Waiting on the Roof

In the past week or so I've managed to write a couple of short stories, re-write an old one and start on a poem. That's not bad. I think I would have done more if it wasn't for a lack of time (or commitment). So here's a story for your enjoyment and any criticism is appreciated.



Waiting on the Roof

There is this story I heard a pastor tell once, it’s about a man in a flood. As the water is rising a neighbor comes and says to the man, “Come with me, I’ll help you get to higher land.” The man declines, chooses to stay with his house, and says, “No, if God wants me to survive this then he’ll provide for me.” The waters rise even higher and the man is forced to climb onto his roof. A boat comes by and the man in the boat says, “Come with me, I’ll take you to safety.” The man declines saying, “No, if God wants me to live then he’ll provide for me.” A while later, a helicopter comes and one of the rescue crew descends on a rope. Again the man on the roof declines saying, “No, if God wants me to live then he’ll provide for me.” Of course the waters rise and the man is consumed. He gets to heaven and he meets God and says, "What happened God, how come you didn’t provide a way for me to survive?” God says, “You idiot, I sent you the neighbor, the guy in the boat, and a helicopter.”

This story went through my mind as I received a latte from the barista at the Starbucks near my house. She flirted with me as she always did when I stopped in after work. She had one of those names that really seemed to suit her. “Thanks Leela,” rolled off my tongue as the image of her smile once again burned into my mind. I sat down in my favorite lounge chair; it was at an angle where I could watch her work all the way from the drive-thru window to the pastries counter. And I checked her out casually as I pulled out my lap top and again as I pretended to browse something online. I made sure to be subtle and never too obvious; the last thing I would want is to make her think I was creepy. Every now and then our eyes would meet from across the room and she would smile. Not the polite smile you give when you meet eyes with a stranger in the supermarket, but a heartwarming smile as if she was genuinely pleased to see me.
She wore the standard Starbucks uniform: black shirt with green apron, and she wore the optional green visor as well. Her wavy dark hair was up in a loose, messy bun on top of her head. The bun looked as if she must have put her hair up while driving, changing the radio, doing her make-up, and sending a text message all at the same time. It was sexy in its messiness. She smiled all the time and she would laugh at even the corniest of my jokes. She was charming and flirty and always left me wondering if she was interested in something more than just a customer/barista relationship.

I thought about the story of the man on his roof in the flood because I wondered if this would be another in a long list of women I was too afraid to ask out. Though she was well out of my league and a few years younger I was certain she wasn’t flirting just because she wanted a little extra tip. I thought about Lindsey in high school who was also out of my league. Even after having her crush on me confirmed by a mutual friend, I was still too shy to ask her out. And then a few years ago there was Robin. Robin and I worked together, got along great and even hung out socially from time to time. But I never had the guts to take it to the next level. And last year there was Janie. She was friends with a girl I was dating but was far more beautiful and far more interesting. I always felt like a more competent man would have went after what he wanted instead of settling for something second best. Most people set a minimum standard for who they’ll date but I seem to set a maximum standard. If the girl seems the least bit too good for me then I dismiss any notion of being with her.

I had started to feel like this opportunity was slowly slipping away from me as well. I watched as she flirted with a younger, more attractive guy ordering a cinnamon roll and a vanilla latte. How could I even think she would be interested in a poor, average looking underachiever like me? The only reason she flirts with me is because I am a sucker. I happily over tip the girls at Hooters when they causally touch me on my back, or shoulder or knee as they take my order. She senses that and works me over to get that extra dollar in her tip jar. I can’t blame her, God gave her looks and personality and she’s making use of her gifts, just like God gave me the ability to truly appreciate the beautiful things he’s put in this world. I just wish he’d made me a little less naïve and a little more confident. Even though I would get shot down, at least I would know she wasn’t interested, instead of spending fifteen dollars a week wondering.

She caught me staring directly at her. I wasn’t staring exactly but I was fixed in her direction as I pondered God’s greater plans. “Hey… Hey!” she has to shout to break me out of my trance. “How’s that cinnamon latte?”

“Oh… uh, great.” Crap, now I feel incredibly awkward.

“Did you notice anything different with it?”

I took a sip, “Umm, no. Is there something different?”

“Yeah, I did something different this time. I’ve been experimenting lately with some different flavors. I wanted to see of you noticed that I snuck something in on you.”

“What did you put in it?”

She didn’t answer right away. She turned to walk away. She grabbed a rag and came out from around the counter to wipe some tables. I took another sip as she approached and began wiping a table near me.

“I put in three drops of a love potion I got from a gypsy… nah, I’m kidding, I put in a little nutmeg.”

I took another sip, “Oh yeah, I taste it now… yeah that’s pretty good. I like it.” I couldn’t taste anything. It’s the exact same as it always is.

“I really like nutmeg and yesterday I tried mixing it into the cinnamon latte for myself. Pretty good huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been very good at mixing flavors around. When I cook I just use salt and pepper but everything comes out bland anyways.” This is not true, I’m a really good cook and I love to experiment with a variety of spices and flavors. I don’t know why I’m lying.

“Oh I love experimenting with food. Ginger is my favorite right now.”

“Really? Ginger?”

“Yeah, you should try some. When you leave here you should go by the store and pick some up. Then pan fry some chicken in olive oil and sprinkle the ginger on it. You’ll love it.”

“Huh, I’ll have to give that a try.” I like ginger but I find it goes much better with some citrus flavor. Usually I marinate the chicken with a blend of lime, lemon and orange juice. I put some garlic with it as well. But I go on playing dumb.

“Try it tonight, and then come in tomorrow to let me know how you like it.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that… Actually, I could use some help with the taste testing, to make sure I did it right.” Holy crap! Did I just say that? Is this actually happening?

“Yeah?”

“You could come by my place after work and help me cook if you wanted.” This is happening! These words are actually coming out of my mouth!

“Okay, I get off about 5:00.”

I sit there completely stunned at what has just happened. She walks away and back behind the counter to help a customer. My heart rate has quadrupled and beads of sweat have formed along my brow. I try to play it off by casually by taking a sip of coffee but my hands tremble slightly as I lift the cup. I pray that she doesn’t notice my nervousness. When she finishes helping the customer she comes back over. I feel a horrible anxiety consuming me. I know she's going to give me some excuse as to why she can’t tonight. I start trying to think of a little joke I can say to play it off and make us both more comfortable with the situation. She walks directly in front of me, hands me a pen with her right hand, and extends her left hand to me.

“Here, write down your number and I’ll call you when I get off.” I look up at her and she smiles, moving her left hand closer to me, gesturing that I should just write directly on her palm.

“You’re offering me your hand? I think we should get to know each other a little better before we tie the knot.”

She pauses and I freeze. She looks at me confused, obviously not getting my joke. I begin to check the exits to see how quickly I can get out of here. Then I see the light bulb go off as the pun sinks in. She smiles and then giggles saying, “Yeah right, you wish.” I slowly write down my number on her palm, making sure that each digit is legible. She returns to help more customers and I finish my drink. She's overwhelmed with caffeine craving teenagers as I leave so I simply wave to her as not to bother her work.

“Bye Steve, see you tonight.” She calls out across the store with a smile. Walking across the parking lot to my car I wonder whether it would be easier to correct her and tell her my name is Gary or if I should just drive down to the Justice of the Peace and have my name legally changed.

Congratulate Me

I've just been informed that I've won the United Nations Humanitarian Award. I just received an email[1] notifying me that I've been selected as the winner for the month of April 2008[2]. Obviously I am way excited about finally getting recognized for my efforts. There is also a cash reward that goes with this award, 245,000 GBP. That's a lot of money. 245,000 pounds is roughly[3] 483,457.87 US dollars. All I have to do to collect my reward and money is email fiduciary agent in Liverpool a bunch of personal information and he'll send it right to me[4].

I can't wait until I get the money; I've been trying to decide what to do with it. I've always wanted to become a big game hunter, or maybe I could poach elephants, there's a lot of money to be made in ivory these days. Maybe I could invest in the logging industry, there is tons of rain forest left. Or if I could just find a way to use the money to suppress a third world country, that would be ideal. At any rate, once I get the award and become famous I'll completely forget about all of my current friends and I'll start dating a hot ex-playboy centerfold (and the sex will be amazing)[5].

All that's left now is for me to email this guy all of my personal information and I should receive the award very soon.


1. It makes sense that email would be the preferred way of notification for the United Nations Humanitarian Award.
2. Apparently they do this monthly, I can't believe this the first I've heard of this award.
3. I say roughly because the market fluctuates.
4. With a word like fiduciary it must be legit.
5. Clearly they've given the Humanitarian Award to the right person.

I Hate Stupid People

At last night's softball game we were short a player and we had to pick one up from another team that played on a different field the game before ours. The guy we got was... well... he was a complete moron. He was telling us this story before the game about what happened to him in the previous game[1].

"When I got up to bat in the last inning I wanted to try and intimidate the pitcher so I crowded the plate. And you know what the pitcher did? He hit me... on propose. He hit me right in my knee. Can you believe that?"

I can't even begin to describe how utterly stupid that is. And I actually happen to see the at bat he was refering to. The ball did in fact hit his knee and when it did he jumped around and hobbled as if he had been hit by a 90 mph fastball[2].


1. Keep in mind this is slow pitch softball.
2. But it was really a slow pitch softball.

Setting Goals

Partially inspired by Roper's successful song writing attempts and also because I think I should be doing more with my life currently, I've decided to start writing some stuff of my own. My long term goal would be to write a book of short stories but in the mean time I am going to try and write one with the intent of earnestly trying to get it published. I feel this is completely in my wheel house if I stay focused and don't try not to shoot too high. A secondary goal I have is to write 12 respectable[1] pieces of work (short story, poem or even a one act play) over the course of the next year. That's one a month if you're doing the math. But as it sometimes goes, I'm getting off to a slow start[2]. I'll need to get the writing book back from Roper that I loaned him and I think rereading some of that book will get my creative juices flowing again. I would like to be able to crank out something to post by the end of the month, but early next month seems more likely. Wish me luck and I'll have something posted soon for your criticism and enjoyment[3].


1. Something that I would feel comfortable posting for others to read.
2. This blog is the only thing I've written since making my goals.
3. Or maybe just criticism.

A Fat Lady Hitting a Kid

Here's a Quote from Leave It to Beaver.

Ward Cleaver - "Why, when I was young I could find all kinds of things to keep me entertained at the train station... Sometimes I would just sit and watch a fat lady hitting a kid. I haven't seen a train station yet where there wasn't a fat lady hitting a kid."

No Bitch Ass Ness

Out at a restaurant last night with some of the gang we saw an African-American fellow enter wearing a solid black shirt with bold white lettering that said:

NO
BITCH
ASS
NESS

We were all a little confused as to the meaning of this shirt, perhaps because we are white or perhaps because it made no sense. Fortunately I was able to find a legitimate source[1] to explain this unique t-shirt a little more.



1. I'm being facetious here[2].
2. I don't understand how someone who comes off as such an idiot can be a successful business man[3].
3. He's charging $30 for a shirt I could make for $5 with supplies from Garden Ridge.

The Un-Top 10

For some reason I was thinking about this earlier today, the movies I really like but would never make it into my top movies list. These aren't necessarily good movies but movies that are really enjoyable for whatever reason.

10. The Police Academy series - "The old zoo, not the new zoo, but the old zoo."
9. The Naked Gun series - "It's a topsy-turvy world, and maybe the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans. But this is our hill. And these are our beans!"
8. Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid - "I hadn't seen a body put together like that since I solved the case of the Murdered Girl with the Big Tits."
7. The Lethal Weapon series - "I'm getting too old for this s***."
6. Major League 1&2 (but not 3) - "Strike this motherf***er out."
5. The Die Hard series - "Yippie-kay-yay, motherf***er."
4. Airplane - "Have you ever seen a grown man naked?"
3. White Men Can't Jump - "Yo mamma's an astronaut."
2. The Princess Bride - "I'm with the Brut Squad." "You are the brut squad."
1. Blazing Saddles - "Nobody move or the N***** gets it."

Having My Cake and Eating it Too

The weeks following a break-up can be a weird time. You feel a range of emotions pulling you in a variety of directions. There’s part of you that feels heart broken but that’s the part you never want to think about, and so I won’t. There’s part of you that feels a new, almost foreign feeling of freedom. Like you’ve just been released from prison(1) and you have no where to go and nothing to do. You could do anything you wanted but ultimately you just want to do the same stuff that got you in prison to begin with. And there’s also a feeling of loss. This feeling of loss is different from the feeling of heart break, which we will not talk about. The feeling of loss comes when you are reminded of her. But more specifically when you are reminded of the way the two of you used to be together. When something happens and you are reminded of the cutesy little vocabulary the two of you shared that no one else knew about. And you are left to wonder if you’ll ever find another person you can be that cute with. What new words or phrases will there be with this new girl and will they be as cute as ours? And how long will it take you to become that way with someone else? It happened so fast with her, will it happen that quickly again? Is it even possible to be like that with someone else? Would they even get it? Maybe it’s not possible? Maybe she was the one? Maybe I should call her?

You’re also left with a million questions as well.


But then you think about your new freedom and you get distracted from the questions. You feel a little like a kid in a candy shop, everything looks delicious and you want to sample it all, but you only have 30 cents(2) and you have to figure out what’s going to be the best value for your money. Do you want something that’s more filling and will stick with you longer, or do you go for something that’s amazing but will only last about a bite and a half. To stretch this food analogy even farther, imagine if you were only allowed to eat carrot cake(3). For a year and a half you’ve had nothing but carrot cake. That’s not so bad because you love carrot cake, it’s probably you favorite cake, so you can live with carrot cake. But then suddenly you are told you can have any cake you want. Suddenly every cake seems delicious. And not just cake, but any pastry is up for grabs. Even though you love carrot cake it certainly not as sexy as a chocolate torte or tiramisu. But you’re so excited about you freedom you’ll even snack on some stale Wal-Mart purchased baklava just because you can. But that’s when you realize that too much freedom is a bad thing and you should probably go ahead and choose a cake that suits you a little better. The tiramisu is delicious, but it’s also expensive and you know you would get tired of it after a while. There’s pound cake that’s cheap and readily available but who want to show off pound cake to their friends. “Hey guy, look what I brought, pound cake!” No, you can never get excited about pound cake. And then you start to realize that the carrot cake was really pretty good. You were content with carrot cake, carrot cake makes you happy. Carrot cake may not be perfect but it was pretty good. So you think, “Maybe I should just stick with the carrot cake”. But then out of nowhere, some angel food cake comes along, and you’re confused all over again.


1. I don't mean this as insulting as it sounds.
2. Literally in this case.
3. I'm actually referring to my mom's carrot cake here, which we all know is pretty bad ass.

Co-ed Naked Softball

I recently joined another softball team and our first game was Friday night. I found this team while looking around craigslist.com1. I saw an ad for a co-ed team needing a pitcher, and I said to myself, "I'm a pitcher, that's me." So I replied to the ad and the guy managing the team, let's call him Brian2, said that they had a pitcher already but could I play shortstop. I said, "I'm a shortstop, that's me." And thus, I'm the shortstop for the Fireballs of North Richland Hills.

I wanted to join a co-ed team, not for the competition and level of play as you might expect, but rather I thought this could be a way to meet ladies. There are two types of women that play co-ed softball: 1. The unattractive type who have played softball all of their lives, and 2. hot ladies who have no talent3. I was hopeful that this team would be the latter. I was the second to arrive at the field which gave me a chance to scout out the "talent" of our team as they arrived. The first two ladies to arrive were obviously good players4. But I was okay with that because every team need a couple of those so that we can compete. But as the rest of the team arrived I was reminded about the third category of ladies playing co-ed softball, they type that is neither good nor attractive. And when I looked across the field at the our opposing team I realized I was on the wrong side5.

A few notes from our first game.
-- We won 8-5, winning feels good.
-- Only in co-ed softball is it possible to hit a lead off triple and not score6. I sat on third and watch, in succession, a strikeout, an infield pop-up, and a grounder to the pitcher.
-- There was one cute girl who may or may not have flirted with me and may or may not have a boyfriend.
-- I genuinely had fun playing because this seems to be a pretty nice bunch of people.
-- The guys on this team are all pretty talented7.


1) I love craigslist. I look at it almost daily for one thing or another.
2) Because that's his name.
3) I mean no softball talent, I'm sure they are talented in other ways.
4) You know what I mean.
5) They didn't look like a good team because they were a good looking team.
6) And possibly the Rangers.
7) At softball.