Category — Life

I am someone who honestly loves giving presents. It really is my favorite part of Christmas. This isn’t something I say because I like to pat myself on the back and feel good about myself, I really mean it. I toil and labor and methodically calculate what each one of my Christmas presents will be. I don’t like going in to a store and looking around. I like going into a store grabbing exactly what I have in mind and telling the clerk, ‘No, I am not interested in anything else.’ I pride myself in giving great presents. It’s something that I work hard at and I enjoy. I am really someone who honestly loves giving presents.

The other day I was going through some ski clothes and stumbled upon a black beanie with a skull and cross bones on it. It reminded me that sometimes gifts are very simple.

A couple of years ago my family decided to take a ski trip on vacation. At that time in my life I had still never seen snow. Maybe a couple of flurries here and there but not real snow. The thought of going skiing was amazing. Seeing real snow. Hanging out in a lodge. All things new to me. However no one in my family had ski clothes so my Grandma Peggy bought everyone clothes. She just so happened to buy me a black beanie with a skull and cross bones on it. A little ominous for a first time skier, but I didn’t mind it so much.

This vacation also happened in a time in my life wear I was in the process of growing a beard…or the best beard I could grow. (Sometimes as an actor you don’t control your face.) I had a thick, scraggly, nasty looking beard. And this is where the bad exposition ends and the true story begins.

After a tough half-day of skiing the intense “greens” of Deer Park, I decided that it was lunch. I did my best of not looking like a fool and took my skis off and put the on the rack with my poles. I proceeded to pretend I knew how to walk in ski boots, a talent that I still don’t know. I went to the very luxurious locker room and looked around to make sure no one was noticing that I didn’t know how to walk.

I sat on the bench for a moment before opening my locker. My hands were frozen and my clothes were soaked. Just a few moments before I was sliding down one of the slopes for about fifty yards. Learning how to ski could be very humiliating. I had the feeling that my legs were in a tremendous amount of pain but they were frozen and I couldn’t be sure. I might be horribly injured.  I finally decided to man up and pull my PB & J out of the locker. I quickly decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to eat this beautiful sandwich in the lodge, I was going to eat it right here. That way I wouldn’t have to walk any more than I had to.

As I was finishing my sandwich I noticed a small moppy headed child sitting next to me smiling. He was grinning from ear to ear. I didn’t quite know how to take this seeing that the whole time I’ve been in the locker room I’ve been scowling in pain. The kid looked at me and said Hi. Hey, I say back. He just continues to smile at me. Maybe he wants a sandwich, I don’t know.

Hey buddy, you want a sandwich? I have an extra, I say to him.  The kid just sort of giggles a bit. I start looking around the room for a parent for this little odd ball. There’s got to be a parent somewhere responsible for this kid who’s trying to talk to me while I’m in pain. I see adults, but no one who seems to be paying attention. I like your hat, the kid says. I beginning to think this kid’s making fun of me,  but he seems too sincere. Thanks, I like to wear pictures of heads on my head, I say. The kid seems to find this humorous and chuckles.

Finally a thirtysomething year old man turns around and says, I’m sorry, I hope he isn’t bothering you. No, no, I say to the man. I look back down to realize that the kid is sitting right next to me flush up against my leg. I’m not sure how to take that and I don’t want to anger the father so I stand up and pretend to grab something out of my locker. The kid stands up on the bench and his smile seems to be bigger and brighter than ever and his eyes are fixed on me. Are you a pirate? the kid asks.

Now I didn’t know how to take this because I’m not accustomed to lying to innocent children. I look at the little blond kid, he’s just beaming with happiness. Then I notice the man. His eyes are huge. He’s looking at me with desperation and he very slowly nods his head yes. So I look the kid dead in the eye and I say, Yup. I’m a pirate. The little kid then jumps off the bench and spins around and says, I knew it! He then goes to the other side of the locker room screaming, Dean, Dean, I found one! I found one!

The man looks at me with a weak smile and says, That’s what he wants for Christmas. He wanted to meet a pirate. And before I could ask, the kid and Dean, who was smaller and blonder than the first kid, were right beside me. Dean asked if I was a pirate and I said yeah. They asked me my name and I said Paul (I thought I should be somewhat honest).  I looked at the man and said, Well, I should be going now, I have to catch up with my crew. The man nodded and began to tell the kids that I had to go and say bye. Bye Mr. Pirate Paul, the said in almost unison. Bye, I said, be good now. The man mouthed the words Thank you so much. And I turned around and started to walk away. All I could hear as I was leaving was pure innocence and excitement of the two kids saying, It was a real one! You said I couldn’t find one! It really happened! As I was trying my hardest not to limp too badly until I was out of sight.

I wrote the title for this and then stared at the computer. I thought writing about writers block would get me out of my slump. I poise my fingers to type and I get frustrated. ‘Who cares about your stupid inability to write. That’s not interesting.’ I then relax my fingers and decide to make myself hot chocolate. I get out of bed but decide I’m too comfortable and return.

I started this blog to get writing done and I barely write anything. I’ve found a home among writing my NFL picks for but even that has sucked lately. I can’t write to save my life right now. It’s frustrating. I have all these ideas but no way to get them written.

I look through my draft folder. There’s plenty of options. Most of them rewritten so many times I forget what my original ideas were. ‘I’m too self critical I’m sure there’s some good stuff somewhere in this folder.’ But after searching for a while. I think maybe I’m not too self critical, I just write crap. Oh well, I’ll waste time on Facebook or Twitter.

I feel like a louse because I need to get some writing done. I’ve got a play to work on. I even have notes for writing a book. But these ideas now seem dumb. These projects are old friends I’ve lost touch with and have no idea where to pick up with, I’d probably just have to start anew. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t just finish reading The Road. Cormac McCarthy is a genuis. I get more critical of my writing. ‘Who cares about what I write? I should just write something to get out of this slump. It wont matter how good it is.’ My head hurts and I rub my eyes searching for something in my imagination. Anything. Nothing. I just need to put pen to paper. ‘Well, everyone has to write crap every now and then right?’ I hope so.  So I start writing.

This one’s for all of my Houston peeps. My Comedysportz debut is this Saturday December 5th. Come out for some improv and see my rookie game.

This Halloween is going down as my favorite Halloween to date. Why you might ask? (‘Might’ being the key words as some are already leaving the website.) Well, for All Hallows Eve this year my beautiful girlfriend got tickets to the Rockets opener. She knows me well. We went to Toyota Center and watched the Rockets give the Portland Trail Blazers what for.

Trevor Ariza looked like an old friend we all know and loved name Tracy McGrady, especially in that number ’1′. He scored a cool 33 points, a career high for Mr. Ariza, and he looked silky smooth on the court. The man might make the Rockets look good.

One of my favorite moments of the night was during warm ups. Alex turned to me and said she liked the Rockets white warm up jerseys. Then the Trail Blazers came out and she said they looked evil. It was good versus evil. The Trail Blazers were playing a team that is barely a shadow of the team that beat them in the playoffs last year.

I was excited to see Chase Budinger, the poster boy for white basketball players. He was alright but they really didn’t need to use him much off the bench.

David Anderson looked awkward. He looked out of place and small. Every move he made looked spastic and weird. It seems like he’s second guessing himself. It really worried me.

I wanted Pops Mensa-Bonsu to play just so I could yell his name.

Chuck “The Chuck Wagon” Hayes had eight points. I’m not sure if that’s a career high…but I think it might be.

Clutch the Bear deserves an award. I’ve always told Alex how great of a Mascot he was and he delivered. We both laughed so hard at all of his stupid antics and he had some halloween costumes. He was Spiderman, A Knight, Superman (on a segway), Batman, a pumpkin, Wonderwoman and Michael Jackson throughout the night.

For the halftime show the Power Dancers, Launch Crew and my personal favorite: the Little Dippers (a group of kids who can dance better than anyone I know) performed Thriller. Which ended with Clutch in the MJ costume dancing like a pro. Seriously he had a smooth moonwalk.

It was the awesomest Halloween I’ve had since I was a kid. And Alex and I got a hot dog, beer and T-shirt as part of the ticket cost. Sweetness. (Although the shirt did say ‘guys night out’ and had beer glasses on them. Alex was none to pleased.) The Rockets look like they could get a playoff spot if they play that well every night. And for the record I might have the most amazing girlfriend ever.

I have a really annoying alarm. Perhaps I should say I have a really annoying cell phone. Like most people my cell phone has become my electronic Swiss army knife. And on this wonderful Wednesday at 6: 45 AM my cell phone alarm is extremely annoying. Being the professional snoozer that I am, I have to keep my cell phone across the room so that I actually get out of bed to turn off the noise. Begrudgingly I get out of the most comfortable, warm bed in the world. I stumble across the room and smack my phone until it stops making noise and I glance back towards my bed. Like a siren it’s calling me, but I know better. If I go back even just to sit down the bed will ensnare me and I’ll be trapped. Doomed to sleep for another fifteen to thirty minutes and be late.

I hate responsibilities, I think to myself as I realize I’m opening a brown pack of instant oatmeal. “When did I get here?” I mumble to myself as I squint around trying to remember walking out of my room to the kitchen. I must be really tired. I’m placing the bowl of water and oats into the microwave and begin to make my way back to my room. I look down and notice that I’m wearing flip-flops. “What?” While my brain was smart enough in this sleepy auto-pilot to make oatmeal for breakfast, it obviously didn’t put much effort into choice of footwear. Flip-flops, really? When was the last time I even wore flip-flops? I laugh a little to myself just imagining a zombie like version of myself digging through my closet for flip-flops to wear as house shoes. I’ve made it through the first stage of my morning.

I’m becoming more and more conscious and starting to snap out of my sleepy state. I put on a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes, throw on the cleanest t-shirt that I have and begin to leave my room when I remember I’m wearing flip-flops. No need to wear embarrassment any longer. I put on socks and tennis shoes and go to get my oatmeal. The oatmeal is warming and delicious, not a bad breakfast for a minute and a half in a microwave. I scarf down my instant breakfast and run to the restroom and grab a toothbrush. Quickly I go to work, I’m running out of time. I catch my reflection in the mirror and I see myself staring back. This isn’t good. I have horrible bags under my eyes, my hair’s a mess and I’m in need of a shave. I’ll have to shave later because I’m already running late. As I’m staring I begin making a list, like I do every morning, of things that are wrong with me. And like every morning by the time I’m done brushing my teeth I come to the conclusion that I don’t really care. I’ll work out more and eat better. Yup, that’s what I’ll do. I grab my gym bag that I use as a man purse and run out of the door.

In my car I turn on the local am sports radio station and turn it down to a low hum. Trying not to get caught be any lights, I’m becoming more coherent. I begin thinking about how much I hate brushing my teeth almost immediately after eating. What’s the point of eating something with a flavor I like? It’s beginning to piss me off, I paid money for that oatmeal and then I erased it. I could wake up earlier or…not brush my teeth. Neither appeal to me so I guess I’m just stuck with erasing flavor in the mornings. I finally arrive to the school that I work at and fight to find a parking space. They should just give me a reserved parking space, I grumble as my walk to school becomes a slight jog. I get to the office right on time and begin to fill out my paper work. “Who are you today?” the secretary that eerily resembles my girlfriend’s sister asks. “Coach Von Dolen.” I reply. “The shorts gave you away,” she says. “Oh yeah?” I throw in trying to let her know nicely I don’t have time for small talk. “I thought you only subbed for the lower school teachers,” she says waiting for an answer. “No, I pretty much sub for whoever asks me. I actually coach a lot; I’m the only man on the sub list.” “That’s why you wear shorts a lot. I just thought you came here to work out,” she says. Is she flirting with me, I think to myself. I’m horrible at knowing when someone is flirting with me. And I have a girlfriend who is way out of my league that I love. I’d be a fool to mess up the great relationship that I’m in. I don’t know what to say. I thought about, ‘Hey, my girlfriend and I work out all the time.’ But you don’t want to get the awkward “I’m not flirting with you” look. The phone rings and I’m saved. The receptionist picks up the receiver and we exchange a wave.

I’m fully awake now and stress has started to kick in. I’m not all too sure of what is expected out of me today. I pass by a mirror and see a frantic man with barely combed hair power walking with all his might. Mrs. Amanda, who oversees the substitute teachers, gives me a nod as I walk into the lower school building, “Right on time.” I weakly smile and in a last attempt to be presentable smooth down my hair as I’m walking to the class where I have to pick up the kids for P.E. When I get there the teacher of the class, 5^th grade English, smiles at me and says, “Nice jacket.” Referring to the Members Only jacket I had in my car and put since it was a little chilly. “Thanks,” I look down and laugh not knowing to be proud or embarrassed.  In the class the children are all whispering and smiling in excitement. “Put your books up class. Coach Von is out, so today you have Coach Paul.” That didn’t seem like the end of the sentence but at the mention of my name children began to clap wildly and cheer. There was hooting and chanting of my name. And for the first time in this horrible morning I felt good. I couldn’t help but to smile. The 5^th grade teacher looked at me and said “Must be nice to be loved.” Then she pulled out a bell and ringed it. The children fell quiet but they were all beaming with smiles. One of the kids softly said “We like Coach Paul.” I smiled and said, “Let’s go class.” They stood up and began to yell again. And with as much feign disapproval I could muster I shushed them.