The Waiting Game

I'm not the most patient of people. I try, believe me, I do. I always start off with the best of intentions, but somehow about halfway through whatever it is I'm supposed to be waiting for, I have to catch myself tapping or shaking my feet, fidgeting or something else to try to keep from asking the question I always seem to have to prevent asking:

How much longer do I have to wait!?

I'm also a big guy on common courtesies. If I call, it would be appreciated if I was given a timely response because I'd do the same for you. If I take the time to help you, perhaps you could take some time for me.

Saying all that, it probably wasn't the best idea to take advantage of a Chili's gift card my mom got for Christmas on the night before New Year's Eve. I have never experienced waiting for more than 15 minutes anywhere but Olive Garden (I would kill for those bread sticks!) on a given night or BJ's or The Yardhouse on a weekend night. Imagine my surprise when we arrived to a 30-minute wait that seemed a little short considering the fact that the place was simply teeming with people. It was out of control. When we finally got a table (I didn't keep track of the time, but it seemed like less than half an hour), I was in perfect positioning to see the end of the Pacific Life Holiday Bowl. It was, as I'd hoped, a great game. However, I wish I'd been able to see more of it, as people must not have noticed I was watching it because they kept moving in front of me. I'm glad it wasn't a huge deal, though, because I was talking to my mom about the year.

Wow, it sure has been some kind of year, hasn't it?
(Pause for reflection) Yea, it sure has...
(Shared pensive glances)

This has been the most eventful year of my life, for such a varying array of reasons, that I can't help but half-heartedly expect something to go down on New Year's Eve just to cap it off. To review, in chronological order, I have:

• been turned down for a job I thought was so absolutely perfect for me that I was looking at apartments during my trip.
• seen the Giants(!) win the Super Bowl.
• visited friends in Chicago, a trip which confirmed my previous desires to live there
• been laid off from my job of almost three years.
• turned 26, sharing a week of birthday events which were very fun.
• turned down a job in Vail, CO, which would have solved one problem, but at the expense of my inner-gumption.
• gone on a cruise with one of my two best friends, Josh, and his fam to Cabo San Lucas, where I tasted my first little bit of internationalness and burned my entire torso to the color of salmon.
• seen my other best friend marry the most perfect, hand-picked by God, woman that not even I could have chosen for him. It was the best wedding I've been to PLUS it was Ryan! It was the happiest day of the year...by a mile.
• applied for various jobs, been denied said various jobs, doubted myself, pumped myself back up, leveled off into a state of blah.
• tried to support friends as they deal with their parent's abrupt and unexpected passing on.
• decided to take that leap of faith and move to unknown parts.
• learned that my mom's guy was diagnosed with cancer in his bladder, prostate and right kidney.
• reconnected with some of my closest family friends with whom we had been estranged for nearly 10 years. It was so good to be able to attend Catrina's wedding and I can't describe what it meant to see everyone again.

I went into the desert headstrong and ready to take on whatever troubles might arise during the journey. I stand today, having gone through some seriously tough times that I didn't see coming. Suffice it to say, it's been a longer process than I, or anyone close to me for that matter, expected it would be. This year hit me like a Tonka truck and changed me, not totally for the best. I pray that in 2009 I take steps in getting back much of what was taken away from me through the tumult.

I began 2008 hyperventilating in Ryan's apartment. I've always heard the way you ring in the new year determines how that year will be. I've never actually believed it might have a sliver of truth until this year. It left me gasping for breath. So, bring on 2009. Here's to hoping it goes a little better than the previous. Now, that's something worth being patient about. Luckily for me, I don't have to.

Happy New Year, people.
May your 2009 be better than your 2008.

Stepping Out

I'll have much more to say on this subject in a few days (I've been putting it together in my head for weeks), but for now this will have to do:

I have absolutely no clue what direction my life will turn next. The events of this year have changed almost everything about its course. It's a relatively terrifying thought process. I kinda feel like Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade where Indy is trying to find the Holy Grail and he's supposed to somehow walk across this 20-foot chasm that appears to have no bridge or any other means to traverse. Then realizes one is there, he just can't see it, so he has to trust that it's there. He takes the step and totally almost falls and you can tell he thinks this is it, but then a split-second later, his foot impacts the camouflaged beam leading directly towards the entry on the other side. It'd been there all along. He just needed to have faith.

That's all it comes down to.

Meeeeeeerry Christmas Everybody!

Uh, yea what the title said.

When Reality Ruins Fantasy

I love fantasy football.

Towards the end of last season, Washington Redskins tight end Chris Cooley found himself with a bit of a problem. Like many other NFL players, he's a big fantasy football guy, and was the top seed in his real team's fantasy league playoffs. Late in the game, with the Redskins' playoff hopes still very much in the balance, Cooley caught what turned out to be the game-winning touchdown for his team. It also wound up being a stake in the heart of his fantasy team.

You see, the person he was playing that week actually had Cooley as his tight end. So, while those 6 points may have gotten the Skins into the playoffs, it ended his fantasy season.

It's a tough little task to find the balance between rooting for your fantasy players and your actual favorite teams, especially for someone who grew up being more allegiant to teams than specific players.

Take tonight, for example. I found myself rooting for the Bears to win, but against Matt Forte, who was on the team I was playing for the championship in my fantasy league. If that wasn't sick enough, I actually have Forte on one of my other teams, The Little Mansies, as my friend Ryan's wife, Holly, so eloquently described. But we'd dominated so thoroughly on Sunday that we didn't need any Monday mashing.

So, imagine my discontent when, with my lead becoming increasingly shorter, the Bears turned to Forte with the game on the line.

"OK, I'm still up by nine, so watch, he's gonna run for a 10-yard touchdown for seven points and then Crosby is gonna come back for the game-winning field goal and that's how I'm going to get beat," I told one of my best friends Josh as we watched the game.

"It's really my own fault. I didn't start the right guys this week, I guess. I scored more on my bench with four guys than I did with nine starters. If you score what I did, you don't deserve to win."

Well, the field goal from Green Bay's kicker, who my opponent also had, never happened. He missed two in the game, one of which would have won the game with :25 seconds remaining. Nope, my season actually ended when Forte ran it in from seven yards out (after having run for three yards on first down) to simultaneously tie up the game late for Chicago, which eventually won, and give me a two-point loss in the finals.

Geez, I hate fantasy football.

Role Models

I knew what his response would be to what I'd say before I even opened my mouth.

"Well, you don't tell people because you don't want to have to say you didn't get it later."

He was right. I've always been honest with him about my job situation, or lack thereof in this case. Whenever I've needed to talk, my mentor has been there for me.

My mother always felt like I needed an older male role model since I never had a father. A male presence is important in everyone's life, to be sure. The thing she didn't understand, though, is that it can't be forced. She's tried to force male guidance upon me a few times, which is a little disconcerting considering that she should know how I react when people try to force me to do anything. I cannot stand being pushed in to doing things; I will resist at all costs. I'm stubborn like that. Continue and I will simply dig my heels increasingly deeper into the soil. Like all good things, this too must come organically.

Auspicious beginnings seem to be the constant for my most meaningful relationships. My first encounter with him was in my freshman year at college, when I took his class, not knowing much more than that someone had mentioned he was the toughest teacher in the school. Like almost everything else other than football and my social life that year (what else is there!?), I didn't take it seriously and proceeded to get a sub-par grade. Ironically, it was par for the course that year. It was, in fact, the toughest class I'd ever had to that point and was lamenting my decision to take it by the end of the semester.

By my senior year, a few things had changed. I'd gotten a new major, which was treating me much better than the previous one ever had. I was treating it better as well. I was in a healthy relationship with my academic life by that point and had found the right balance for me to be successful. I needed to take a class which, of course, he happened to teach. I saw it as an opportunity for redemption. After I added his class and before the semester actually started, I sent him an email letting him know that me choosing his class was completely deliberate and that I planned to show him what I'm really made of. He let me know the class would be much more difficult than the one before it.

As the semester went on, I continued to plow through, occasionally stubbing my toe, but mostly fighting through with the tests, quizzes and papers. A paper in his class is more scrutinized than a military barrack, every speck of dirt or untucked corner exposed with bright red Sharpie ink. The final one was the stuff of legend, the kind where an all-nighter -- or two straight -- is more expected than not. Upon completion, I decided to write him a little letter letting him know just how he'd impacted me and that I'd appreciate a deeper relationship. I turned both in on time and walked out of the room, never looking back. He responded on my paper, "I would very much like that."

Ever since then, through my super-senior year and on into my post- collegiate life, I have looked to him for advice on a myriad of subjects. We have become close friends and have developed a strong rapport, something I don't have with any other male old enough to be my father. He's helped me through some tumultuous times and has never tried to push me into doing anything. He simply assumes I'm smart enough to understand what he's talking about. He assumes future greatness in various aspects of my life, from finding a new job to the kind of father I will become to simply living a life of obedience to God. It gives me confidence to aspire and the courage to be bold. I can only hope that I justify his affirmations.

I couldn't imagine letting him down, even if I already know what he'd say.

Flashback

I'd just like it to be remembered when I blogged about a certain crazy old man who was destroying my team.

Well, I was right...and because of that, I simply couldn't take the heartache anymore, so the decision was made, I officially disowned the Raiders. Unfortunately, they pay the price for their owner's lunacy. It's gonna take a while for them to win me back.

And hey, my secondary isn't too bad. I'm just glad I liked them before last year so there's no bandwagoning going on. Go Giants!

Where'd The Funny Go?

I read some old MySpace conversations I've had back in the day and I can't help but wonder what happened. As my eyes scanned the digital canvas of flirtations past, I started thinking about my current feelings and all that and I something is definitely different. I mean, I was funny, witty, nice, etc. Now, it's just not as prevelant. I don't know. I mean, it's not like someone stole my puppy or something, but come on.

Maybe I'm just a little older and "wiser." I guard my heart much more now, which I think is a good thing. I mean, that's what we're supposed to do during the weeding out process. When you leave yourself too open, you get hurt way more often than need be. Opening it up at the right time (or knowing when that is) would probably help.

Not sure if I'm more jaded or if I've learned my lesson from past burns. Either way, I need to crank up the funny quotient. I used to be a staple. I'd be hard pressed to say it's even a thumb tack now.