I am Michael (or Mike). If you have a common name like me, then you know how I felt during grade school when I was always referred to as Mike M.
There's more to me than just a common name and a love of all things mac and cheese. I enjoy traveling, trying new restaurants, running, and spending time with family/friends. I like to go out and see shows. If Sweeney Todd is playing I will be there. I'm into the local brewery scene. I like trying new ones but also enjoy going back to my favorites: Indeed, Dangerous Man, and 612.
When it comes to movies, I always get excited for a Liam Neeson movie. I am just hoping for another Taken or Schindler's List I suppose.
Old School Nintendo Games
My Running Shoes
I liked a girl who worked at a fried chicken restaurant. I popped in with plans of asking her out. With some subtle maneuvering and a bit of conniving, I got her sitting at my table. We talked. The conversation flowed like a Mozart concerto. She had a sparkle in her eye. I had this girl stuck in my tractor beam. The poor thing had no chance of escape.
It was time for me to leave so she could finish the end of her
shift. She stood up. I stood up. I followed her down the aisle.
Then, a bizarre cataclysmic anomaly of physics manifested and
arrested fate. I still don't understand this phenomenon. I doubt Carl Sagan could explain it. Anyway, I punched the girl. Hard. Imagine something on the order of a prime Mike Tyson after his opponent mocked his speech impediment. Now multiply that punch by the speed of light. That's how hard I decked this poor girl.
Here's how it happened. Like I wrote, I was following her. She
stopped to get my food tray. I raised my hand to execute a patented shoulder embrace, a soft gesture meant to say, don't worry; I'll get it; you just keep moving your fine self along your original trajectory and let ole Mikey take care of that tray. A subtle touch here and there is the difference between “just friends” and more. One can use the touch to either set the mood, or assess conditions and plan accordingly. Then again, what do I know about romance? I punched a girl out while trying to seduce her.
Anyway, she stopped abruptly. The calculations for my
shoulder-caressing gesture, therefore, were off by several inches. Instead of my open hand meeting ever-so-delicately with her shoulder, the punching side of my hand whacked the living crap out of her scapula. It was a haymaker. The impulse force was immense. It was one of those hits were all the kinetic energy transfers from the striker to the object. Baseball players and golfers call it the “sweet spot.” I literally couldn't have hit this girl any harder if I'd tried. The whole restaurant heard the punch as it reverberated off the walls and from plates of fried chicken and rolls. The next day, the local newspaper featured a story about an anomalous reading on a seismograph outside of St. Cloud.
She was in pain for like, 10 minutes. She was rubbing her shoulder and wincing. I stood there, speechless and sniveling, at the zenith of my douchebaggery. She realized it was accidental. But that didn't make it any less painful. Do you know how hard it is to recover a romantic interlude after you punch the girl out? Let me assure you that it's almost impossible. I apologized about 56 times and bid the poor thing goodnight. I never disclosed my intent that evening to her.