I have never been “cool”.

Never.

I've always been a klutz, a dork, and
any other monosyllabic or multi-syllabic noun that is synonymous with
“doofus.”

Words like “suave” and “graceful”
have never been used to describe me.

For those of you who don't know me
personally, I'll give you a visual:

Picture George Clooney. Conjure up
George in your mind: dashing, handsome, boyish smile, smooth, dapper
and just dripping with sex appeal.

Now, consider just the opposite of all
that, and . . . VOILA!.

There I am!

I was the Charlie Brownish kid, who,
was never popular in school. Never did anything to stand out. Had
friends, but not from the “cool” cliques.

I tried out for sports, but only
because I knew that would please my father, who was a HUGE jock back
in his high school days. (You know, captain of the basketball team,
track star, etc, etc, etc.

I never made a high school team.)

I tried out for Little League Baseball
every year for the same reason, and then one year, I actually made a
team because it was my last year of eligibility, and they HAD to pick
me, according the rules of Little League Baseball.

Because I wasn't very athletic, they
stuck me way the hell out in right field, where I was in little
danger of actually seeing any action.

Well, one day my dad was sitting in the
stands. I took the field to my usual position, way out in the middle of the dandelions, molehills and occasional deer in
beautiful, bucolic right field.

It had rained the
night before, and the grass under my feet was slick.

As I stood out
there, completely mesmerized by a Monarch butterfly that flitted by,
my concentration was suddenly broken by the crack of a bat and loud
cheers from the stands. I looked at the baseball diamond so many
miles away. The batter was tearing down the first base line.
Everybody else was looking up in the air. I also looked up, and
there, high in the sky and heading in my general direction, was the
baseball!

I recognized that
it was a baseball from pictures I had seen of them. I had never
actually seen one up close before because I had never caught one, and
I had certainly never hit one with a bat.

My first impulse
was to run away from the thing before it hit me and hurt me. However,
just as I poised myself to turn and run, I suddenly remembered that
it was my job to catch the damn thing. So, going against every
survival instinct known to mankind, I ran in to get under it. Then,
I realized that I had misjudged the trajectory of the ball, and I
attempted to reverse my direction.

Well, remember when
I said the grass was wet? I slammed on the brakes, and my feet
slipped out from under me. I crashed to the ground and landed flat
on my back. I hit so hard that I saw stars and had the wind knocked
out of me. Just as my vision began to clear again, the damned
baseball fell out of the heavens and bounced off of my stomach. Then
it rolled off towards center field.

I immediately
scrambled to my feet, not knowing what I supposed to do, but knowing
that I was supposed to do something! However, the center
fielder had already scooped the ball up and thrown it to second.

I shot a look over
to the stands. My dad was sitting there, staring down at his shoes
with his hands folded in his lap.

That was my last
day ever in a baseball uniform.

Ever.

That was
fun, huh?

&&&

Then there was the
time when I was freshman in high school, and I was madly in love with
Janice Podziak. Janice was a goddess with short, curly auburn hair,
dark, soul-searching eyes, the sweetest voice, the most engaging of
smiles . . . and huge tits.

She didn't even
know that I existed. She was in none of my classes. I knew nothing
about her except that I was in complete and unadulterated lust for
her. I learned her name from a friend of mine who shared a math class
with her.

I had gone to
several dances during the year, and fell madly in love with this
freshman girl. But, being the excruciatingly shy person that I was,
(and still am, for that matter), I admired her from afar, all the
time wishing that I had the guts to admire her from aclose.

Well, when the
final dance of the year rolled around, I found myself engaged in one
of the most gigantic and painful internal struggles of my life. This
was the last dance of the year. This was my last chance to introduce
myself to the love of my life! For two and a half hours, I stood
against the gymnasium wall on the boys' side of the dance floor,
pining away for Janice as I watched her laughing and talking to her
circle of girlfriends on the other side of the floor.

Then it happened.
The lead singer of the band announced that it was 10 o'clock, and
that this was to be the last song of the night.

With beads of sweat
pouring off of my forehead and a tingling sensation in my fingers and
toes, I pushed myself away from the cinder block wall and, while
trying not to think about what I was doing, I simply stormed across
the floor, and tapped Janice on the back. When she turned around and
looked at me, I invited her to dance by the traditional method of
pointing to an empty space on the dance floor and shrugging my
shoulders.

She smiled, nodded
her head, and followed me to the spot.

I danced like a
wild man! I was so happy and SO EXCITED!!!!! This is ME dancing with Janice Podzniak!!!!! CAN YOU FREAKING BELIEVE IT??????I
stared at her throughout the entire dance as she swung her hips,
moved her arms and legs and smiled sweetly back.

Oh
man! I was absolutely and
hopelessly GONE!!!!!!

When the music ended, I was just pumped beyond belief! This beautiful
creature actually danced with me and seemed to have a good time! At
the end of the dance, she thanked me and then just stood there,
waiting for my response. And boy! I was ready! I had a line that was
going to knock her off her feet! I said, “The pleasure was all
mine, JANICE!”

At the mention of her name, her eyes popped and a surprised smile
split her face in half. “Oh my GOD!” she exclaimed as she
came forward and put her hand on my chest. (She touched me!) “How do you know my name?”

I smiled my best Sean-Connery-as-James-Bond half-smile. I had her
right where I wanted her! Instead of answering her verbally, I went
to tap my temple with my finger, indicating how smart I was.

However, in my nervousness, my finger missed my temple, and plunged
into my eye up to the first knuckle.

At first Jacqueline was horrified, and through the haze of blurred
vision caused by watery eyes and extreme pain, I thought I saw deep
concern and compassion.

However, a few moments of me pretending that nothing was wrong, in
spite of wincing, profuse tear production, rapid blinking and a
sudden loss of the suave 007 composure, her scowl of concern turned
into dancing eyes and giggles.

I, of course, was mortified, and, with my tail between my legs, I
slinked back to the boys' side of the gym.

Once again, ole Charlie Brown failed to impress The Little Red-Haired
Girl.

(Sigh!)

Rats!