Frustration and loathing are alive and well on Rocky Top this ragged, autumn Sunday.  I have had worse weekends, but I can’t remember exactly when.  My Vols, my apathy, and my sexual cowardice have made me rethink my entire existence.  What was lined up to be a great, if not athletically victorious weekend, was wasted due to what can only be explained by a peculiar sort of je nais se quoi.

    There is a girl in Nashville that I am quite fond of.  She is also seemingly fond of me.  We have been dancing a long distance waltz of text messages and phone calls but have not been able to act on our feelings due to a former conflict of interest(I may or may not have slept with her best friend; several times.)  However, this issue had been resolved to the best of our ability, and I was quite eager to see her when she arrived Friday morning. 
   
    After the standard OCI lunch with her and Twon, we went up to the Skybox.  As she and I had beers high above Shields-Watkins Field, we chatted and laughed about the palpable sexual tension between us.  After an innuendo laden conversation, we left the Stadium, ran a couple of Gameday related errands, and went to Happy Hour at Sidestreet.  We were joined on the patio by the aforementioned “conflict of interest,”  and what probably should have been an awkward situation, was not. *


    *At this point in the story, the narrator, who has grown weary with details, has decided, in the name of Southern Decency, self preservation, and sheer espionage, to leave this section of the story to you, fair reader.   Let your imagination run wild.  Sit back, enjoy a cocktail, and imagine the possibilities of the stooooooorrrrrrrrryyyyyyy.....

    Much later...


    Tennessee lost to Florida by a lot.  I then walked a lot, got a cab, went to Rooster’s, lost the girl, stayed up late, and then found the girl.  Sleeping soundly on my couch.  For the second night of the weekend.  I totally Stoerner’d the situation and crawled into my freshly changed bed alone. 

    Sunday....

    “I need to go back to Nashville now.” she said
    “You sure you don’t want to lay around in Big Orange Country for a bit.” I fished.
    “No, gotta get back.”  Strike ten, I thought.


    Then I got drunk at brunch and called my ex’s new boyfriend a “dork.”  Aren’t I cool?  I agree.  Not even a little. 

    After such a horrible display, I decided to punish myself by going to Rooster’s, intent on totally drowning what was left of my shattered self esteem, all the while encouraging acute consumption in the process.  Mission accomplished. 


“A long way from happiness, in a three hour away town.  Whiskey bottle over Jesus.  Not forever, but just for now.”-  Uncle Tupelo