Hey Joe

Crafting Terminology

Long time readers are familiar with Stan, a young man whose life of calamity occasionally finds its way into the pages of this blog.

Over the past several months, a young lady has been giving Stan the obvious impression that she thinks he's the cat's pajamas. The problem? Said lady has a boyfriend and Stan's strong, morals prevent him from crossing the line of her thong. Well, sort of.

Stan recently reported that the two of them had "fooled around." Sometime after this encounter (I sensed from Stan's report that it was immediately after, if not during) she decided that, given the time and energy she'd already invested, it would be wise of her to reassess her relationship with the boyfriend and determine if what they had was worth salvaging. During this reassessment period Stan would receive the occasional late night text message, and even a late night phone call during which she broke down, the result of having seen some hard action on the relationship front.

The sympathetic ear and mushy shoulder lead to yet another encounter, for suddenly Stan finds himself "making out" with her the evening before she is scheduled to spend a weekend away with said BF.

And?

He hasn't heard from her since.

I think it's safe to say that things have returned to "Stan-us Quo."

Welcome to the middle, Stan

So the never-ending saga that is Constant Reader Stan's life has just taken a very interesting turn. OK, perhaps "turn" is too gentle a term, as it conjures up tranquil visions of a winding country road and a leisurely Sunday drive. So let's substitute "turn" for multiple car roll-over with resultant pile up and likely fatalities. That or a kick in the taint.

Stan is about 35 years of age, eldest of two; currently single (see past post for just a few of the reasons), the product of a more or less a normal, middle class upbringing. With the exception of a lack of regular female companionship, Stan's life is rolling along rather nicely; there's steady work, frequent camping trips, the occasional opportunity to rock the decks (need to clarify this term please Stan) and endless supplies of room-temperature Budweiser. The highway is straight and smooth. Yes I think it's fair to say that things are rolling along rather nicely.

But wait! What's that up ahead? Seems there's a strange protuberance looming out of the otherwise velvety tarmac of Stan's life. Let's listen in:

INT. KITCHEN – EARLY EVENING

Mother of Stan (obviously emotional)

I have some news for you.

STAN (becoming concerned)

What? What is it mom?

M.O.S.

In the late 60's, when I was 21….your father and I had a son that we gave up for adoption.

STAN offers a blank stare

M.O.S.

I realize that for 35 years you've lived under the assumption that you're my oldest son and that you and your younger brother are our only children, but you've been living a lie. We all have. You have an older brother…and apparently a sister-in-law and two nephews.

STAN (stammering)

I…I have a Racer X? What does that make me? Speed? Sparky? Freakin' Chim-Chim??

M.O.S.

I've carried this secret for years and have wanted to tell you. I probably wouldn't have chosen this particular moment to break the news, but out of the blue I received a letter from him, along with photos of my….grandchildren.

STAN

Gaaaahhhh

M.O.S.

I imagine you're pretty well shaken about all this.

STAN

Rocked is more the case. I need to be alone for awhile to drive around aimlessly before eating some red meat at Izzy's Steak House.

M.O.S.

I understand. You take some time to let it sink in before moving your things out of Racer X's room. He is older, after all, and deserves the larger room. You've had it long enough.

STAN

Gaaaaahhhhhh…aAAK

To be continued….

The Trouble with Stan

So "constant reader" Stan has once again shared with me the misfortune that is his life. Here is the nutshell version.

Stan goes camping with an unattached hottie and another actual couple, so the numbers are perfect for an encounter. Said hottie prances around all week in a bikini, flirting, getting drunk, even sharing a tent, only to completely ignore poor Stan so far as any physical contact.. 

Stan is understandably confused. Is this girl just a tease? A nut job? What gives? As usual, it must be because he's Stan. 

Further encounters involving too much booze result in further frustration and confusion.   

Stan eventually discovers that said hottie might be knocked up with some other bone's kid, and that her possible condition is the most likely the reason for the cold cooch treatment while camping. 

Stan, still valiantly attempting to get laid, employs Catholicism and compassion, arguing the virtues of being a responsible adult and the need to take whatever steps are necessary to uncover the truth of her condition. That she owes it not only to herself, but to her God and possibly her unborn child. 

Hottie discovers that she is sans bun which, conceivably, opens the door for Stan to commence bush diving, however as of the time of this writing Stan lives about 180 miles from the hottie and the connective couple in question is moving out of state, thereby killing any chance of recreating the foursome, thereby leaving Stan with a horrendous case of the blue sack and, the realization that he is once again suffering an incurable case of Stan-itis.

Please pray for him.