The Year That Everyone Died - Part 17 - Ghost Law

follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD’s new series The Year That Everyone Died

And just when the mushrooms hit some crazy asshole named Kenny throws a cup of gasoline on the fire and it explodes. And fire climbs and rips upwards in the pounding sky.

and once the embers make themselves brothers with the stars, they are gone. No memory, no history, no future. And I laugh like the devils brother and Frankie throws a wicked grin across the growing crowd.

If there’s something I could never hate about Wisconsin it was the winter parties. There is something so whole about drinking and doing drugs and laughing in the snow, so close to the world.

I talk forever with a mexican high school kid with a wicked haircut. He goes and finds us cigarettes. We smoke and talk for twenty years and grow old and die before turning into one.

I piss in the field and laugh at my own anxiety, understand that I’m fine, understand that I’m lucky, I’ve always been lucky.

I watch my mother spring off the top of tree ranges and refill my cup from a frozen metal keg.

Two girls from Indianapolis kiss me on the cheek and hold each other around the waist. In the past I would try to convince them, I would try to be sly, but I won’t.

I’m not worried about arrivals, I have already arrived.

And decades later but three hours more - people begin to leave and Carter eats snow and plays wildly. He grows taller and fights snowmen and hunting vests, and howls madly - and brothers and sisters if you howl then I howl.

I see her then, the girl from college, she walks amongst us ignored.

And while I can see the trail of the other, I can see the past versions of each person. There are hundreds of Frankies following tonight’s version. They all laugh and cry and grow and fail and differ in attitude and fashion.

The are hundreds of the mexican kids. Hundreds of the girls from Indianapolis. The party multiplies and shows an unending history.

but...not the girl from college. She walks with only one shadow. The girl I met one day on campus.

I watch history wind around a party in the sticks outside of Tomahawk and I see her there. No history, nothing, no memories left, no ability to create new ones.

Something has stolen her heart.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 16 - The Fastest Way From Point A to Point B Is Eating A Bunch Of Mushrooms

follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD’s new series The Year That Everyone Died

So, I stole some gas. I’m not proud of it but it happened. I just pulled in filled up the tank and drove away. Worst case scenario - I get back to Milwaukee and uncle Don is pissed off because I took his car for a week when I said it would only be a day and there is a warrant out for his arrest.

Best case - I die and I don’t have to deal with any of this bullshit.

I won’t worry. I’ll put that in the special mental compartment with my defaulted student loans, credit card debt and the lingering pain in my left foot.

And the stretch from there is eventless. I’ve decided to hold it together. I took this drive a lot of times as a kid. My grandpa lived in Wapaca with his wife, who wasn't my grandmother or anything.

She always told us to call her grandma, but i was like ‘fuck that’. And I sure as shit wasn't going to make things weird by calling her by her actual name, Joanna, so I’d just wait for her to look at me if i needed to ask a question.

There was a joint called Rainbow Falls or something in Plover. One time I smashed a go kart into the the wall and bent the shit out of it. My grandpa saw and went and hid in the car. The guys working were pissed and I almost cried.

These days I’d tell those go-kart fucks to suck my dick and choke on it and run away flipping the double bird, but whatever.

We used to get a lot of snacks those days and I would watch Beavis and Butthead and old music videos forever because I didn't have cable at my dads house.

My grandpa was my mom’s dad, all my grandparents besides him were dead. It seemed like a lot of family members were dead.

Maybe death runs in the family.

Me and Carter get out at a way station and stretch our legs. its a really nice one with a path that leads down to a lake. I imagine drifters get blown (or blow) down there. It would be weird to be a drifter.

And Then I stop in Steven’s Point to see what Sarah was talking about. And it is a very nice city. Nice little city. I grab a slice of pizza at some joint and talk to some wonky Jewish kid named Micah. Nice guy, terrible haircut.

Thats about where it all fell apart. I was well on my way when I stopped in a town called Tomahawk. Now, all I wanted to do was get some snacks and be on my way but there was this dude at the gas station named Frankie, he was leaning against the gas station wall.

He was kinda strange but had a kind face.

“Hey man” he said. You want to buy some mushrooms?”

I told him I only had twenty bucks to spend and he was ok with that. He drove a hard bargain. You know how you meet someone and you feel like you’ve been friends forever, it was like that.

We hung around for a while talking about movies and the water skiing show that was in town. Frankie said it was pretty cool. He talked a lot. I gave him a lift to a friends house and on the way he told me pretty much everything that happened in his life.

Frankie:

loved the dog and suds restaurant.

Went to school in Tomahawk (Mascot: Hatchet’s)

Had some friends who raced at the speedway.

sold worms at the bate shop as a kid.

Was a dishwasher at the junction restaurant.

Wore Starter jackets back in high school

listened to Ace Of Base

and then we got to his friends house and i let the dog out and ate the mushrooms, and it all went to hell.

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This Love is your fault

The Year That Everyone Died - Part 15 - Another Brick In The Wall

follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD's New Series The Year That Everyone Died

You’re not going to believe this. I found three hundred bucks last night.

Which was good because I think my snacking was severely cutting into my fundage. I was at a way station grabbing a mini pack of Oreo’s and a Code Red Mountain Dew when these two asswipes started fighting in the parking lot.

-

Fights are a funny thing, they pop up when you least expect it.

I got punched out at a Brewer game last year - all I did was egg on some guys by motioning to their busted faces and tell them they looked good that way, and some guy came out of nowhere and cheap shotted me.

The nerve of some people.

-

But anyway, these assholes just start fighting and they both of their families are in their cars screaming for them to stop.

I run over and Carter starts barking and he’s ready to get down. I grab one of the guys and push the other off.

Their a couple of red faced insurance claims adjusters or some other pussy job.

“Knock it off!” I said. and they start in again and are saying that the other is lucky that I’m not here and that the other better not see the other or the other will be sorry.

I’ve gotten into some fights in my day and it’s one of those things that really never makes sense. Raising your hands to another human is stupid 95 percent of the time. Sure, it’s funny and we all have a good laugh about it but really isnt ok. Someone could get hurt you know.

So these middle aged family having jerkoffs get in their cars and start their terrible drives to Whitefish bay or Mequon and everyone forgets all about the fun they had on their skiing trip.

And they don’t know that when they were fighting I snagged one of their wallets. Fair trade I figure, for them causing a scene.

Looks like Steve and Carter and getting a room at the Belmont suites.

-

I check in and wait till the front desk guy heads out back for a cigarette and run carter upstairs. The plan is to watch a bunch of movies an jump on the bed and head out for dinner at the Texas Roadhouse and buy those chicken critter things they have. Then I’ll still have about 140 bucks left and I can get gas and snacks for the morning.

Perfect. So I feed Carter and give him a rawhide - which are good for dog’s teeth. Its important to keep your dogs mouth clean with bones and such. Dental is expensive for dogs - and I walk to the Texas Roadhouse next door.

The place is like a ghost town. One bartender, one waiter and me. So I sit at the bar and some short busty girl brings me a whisky and soda. She’s nice and she tells me her name is Sarah.

“And where are you from?” I ask.

“Originally from Appleton. I want to move to Steven’s Point next year.”

“For college?” I ask.

“For the peace and quiet.” She says.

“It’s pretty quiet here”

“Yeah, but in a truck-stop sort of way. Have you ever been to Steven’s Point?”

“Yes, I dated a girl there for 3 1/2 weeks. Another?” I ask and point to my drink.

“See, Steven’s Point is a place, all this, all this outside little cities and locations, they’re just checkpoints between something and something else. Between Green Bay and Milwaukee. And Green Bay and the Twin Cities. And so on and so forth.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

“Have you seen the hills and bluffs in Steven’s Point. They’re amazing.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Say, do you do blow?”

She looks around and says yes.

“I found a hundred bucks. You wanna get some blow and hang out with me?” I ask.

And believe it or not, she does.

Sarah doesn't get done with work for another hour and a half so I order some wings and the chicken critters, then some fries, then a half rack of ribs, then a full rack of ribs, then a coke, then two more whisky soda’s.

And I throw some peanuts on the floor for fun.

-

We drive to some guy named Rudy’s house, who besides being a gun nut and a generally a huge weirdo is also a pretty nice guy.

He talks about how eventually the chinese or Japanese or something will try to invade the USA and how he will be ready. Which is a pretty ridiculous thing to say and more ridiculous thing to tell other people.

I nod along and eventually me and Sarah leave.

-

We go back to the hotel and do some blow and she tells me about how she works a few restaurant jobs and goes to all sorts of crazy events and parties in Vegas and New York and stuff.

And I realize that we both do lots of drugs and drink a ton but while I’m wallowing in self pity and pretending that life is hard, Sarah treats every day as a new way to party, a new way to be insane- and she loves it. She works for the privilege to rock the fuck out. I act like its a sentence which is put upon me.

It’s like we’re of the same race but different tribes.

We laugh a lot and she takes a shine to Carter. We fuck and hold each other and smoke cigarettes in a non-smoking room. Then we do more blow and watch TV and fuck some more - I know then that this is how dependancy should work. to drugs, to humans, to everything. It should all be a cycle, turning and driving and turning and driving, forever, until we all blow to pieces and shower down on the earth.

-

When I wake up I’ve already missed my checkout and Carter broke into the mini bar and ate everything. Sarah is gone.

And in a cloud of critters, ribs and blow - once again, I am broke.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 14 - I Shouldn't Say Some Things

follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD’s new series The Year That Everyone Died

Lets flip the fucking switch already.

I borrowed uncle Don’s car. He didn't mind. He said that if he needed to drive he could his new girlfriend’s car. She’s a bartender at some depths of hell place on National. Her name is Margot.

This morning I got up and he was standing around shirtless in the kitchen he said - “Sorry if we made too much noise last night.”

And I barfed in my mouth a little.

To think about my uncle feebly pounding his fat bartender girlfriend. fuck. ugh. fuck.

So I borrowed the car and I stopped at the gas station and got a few snacks. nothing much, just two cans of soda (Pepsi, Mt Dew) regular Cheetos, gummy worms and wax bottles (2/1.00), Chex Mix, Ice cream sandwich, and two hotdogs for 1.79 0 which seems like a rip off because I can remember when you could get that deal for a dollar - and I had a friend once that said he wouldn't pay more than FREE for a hotdog.

which was pretty funny.

But really, if there were corn dogs there would be no question.

I’d pay a million dollars for a corn dog. If there was only one left on earth I’d die for it, as long as I could take my time in eating it, I’d die for it.

Besides, if all the corn dogs were gone, what’s the point in living.

If god gave me the choice of either fucking Naomi Watts one time or eating a corn dog, I’d pick the corn dog. And I really respect Naomi Watts. In a different universe I think she could be my girlfriend. We’d both be school teachers and coach the baseball and debate team respectively.

But she’s a famous actress and I’m an unemployed writer.

I always thought the day that I found out where they sold corn dogs at college was the beginning of the end. I started skipping class and eating the corn dogs, sometimes I’d take a twenty minute bus ride to school just to eat the corn dogs.

Rita told me once that all the fast food I eat was going to take thirty years off my life. well you know what I say:

GOOD - FUCKING - RIDDANCE

I’m way off.

So I drove north to Oshkosh to visit a friend of mine from high school. I figured I should go see him because, well, I really never visit anyone. Sure, I’ve promised a lot of things but everyone knows I’m full of shit.

-

There was a girl I had a crush on in high school and I saw her at the bar one night. Now, in some ways I think I had a chance with this girl but who cares, that was then, ya know - anyway, I told her I was going to come visit her at school and she said

“Steve Wilson, you talk a good game, or you did anyway.” and she walked off. I haven't seen her since. I could have made it happen but I was chicken.

-

So I stop at my friend Dave’s house real quick. Driving North In Wisconsin is always the same fucking thing - abortion billboard, firework stand, abortion billboard, wind turbine, abortion billboard, ATV sales lot, abortion billboard.

If abortion was illegal a lot of good billboard makers would be out of a job.

Eh ... Sometimes I just say things. Somethings I shouldn't say. I don’t know how I feel about abortion or really anything else...Now I’m back pedaling.

Anyways, he’s fatter than I remember.

We always got along good. Neither one of us had mom’s - his was still alive but hooked on drugs. We used to drink a lot of beers in his garage. He was a distinctive yet vague memory. The taste of sour beast light and cloudy moments bleeding quickly into the next.

Still, he was fatter now. We talk about this and that and go out for some pitchers and cheese curds. We play darts and hit on some girls who aren’t interested from the get go. And I end up getting wasted and stay at his house.

But of course nothing really stood out from that night. And I admit that maybe I’m stalling, but I’ve been stalling for some time now. In everything. Once again we leave and I maybe would never see him again. And he waves to me as I drive off and I know that we never were the same.

I know then for sure that the world doesn’t change, we all make the same jokes and the same mistakes. The only thing that changes is our ability to accept that fact.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 13 - Me And Dad Got Loaded

Follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD's new series The Year That Everyone Died

It all started at the super market on saturday. I went to pick up some specialty brats at the Metro Market for me and my dad. The plan was to watch the Steelers/Ravens game at my dads place then head on over to Jimbo’s Bar and Grill to watch the Packers game with all the other old drunks.

I was walking down the aisle and the place was packed. I mean packed, people really lose their shit during football season, not that i can blame them. Thing is I obviously talked too much shit this year...saying the Vikings would be great and the Pack were a bunch of bums and...most of us know how that turned out.

Really though, I think that people made too big of a deal out of the Brett Favre dick texting thing. So fucking what. We hold our athletes to too high of standards, it’s just that Packer fans treated Brett like a god when he played for their team. Then he didn't and got in this sexting business and they were like “See, aren’t we glad we got rid of that guy?” Truth is he was always the same chucking, chugging, pill popping, womanizing maniac the whole time.

But I like him for those reasons.

I’ve always been a Vikings fan but until I saw the fans booing Favre after he got killed at Lambeau field and saw the way they talked about him this year, I was never glad I wasn't a Packers fan. Now I am. I thank the god I don’t believe in.

He didn’t kill dogs or something crazy, he just took a little picture of his dingaling. Bad Idea but he still won Green Bay a Super Bowl and played a million games, so basically, cry me a river.

anyways, I digress, again.

I was looking at the Frito bean dip when I ran into my old friend Greg. Greg loves the Packers so we rarely watch games together cause I’m such a hater, not to mention Greg isn't really into doing a bunch of blow and grinding your teeth watching youtube videos until 8 in the morning. Great guy though.

Anyway we got to talking and Greg asked me if I wanted to come over and watch a little of the first game and smoke some grass. So of course I did.

I picked up the brats, tortilla chips, a twenty piece chicken wing bucket, taco dip, twelve pack Mountain Dew and a twelve pack of Pabst. With bus fair that pretty much tapped me out.

Man that Greg, he is a pro at DVR. We watched a bunch of recorded Saturday Night Live Weekend update episodes and watch a musical performance by Lil Wayne. He’s like an artist with that DVR shit. We watch a the Steelers game but I leave after the Ravens go up 21-3.

I drink eight of the Pabst and take the 33 bus back over to my dad’s house.

Riding the bus when there is perfectly good football to watch is pure bullshit. Pure and simple bullshit. Some lady in a wheel chair takes twenty minutes to get on, the bus driver jumps off to take a piss, fuck this.

I finally get to my dads house and he is pretty happy to see me. I feel like a disappointment a lot of the time but I know he’s still happy to see me. I’m all he has after all.

So we throw some brats on the grill and he cooks them up even though its like 0 degrees out. And I pound down about 15 of the 20 chicken wings.

OH, and the Steelers came all the way back and tied the game! fucking bus...

We chill for a while and I throw the beers I have left in the fridge and start in on the case of MGD’s he bought.

Steelers win. So good for them. Ben Rothlisberger, now there’s a fucked up individual. Dick texting? we’re talking about dick texting? dick texting? it’s just dick texting...please.

So we eat some brats. I got the Philly Steak one and a Rueben one and Italian herb and cheese. Metro Market brats are killer shit.

We eat and both pound down some MGDs and head over to Jimbo’s. My dad says they have good wings there. And even though I’ve already had enough, I think we are both pretty excited about it. We decide to take a cab because it’s too far to walk and as fucked up as I can be sometimes I still know that drinking and driving is bullshit.

Jimbo’s is OK and its jumping today.

Now I don’t necessarily like the Packers but my dad hate, hate, hates the Packers.

My grandma has been dead for a while. Old age, she was 94 but I think my dad is convinced that Vince Lombardi killed her somehow. He hates them. And that goes for Favre, Donald Driver, Tony Mandrich and the ball boys.

Like Denzel says in Man On Fire, “Anyone involved, anyone who profited.” It’s like that.

So the game starts and we start doing shots. We get wings and some a quesidilla appitizers (delicious), then more shots. Some dickhead from High School comes up and says “Steve Wilson is that you?”

I say “Yeah, how you been?”

And this dick cheese has the nerve to tell me about his kids and he good job he has at Harley (even though the plants not doing well, his job his safe) and I say “good for you man” but I can’t get rid of this guy. He’s going on and on about his hot wife (who I had a crush on back then) and their new house when I stop him.

“Look man” I say, “I’m pretty addicted to cocaine and I live in my uncles basement because my girlfriend kicked me out, my best friend is a total bore and I’m just trying to get loaded with my dad one more time before I head out on a suicide mission to avenge some girls death from college, who I barely knew, who’s ghost has been visiting me over the last month or so.”

And he shuts the fuck up and goes back to his seat.

And right before the end of the first half Tramon Williams picks off Matt Ryan and scores and the game is over. So we get even more hammered. My dad starts screaming all around the bar that the packers were losers from Lombardi on and they’ll be losers forever. The situation starts to get a little hairy.

Just like that I’m draggin him out of the bar and calling a cab. One night you’re getting pulled out of a bar, the next you’re pulling your father out of a bar.

Circle of life dude.

We go back to his house and make a frozen pizza. Tombstone. (for the record, I prefer Jacks)

My dad talks about how awesome the night was and how it’s good to have me around. and how he loves me. Then we eat and he goes to bed.

I watch Love Actually on cable and cry like crazy.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 12 - We're Not Together

Follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD's new series The Year That Everyone Died

I stopped by Parkers with a twelve pack of PBR. Hopefully to make up for all the times I had coned him into bring beers to Uncle Don’s basement. I put the case in my backpack and walked Carter over. Parker said his apartment manager doesn't like it when I bring the dog over but Mrs. Janikowski can just suck it.

I asked her if Sebastian Janikowski was her son about a year back and she’s had it out for me ever since.

So he buzzes us in and we sit around for a minute talking about The Stand, which Parker has read but I haven't, either way he insists on talking about it for twenty minutes while I nod along.

I begrudgingly ask him how his parents are doing with their divorce. He says they are doing better. Which is good to hear. Even though they are usually pretty mean to each other and rude to me. Which may have something to do with the time I left a bunch of blow at their house on accident.

We drink a couple of beers and smoke schwag out of a shitty metal pipe. I also brought a Pepsi and a bag of Funions to share. I also brought a small bag of the newer BBQ Cheetos and pretzel M&M’s. I give Parker a couple.

Parker used to be allergic to peanuts, then one day he just wasnt. Crazy world we live in.

We watch Twin Peaks, cause he got the show box set for his birthday a month ago, which I forgot.

Damn that show is amazing. Makes me feel better about my quest to find the man in Ashland. Mystery is a good thing, evidently, it leads you to Sherilyn Fenn, Madchen Amick and Laura Flynn Boyle. Maybe I’ll find my own Laura Palmer in Ashland.

That is the before-possessed-and-raped-by-demon-father version. You know what I mean

We drink the beers that I brought and we go down to the bar pretty loaded.

And for a long while we don’t speak and some soul song hits the speakers and I rub my hand over my head and through my hair and to my side Parker does the same. And it’s just then that I see that two people rubbing their faces, exhausted by their lot in life, together in an introspective moment...That may be the only time that two people can have any kind of understanding.

-

because talking doesn't mean anything, nobody listens, we’re all just waiting for our turn to speak, thinking about how smart we’ll sound and how honorable we’ll look. Talk about a joke: communication is a joke.

Sure, some people can do it but it takes work. You have to be honest with yourself and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to do that. I’ll also be goddamned if I’m going to go to marriage counseling with every fucking person in my life. Fuck that.

-

And before I know it Parker is trying to drag me out of the bar because I’m calling the bartender a cock-sucker and that he’s a fat bald excuse for a human and that he’s too old to be wearing vests. I do this sometimes, turn as dark on the outside than I am on the inside.

And then I start in on the rest of the bar and it turns out I’m the joke. They are all laughing.

“And your hat is stupid!” I say

“Nice fucking tie” I say

They are losing it. I’m the best thing to happen to this joint in twenty years. And even though I won’t ever go back I will be a legend.

And like most other days I feel myself using my 15 minutes of fame on little moments of insignificance. Always the comedy, never a comedian. Always a bus boy, never a bus.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 11 - It's Hard Out There For Critch

Follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD's new series The Year That Everyone Died

I hate the fucking news.

A long list of sensationalized events, a hypnotizing, brainwashing, attempt to convince humans that they have a say in what happens. Marketed, manufactured to give the impression of looking out for common interest.

You turn it on and they tell you a group of people have been shot in a supermarket in Arizona, then (with little pause) those opposed to talk radio and extreme right commentators use the tragedy, the true and awful tragedy, to blame those they see as enemies...

And then Rush Limbaugh has the fucking nerve to say that “you cannot blame talk radio” even though he knows that things like this are partly his fault. And for once, just for once in his life, or Glenn Beck’s life, they could make something better, they could be a voice of compassion and accept responsibility for years of exciting violence and ignorance.

Instead they all see tragedy, a mentally insane man killing politicians in a super market, as an leverage point, as an opportunity to get a leg up in the media against their ‘enemies’.

And we’re all too stupid or blind, or in denial, to realize that this is a fight that nobody will ever win.

And for me maybe thats the only consolation, that while everyone pretends that this or that matters I will be alone, politically uninfluenced, eating my cheeseburgers and crunch wraps in peace.

And they’ll all scoff at me stuffing my face with Churches Chicken and the underage mother of two serving me and the sports section of USA Today, and they’ll pity all of it because ‘we don’t understand.’

Maybe I just need to grow up. But I guess if growing up means joining a giant lie...well...I guess I’ll stick with the Big Mac.

I’ve been depressed lately.

I have to go see my dad and I don’t really know what to say to him. I know he doesn't approve of me or what I do. I just want us to have a nice time. I think we’ll head down to the bar and watch the Packer game. Eat some peanuts, drink some MGDs stare ahead, make jokes at commercial.

I can’t make any calls and I tried to get a job at Jimmy Johns but they didnt want me. I think if I paid Rita back she might consider taking me back.

Uncle Don has a new girlfriend though. So thats cool.

Carter has been trying to eat the garbage. Yesterday we went down to the park and I struck up a nice conversation with a couple that were walking their pit bull named Tyson. We smoked a half joint shared a bottle of schnapps. The dogs ran together in the snow. It was a nice surprise.

Dogs got it figured out, whatever it is.

I had a dream last night I was on a beach stuck in the mountains.

I saw the girl from college the other day. She was waiting under the bridge on Russell as it rained. By the time I reached its shelter she was gone.

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The Year That Everyone Died - Part 10 - Making A List

Follow the adventures of Steve Wilson in WWD's new series The Year That Everyone Died

I made Rita’s list. What a bitch.

Here goes:

In the 8th grade I dated Randy Calhoun and felt up her shirt. It was pretty dope and eventually we broke up because I was scared of girls. Hot damn, they were crazy back then.

Not soon after I was madly in love with an older girl in high school. Still probably half afraid of girls. She went to college. We broke up. (a few years later I threatened her boyfriend, fell down a flight of stairs, then punched a tree. I broke two bones.)

I had a more serious high school girlfriend but she didnt like that I smoked weed, so I dumped her over the phone...on her birthday.

And then I dated a girl for a bit who’s mom died, so we stayed together three weeks longer than I wanted. When I told her it was over she said:

“You’re dumping me right when my mom died?”

To which I replied: “It was three weeks ago!”

I’d do that one over if I could.

Micki Plunkett was too hard to get. Sarah Nash was too easy.

Betty Roberts tried to hit me with her car after I did the double flip-off-crisscross. If I could, I absolutely would not do that over.

I slept with Laura Yorn’s sister and best friend.

Becca Sandoval loved me. So naturally she never stood a chance.

Erica Stephens, great body, absolute sweetheart, didnt like that I watched football. I fucking dumped her...bam!

And then there’s Rita, who kicked me out because she found out I was a dickweed.

I’ve had about a dozen girlfriends that I can remember.

I’ve had countless phone and text message girlfriends as well as email, and more recently Facebook girlfriends. Those are always full of promises and dreams but don’t amount to shit, but nothing really does.

And Rita told me I should make this list to see if I can see a pattern. Mostly what it tells me is that:

I am astounded by the number of women I’ve gotten to sleep with me.

I’ve got a problem with commitment.

Steve Wilson needs to start being nicer to the women in his life.

And you know, I may try. I really want to try...but if it’s anything like college, cooking classes, learning spanish, learning the bass guitar, screenwriting, rock climbing, or (most pathetically) jogging, the trying won’t go too far.

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