The world according to, as it pertains to and how it revolves around me.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Big foam finger heeeah!
What a wonderful night watching the Olde Towne Team. I wish that the outcome could have been different, but man did they let one slip away. The night's lowlights: Aaron "Bleeping" Boone solo shot in the second, Kevin Millar's stone feet/glovework at first and Keith Foulke letting the wheels come off for another loss/blown save. Other than that everything was dandy, Bellhorn even did some nice things at the plate. Alas going to watch a baseball game is not always about the game itself. It may kill some people to hear me say that because I consider myself a true fan of the Red Sox. I remember watching the days of Tony Pena* behind the plate and the Big Q(uintana) man first. So while our trusty closer blew another win, the night was indeed a fun one. Anytime you can combine imbibing mass quantities of beer and spend time with your saucy roommate fun is sure to follow.
Oh and the seats were tre magnifique. I was not only haughty, but managed to be taughty as well. I was able to turn around and see all the proletariat crammed into their little blue seats. Moral of the story: 1) be born into money, 2) know/blow someone in the media, 3) wait in line for 6 hours in the freezing cold to get a chance to buy tickets.
We've both been so busy of late that we haven't really seen much of each other, but tonight was Quan and Blonde bondathon night. In exchange for one primo third base box seat I was the recipient of one of the finest Miller Lites Fenway offered, a large twist ice cream cone, a medium Diet Coke. Not to mention that I am now the owner of a Boston Red Sox #1 Foam Finger! Check another item off the list of things that I want in life.
It's too hot to sleep in my bedroom so I'm going camping. Not the kind of camping I was supposed to do in Maine a few weeks ago, nor the kind of camping my buddy Matt is doing out on the West Coast. Camping out in my living room where the air condition is keeping things cooler. The land of TV and of temperatures where sleep is attainable. Now that's the kind of camping I'm talking about.
Well actually the more I learn about camping the more I think I would enjoy (tolerate) it (for no more than 2 nights/days consecutively). Basically it's staying up late, sitting around a fire and drinking. And if you play your cards right there ends up being sleeping bag nookie. And if fate is not on your side a bear comes and mauls you while sleeping. Either way you have a great story to tell the next time you are sitting around a campfire and drinking... while camping.
Republished after much heming and hawing and friendly roundtable discussion with my collegues...
Attention Date: So the next time we see each other, a hearty fuck you is in order.
Seriously what were you thinking? Was I completely off-base to assume that when you invited me back to your place at 2 am it was for more than milk and cookies? Was I completely wrong in this regard? Because we're sitting on your bed and all of a sudden you come up with "I don't think I can handle a relationship right now."
Insert major tire-squeak sound FX here as I don't know what the hell just happened. Why the hell are you talking about a relationship at this time? We haven't even gone out on a real "date" yet. Our time together has consisted of meeting at a bar the week prior, a splendid hour-long getting to know you conversation and this booze-fueled encounter. Funny how in the span of 48 hours things go from "I really want to go out sometimes this weekend," to pulling "I don't think I can handle a relationship right now." And is that the best you can do? Are you bipolar or just really like messing with my head? Because being all over each other in the car ride back to your place usually leads to other things. But that's just me.
Talk about false pretenses. Holding hands and being all over each other isn't just a nice little friendly thing to do. Maybe you had a change of heart, maybe you have a boyfriend that you didn't tell me about, or maybe you derive joy in messing with people? Either way you suck. I can't even express the utter shock and what the fuckness of the entire situation. It's not simply about being frustrated with the utter lack of making out (well partly), but it is so dramatically not cool to send someone home at 4:30 am after a night of imbibing many alcoholic beverages.
Going home with you was the polar opposite of an otherwise wonderful Friday night.
The eagle has landed. Poppa bird has acquired the package. All systems go. I am all that is man.The exchange was made and she was none the wiser. I ROCK.
Operation Tub Res-Q was a smashing success. I am now in possession of one said red sandwich Tupperware. And I couldn't have done it without the help of my Accomplices (both new and old friends; a hearty thanks to all who assisted). And since I just met a few of you tonight, please don't think that I am in the habit of sweet-talking my way into acquiring plastic containers from random girls... ok, well sometimes.
It was a lot easier than I thought. I called and left a message. She called me back saying she was already in her PJs and didn't want to go out, but wanted to know if I wanted to stop by. I played it cool and was able to swing by, make a bit of chitchat regarding her new job, the start of summer and the random accident (some idiotic girl rode her bike into a T) that occurred outside the bar. I was in like Flynn, cool Steele and suave like Bond. Hot.
So I'll pat myself on the back and all the new faces that I met tonight you will always remember the day that Mike Quan got his Tupperware back.
And it was an awesome night out. The 3rd time this week in fact, oh yeah I forgot to mention it's only Wednesday (I'm making this week go by on rails). Alumni trivia night at the Pub. Scoring free drinks and eating BBQ. Winning a $10 Best Buy gift card for winning. Being able to take a sandwich to lunch tomorrow without using a plastic bag. Lovely night all around.
"We're probably looking at about a year, maybe by the All-Star break next year he'll be back."
Not the words that Dodger fans want to hear about closer Eric Gagne. ESPN reports that Gagne will have season-ending Tommy John surgery this Friday to repair the ulnar collateral ligament in his right arm.
This is more than just a typical injury, as Gagne was perhaps the most feared man coming out of the bullpen with a one-run lead. Before he even set foot on the mound, GnR's "Welcome to the Jungle" blaring through Chavez Ravine, the Dodgers had guaranteed themselves a win. For 84 straight games Eric Gagne only meant one thing: GAME OVER.
The first day wearing shorts, dining al fresco, eating ice cream 4 times a week and girls in bikinis: all valid signs that summer is upon us, but tonight was the official start of it all. Summer solstice baby, longest day of the year. And what better way to spend it than grilling and spending quality time with friends... on the porch... drinking beers.... watching the sun set at 8:40.
An amazing dinner, as usual, the result of a combined effort. Having people over is an amazing thing. The Jule and JFo hitting up the supermarket, yours truly manning the grille like the now-seasoned pro that I am. All the while drinking up some tasty summer brews and enjoying some tasty watermelon, animal style. Menu: BBQ chicken with a bourbon glaze, grilled zucchini & summer squash, zesty red potatoes & onions and an absolutely fabulous salad. Yums all around.
So here's to an amazing summer, full of scantily-clad drunken adventures, mindless wandering, festival gathering, cheap outdoor dating, movie theatre air conditioning, frisbee frisbeeing (??), ice cream eating good times all around.
Let's just start by saying that it's not just any Tupperware. It is the perfect size for holding one sandwich (two slices of bread, three slices of turkey/ham or two slices of roast beef and one slice of cheese with all the fixins I could possibly want) but a shining example of technology and the triumph of the Amerincan spirit working in harmony.It is vintage and retro; not to mention that it's the one my mom used to use when she packed my lunches way back in gradeschool. You won't find it in stores, beleive me I've looked. There are two setsavailable via the interweb but buying someone's used tupperware is wrong on some many different levels. OK, now that that's out of the way, I want it back.
Background: So I am now in the uneviable task of retrieving said Tupperware (the Tub) from the clutches of 8-Minute Girl (8MG), who is neither evil, vindictive nor clingy; I'm just not that crazy about her. As to why she has the Tub, I only have myself to blame. On the night of our last encounter I was making a batch of chocolate-chip cookies to bring to my co-workers the next day and thought to myself, "wouldn't it be nice to bring 8MG and her roommate a cookie?" This would not only be an automatic excuse for any delays that I would encounter finding parking, but also boost my status in the eye's of her roommate. Booyah - mad cookie points!
Ultimately, through the course of the night, I realized that things just weren't clicking. And despite the fact that the Tub was still at her residence, I did not feel that it was in my best interest at the end of the night to "go upstairs" to retrieve it.
Plan: So how do I manage to extract the Tub from her? After much musing invloving ropes, pulleys and tazers, I've decided that the best plan of action is to arrange a meeting where she will bring the so-called Tupperware with her and a handoff will take place. Simple enough you say. Oh no, here's the rub. I do not want to continue any sort of relations with 8MG, nor do I want to have to pay for another night's worth of entertainment. Oh and I guess leading her on would not be the most prudient or moral decision on my part. But I have to keep reminding myself that in the game of love and plastic lunchtime containers a little rain must fall.
I am entrusting the help of a few friends (Accomplices) to disengage any potentially misguided directives sent her way. A crowd of new faces will not only disarm and confuse her, but will also put things on the "Hey, everyone's reaching for their own wallet when the bill comes" level.
Action: Call her tonight to make chit chat and set up the possiblity for a meeting Wednesday night, when I have an alumni event that I will be attending with a few friends (Accomplices, knowing and unknowing). Afterwards we will mosey on to a watering hole located conveniently near her place of living. "Hi we're on our way to X (Location), want to meet us in a few? Oh, while I'm thinking of it, can you grab my Tupperware from the other night? Thanks a bunch. See you in a few."
Payoff: Some introductions are made. A few drinks are shared. The Exchange takes place. I depart and through an elaborate network of favors, payoffs and circumstance, my mysterious disapperance from the Unite States will be made known to her. And just like that I'm off scott-free Tupperware in hand.
People are a crazy bunch; sports fans in particular. So it didn't completely shock me when I heard that a couple in San Antonio, TX are now the proud parents of the recently born Ginobili Jose Ray San Miguel Ramirez. Kind of just rolls off the tongue, no? Parents Renee and Jorge are tremendous fans of the San Antonio Spurs in general and Argentinean two-guard ManuGinobili in particular.
So it got me thinking, what if my parents decided to name me after the hottest things in the year I was born: 1980.
EruzioneQuan:
Keeping with the sports theme, and perhaps one of the most famous moments of the Cold War era, "The Miracle on Ice" parleys quite well with the "Miracle of my Birth". Remember that without Eruzione, there would be no Allen Robert Michaels and thus Monday nights would be much less entertaining. Or perhaps my parents foreshadowed my prolific career at Boston University, where Captain Eruzione played his collegiate hockey and now resides as a thousands of dollar per hour corporate huckster. The GipperQuan:
Actor-turned-Republican stalwart-turned President. That's me in a nutshell. Although I do love jelly beans.
J.R. Quan:
Larry Hagman may have come and gone, but his fictitious namesake lives on in the age-old question: Who shot J.R.? Not only did Dallas lay the foundation for the oldest trick in the book: the season finale cliffhanger - but also made being a ten-gallon hat wearing, S.O.B. oil tycoon acceptable to mainstream America.
Editor's note: All events considered occurred in 1980, not prior to my actual birth date. Give me a break; this is supposed to be funny.
The Jule often times asks me what she does with her time. I tell her to blog it down so she will remember and that she should slow down on the coke, as it's really affecting her memory. The weekend was a blur, so I'll try to do my best. Six Flags was a blast. Going on rides, drinking beer and eating dippin' dots on the company dime, plus it was some quality coworker bonding. Plus I learned a new term from Whit: Wal-Mart feet, that describes the blackened color of one's foot from not wearing shoes.
And what turned out to be a quiet night, turned into one of those nights, as I get a message from Frank saying that he's flying in and I need to pick him up at the airport at 9:30. This was at 6:40 and I was about 2 hours from home. Naturally his plane is delayed and the pickup is closer to 11:30, but it goes without saying that Frank is on the short-list of people I would pick up at the airport. I've also realized that I've reached another momentous stage in my life, where a friend comes into town and I can take him/her out to dinner and it's not a big deal. Well it's a big deal because I get to do less catching up and more not missing a beat. Of course the standby for such an occasion is C-Town, the only place in town where you can get a decent plate of sweet and sour post midnight. Then back to the apt. where we had some SportsCenter and a bottle of tequila to finish off.
So if I've known you long enough, you've invariably heard my modeling story. If not then that's one crown jewel you have missed out on. Instead you will resign yourself knowing that I helped the Blonde out with a photoshoot Saturday. It's for the album cover of her boy's band. The general theme was a bunch of posh, socialites gathered at some soiree, too concerned with the size of their own surgically enhanced breasts and flourishing mutual funds to notice the dead body floating around in the pool. I believe things went off without a hitch, save the sweltering heat and the fact I was wearing a suit.
I also ran into HotdogGirl and managed to neither alienate her, nor feel like a complete jackass. Bravo.
My new guilty pleasure: the 24-hour car wash. The staple of nights drinking, talking about jobs, women, life, etc. turned, "I knew we should have never gotten that hooker, how the hell are we going to get rid of the evidence" " everywhere. I wish it was closer so I could be drunk while I'm cleaning my car.
I also have felt dramatically underdressed the past two days. Today I feel borderline nekkid. It's been practically 90 plus the entire week and the office AC works as well as employees at Hot Topic. So I'm wearing shorts today and yesterday was my cabana-wear white pants ensemble.
Red Sox v. Cubbies: The Scalper's Dream. And I got a case riding on this one with Windy City friend, Bwise. Enjoy the game man. Oh and I heard that Nomar is going to be getting his WS ring today. Ouch. Thanks beautiful.
Part I: So how bout a little soul bearing to start things off. Prior to living with my lovely, wonderful roommates I was a bit apprehensive about moving out of my parent's house. My job situation wasn't the most perfect and I would have liked to save a bit more money. But being able to live with two friends was an offer that I couldn't pass on, especially when the alternative was being back in the Ville far from anyone. As is my nature I was extra cautious and needed to be talked into it. Just like ripping off a band-aid or going into cold water, slow and steady is the way to go. Oh wait, no. Well moving on, I think I was sold after a few vigorous rounds of Frostys and when Blonde told me all about her cute friends. Hook, line and sinker I was in. Not that I'm living with her soley because she has cute friends, in fact most have significant others, which proved to be a most disappointing development. One girl I really hit it off with, she of the Celtics headband, but of course she was in/out with this other dude. So alas for not. But that was back in January or so. And I don't believe I have really talked to her since then. I would hang out with her again though, and not because her boy is a weenie, but because she was totally a chill chick. And so my latest crush de jour was Blonde's other friend, Hot dog Girl (HdG). We've hung out a few times, but at my BBQ a few weeks ago I really felt a happy connection. So we exchanged email addresses and I was digging her. We corresponded for a bit and I thought we were supposed to go out. But Blonde gave me the head's up that she is with a boy, albeit may be on the market. Sadly not so much. After a few too many emails she dropped the news that yes, in fact she is with someone. Total bums, because she was fun. And now most likely it will be weird, well maybe not weird, but not cool. So I ask myself should we still hang out? Part of me says yes, part of me says no. But HdG was/is fun. And who am I to turn down a new friend. Isn't that what living life is about? Plus I'm a sucker for blondes. Part II: So it comes with great disappointment that I have to inform you that 8-minute girl # 3 and I are engaged in an epic game of phone/email tag. But to tell you the truth I'm not heart broken over it. In fact I never really felt the spark, but the fact she didn't return my return call, pisses me off. Granted the first time I called I got a pizza place and the second time I called I got the pickup/hangup instead of voicemail, which leads me to believe she is not happy for some reason. Why that is I do not know. Perhaps it was because I called her back a few days later than she expected. Less than a week, six if you don't count the actual night out as a day. But calling a girl back after six days is money right?
But it wasn't my fault I had a busy weekend. I hate being polite and should have just been upfront with her. I'm a total advocate in the initial spark, so I should have left it at that. Because as Manny Ramirez said, "You make your own destination." All I really try to be is honest. Well maybe honest isn't the right word. Sincere, yes that is what I strive to be when it comes to affairs of the heart. Update: I'm not an ass for not calling back in time, I'm an idiot for having her phone number programmed into my cell phone wrong. Yup, smooth as... Broken glass. Yet oddly enough she wasn't that upset when I explained it to her and for whatever reason that bothers me. Am I not emotionally unstable?
So taking a look over the few recent happenings ,when it comes to being single I am taking a new lease on things. My days of following the Bushido of the Dirtbag are over. Being genuine is good for me. Ultimately I'm a better person for it. This change isn't due to meeting Miss Right. That's the thing, the perpetual search for a hot piece of tail/girl of my dreams is just too much. Don't worry I'm joining the pink team anytime soon. Just putting more stock in quality vs. quantity argument. So good bye Double Down and hello Steve. Or at least a reasonable attempt at achieving real.
Remember that game kids used to play on the school playground? My dad's a doctor, my dad's a rocket scientist. Well my dad can beat up your dad. Well there's a new game and it's my Mom is cooler than your mom. And just so no one gets their panties in a knot this isn't an indictment on how you were raised. Because it goes without saying that everyone has a unique situation growing up. I am very thankful to both my parents for working so hard to raise me properly with values, respect for others and certain life comforts.
But with that being said, my mom rules!
And it's not one of those things were she's so not cool, she becomes cool ala Marge Simpson or Napoleon Dynamite. No squares here. As all my friend's know my parents are night owls, I guess that's where I get it from too. Sometimes it's annoying like in high school coming home drunk & stumbly and having your mom on the couch watching Extra, Extra! But that just means that she can let me know that there's chocolate cake to eat.
I'm sure lots of mothers and sons have close relationships, but it's pretty funny when your bummed about breaking up with your girlfriend and your mom can pull out the "I've noticed a pattern with all your previous girlfriends. And well based on your track record, it would seem that their (girlfriend's) boobs always seem to be larger than previously" card. Oh my god did my mom just say that? That's hilarious. And no I don't think I will be following the exponential boob rule. I can't/want a girl with Es. No sir, I do not.
Before you draw any Oedipal symbolism, I'll clear up what this is all about. So I had some tickets to the Sox game that I was supposed to go with my roommate, but she came down with a horrible cold and was in condition to go. So I asked my mom if she wanted to go instead. I knew my dad was going to be working today and she didn't have any plans. Besides how often do I have the opportunity to thank my mom for, well pretty much everything?
So my mom rules because she keeps it real. She rocks a Red Sox jersey t-shirt, says she doesn't want a hotdog, but eats one anyways and wanted to stay until that 27th out was nailed down. No LA fans here. Not to mention she belted out "Sweet Caroline" during the eighth, she booed Mark Bellhorn when he struck out looking and most impressively she knew that when Wade Miller left the game after giving up the tieing run he was going to get a No Decision. Wow I was going to ask her to explain the infield fly rule, but I was scared.
Oh yeah my mom will take on all comers in a Crab Rangoon making battle royale. Any takers?
It goes without saying that I'm a lover, not a fighter. But it also should be known that I like to run my mouth and generally think that I'm better than the rest of the general population. So while it's always an awkward moment when some Neanderthal decides he has a bone to pick with me. Calling me an "asshole", dramatically not cool. Without question I'm an ass, a smartass even, but an asshole, no not really.
Anyways I was out last night with the Jule, her boy and another friend. A lovely evening if there was one, so we actually ventured into the big bad city for some shopping, drinking and general beautiful people watching.
Tangent Alert: 1) I am absolutely smitten with the girl who works at Sugar Heaven on Newbury. She's not quite at the waitress at the old Deli Haus with the butterfly tattoo on her neck (1998) and the manager at the Kenmore Starbucks (2001-2) level, but she's top 6. 2) I would like to be able to live the lifestyle that affords me certain comforts and the ability to obtain what I desire (I need more money so I can buy more stuff.) All I wanted was this book and this belt and these jeans, but I could only afford this CD.
Anywho we're sitting inside Whiskey's and it's pretty crowded and there's a line waiting outside. Everyone's talking and laughing when this dude taps on the window, looking inside for something. He says something intelligible, to Jule,through the glass. The line moves and he says something to me, but this time it's through the screen window instead of glass. In fact he really wants to get my attention and pokes at me through the window; of course the screen proceeds to fall in causing a big ruckus. Manager comes over to see what's going on. I'm here just to have a drink and not cause any hassles so I tell the manager that, "this ass clown outside is knocking things over". That's it end of story or so I thought.
All of a sudden three HUGE bouncers pull an A-Team and go outside removing the dude from line. OMG what just happened?!? Now the dude and his friends are all pissed off and calling me an asshole. Whatever. I'm inside, they're outside. Deal with it. Come on man I obviously didn't tell the bouncers to not let you in. I was just making sure I wasn't going to take the blame for you being a dick. Chill. You've got an orange shirt on, I've got an orange shirt on. Then he tells me that I should go outside. Hmm... not so much.
I'm Mike Quan. I use humor in uncomfortable or awkward situations. I use sarcasm to disfuse potentially combative encounters. If need be.I will rock you like a hurricane.
So I'm debating whether I should go down the road of weekend recap, but since there was so much that happened I'll do it. It was a long weekend made even longer with my cousin coming up the past Thursday and me taking Tuesday. Man I don't recall the last time that I've had such a jam-packed weekend of events. Ah the extended Memorial Day weekend.
Successfully made the pickup of my cousin, who I've come to know a lot closer in the recent years. For example his nickname is the Duke and the guy loves, loves Kelly Clarkson. I knew he was a sucker for pop music, but I attributed that to Shakira being hot. Alas, in the past week I have listened to KISS 108 nonstop as the Duke was convinced that he was going to win Kelly Clarkson's BMW. We never even figured out the phone number of the station, total bums on all accounts. And you know you're rolling with family when your flight is delayed and when it finally arrives around midnight, you make a trip down to C-Town for a late dinner. Yum, I love fried spicy squid and tofu, no matter if the clock says I should be up in 5 hours.
Friday night we went to a going away party for my friend's Krissy & Alex. They're trading in their Dunkin Donuts, "wicked cool's" and Sox gear (in his case Yankee garb, boo, I know) for the earth quakes, sour dough and alternative lifestyles of San Francisco. It sucks to have two really great friends move across country, but that just means I'll have a place to crash when I visit NoCal. Krissy already made me swear I'd visit in the next year.
Speaking of happy couples, a good friend of mine from high school tied the knot on Saturday. The wedding was in Rhode Island at this quaint country club. Amazing weather and gorgeous views of the ocean. I'm so glad I've reconsidered my stance on world's colliding as a friend from college was also in attendance, as I introduced her to the Bride a few months back. You can't go wrong when you err on the side of good friends, especially friends who willingly give you two of their baked stuffed shrimp. Oh yes, did I tell you about the food? Amazing: filet mignon and baked stuffed shrimp. Frankly it was the best wedding food I have ever tasted and I would venture to say that it was quality food that I would expect from an actual restaurant.
In honor of being able to finally wear white pants again and to christen my new grill, Sunday was my Pre-Memorial Day BBQ. For the most part the weather cooperated, albeit some Dylan-esque clouds descended upon us, but luckily the storm passed quickly. Soon enough everyone was back to hacky-sacking, wiffle balling and burger munching. A nice assortment of old college friends, roommates, HS friends and new friendly faces. A grand time had by all. I also spiked my first watermelon courtesy of Matt G. (although everyone was looking forward to the corn on the cob he promised) and at the conclusion of May my Official Summer Hotdog Tally now numbers 11.
