January 2004

Bookin'

Part I
The UnHusband

Before I can tell you all the story of my recent move to another state, I must also tell you the story of how I got unkicked out of my marriage.

Bigfoot was hella angry with me, I tell you what! Why else would she kick me out, forcing me to live on the street cold and alone? There is no need to recount the whole ugly story of what she thinks I did. No. What's done is done. Besides, I don't need you all mad at me, too.

On December 15th, I slept in my car for the eight consecutive night. My sleeping bag was warm, but the front passenger seat did not provide proper back support. That evening, just as I finally dozed off into slumberland, I had a vision that would save my marriage. I saw the UnGame!

Do you know of the UnGame? It's a 1970's, new-age, ex-hippie creation. The game has no real beginning, and it does not end. No winners, no losers. You just roll the dice and move from space to space. There are no chips or paper to win, you just answer a silly question about your feelings. "When did you last hug someone?" or "Tell us about a time when someone said something to hurt your feelings." My moms used to make us play it all the time. You see, Monopoly and Chess caused us to fightin', but the UnGame made us attack each other passive aggressively. That way we could torture each other without all the yellin'.

By and by, my back started feeling better, and I sent off in search of the UnGame. Lucky for me, I found a seller on-line, and he rushed me a version (by rushed I mean I went to his store in Reisterstown and got it myself, but who's countin'?) Later that afternoon, I sat in the car, reading the cards, a plottin'.

About fifteen minutes before my wife returned home from work, I slipped a card under the front door. I wrote my name on the back of the card, and the words, "I am thinking about you." Not trying to be a stalker, I changed earlier versions with the words "watching" "sweating" and "really damn depressed."

After she come home, I walked up to our place, and slipped another card under the door. Then, I knocked.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's me." I replied, "Look at the card."

"What is your point, freak?"

"I am tired of sleeping in the car. Can we work this out?"

"I don't know." She said, "Are you still doing that thing?"

"I am better."

She paused for a few seconds. "So you and that thing are done."

I promised her whatever she wanted. She let me in. We spend the night reading UnGame cards to each other, and looking for negatives of the pictures she ripped to shreads.

Part II
Deus Ex Machina

The next morning the phone rang. It was a guy on the other end of the phone and he offered me a new job in another state. I took the job. It started on the first of the new year. We had to move to another state.

That's just what we did.

Part III
Bookin' It

We planned on moving everything on Saturday, December 27th. That morning I got myself up, rented a truck. Alls we had to do was pack it, drive it, and unpack it. When that was done, we were gonna sleep, or have a beer, or call a hospital.

Assisting us in the move were my uncle Dylan and Justy. Between the tree of us, we filled that truck in nothing flat. We were bookin' it all morning, trying to get the packing done before we froze to death. In fact, I was bookin' so fast that I accidentally dropped a strawberry frosted doughnut on a slice of cheeze pizza. It looked terrible, but I eat it anyway. Cold strawberry pizza is pretty nice.

All that movin' and bookin' got me to thinking that I could be the only person who uses the word "bookin'" anymore.

You see, back in the early 1980's, when I was a kid, we were always bookin'. Bookin' down the street on my BMX; bookin' around first, heading to second; bookin' home for dinner. There was all kinds of bookin' going on. I was bookin' wicked fast all the time.

By and by, I replaced the word with other, more precise verbs. There was haulin', cruisin', groovin', and even running, when I was running. After I left for college, my pace slowed, and the appropriate occasions for bookin' it grew further and further apart. A crying shame.

Anyway, once the truck was packed, we drove away from Baltimore to that other state where my job was going to be. Unpacking would take longer than the packing, what with the new apartment being on the fourth floor and all, so we were bookin' it as soon as we arrived at the new apartment building. Without my uncle, and with Bigfoot moving the boxes we plopped in the apartment, it was just me and Justy. No matter, because me and Justy (or Justy and I, I suppose) were bookin'.

Part IV
The Morning After

There is no better way to show your appreciate to the man who helped you move into a new apartment like buying him a kick-ass diner breakfast the next morning. Even loads of appreciative thank-yous would be meaningless unless he is given a heaping helping of eggs, pancakes and bacon. Seriously.