Man's Rants: from boy to Unfinished Rambler

Welcome to another day of my Man's Rants festival. Hope you're enjoying these posts in my absence. Unfinished Rambler is a new bloggy friend I met over at humorbloggers.com. He is very funny, and very generous with bloggy camaraderie. My kind of guy. Thanks, Rambler!



Heart beats silly like a big bass drum
By Unfinished Rambler

Rod Stewart - Infatuation


Oh, no, not again.

Every guy has been there, done that, Rod.

For me, my first infatuation walked in the door in second grade. Her name was Denise.

Never mind that was buck-toothed or had braces. She was…NEW. That’s all I needed to know. All the other girls in my class were “old hat.”

Later, she was the girl with whom I had my first kiss-- in the barn. Not as unromantic as it sounds. It wasn't where the cows were, but above them in the hay mow.

My second infatuation was Kellie: Like Woody in Cheers, I couldn't stop singing her praises even if it was spelled differently.

In sixth grade, classes from our four rural elementary schools (grades 1 through 6) combined for an annual trip to Washington, D.C. It was there that I first saw her: blonde-haired vixen from another school. And when I say "vixen," I mean this kind of Vixen (although this was before they even existed) and not this kind.

I was on a bus at the Lincoln Memorial when I first spotted her, talking with a group of her female classmates. It was very patriotic. I still can feel the butterflies I felt then, if I think about it (and when I watch the Fourth of July fireworks from Washington on TV over the Mall) and when I saw her at our 10th, 15th and 20th reunions , I still felt those butterflies, for just a moment.

My third infatuation upset my apple cart so bad that…

…one summer when I was home from college, working at a convenience store job, I decided to skip going to work and instead go to confess my love to Gwen-- who lived four hours away! She lived in an old farmhouse near the college and I thought for sure, she was The One.

I didn't get fired, but I did quit shortly after that. As weird as that was, looking back, I was glad I left the job-- no, not that I was creepy like that-- but because convenience store jobs suck (apologies to all you convenience store workers out there reading this; I don't mean to dash your illusions).

Worst part: I think I got there and she wasn’t there. All I remember ironically this song was playing on the radio of the living room of the farmhouse as I left:



It stayed with me for the next four hours-- ooh, ooh...