I’m thinking aboutthis weekend and all the things I did. As weekends go, cold and wet, it pretty much sucked.
I play tennis at 8am on Saturday, a bad decision and bad start. It’s 32 with a wind chill of 7. Stupid idea. Snot cascades uncontrollably from my nose. I walk off the court — quit! — after 45 painful minutes. I go to Starbucks and have a Grande Latte with whipped cream. I come home. I eat two pieces of leftover pizza of questionable vintage. I turn the TV on and off, trying to find anything to watch, which is like waiting for Texas to score 10 points, but that’s the end of the story. I hit Wiffle golf balls in my front yard. I shoot baskets for a minute, until the ball gets stuck in the hedges. I read a few chapters of a book about the WWII invasion of Japan that never happened. I fall asleep. Kelly’s home with $500 worth of dog and cat treats, new bowls, and a year’s supply of canned cat food. I play with the dogs and the cat. Kelly thinks this is cute and decides to take movies. She can’t find the tape so, frustrated, she goes off to look for more shoes to fill her third closet. I log on to AOL. No mail. I check out the Harry Potter Web site. Kelly comes home with no shoes but with Dr. Chocolate chocolate-covered popcorn. I eat a lot of that. I watch the 6pm news. I go to a bad basketball game. I eat a bad hot dog. I come home, eat more chocolate-covered popcorn. I let the dogs out and in. They’re wet. I wipe eight paws. I try to watch television with Kelly but she’s watching her DVD of X-Men for the 67th time. I lie upon the couch and read a few more chapters about the invasion of Japan that never happened. I take as many pills as seem necessary to keep me asleep all night. I go to bed. So passes Saturday.
Sunday dawns slightly warmer, but gloomier than yesterday. I feed the pushy, fat animals. I watch The Sports Reporters, hoping desperately for a column idea. No dice. The sports world is so dead that they actually argue about today’s NBA All-Star game. I jog around the lake in a steady, cold drizzle. My puny two miles feels — as always — like 26. I suffer badly. Wet, I go to Starbucks for a Grande coffee, room for cream. I read two sports sections. I consider canceling my Dallas Morning News subscription. The Starbucks lady efficiently tosses out my half-full coffee. She seems to feel bad. She gives me more. I go home. Hmm, there’s some popcorn left. I have some. Kelly’s still asleep. Think I’ll go upstairs and accidentally make some noise. Maybe wake her up to share the day … maybe not. I look at a new tree in the back yard. I walk around the house. My ex-wife calls. I’m already so bored I actually answer the phone, a most unusual action. Kelly’s up! We make breakfast. She has biscuits. I make pancakes. I eat too much. Kelly goes back to sleep. In desperation, I watch, for the first time in my life, a NASCAR race. I enjoy it … which really is disturbing. Maybe I should take some more drugs. I flip through all 1,000 television channels. Nothing. I’ll go hit some golf balls. It starts to drizzle again as I pour my basket of balls on the ground. I had a catastrophic day in the sand last week. I skulled ’em over the green. I left ’em in the trap. I place 10 balls in the sand today and knock all 10 softly onto the green. I really don’t see what the point is in practicing golf. Wet again, I go home. Kelly’s still asleep. Maybe she’s dead. I observe for a while, until she rolls over. I go in the TV room and sit in the dark gloom. Maybe pre-season football’s not so bad. Oh good, it’s 3pm. The XFL’s on. I watch for 10 minutes. This is pre-season football … with ugly uniforms. Here comes Kelly. She feels “sluggish and depressed.” I tell her she’s lucky, at least she’s been asleep. She takes over the TV room. I have a headache. I take a pill … maybe I’ll get a small buzz. I peruse the UT basketball media guide, half-heartedly looking for column stuff. I eat some more popcorn and have three crackers dipped in sour cream. My head still hurts. I log on to AOL. No mail. I log on to Explorer. No mail. I have a column idea. I spend a long time going through 200 pounds of newspaper, trying to find yesterday’s sports page. It’s disappeared. This pisses me off. Kelly doesn’t care. She wants me to leave her alone; she has “her own problems.”
Of all the things I did this dreary weekend, I’d put watching Kelly roll over on the top of the list for fun; a close second was feeding the dogs. At the bottom — the hands-down winner for the most boring, on a minute-by-minute basis — was watching Oklahoma demolish and demoralize the Texas basketball team and everybody watching.
Next week I’ll do my job and dissect what’s turning out to be an ugly (win or lose) season for the Longhorns.
This article appears in February 16 • 2001.