), from whom I blatantly steal much of the format for this "blog" because he has a good style and if it ain't broke, don't fix it. My writing style is mostly my own, but I've said to friends times that I'd probably be like Tucker if only I could get rid of my conscience...well, that and be a little quicker at ripping people to their faces. That would probably come with practice. The guy pretty much has no soul, but holy shit, he's funny.

Anyhow, long story short, Tucker is planning a whirlwind tour of the nation to see great college football games in the fall, but Nebraska vs Oklahoma in Lincoln was not on the list. He says he won't come to Lincoln, but doesn't say why. Being raised as a die-hard Husker fan, my opinion is totally biased, but I still say there's no way you can not want to see this game if you're a true college football fan. Here was my attempt to sway Tucker's opinion:

**********************

I know you said don't ask...so rather than ask why, I have to just categorize you as "football retarded" for not even considering coming to the Nebraska vs Oklahoma game on Oct. 29th. Strictly from a football standpoint, you're blacklisting one of the perennial top-10 college stadiums as well as one of the greatest sports rivalries of all time.

Wisconsin vs. Illinois shouldn't even be on the radar because Illinois doesn't have a team worth watching, let alone watching in Champaign. Florida vs. Georgia is respectable, but would be better on a year when you can see it Between the Hedges. If you want to experience football, I don't see any way you can justify ignoring Nebraska vs Oklahoma in front of the Sea of Red.

Look at the pros:

Our team isn't that good right now. OU will probably fuck us up on our home turf, which means there will be countless, pissed off Nebraskans (and players at the bars/parties) for you to screw with.

The bars are within easy walking distance of the stadium, and alcohol is cheap here ($1 20oz beers/$2 calls if you know where to go).

It's only October, so the hot freshmen haven't had time to drop out/get fat/catch VD yet.

They shoot hot dogs out of a cannon at games. If you can't make a story happen out of that, I don't know who can.

This whole state bleeds Husker Red. Think about it, what the hell else is there to be proud of, the zoo in Omaha? If you want college football, you can't possibly justify taking Lincoln off the map.

Dan Beavers

P.S. - Don't bother with NU vs Mizzou in Colombia. I've been there...it's not that great. Pick LSU vs Auburn or Bama vs UT.

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Not a bad argument. Not stellar, but a start. I did however make one big mistake, and I should have known better than to make a mistake around Tucker Max. Tucker's reply:

"Florida vs. Georgia is respectable, but would be better on a yearwhen you can see it Between the Hedges"

UF/Ga is played EVERY YEAR in Jacksonville. Its NEVER played in Athensor Gainesville. I'm the football retard?

This is why I will never go to Nebraska: Youpeople are too stupid to even see your own stupidity.

***********

He's got me on the Jacksonville thing, and if I were neutral, I'd have a hard time not going to The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party myself. Evidently it's an entire weekend spent in a drunken haze with a football game mixed in there somewhere. I could try to go after him for typos, but he was probably drunk and if that's all I've got, I should just quit anyhow.

As for people in Nebraska being too stupid to know they're stupid...I can't dispute that. I've spent too many years lifeguarding and working in restaurants and encountered too many people to say that this state is not full of total fucking idiots who refuse to acknowledge the concept that they are dipshits and wouldn't have made it past natural selection if smarter people weren't always looking out for them. If we weren't bordered by Iowa, Wyoming and the Dakotas, we'd have nothing to make us feel good about our state. Oh, and don't forget Missouri. I swear everyone between St. Louis and KC is dumb/ugly as hell. We here in Nebraska have football, a good zoo and good steak...and that's about it. We can't even brag about corn any more because everyone has corn. S

till though, I wanted a better reason from Tucker. My reply:

Point, Tucker. Still though 99% of people everywhere are morons. There's got to be a better reason not to come to a game here. You can't tell me that you don't expect to be surrounded by painfully fucking stupid people at an SEC game.

He sent me back another reason I couldn't counter:

Yes, SEC people are stupid, but 1. They know it, and 2. Their girls are hotter.

He's thought this through. The South may be a lot of things, but it isn't dishonest. Southerners know they're a bunch of rednecks, and they're proud of that. They're ass-backwards, classless jackasses, but they'll be the first to admit it...so at least you know what you're getting into. People in most of the rest of the country are neither aware of, nor comfortable with their stupidity. Lots of states that suck know they suck. When I meet people from North Dakota, they know that it sucks there and they don't bullshit. We think Nebraska is a good place to live, and there's something wrong with that. Omaha is ok, and Lincoln is ok only because of UNL, but the rest of the state is fucking flat and boring and we haven't figured it out.

As for the girls being hotter, no contest. I will never forget going to Nashville for my sister's graduation from Vanderbilt and kicking myself all weekend long for not having gotten good enough grades to go someplace like Vandy or Emory instead of settling for Nebraska. Southern girls are WAY hotter than Nebraska girls, and it's not because their genotypes are superior, it's because they try harder. Among the things that are NOT acceptable for a Southern Belle:

1) Not wearing make-up
2) Pajamas
3) Not "doing" their hair
4) Getting fat

And if they forget, their mothers will psychologically assault them until they fall back in line. Basically if you're talking about hotness on a 1-10 scale, southern girls always make sure they're at the top end of their rating, while girls around here are much more comfortable with taking that bottom end of their average out into public. A girl who might be a 6 here is pushed by southern tradition to being an 8 at all times. I've seen it firsthand, and I'm sure it sucks for them, but I love them for it. They dress nicer, they work harder, they are more image-conscious and it shows. Period.

All in all, Tucker has housed me in this argument, and the more I look back on it...I didn't have an argument to begin with. Tucker is not an NU or OU fan, so why would a big game between teams you don't necessarily care about beat out a weekend of debauchery when you grew up with the Big Ten and SEC anyhow? It'd be like somebody from BYU trying to get me to see them play Utah the weekend of the NU-CU game. Not gonna happen. This is why even though Tucker and Maddox (www.maddox.xmission.com) are undeniable assholes; I'll always read them religiously, because they're right.

Beav Gets Into Verbal Altercation With New Landlord

6/09/05

For those of you who may not be aware, I moved into a new house at the beginning of May. I now live in a duplex with three girls who are friends of mine from when I used to be a theatre major. The place is pretty nice, albeit a little cheaply built. The walls are thin and the water heater is good for maybe 20 minutes of hot water, the washer & dryer are oldschool, etc. Living with the girls has been awesome, but the landlord is pretty much an absent figure. Fine, I guess, so long as nothing goes wrong. I gather that he's some sort of builder or something, and he's probably making a goddamn killing off this duplex that rents for $1200 a month on each half with no more money than he seems to have initially put into it. He's got another single home next door, and probably others around town.

When I moved in, I was told that we had a key to the garage outside, and that we can keep stuff in there if we need to, but we have to pay extra if we want to park in there. My car has lived outside for the last 5 years, I don't see a reason why it needs to stop now, so that's fine. The only thing I keep in there is my grill and a bag of charcoal. No problem, right? Wrong.

I get up one morning to find that the grill is outside next to the air conditioner rather than in the garage where I left it. I ask Jesse if she knows why, and evidently somebody came to the door at about 7:30 in the morning to inform her that the grill could not be kept in the garage, but didn't say why. Fine, the grill has lived outside before, it can do it again. I'll just keep the charcoal in the garage so it stays dry. No problem, right? Wrong.

I should explain at this point that the garage has been the center of much mystery since I moved in. There are a lot of tools and lawnmowers, snowblowers, etc. in there. I figure these must belong to the landlord and he uses them to take care of his properties or whatever. But frequently throughout the day a truck will pull up and some random guy I don't know will get out, go into the garage, come out a little while later and then leave. Frequently it's different guys. A touch on the weird side, but not any more weird than some of the shit that went on in my old neighborhood. I just figure they work for Bill and need to get something out of the garage and/or put something back. No problem, right? Wrong.

Two days ago:

I am starting up the grill to make some burgers, and so I get the charcoal out of the garage. Since I am planning on putting it back no more than 5 minutes later, I leave the door unlocked. In that time, a truck pulls up, and some old (read: 50s or 60s) guy gets out and goes into the garage. I go to put the charcoal back, and find that the door is locked. I get the key out and open the door. As I enter, I hear the sound of liquid falling in a bucket from about waist height. The old guy is standing over a bucket in the corner behind the door...and I pray to myself that he's just wringing out a rag or something. He doesn't greet me, he doesn't introduce himself, he just says "Make sure you keep that door locked." I inform him that I do keep the door locked, but since I was going to put my charcoal back within 5 minutes of using it, I thought it would be okay to leave the door unlocked. I am instantly pissed. I HATE it when people demand things without so much as a greeting, because it's fucking rude. Old people are fond of doing this in restaurants, and it makes me want to grab them by the jowls and shake them while screaming, "YOU WILL TREAT ME WITH THE SAME DECENCY WITH WHICH I TREAT YOU, OR I WILL PULL YOUR DEPENDS OVER YOUR HEAD AND SLAP YOU!!!". But I digress.

I ask the roommates, and they don't know who the guy is. They don't know him, but they do express ample disgust at the possibility that he was pissing in a bucket in a garage, as well they should. If you're that hard up to take a leak, knock on the back door and I'll let you use the bathroom. We're not in Botswana here, we have toilets available. As it is, nobody has any information, and I forget about it for a couple days.

Today I am about to make a trip to the hardware store, and I wonder if I should buy a hose to use if I want to wash my car or if there's one in the garage that I might use. I go look, and there is a hose, and on my way out...there's that bucket. I try to ignore it, but ultimately something within me forces me to go and examine its contents: one cigarette butt and about an inch of yellow liquid. I've pretty much seen what I need to, but call ever the glutton for punishment, I've gotta know for sure. I lean a little closer and smell. Yep, it's piss. That old guy pissed in a bucket in the garage and then left it there.

Now, maybe this is just a "me thing", but if I were a landlord and somebody who worked for me were urinating in a bucket on my property, I'd want to know about it so that I could inform him that big boys use the potty. Being used to formerly having a landlord who was classy and attentive and generally a nice guy, I figure it would be a good idea to call and inform my new landlord of this situation, so I do.

First I introduce myself, and ask if it is okay if I keep the grill in the garage. Bill can't decide if he wants to allow this or not, and generally sounds like he'd rather blow a farm animal than talk to me. I get the immediate impression that his people skills tend not to rate an A+. Ultimately nothing is resolved on the grill issue. I then inform him of the piss bucket situation, and his reaction is precisely the opposite of what I expect. He actually gets mad at me for being in or around the garage and informs me that the garage is their shop for them to use, and it's not intended for me to "be going in and out of there on a daily basis" and that he doesn't get what my "shock" is about his workers pissing in a bucket and dumping it outside. Maybe he'd wonder what the LPD's "shock" about it would be too if they caught somebody dumping urine outside. He then goes on to say in a very annoyed tone, and I quote, "So you got another question or what, because I'm trying to work here *bud*." At this point I'm tempted to flip my shit on him and inform him that he's welcome to stop being an asshole at any time and that he might want to get some loose idea of the concept of a business relationship is, and that we don't pay $1,200 a month for him to treat me like a whiny 5-year-old, but I take the high road and tell him I'm not looking for a confrontation with him and that I was evidently misinformed about the nature of my relationship with the garage, and he proceeds to get more angry and tells me that maybe he just won't allow us to keep anything in there and he should get the key back. He then tells me to call him later because he has work to do.

Fat fucking chance of me calling this guy back, because he strikes me as the type with a lot of balls at a distance but who wouldn't have the spine to mouth off to me like that to my face...but if he and his employees make a habit of being pricks to his tenants all the time, then you can bet that will bite him in the ass sooner or later. In the meantime, I'll be pondering the potential ramifications of getting into a feud with my landlord. I can't decide if it falls into the category of metaphorically shitting where you eat since that one is more reserved for workplace issues, but it's certainly not biting the hand that feeds you. Maybe a modified line from The Wizard of Oz is better: Pay no attention to the man behind the door...you were happier before you knew he was pissing in bucket in your garage.