Hope sprang courtship madness

In looking back at 2006, this evening’s post will look back at number 76 on the countdown at the events, things, people, places, and sayings that made 2006 a year to remember.

When the 2006 NCAA Tournament tipped off, it began the madness that we call March Madness.

And in Memphis, the only madness that surronded my friends was the madness that surronded their various courtships.

With me, it was still that cute girl from the campus bookstore that I met when the fall semester began two days after Hurricane Katrina and the winding down of what was supposed to be one of the biggest stories of the year as far as I was concerned.

Further south in Whitehaven, my friends Dr. Joye and Robert began talking to each other and dating, something that Robert waxed poetically about in his blog throughout the middle part of March, which seemed to be going well.

One of my friends in the church that I attend was also talking to someone that he met in Indianapolis during the New Year’s and unlike the two courtships, he managed to do something that neither myself or Robert could do.

Sustain a healthy courtship.

As the Tigers were making a run for the Final Four, my friend ended up going to Cleveland for his very first date with his friend and to be honest, it was a huge success.

He mentioned to me during some of the conversations the details and how his lady friend treated him almost like a king (well, almost) and the trips to the Cavaliers game, the museum in downtown Cleveland, and her son.

Of course, I like most of the people in the singles minstry was happy that he finally went through with the date.

It’s just a matter of whether the girl is the one for him.

Which is all put in God’s hands.

The Myspace domino effect

In looking back at 2006, this morning’s post will look back at number 79 on the countdown of the 100 things, people, places, and events that made 2006 a year to remember for me.

When I was growing up, I remembered there was this game called Dominio Rally that I would play when I would spend time at my cousin’s house.

I don’t remember the objective of the game because it has been thirteen years since I played it, but the way that the number of friends that I have on Myspace, the domino effect of adding friends became the main reason why as of this writing, I’m closing in on 500 friends.

And pretty much everyone on my friends list is connected to each other as if it was a social domino effect in the city of Memphis.

For example, I added Robert (sax-playing sidekick from my Whitehaven days), who added Dr. Joye (had a theory of sprungess), who in turn added Darius (the third Musketeer), who in turn added his sister (who confuses me with my cousin whenever I talk to her), which would be the friend tree of Dr. Robert Phillips.

Notice the picture, folks?

I added Dr. Jason Smith, who in turn added Dr. Jeff Smith, who in turn added Rev. Rainey, who added Dr. Adam Hite, who in turn added Nathalie, who in turn added Annie, who would add Lydia, who then later added Elizabeth, who then added Meredith, who added Kelsey, who in turn added the new member of the Galloway Gang, Christy to her friend list.

The friend tree of Dr. Jason Smith.

I added Michelle to my friend list, who in turn added Sharika (the witness to Memphis professional baseball history), who added Jamiliah to her friends list, who added her cousin (who keeps calling me ‘Pumpkin’), who added Adrice (who worked at the community center up north).

Which would be considered the friend tree of Michelle.

The same thing could be said when I added Tammy to my friend list, who added Kim (won’t go into detail) who in turned added people out of the friend trees of both Robert and Michelle to form one large Myspace domino effect in Whitehaven.

You’d think the domino effect wouldn’t reach the corner of South Third and Union, but that’s where you’re wrong.

I added Lauretta, who in turn added Singing Phillip, who in turn added Abbey (my other “big sis”), who in turn added Michelle, who added Kelly, who then added me,who then added Sabrina, who added Katie, who added Chris Naverson.

And created yet another domino effect on Myspace from the corner of South Third and Union and interlock with the dominoes that are falling into place thanks in part to the connections made through the three friend trees I mentioned before.

The thing is, what other person will be part of that ever-so increasing domino that we call Myspace?

Could be you, the reader.

This choke job stings even more

If you’ve been reading this blog, you might have noticed the occasional mentions of my friend Kasi in Nashville, mainly during the 2006 postseason in my posts.

And if you read the old blog during the 2005 postseason, you might have seen some mentions of her in my blog.

Okay, let me go on and say this.

It’s another choke job by me when it comes to her, this time instead of being called a jerk in so many words, I’m been branded a pest by her.

This coming after starting back talking to each other in the middle of March and continuing to talk to each other through the wonders of instant messaging from March to yesterday, when I was told by her that I had gotten on her nerves.

Late last night, I asked her did she mean any of the stuff she said during our brief chat on yesterday afternoon, and to my surprise, she meant every word.

And when I thought for a second that I would get an explanation of what made her say this, I never got a response.

Earlier this evening, I held faint hope that she would be online and I would get a reason why she said this or even try to call her, which I believed would make things even worse because I know how emotional I can get when it comes to things like this.

But I declined to do it.

I knew why it happened last year, it was because I wasn’t a good friend or even worse, a good listener to her problems.

But this year, it’s come as bit of a shock on why she said it to me and of course, began yet another winter of discontent between me and her.

Of course, we weren’t significant others or anything of that sort, but coupled with the Cardinals winning the World Series and trying everything in my power to be a good friend, you’d think 2006 as far as my friendship with her would end differently from how it ended last year when she told me point-blank that she didn’t want to talk to me anymore.

And four months later, we end up talking again.

And eight months later, it gets shafted again because of either something I did or what other crap that has happened in the eight months.

With that being said, it’s pretty safe to say that me and her won’t talk again for the remainder of the year.

But it would be interesting if she gives me another chance to redeem myself in March of 2007.

That seems too far-fetched now.

Cold water got poured, but there was no one to drink it

In counting down the top 100 events of 2006, this morning’s post will look back at number 83, about how my strained relationship with my mother almost poured cold water on one of the greatest moments in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

Let me tell you about my background for a minute, readers.

I grew up in the Orange Mound section of Memphis, not too far from the University of Memphis, where my mother worked (and still works at to this day).

I was raised by my grandparents, Camilla and Fred Grant, both of whom are deceased, and from what it seemed to everyone around me, I had a great family life.

Or so they thought.

In 1998, my grandmother died of cancer seventeen days before my 14th birthday, which was probably one of the most devasting blows of my life, losing someone that I was extremely close to and had a major part in raising me.

With her death, it left only myself and my mother, who I believe after almost a decade after losing my grandmother to cancer, was not prepared to deal with a soon-to-be 14 year-old young man or dealing with the only family member that hadn’t turned their back on them.

In the years since, I’ve had to deal with my mother’s heavy drinking, which started I believe after my grandmother died and my mother’s volatile temper, which I was a victim of many times through her fits of rage.

Normally in my family, it always has to be a go-between to mediate the communication between my mother and I.

Which was the case this year, when I tried to invite my mother to a Redbirds game on the Fourth of July.

I had lucked on buying tickets for a very low price from the ticket office on July 1st and again on July 3rd and knowing that my mother had never seen the inside of Autozone Park (the last time that my mother went to a baseball game, was the very last game in Tim McCarver Stadium in 1999 when the Nashville Sounds faced the Memphis Redbirds), I figured that I could get some tickets so that she could go the game.

And knowing that once again I had to get someone to relay the message of my plan (a longtime family friend that I have known for almost twenty years) the week before the game, I knew for a fact that the rare occasion of when my mother and I do anything on the Fourth together (which hasn’t happened since 1998) was going to be doomed.

When I got the response from the family friend the day before I did the game against the Isotopes on June 25th, the family friend told me that my mother didn’t want to go to the game.

“She told me she didn’t want to be in the hot sun,” the family friend told me when I asked him about it.

So knowing that, I ended up calling people that wanted tickets for the Fourth of July and leaving the bitter taste of what my mother told our friend.

On the Fourth of July, I had thought that the stars were aligned for everything to go according to plan, until I found out that I would definitely be doing two innings in the Fan Radio booth earlier in the day and possibly be a part of the most romantic moment in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

Two hours before I was supposed to leave, the friend that I called on to get the tickets for the Redbirds game cancelled on me, leaving me with possible unused tickets and a long drawn-out Fourth at home.

And on a hunch, I explained to my mother that I had tickets for the game that evening, which only happened because my friend’s grandmother was admitted to the hospital earlier in the day.

Little did I know how angry my mother was going to be at me during the ten-minute ride to the ballpark.

And some of the stuff she said, which was a load of profanties that I don’t want to repeat in this column, was pretty much attacking me and the way that I got her the tickets, which I can admit, was not right.

But when your mother is constantly building up a neverending wall of excuses to block spending some time with you, which strains the communication that most parents have with their children, what other choice do you have?

While I was at the ballpark, I spent most of the time talking to people around the ballpark and soaking in the atomsphere of the Fourth while my mother just stayed her distance away.

Before I left for the booth, I got into a minor arguement with my mother about where to meet her after the game was over and in a respectful way, told her I was headed up to the broadcast booth and I would see her right after I finished up in the broadcast booth and meet her in the Entry Plaza afterwards.

Which was when the sour note of the evening got even more sourer as my mother complained about everything from the rudeness of the people that she was sitting around to the way that I handled the situation, which now I greatly admit was a complete mistake to do as I look at it.

I was too tense and panicky to say anything about what happened, mainly because of my mother’s fits of rage, especially when I bore the a large share of the anger that she had balled up in her to come out at times.

When I look back on that night, I felt as though the mistake of what I did to my family overshadowed what happened in the broadcast booth.

But more importantly, it showed me the fact that my mother, deep down, is a miserable person that hasn’t fully come to terms with my grandmother’s death.

And it’s sad to say it like that, but it’s the truth.

The cold hard truth.

And she was compatiable

In continuing with the countdown of top 100 events of 2006, today’s post will look back at my failed attempt of pursing the city’s fine version of Marcie, number 85 on the countdown.

A year ago, I noted that 2005 was known in my opinion as the Year of the Cutie Pie, because I tried to pursue every damn girl under the sun and ultimately fail at it.

But during the late winter and early spring of this year, I attempted to flirt with one of my co-workers, the city’s fine version of Marcie.

Of course, my then-boss tried to convince me that my over-the-top personality was going to scare her off, which it did and I should forget about.

And true to my nature, I ignored his advice and tried to flirt anyway, which was pretty unprofessional of me to do because we both worked in the same department (can’t believe I’m saying this).

We did however, make some small talk and through some of that, I found out that she was a Pisces (good thing) and she causally followed basketball, which is a good thing as well.

When I told her that I liked her, we were out at the Memphis Zoo and much like it has happened on various occasions with girls that I think I might something good going with, she shoots me down.

Of course, the idea of it was pretty much a Catch-22, because as I said earlier, we both worked in the same department and it would not present a good look at all, which was what happened in my first year at the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea, when one of my friends’ girlfriend quit in the middle of May because of the complications that they had from working in the same place.

Which I understand now.

But back then, it was a different story.

Barrel of laughs in the dentist’s chair

Continuing with the countdown, this morning’s post will look back at number 87, when a wave of laughs hit the dentist chair of Dr. Timothy Kutas.

For a long time, I always thought there was such thing as laughing gas when you went to the dentist. like the scenes that I’ve seen on television and in the movies.

Not because of some girl or anything that doesn’t even pertain to my visit to the dentist.

The week before, one of the fillings in my mouth came out (due in part to my overconsumption of chocolate) during the homestand the Redbirds had towards the end of the month.

Which led me to call Dr. Kutas from my office and explain to him that one of my filling came out the week before and I needed to come in and get it filled.

The day after the Redbirds went out of town to California, I went to Dr. Kutas’ office on North Highland Street to get the hole in my tooth fixed.

While Dr. Kutas and his assistant was preparing my mouth, all of a sudden I began to laugh ferociously in the dentist’s chair while Dr. Kutas was numbing the left side of my mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Dr. Kutas asked me as I continued to laugh off and on in the chair.

Remembering a scene from The Simpsons, when Lisa and Bart sang Christmas carols door to door while Homer went in from the back to steal Christmas presents as a way to give the family something for Christmas, I told him about the scene in that episode as I tried to contain my laughter in the chair.

Actually, it was a way to hide the stuff about bringing the chocolate cutie in the broadcast booth four weeks prior to my visit to the dentist.

“Sounds like someone’s in love,” he said to me as he got the fluids that was in my mouth from the numbing of the left side of my mouth.

Which is when I began to do more laughing in the chair, because personally, I knew for a fact that I did not fall in love with a girl that easily.

But as they worked on my mouth, I began to tell him the story of what happened on the Fourth.

“Well, I hope to see her whenever I’m down at the ballpark,” he said as he finished up filling the hole in my tooth.

“She’s very cute,” I said, “Very cute.”

As I got up from the chair and went into the bathroom to rinse my mouth, I found myself laughing still for no reason.

And letting out a big sigh and I left the office and headed north on Highland towards Summer and Highland to the Walgreens to buy some chocolates and roasted peanuts.

As well as laughing in the aisle where they had all the chocolate candy and peanuts.

When I went to the ballpark to see Amber and Steve the Fantasy Baseball Guru, they were asking me why I was laughing so much.

My response?

“I have no idea.”

Black Monday

Next on this blog’s list of 100 great moments from this year, is number 94, when everything went to hell at the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea Avenue.

I very seldom write about what goes on at the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea, mainly because it’s no telling who in the department that I work in reads this blog.

But after realizing how big of a joke that the department I work in has been since the middle of June, I’ve come to realize that the so-called professionals that are there in those cubicles are still there at the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea.

For a brief period of time, I had a space in the back of the office where I work at, which I didn’t mind people using just as long as they didn’t any evidence of their residency in the cubicle.

On June 15th, I was in that same cubicle when my then-boss (of the Ray Nagin-like tirade) explained to me that our program manager was holding checks (this goes to show you how pathetic my department is) and I should stay at the office to get my paperwork done so she (my program manager) could give approval for me to get my check.

Four days later, I was in the back with my former boss and the case manager talking about the NBA Finals.

Twenty minutes before I left for lunch, he left for Schuncks’ and I never saw him again.

The next day, our program manager calls a meeting and told us that the guy wasn’t working there anymore, which pretty much set off an implosion of sorts for the branch of the department that I work in.

And the one who secretly was happy to see the guy go, so happy to the point where the case manager cleared out all of the things that were in the guy’s cubicle.

And in process, ended my time in the empty cubicle as our program manager said to me that nobody that isn’t a coordinator or case manager should be back there.

The sad thing about this is that the guy was not only my boss, but a good friend.

And he helped out our branch in the department, unlike the company woman (who is the only person in the department that hasn’t been fired or transferred since I arrived in 2004) who has  been more harm than good for our department.

Of course, it would’ve been if the guy was there to help out the sinking ship that it would later become at the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea.

Roadtrippin’ with the brothers

The last time I went to Nashville, the trip was pretty much the worst trip experience that I’ve ever had.

Plenty of bickering, stupid pranks, and oh yeah, two Ray Nagin-like tirades by myself and my then-boss.

And the tag that I used about my department as the joke of the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea Avenue was all so true when I returned to Memphis the very next day.

A year later, I would end up going with my church to Nashville, a trip that a friend said to me when I told him about the Music City Meltdown, was a complete 180 from the trip I went on last year.

Which it was.

I had took notes of what happened during the three days that I’ve been away from the computer and this blog, which had 49 hits on Saturday and 24 on Sunday.

Friday, Oct. 27th: I left with my friend James at 5 o’clock from my house to head to another church member’s house in Cordova, where we would leave from there to head to Nashville.

Before I left, I made sure that I remembered Kasi’s number so when I entered Davidson County, I would call her and let her know that I was okay (more on that later).

While we were waiting on another brother in the church to arrive, James and I went to Backyard Burger on Trinty Road, down the road from Tom’s house and got something to eat.

The interesting thing about the trip to Backyard Burger was that I had to repeat to an attractive girl my order because I figured that she was more interested in looking at me than she was in taking my order.

Which gave me that bitter beer look on my face and silence from James.

We returned to Tom’s house and James was unsure about speaking at the church convention in Nashville when I explained to him that faith is measured as a 12 oz. can of Coke.

Fifteen minutes later, another member of my church, Brandon came to the house and offered me one of his books to read while we were headed to Nashville.

Around 6:30, Thomas (the guy we were waiting on) came to the house, which allowed us to start putting things in Tom’s car and start for the road.

Before we headed on Interstate 40, Thomas thought it would be a good idea to stop at a McDonald’s on Germantown Parkway to grab a bite, but traffic was a mess at the drive-thru, so instead we got on the road in the middle of a southern tsuamni and headed east on Interstate 40.

Most of the ride, Tom was educating me on U2 and Sting and trying to convince James that Puff Daddy was not the one that did “Every Breath You Take”.

And it gave me time to read that book Brandon let me borrow.

We stopped in Parkers Crossroads, which is in Henderson County, and Thomas got the opportunity to grab some McDonald’s while we stopped at a gas station there.

That’s when Tom found the time to hook his navigation system to his dashboard when he got behind the wheel.

Once we entered Williamson County, I tried to remember Kasi’s number and instead of writing it down like I should have, I ended up dialing the wrong digits and having a deep think session on trying to remember her number.

When we dropped Thomas and James off at one of the host families’ houses, the rain was coming down even harder as we got back on the interstate and headed towards Goodlettsville, which was (when I was growing up) the home of Oscar Mayer and the city we would be staying in with a host family.

Once we got into Goodlettsville, Tom decides to stop at a Wendy’s and I decide to use the bathroom, which turned into an adventure because the dining room at Wendy’s and KFC were closed and the hotel next to Wendy’s had no bathroom that was open to the public, so the next best thing was to head to a McDonalds and try not to get any mud on my shoes.

Tom and I arrived at our host family’s apartment around 10 o’clock, which is when I started to again brainstorm and think of Kasi’s number so I could call her and let her know that I was okay.

Which turned into me calling pretty much all of the names that had her last name in the Nashville White Pages and calling the same number that I thought was the number she gave me five times.

And the same message from the person that I called, that I had the wrong number.

Before we all went to sleep, Tom figured that it was a good idea to watch Bill O’Reily’s interview on the David Letterman Show.

And me being a Democrat and a strong opponent of everything that O’Reily says, I figured that hearing a load of hogwash from some idiot conservative was not the way I wanted to end my day.

Saturday Oct. 28th:I woke up early to go outside and meditate as well as look out at the vi the city of Goodlettsville from our host family’s apartment.

As I returned back to the apartment, I ended up stubbing my toe after racing up a flight of stairs and grabbing my jacket and grimacing in pain.

I had calle my mother to let her know that I was okay and explained to her that the city I was in was once the home of the Oscar Mayer factory, a factory you could see off Interstate 65 when I was a kid.

Tom and I then headed out on Interstate 65 towards the Convention Center, where the conference was going to be.

We ended up getting off on the wrong exit and then getting back on Interstate 40 towards Downtown Nashville and got off at the right exit.

During the trip there, Tom (who once lived in Nashville) questioned me on everything baseball and I questioned him on everything rock (he thinks that Led Zepplin is the greatest metal band of all time).

When we walked into the ballroom that the conference’s events were being held in, the place had the feel of those church services I remembered as a kid.

I sat in the middle of large ballroom and rubbed shoulders with the brothers and sisters from the other churches around the region.

Midway through Ed Anton’s message, I figured that it would be a good idea to grab the morning paper and get some snacks and a pen to take notes on the packet that they gave us before we went into the ballroom.

So I went out Commerce Street and headed north on Opry Place to Broadway, which is where the Nashville Arena is located.

I went to a gift shop and bought a few Snickers and a Nestle Crunch, plus a Starbucks Fracuppcino (I don’t think I spelled that right) and looked at their line of guitars and fedora hats (they didn’t have any in stock).

I raced back down Broadway and went to the paper vending machine and got that morning’s Tennesseean and went back inside the Convention Center.

For lunch, Tom, another fellow church member, and I went with other brothers and sisters in the churches in Huntsville and Louisville to Demo’s, which from what I experienced, the best deal for a steak in Nashville (you only pay 14.95 for a 10 oz. steak).

While I was waiting on my food, I had thought I had spotted Kasi at the table near where we were sitting at.

Of course, I wasn’t about to take that risk of going over there and saying out loud in an already crowded place that it was indeed Kasi.

Which it wasn’t.

Chandler was updating me and Tom on the Ole Miss-Auburn game, thanks in part to the wonders of cell phone web browsers.

Before I began eating my scalloped shrimp, I found out that the guy who was sitting across from me was born a scant six months after Peanuts debuted in 1950.

Even his name was Charlie Brown.

When I was almost finished eating my shrimp, I thought it was a good idea to pull off the Auburn fleece that I had on.

Come to find out, the fleece was filled with so much lint, you would have thought that the people who made those fleeces stole it from a sheep in east Alabama.

Feeling ashamed, I covered my face up with my shirt and went into the bathroom to redeem myself and my hair.

James had to share news for our church, so knowing that he’s a bit unsure about speaking, I explained to him the same thing I said to him before we left for Nashville that Kevin put 12 ounces of faith in him, so that’s why he picked him to do it instead of somebody else.

I said, “Act like there’s no one out there and don’t worry about how it comes out.”

And he did an excellent job of sharing the news that we had in our church.

After we finished the third session of the day, I went around and introduced myself to a bunch of people from the churches around the region.

I went up to one, a very attractive girl from Nashville, and said that Tom and his band of brothers found me under a bridge and beat me senseless with a Bible and dragged me kicking and screaming to Nashville.

Of course, she didn’t buy into that.

When we in Memphis, Tom had told us to get him a low-carb burger from Backyard Burger.

Get to Music City, the guy becomes me on my good day, eating at every fast food place in the city of Goodlettsville.

We went to Dave and Buster’s, which is similar to Jillian’s at Peabody Place.

And similar to when I lost to the Black Widow in Memphis, I lost again to another female pool shark, who was beating me very soundly at first.

And being the ultra-competive person that I am, I was pretty bummed out that I lost on the last ball.

Away from that, I ended up winning 287 coupons by pretty much running amok on the arcade area of the place.

After we left, Tom decides again to eat at another fast-food place and then we talked about various things while we were on our way back to Dan’s house.

Sunday Oct. 29th: Nashville to me has always been a city of mystery and surprises, and in the back of my mind, I was hoping that Kasi would just pop up out of nowhere and we exchange hugs like what you see in those movies.

But that wasn’t the case.

At the Convention Center, we first attended classes that were taught by that weekend’s speakers, Ed and Debby Anton.

Then it was on to the ballroom, where we had an abundance of singing and praise as well as a powerful message from Ed Anton, who wrote a book on repentance and a book that Tom  and James were discussing during our trip up Interstate 40.

The girl that I told that story to about being found under a bridge and getting beat with a Bible and dragged kicking and screaming to Nashville and I exchanged email addresses, which was a small consolation for me forgetting Kasi’s number.

Before we got on the road, we ate at a Mexican resturant in the West End and oddly enough, the place was across from Vanderbilt University, which is where she attends.

A couple of guys I talked to weren’t even aware that you could get free coffee if those sucko Titans won on Monday.

Which they did.

After we finished eating, we got on the road and headed towards Memphis.

When were in Williamson County, we stopped at a gas station and the bathroom that I used had a coin-operating condom machine.

That actually works.

For 160 or so miles, I was struggling to keep my bladder under control, which was the other big story this weekend.

So by the time we got to Stanton, which is a city that I know too well because of my grandmother’s friend’s church, we stopped at this rinky-dink truck stop that looked like one of those truck stops you see in movies, both James and myself answered the call of nature.

And got back on the road.

We arrived in Memphis just as the sun came down, which was a very beautiful sunset over the interstate as we exited onto Germantown Parkway.

When I arrived home, the first thing I did was call Kasi and tell her what happened.

And to my surprise, she was concerned about me when I was there.

Interesting.

Another new writing opportunity

I will be writing some articles for Fumbled.org during the remaining part of the college football season starting this week with my top 25.

Check it out, they’ll be added to the blogroll, so when you come by, you can click to the link on the blogroll and it will take you to the website.

Sleepless in Memphis and holy rollers

I had spent much of the night thinking how I was going to write this column when I woke up this morning as another year older (I am 22 years old now).

When the week started, I knew that two things were going to happen.

The Cardinals were going to win the World Series and I was going to hang out with my friend Kasi when I went to Nashville with my (pause for dramatic effect) church this weekend.

The stars were supposed to be aligned for this.

A double shot of happiness in one week.

Well, triple shot, because my birthday is today.

But then she (as well as I) realized that the people in my church are going to do everything in their power to block me from her or even worse, pry out things that I figured she would feel uncomfortable talking about.

Late last night after Game 3 was finished and in the books, I had talked with Kasi at length about this weekend and what the plans were.

That’s when the crap hit the fan.

I can agree with her, the people in that church are nosey.

Wait a minute, most church folks are nosey.

That’s why they have those sick and shut in lists in many of the African-American churches.

So they can call you and ask about how you’ve been doing and worry you to death.

But back to the conversation, Kasi explained to me that the idea of hanging out with her while I was in town with my church would not be a good idea.

Of course, I don’t disagree with that because some of the people in that church have these oddball thoughts of people that are not part of their congregation.

The only consolation after I spent much of my time on the computer playing Home Run Derby and thinking of ways to get around the church and maybe seeing her, was that in whatever down time I had, we could talk to each other on the phone.

Sounds good.

Of course, the attitude that I have now is much different from what it was last year at this time.

We [Kasi and I] weren’t even on speaking terms after I returned from Music City after the infamous Music City Meltdown.