I love my buddy Steve. It’s a true, unfiltered, pure love. And I’m not afraid to blog about it. (Does that make me an official blogger, now? Oh wait, I think I need readers for that).
Here are some reasons:
1) The morning after he arrived, we were preparing to meet up with Tiff and Alice at Kathleen’s 5 when I asked him if he wanted to shower first or second. I adore my apartment (and may have to give it up soon, sniff snort), but one of its few failings is its serious lack of water pressure. Steve, having crashed here many a time, knows this, so I figured he understood the question.
“You go ahead, I have to do some work first. Let me use the bathroom really quick, but you go ahead and shower first.”
So I did. And of course, halfway through my daily Herbal Essence orgasm, my water pressured dropped and the water got cold. Motherfucker! With shampoo in my eyes I screamed out to Steve, but he couldn’t hear me as he was, naturally, taking a shower!
I sat bitterly sat there as he walked out of the guest bathroom, a huge column of steam following him out.
“Did you notice how the water suddenly got really hot soon after you went in,” I asked.
“Yeah, thanks man.”
2) On Friday night we were shooting pool at Racks with Clint, Mike, Tiff and the girls. It was smoky and everyone was sort of boozed up. I had just completed one of those amazing runs of 7 straight victories, which I attribute to not having my glasses on. Somehow, someway, everything works out better for me when I can’t see shit.
Anyway, as we were chilling by the pool table, I started looking for Steve. Where did I find him but playing at the foosball table…BY HIMSELF. Yes, he had walked out of the bathroom and just decided to play with little rubber men bound together by a metal rod all by himself. I still laugh when I think about that sight.
3) The past few trips Steve has made out to Shanghai, he’s scheduled his flight up to Beijing on Monday morning. The past few trips Steve has made out to Shanghai, he has missed this flight and had to come back. Determined not to make the same mistake again, he purposefully scheduled his flight to leave Sunday night instead. It was on that night (yesterday) that we saw him scrambling to pack his shit so he could grab dinner with Tiff and Alice and then head straight to Hongqiao airport.
“Remember, you HAVE to leave by 8:30 if you want to make your 9:50 flight,” I told him, leaving him with what I believed to be enough buffer to get even Steve safely on board. He agreed.
So it was with great force that I tried to keep myself from spitting out beer at Time Passage last night when I heard the news that Steve was heading back to meet us from the airport, after once again missing his flight. Somehow, he had thought 9:10 and 8:30 pm were pretty much the same thing.
“How’s Beijing,” Clint asked, as Steve dragged his huge suitcase into the bar.
Or maybe he just couldn’t part with us. Either way, come back soon Steve. I’m sure you’ll kick your own ass at foosball one of these days.
