It's Time

April was a looooooong time ago.  Here's a quick list of things I've done over the last eight (8!) months: drank a bunch (including this Captain and Coke I'm currently drinking), celebrated an extended Memorial Day weekend in South Dakota where I drank a bunch, enjoyed the shit out of summer with quite a few drinks, tailgated 7 home games for the Browns which, shockingly, included all kinds of drinking.  In between, I helped celebrate my dad's 60th(!) birthday, was a groomsman at a good friend's wedding, went cabrewing (canoeing with coolers) with about 8 college friends, went to the Pitchfork Music Fest, saw Neil Young and Crazy Horse, accidentally stole some poor girl's keys from the bar, and even managed to keep my job. 

There's not a chance I could recount all of these magical memories, and I won't even try.  Mostly because there are a LOT of fuzzy details.  And also because that would be very boring to read:
"In the third week of April, I did this.  The next week I went here.  Then I did this."

See?  Not exciting.  But you know what is exciting?  Stories about my friends.
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I went to a college party my first night freshman year and one of the many people I was introduced to was a guy named Reggie.  Only his actual name wasn't Reggie, it was Garrett.   Reggie was from Brooklyn and in school for some sort of music bullshit.  He talked about Sisqo a lot and I just assumed he was a big Dru Hill and/or "Thong Song" fan.  Who amongst us isn't?  Well it turns out he was actually talking about the other, less known Sisqo, spelled Cisco.  Which apparently is some computer program.  Or company.  Regardless, Reggie liked to get smashed and well, so did I. 

Reggie was a member of the fraternity that I ended up joining, so we spent a lot of time together. I ended up moving into the fraternity house my second year and managed to move right next door to him.  Things were looking up!  He was two years older, so he could buy booze, which was helpful.  We got along so great that year.  The next year (my third, his fourth-ish), we again lived next door to each other.  It was around this time that we'd get into playful shouting matches, or he'd pretend to be mad and punch things.  Anyways, we also cooled off by playing music really loud for each other.  This was always Reg's fave:   

By this time, the nickname Reggie had worn off and several names were throw around for him: Garrett morphed into Dale Jarrett (based off former NASCARist of the same name), which led to Dale Garrett, which led to just Dale, which then led to longer names like Dale Ass Garrett, and even to Dale Ass Bitch Ass Garrett.  He also went by Karl for a few weeks, although sadly, that one didn't stick.  I can't really explain why Reg went through so many nicknames.  (It's also worth noting that one of my sisters even gave him a nickname: Reggie Redbird, after the Illinois St. mascot of the same name.  Dude was a magnet for nicknames.)  Was Garrett not good enough for us?  I like to think it was too good for us, that we weren't worthy enough to use it and thus had to improvise.  

By this point, I was a senior and still living next door to Dale (which is my preferred name for him).  It should be pointed out again, Dale is two years older and thus he was on his fifth and a half year.  When asked about that, he always liked to say "why leave the party at 10pm when you can stay an extra year and a half to rack up debt?"  He was just good with quotes like that. 

Sadly, Dale finally got up the courage to graduate and leave me behind.  I'll never forget him walking out the house his last day with tears in his eyes.  I think it was because he was going to miss me.  Ask him though, he'll probably tell you it was the final low blow I delivered as he walked out.  Best buds til the end, always joking. 

Dale eventually found a job and moved to the zoo.  Not an actual zoo (though he could probably fit in!!) but to Kalamazoo.  Again, everything associated with Reg has a nickname.  He lived in the Zoo for a few years, toiling away for the government.  Typical hardworking Dale.  We managed to see each other every so often: he visited my parent's place in Chicago once, I managed to make the trek to the Zoo, plus it helped that he always came back to Ohio to get his haircut.  Someone with the hairstyles of Dale doesn't let just any Hair Cuttery/Super Cuts/Super Hair Cuttery touch his locks.  Understandable too.

I eventually moved away from home while Dale was still in the Zoo.  We were thousands of miles and one time zone apart, but we still managed to make time.  There was the time he and a  few of his entourage came down to Austin to visit me.  Just some great bonding time.  The story can be revisited here. 

I eventually made my way back to the Midwest and was closer to Dale again!  In the almost year I've been in Cleveland, I bet he's gotten at least 20 haircuts.  Chuck (his barber) must be a modern day Edward Scissorhands!!  And yes, that's his barber's real name.  Best buds reveal details like that. 

But sadly, Dale is no longer with us.  Wait, he's still alive.  That could've been worded better.  He's just no longer in this country.  Big Dale Ass Garret, who went to college 40 minutes from home, who moved three and a half hours away to Michigan, who DROVE THREE AND A HALF HOURS BACK HOME TO GET HIS HAIRCUT, has moved to the Doucheland.  Or Deutschland, same thing.  The kid who, when sent to his room by his dad, would open the window and scream with all his might, "SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE, THEY LOCKED ME IN MY ROOM."  The same dude who tolerated more jokes, more low blows, more chairs stacked up against his door, more playings of this, was peer pressured into buying more rounds, had more nicknames than ANYONE I've ever known.  THAT guy is now on a different continent, six hours ahead.  (He's basically living in the future!)  I'm not going to miss Dale.  Or Karl.  Or Gabe (called him that for a night or two).  Or Dale Ass.  Or even Reggie Redbird.  I'm going to miss Garrett.  Ha, just kidding, he'll always be Dale Ass Bitch Ass Garrett to me.  Jokesters til the end!!

Never forget where you came from DABAG.  And if you do happen to forget, I've got a song that might help you remember....

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I'm sorry if you didn't find that exciting.  Maybe next time I really will just recount my last 8 months.  In a quick moment of fun though, here's a list of phrases I Googled for this post: laissez faire, bourgeois, Sisqo, deutschland, welcome to the black parade, toby keith.  Some of them I obviously used.  Others though, I wanted to fit in but couldn't find a good place. 
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If you come back, I'll come back.